Eliot: How the hell are you here?
Charlton: I was trapped, wandering your remembrances when mercifully, you decided not to sleep for five days and broke your brain. That gave me an opening to contact you.
Eliot: That voice, that was you?
Charlton: Yes, of course. When all the scary creatures were pulled out, I held on tight as I could in your happy place, and well, here we are. This place was so vivid in your mind, but there’s nothing like the real thing, is there? The sights, the sounds, the smells, oh, I forgot about smells Eliot. They’re overwhelming unpleasant.
Eliot: Those messages, that was you too? ‘I’m still here,’ ‘let me out.’
Charlton: Yes, I wanted you to know I was still here, and I wanted to be let out.
Eliot: In red paint?
Charlton: Right, like strawberries and Santa Claus.
Eliot: And blood, Charlton.
Charlton: Perhaps it was a touch ominous.
Eliot: As was the creepy whisper.
Charlton: I was trying to be polite.