Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

“Yes,” Hugo said.
“I was murdered.”
“Yes.”
He set the teacup down on the tray. He flexed his hands. He took a deep
breath, letting it out slow.
Then, Alan swept his arm across the tabletop, striking the teapot. It fell to
the floor and shattered, liquid spilling. He took a step back, chest heaving.
He raised his hands to the side of his head, clutching his skull before bending
over and screaming. Wallace had never heard such a sound before. It burned
as if the hot tea water had scalded his own skin. It went on and on, Alan’s
voice never breaking. The lights in the sconces flared brightly before they
went out, casting the tea shop into darkness. Apollo growled, standing in
front of Nelson and Wallace, hackles raised, tail ramrod straight.
Alan tried to overturn the tables, the chairs, anything he could get his
hands on. He grew angrier when the chairs barely moved, the tables not at
all. He kicked at them, but it was no use. He stalked around the room. Apollo
snarled when he got too close to them. Wallace stood quickly, putting himself
between Nelson and Alan, but Alan ignored them, eyes blazing as he tried to
destroy as much as he could to no avail.
He tired himself out, eventually, hair hanging around his head as he bent
over, hands on his knees, eyes bulging. “This isn’t real,” he muttered. “This
isn’t real. This isn’t real.”
Hugo stepped forward. Wallace tried to stop him, but Nelson grabbed his
arm, holding him back. “Don’t,” he whispered in Wallace’s ear. “He knows
what he’s doing. Trust him.”
Hugo stopped a couple of feet away from Alan, looking down at him with
a sorrowful expression. He crouched down in front of Alan, who sagged to
his knees, hands flat against the floor, rocking back and forth. “It’s real,”
Hugo whispered. “I promise you. And you’re right: it’s not fair. It never
really is. I don’t blame you for thinking that. But if you let me, I’ll do what I
can to show you there is more to this world than you ever thought possible.”
The man sat back up on his knees, tilting his head back toward the ceiling.
He screamed again, the cords in his neck jutting out in sharp relief.
It never seemed to end.