There was still just enough time to sleep in his tent, so Wilson did so, hoping to ease his headache. Though night had been nearly over, he felt just as rested as he had when sleeping in his tent at the break of dusk. Sleep is a finite function in this universe, Wilson decided as he ate some meatballs. To sleep here is simply to sleep; time is irrelevant, it ends at dawn and has the same results whenever it occurs. That's why the fire goes out without heating my heat stone.

His headache, though definitely better, hadn't gone away entirely, and with about ten more graves to dig up, Wilson was wary of heading back so soon. So, he spent a day waiting for dusk, during which it began to rain. Using the umbrella until it was late enough to sleep so that his hair wouldn't get wet and make him grumpy, he then slept in the tent again, hoping that would put him at full mental health, such as it was. When he woke the next morning, however, the tent collapsed and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Wilson scowled at the sky. "So that's how it's going to be?" he shouted at Maxwell. "Fine, then!" I can always get more silk and make more ropes.

Sighing, Wilson gathered some extra twigs and sharp rocks and his shovel and headed back to the wormhole. Before he got there, though, he remembered the marble armor he'd made. Even the grass armor helped me against those shadow creatures, he thought, remembering his death. The marble is much stronger. Between that, the helmet, and this tentacle spike…maybe I'd stand a chance, even if I let my mental health deteriorate enough for them to attack me. He still had his amulet - the old one and a fresh one - in case his calculations proved to be wrong. Despite all his effort preparing his mind, Wilson went back to his camp and put on the helmet, stowed the armor and amulets in his backpack, and headed back out, determined to face the effects of insanity if the opportunity arose.

A trip through the wormhole and a trek through the swamp later, Wilson was back at the graves that were now surrounded by nothing but some random purple carpet. Without hesitating, he dug into them one after the other, as the world slowly lost its color and whispering voices began to scratch at his increasingly-anguished brain. More gears, a red gem, a blue gem, another red gem, another kazoo, another knot, a tiny robot, a gnome, more buttons, and a glob of nightmare fuel. Wilson's head was pounding, but not as badly as expected - certainly not enough to summon the shadow monsters.

Before he could adjust his plans - the moment the final mound was overturned, in fact - a ghost materialized over every single one of the eighteen empty graves. As he stared, the moaning swarm of white shapes drifted in Wilson's direction.

A variable I wasn't prepared for, Wilson thought through his headache. They're slow, though, and will disappear after the sun sets and rises, if they're like that other ghost. He ran, and soon the ghosts were out of sight. With that unexpected development no longer a threat, he reevaluated his plans. I need some raw green mushrooms, he decided. He was determined, now, to experience insanity once more and see if those shadow monsters could truly be fought, committed to the experiment. Dusk was approaching, but not quite there yet, and Wilson headed for the reedy part of the swamp where green mushrooms abounded. To his surprise, they had grown back. I will have to keep an eye on that.

Dusk fell, and the green mushrooms bloomed. Picking two, just to be absolutely sure his sanity would not survive, Wilson hesitated only a moment before stuffing them both in his mouth and swallowing. Just as before, agony exploded behind his eyes, everything was washed of color, and all sorts of sounds and whispers and roars began pounding in his ears. It didn't take long for the shadow monsters to follow.

A blobby, tentacled creature materialized and began swimming towards him, its roar barely audible through the cacophonous sounds of madness. Dropping his backpack, Wilson donned the marble armor and took out his tentacle spike. Once the shape was in range, he struck, causing it to break apart and reform a ways to his left.

If they can hit me, he thought, I can hit them. Maybe I can kill them.

Waiting on the blobby thing to get close enough turned out to be a bad strategy, though, as out of nowhere, one of the beaked shadows came running towards him on its tiny spike legs. Contending with two shadows now, Wilson couldn't avoid getting hit, but between the marble suit and the football helmet, not much damage managed to actually reach his body. Confident now that he could fend the things off, he focused on his first foe, the blobby creature. After a few more strikes, it actually broke apart and didn't reform, leaving blobs of nightmare fuel on the ground…and the pain in Wilson's head eased slightly.

That was unexpected.

It wasn't quite enough to make him safe from the shadows, but it was a distinct ease of the pain in his head. Focusing now on the beaked shadow that was faster and stronger, Wilson took fewer hits, and it only took a few more swings than the blobby thing did before it too died, leaving behind two more globs of nightmare fuel. Relief washed over Wilson's brain, about twice as strong as the results of killing the blob; some color returned to the world, and though the whispers were still audible, they were much quieter. The threshold had been crossed back over, and the shadows could no longer touch him.

What am I to conclude from this? Wilson wondered as he gathered all the nightmare fuel from the fight and struggled his way out of the marble case to put his backpack back on. Killing those shadows reversed the drain on my mind…are they responsible for the drain on my mind, do they just use what they can to gain access to me, and eliminating them counters this? But Maxwell…Maxwell is the one who is doing this to me. Not them. Isn't he?

