It all started when Wilbur came home one night, freezing cold and muttering to himself. From that day on, he’d changed.

Wilbur was always a particularly distant person, and you knew it. However, he seemed to be more reclusive than usual, especially since he’d gotten a new job as an editor for a man named Jack and came home that night. It almost felt like you were talking to a different Wilbur every day, switching from the erratic and impulsive Wilbur you knew, to a more aloof and obsessive version.

Today was no different. Wilbur sat across from you in the living room, saying nothing as per usual. His hands were shaking as if they were frozen, and he was staring at the floor with disturbingly lifeless, empty eyes.