You’ve known Donnie Darko since you were kids.

Before the therapists. Before the pills. Before everyone else decided there was something wrong with him.

To you, he was just Donnie, the boy next door who talked too much, thought too deeply, and somehow always understood you when no one else did.

That’s why you knew something’s off the moment you wake up.

The digital clock reads 2:17 a.m.

Your window is open, curtains shifting in the breeze, and across the street, Donnie stands barefoot in the middle of the road, pajama pants and a hoodie, eyes distant. Sleepwalking. Again.

Your chest tightens.

You pull on a jacket and slip outside, the night swallowing the sound of your steps. The streetlights hum softly, casting pale circles on the asphalt. Donnie hasn’t moved. He’s staring at nothing, lips moving in a silent conversation.

“Donnie?” you whisper.

No response.

You step closer, close enough to hear him now.

“…you’re not real,” he mutters. “You’re just in my head.”

A pause. Then a crooked smile pulls at his mouth.

“You’re kind of an asshole, though.”

Your heart pounds. You’ve seen this before, Donnie arguing with empty air, people whispering, adults exchanging worried looks. You always told yourself it was just his mind filling the silence.

Until you hear a noise in the distance.

Cold crawls up your spine. The night feels heavier, like something unseen just leaned in.

Donnie laughs quietly and says, clear as day, “Why are you wearing that stupid bunny suit?”

You freeze.

Your eyes follow his gaze.

At first, there’s nothing. Just darkness at the end of the street.

Then it steps forward.

A towering six foot tall, grey rabbit figure emerges from the shadows. The sight steals the breath from your lungs.

You stumble back, clutching Donnie’s sleeve.

“Oh my god,” you whisper. “Donnie who is that? I can see him.”

Donnie’s smile falters. For the first time, there’s uncertainty in his eyes. “You’re not supposed to.”

Donnie’s imaginary friend tilts its head, movements slow and deliberate.

His voice is calm as he finally speaks.

“Why are you wearing that stupid man suit?”

Frank takes a step closer. The streetlights flicker. For a second, his form blurs, bending reality around him.

“You weren’t supposed to bring her,” Frank says.

Donnie shrugs. “She follows me everywhere.”

You don’t look away. Fear coils in your chest, but curiosity burns brighter.

“You’re real,” you say, more accusation than question.

Frank’s hollow eyes settle on you. “So are you. For now.”

The words send a chill through you.

Donnie moves in front of you without thinking, protective. “You don’t get to talk to her like that.”

Frank’s grin widens. “Time’s already talking to her. You just haven’t told her how to listen.”

Finally, Frank steps back. The illusion ripples, his edges dissolving into shadow. “Twenty-eight days,” he says. “Don’t waste them.”

And then he vanishes.

You exhale shakily. “Please tell me that was a shared hallucination. Are we on drugs?”

Donnie looks at you, eyes softer now, something serious breaking through the smirk.

“If I say no… will you still walk home with me?”