Having come alive out of his dangerous experiment with more questions than answers, Wilson picked a bunch more green mushrooms and headed back to the wormhole, using a torch to get by as night fell. Once he was back at his base, he cooked ten green mushrooms and ate them all, nearly moaning out loud from the relief this brought for his headache. But even though his head was clear again, the questions seemed no less enigmatic. Who is my enemy? What am I to fear?

…Maxwell brought me here, Wilson decided as the sun rose. No matter what those shadows are, he brought me here to be tormented by them.

There was one last thing to do: with four more globs of nightmare fuel to his name from the battles, plus the one from the graveyard, Wilson now had a fair amount. Surely he could do something with it, something more than just make amulets? Taking all his gold, gems, nightmare fuel, beard hairs, and even those weird living logs he'd gotten from the Totally Normal Tree, Wilson heaved a ton of materials into the Prestihatitator…and got something. Several somethings, in fact, but one stood out. It was complicated recipe, even more so than the Prestihatitator had been, but at the end of the day, as dusk fell again, Wilson had constructed a creation that went far beyond any science he could even pretend to imagine.

Out of the three living logs arranged in a triangle around the purple gem, held together and shaped by seven globs of nightmare fuel, came something that stood on its very point, held in place by shadows that swirled around it whenever Wilson got close. It was like the alchemy engine, revealing patterns in the materials around it that would guide him to create great and terrible magic, but it was otherworldly. A Shadow Manipulator.

What have I created? Wilson thought, staring in awe as the thing floated into the air, ready to show him how to construct magical artifacts. This isn't science…

Then again, neither was the Prestihatitator.

Shaking himself, reminding himself yet again that it was a fake world with fake rules and he had to adapt, Wilson let the thing go. But, with a more powerful magic engine, there was no need to keep the Prestihatitator, and he kind of wanted that top hat back. Taking a hammer, he smacked the outdated machine repeatedly until it broke down, releasing the top hat and also two sets of boards and two live rabbits, which quickly ran away from him, shrieking. Though the hat had been slightly tattered when Wilson had used it to make the machine, it was fresh and new as it fell off the remains of the contraption.

It was at that moment that Wilson wondered if trying to fully understand everything about this fake world would be futile.

Donning the somehow-refreshed top hat, Wilson sat down beside Otto von Chesterfield and stroked his fuzzy friend while he thought. Conducting his experiment with the quantifiable mental health he had in this place had reminded him of the thrill of being a scientist, of experimenting, of discovery. But what else was there for him to do? Sure, there were a couple of things he could do with the few magical materials he had left over, but that wasn't the scientific process, that was just following recipes given to him by an incomprehensible force.

Then he remembered the thing that lurked in the darkness.

Marble armor and the helmet kept me safe from the shadows, he thought. Perhaps, whatever made that sound will also be stopped by that sort of protection, enough for me to determine what it is, or at least get a better idea of it.

The thought filled him with dread as even experimenting with insanity hadn't, but it was a test, a chance to learn more about exactly what he faced. Dusk had fallen yet again, and it wouldn't be long. Wanting to ensure a completely variable-free environment, Wilson walked into the woods, away from any other living being, carefully making sure there were no spider nests nearby. At last, he donned his marble armor and his helmet and got a fresh torch prepared just in case the thing was as dangerous as he feared.

And he waited.

It was a struggle to hold still and keep waiting, but Wilson didn't move. As the last few moments of daylight passed, it was all he could do to not light a torch. Then, it was dark.

Without light, panic set in, but having experienced so much more of this place, Wilson also recognized the distinct feeling of his mental health being drained. A simple lack of light saps at my sanity, he thought, still fighting his panic. Good to know.

But it wasn't all darkness. Here and there, little spots of light appeared, and as the roaring, whooshing noise of whatever beast he was to face sounded, Wilson could no longer contain his self-preservation instincts, and he made a beeline for the patch of light. The source turned out to be fireflies…who all winked out as he stepped into their glow, as though his presence scared them off. If only I could catch them! Wilson thought. Fire-free light would be so useful…!

With the fireflies gone, all was dark again, and this time Wilson concentrated every ounce of his will on not fleeing when the otherworldly sound of the darkness monster happened once more, though the knowledge that being in the glow of fireflies for even a brief moment seemed to have sent the monster away was not lost on him. A second passed, and then something tore into him.

Feeling as though the teeth of some massive creature were ripping into his flesh, Wilson screamed aloud. Though the armor did seem to protect most of his body from a fair amount of harm, the fangs scraping against stone and leather - far stronger than anything that had attacked him thus far, he could tell even through the protection - something unexpected made it more terrifying than the attack of any beast: Wilson could feel those teeth in his mind. It didn't just bite his body, it bit his soul, a chunk of his very sanity obliterated by the attack.

