"I promise, Susan," we said in Unison, almost pleading. "The Void was better yesterday."

Susan just stood there, eyes wide, jaw dropped, and any other cliche for surprise. We're not too concerned with adjectives when the Void starts acting up. There are more important things to be worried about than adjectives.

The Void groaned. It had already thrown off two of my posters. They had fallen to the floor, ripped and mangled. It did this while we were sleeping and nearly gave us a heart attack. After scolding It for ruining $20 worth of art and part of the barrier we'd built, It had rumbled and twisted and somehow did all this while doing nothing at all, because It is a Void, and a Void is Nothing, and Nothing cannot become a different Nothing, except that this one had.

"You..." Susan muttered. "You weren't kidding."

"Yeah, I can't tell you exactly what's different-"

"You have a Void. In your room."

"...yeah, and It's been acting really weird since whatever that was showed up."

"What-whatever you think replaced your roommate?" she laughed. "Do you really think something replaced him?"

"Are you really questioning me right now? In front of the Void that shares my room?" The Void growled in agreement. We nodded at it in gratitude. Always treat a Void with respect. "Look, you're the first person to actually see It besides us."

"Us?"

"Me." We quickly corrected ourselves. We didn't feel like explaining something else to Susan today. She already seemed overwhelmed. "So will you help? Help me figure this out?"

She laughed a little too quickly, a little too loudly. She did not laugh out of genuine happiness. She laughed out of fear. "Do I have much of a choice?" she asked, seemingly directed at the Void. It emitted a sense of urgency.

We smiled.