A Tale of Faux Realities

The Haunt

There it was again.
The familiar light to differentiate from the dark.

It faded for a second.

Then,

he reluctantly opened his eyes, soft yellow lights brightened his gaze. Jonathan's face was planted on a smooth dark oak counter, the air reeked of beer and something else, something like pool cue chalk. Whatever it was he couldn't put his finger on it. He lifted himself up, his arms were clearly tired and sagging, but he continued on despite the weariness. His face peeled off of the wood, the stickiness from the spilt alcohol among other fluids left a residue, a residue that clung to his cheek like glue. He rubbed his cheek to try and get the stuff off but it was no use. Seemingly defeated by this simple thing, he sat up in the bar stool and rubbed his eyes, then yawned and looked around at his surroundings. Beer taps adorned the other side of the counter, as well as a long crisscross cabinet that inhabited booze, expensive champagnes and wines, as if they were all inclusive guests at a hotel.

Vintage yellow lamps lined the perimeter of the ceiling above the bar, giving the room an amber hue. He felt like he was in an old-timely movie except with no sign of any generational loss. It'd been a while before he'd drank anything, and with free booze here, it was a nice break from the insanity he had just went through. But something about the lights intrigued him, the soft yellow hue reflecting off of the dark wood, it mesmerized him. He wanted to reach over the bar and grab himself a drink but he couldn't take his eyes away from the light. The light so calm and reassuring, cozy and comfortable. Quiet, apart from the music in the background. He snapped out of the trance soon enough, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes as they teared up from his prolonged unblinking daze, before he could reach over the bar, the lights began to flicker, then stopped in an instant. Even though the flickering was for only a second, his at peace state faded faster than he could blink, his heart staggered.  He looked besides him, both sides of him, above him, briefly behind him. Nobody. The urge to look around was strange to him, but anyone in a panicked state would do so, or maybe it was his paranoia from when William burnt him alive. He heard two knocks at the counter from besides him. The thumps weren't thunderous, but gentle, as if the one knocking was intending on grabbing a persons attention. He felt the wood vibrate with each tap.
Knock,
knock.
Jonathan swung his head around to the left of him, to see a man with curled dirty blonde hair sitting two seats away from him. Jonathan stared, he didn't even have to think, the hair was obvious to who it was.
It was Carson. 
. . .
"..Hello?" Jonathan wearily spouted, he felt his heart in his throat. With every word he said it pumped and pumped, it nauseated him. "Carson?"
He laughed nervously.
"What's the with uh, knocking.. huh bud..?"
Silence followed, like last time.
"This happened before, with Will—
'Carson' twitched, his head slowly turned to Jonathan before he could finish, but not his body. His body stayed as still as stone. He froze, staring at the face of what he had used to call his.. his friend..? 'Carson'. His .. eyes, oh.. his eyes. His eyes, or whatever was in the two holes on his head had been scratched and scarred beyond recognition. His eyes were bloodied pits of nothingness, his red sockets were exposed to whoever had the misfortune of looking at him. A polite, calm and collected yet smug smile was set on his face, giving more than an uncanny demeanor to his expression. Lines of cherry red blood were painted down is face to his jaw, the two ends met at the crevasse in his chin.
"What's wrong?" 'Carson' simpered, grinning, his voice was coarse yet clear with an odd echo accompanying it.
"I thought you—

Jonathan opened his eyes, his heart racing, vision blurred from the adrenaline. He looked down at his hands, all he saw was ... red. The dark red covered his hands and his clothes, staining him. From the corner of his eye he could see a hand, a human hand with intricate patterns and shapes carved into it. Before he could turn to see the full body—