Nope!

Immediately, Wilson lit a torch. He couldn't see the beast, and had learned very little about it except for how dangerous it was; there was nothing to be gained from this experiment. Clearly, this monster was a thing that couldn't be fought, only warded off, and he would do so from now on, no matter what it took. The only gain he took away from this was the existence of the fireflies.

I have a bug net, Wilson thought as he walked back to his camp, still catching his breath from the assault on his body and mind, determined not to ponder the creature that lurked in the dark. I can catch those fireflies with it. Perhaps I can do something with their light - fire isn't reliable when it depends on fuel and can be doused by the rain, that glow could be invaluable.

The sun soon rose, and Wilson heaved a tremendous sigh of relief as he put his torch away. Taking his bug net out of a chest, he suddenly wondered how he would be able to catch the fireflies if he could only see them in the dark and needed one hand for his torch. It would take both hands to swing the net quickly and accurately enough to catch them before they disappeared…

Only for a moment, he told himself. I'll only be in the darkness for a moment, and that moment will mostly be filled with the glow of the fireflies.

With nothing else to do but once again wait for nightfall, Wilson threw the tiny bit of meat he'd gotten from burning the crow in his crock pot, then gathered some berries from the nearby berry bushes and threw them all in until the pot was satisfied. When it was done cooking, the result was another batch of meatballs - far more meat than he'd put in, an exact replica of every other batch he'd made. So the amount of meat doesn't matter, Wilson thought, eating the food (he was getting hungry). The pot can only produce certain foods, and any amount of meat plus other ingredients makes this one recipe…perhaps? It occurred to Wilson that he hadn't actually done much experimenting with recipes. Curious now, he tried just filling the pot with berries, nothing else. The result was simply a handful of red jam - sticky, and not too filling, but sweet and tasty.

I will have to experiment with other ingredients, he thought. Who knows what could be made with this contraption?

Well…I suppose Maxwell does…

Dusk still hadn't fallen, so Wilson waited, slowly walking back in the general direction of where he'd seen the fireflies the previous night - there were other fireflies, surely, but he wanted to be close to a group he knew was there. Unless they moved…

I will see, he told himself. It's another experiment. I must be patient. I must wait for the results.

Eventually, the sun began to set. Still he waited, torch at the ready - he wasn't going to start out in complete darkness before he even knew where the fireflies were or if they would even still be there. Still nervous from his last experiment, he lit the torch a bit early, a fresh one and his bug net both on hand to be grabbed in his magical pockets; it quickly died, and he lit the new one just as nighttime finished settling over the world.

When at last it was dark, the fireflies returned. He couldn't be sure if they were in the exact same place, but it likely didn't matter. He approached them, and before they could wink out, he swapped out his torch for his net and swung, catching them and putting them in his pocket before taking his torch out again to fend off the darkness and what dwelled within it. Glancing down, he saw a faint glow emanating from his pocket where he'd stored his fireflies - almost certainly not enough to fend off the monster, but still, the light had been captured.

I can't release them, he thought. They'll fly away. But I cannot use them like this, either. Perhaps…

Thinking, he returned to his camp. As night hadn't quite passed yet, he threw some logs into his fire pit and lit a fire, stowing his torch for later use. The alchemy engine showed him very little - the fireflies could be used, yes, but not with what he had. He was left to guess.

I have to store them, he thought. I need to shape a container. Gold is the only thing I can use for that.

The sun rose, and Wilson took some gold out of Otto von Chesterfield and brought it to the alchemy engine. Closer, he thought, shaping the gold into a sort of lamp. But something is missing… Gathering everything he had in front of the alchemy engine, the recipe suddenly slid into focus: attaching the container with the fireflies inside to the grass hat he'd woven so long ago, the result was a helmet of sorts with a headlamp - not just a fire-free source of light, but a hands-free one as well. A miner's hat.

Miner…

The sinkhole with the rubble blocking it up.

Though he knew there was still more to find and explore up here on the surface, the thought of investigating that hole he'd passed by several times in the confused land was suddenly overwhelmingly tempting. It was midsummer, but winter would be coming; perhaps there was a way he could escape the seasons entirely. Besides, who knew what could be underground in a place like this?

Drawn now to a new investigation, Wilson spent the rest of the day packing everything he thought he might need. Pickaxes, definitely, as well as a shovel and an axe just in case, as well as plenty of sharp rocks to make fresh tools; the mining helmet, to keep his hands free, plus plenty of twigs and cut grass for torches if the need arose; his armor and helmet, though they were both severely battered, as well as his tentacle spike; the ice staff he'd made from his old spear, just in case; and, in the event that the expedition took him longer than he expected, a few batches of meatballs. As dusk fell once more, Wilson set out to explore a new mystery.