What the f*** was that? Shadow? Chased by a wolf? In the real world? Am I supposed to help her? Do I need to choose now, between her and my father? Can I even choose?
I turn to Balthazar, who’s still floating behind me, looking uncharacteristically worried. “Balthazar, if I want to return to my own world, can I do that? Like, now?” He shakes his head so furiously that his beard sways, and his battered straw hat nearly falls off.
“Impossible. Law of nature.”
“But you did tell me I was a key, right? And my neighbor explained that I’m one of the few in history who are able to transition physically between worlds, while others only come here in their minds—like my father.”
“Only on the squares.”
“Squares? Plural? Are there more?”
“Twenty-four. But only a few still work.”
“Oh.” I mumble, taken aback. One square is unsettling enough, but 24?
“When transitioning from your world to Mondo Krepusko,” he continues. “You always arrive on a square. Need the square to get back too. Or you die. Human body too weak.”
This simplifies things considerably. Now helping Shadow isn’t an option, I can focus on my father. Maybe that’s for the best. He’s young and alone in a strange world, and… well, he’s my father.
I straighten my back and walk into the school with new determination. Balthazar follows me, without saying another word.
Walking through the school’s corridors in the Shadow World is a strange and rather ominous experience. At first, everything seems normal enough, but as we venture further, the walls start shifting again, appearing and disappearing at the most unexpected moments and in the most inconvenient spots. At times, they are so crammed with chests, drawers, and bookcases that it’s a struggle to push my way past them and when I do, I can’t help but marvel at the bizarre objects they hold: stuffed animals (I’ve never seen before), weapons (I’ve never seen before), odd utensils, and countless other items (I’ve never seen before). To my utter frustration, Balthazar offers no help whatsoever. Normally, he can’t stop talking, but now he seems to have discovered an unexpected talent for silence.
Sometimes, I catch a glimpse of my own world—vague, unsettling images as if seen through a semi-transparent barrier: Shadow being chased down by a giant wolf, Gnat dragged along by Fred Flintstone, and Williams appearing in wildly different locations. Are these things really happening, or are they projections of my exhausted mind? And if they are real, are they happening now, has it already happened, or is it something yet to come? I’m really not sure. This world can be a complete time-mind-fuck.
I shake it off. I have to. There’s nothing I can do about any of that. I have to focus on the only achievable goal—finding my father. Everything else will have to wait.
Where is he? Why didn’t he wait for us? Then a realization hits me. If this school is indeed a time machine, maybe time inside has moved faster than outside. Maybe he did wait for us—for hours, maybe even days—and when we didn’t show, he was forced to go deeper into the school, driven by hunger, thirst, and fear, searching for a way out.
"Sign." I almost jump as Balthazar suddenly finds his voice again. I follow his finger, pointing at something barely discernible on the dark floor. When I pick it up, I immediately recognize it: a piece of fabric torn from Jack’s dark blue woolen pullover. Ten meters ahead lies another piece, and ten meters beyond that, yet another. I can’t help but smile—Jack knows his classics. “Alright, Hansel, I’ll be your Gretel. Where are you leading us?”
Now that I know what to look for, it’s easy. I quicken my pace, ignoring the obstacles in my path as much as possible, focused on spotting each successive piece of Jack’s pullover. A few meters behind, Balthazar floats, solemn and silent once again. We twist around corner after corner until the trail finally stops—right in front of the vice principal’s office. The very office where all of this began. Of course—where else?
When I try the handle, the door opens without any resistance. Cautiously and with a pounding heart, I enter the dark room. The only light comes from the full moon shining through the narrow slit-windows high up in the walls. Only after my eyes adapt to the darkness, I notice a small figure sitting behind the gigantic vice-principal’s desk. It’s Jack, my nine-year-old father, wearing a dramatically shrunken pullover and frantically searching for something. He’s clearly distressed.
“Dad?” I say. He looks up in surprise.
“Hey! You found me! I knew you would, but why do you call me ‘Dad’?”
“Eh, mistake... joke... nothing,” I stammer. To my relief, he doesn’t linger on it; he’s too busy searching.
“I’m looking for something,” he says, distressed. “Something important, something I need to find my friend. I was sure it would be here, but it isn’t…”
I walk around the desk and awkwardly wrap my arms around his slender shoulders. I feel him relax beneath my touch.
“You’ll find it, I’m sure of it.”
“Yes, you’re here to help me now, right? You and that funny man.” I can’t help but laugh.
“Yes, that funny man too.”
“Hrmmpf,” grumbles Balthazar.
We both laugh so loud now, that even Balthazar joins in. I take a few seconds to savor this moment of relief, before I decide it’s time to move on.
"Come on, Jack."
"No, not yet. That list is important—it..."
"A list? Is that what you’re looking for?"
"Yes, with red and green names. Everyone’s on it."
"But Jack, that list isn’t in this... uh... world. It’s in ours."
"Really? I was convinced it was here, and…"
Suddenly, the trembling begins. It’s subtle, yet unmistakable. As we rush outside, I see the other half of the corridor again—the part existing in our real reality—as if through a translucent wall. In our shadow reality, we feel only faint vibrations. Yet, on the other side, the corridor is a swirling storm of stone, concrete, metal, glass, and wood, all colliding in chaos. What we experience is merely a distant echo.
I squint, trying to make out what’s happening amidst the chaos. Then, suddenly, I see... Gnat? Right at the moment I recognize him, he’s struck by a massive chunk of concrete, falling backward and hidden from view by a dense cloud of dust.