The crimson blood letters were twisted and contorted, appearing blurred, as if they carried a grim warning written in fresh blood.
I turned over another ticket.
"There's no way out...o one can save me —it's all over.
The final blood inscription remained incomplete, leaving behind only a faint bloodstain.
Someone had been here before us!
Someone had discovered that the wax figures were actually living beings!
Someone had attempted an escape, but alas, they had failed.
They had secretly etched blood-written messages on the back of the ticket, bearing witness to their struggle for survival.
They must have, like me, explored various ways to seek help.
However, all their efforts were in vain.
No one could come to their aid.
And no one could save me either.
I had to rely solely on myself to escape and survive.
This unwavering belief filled my heart.
I forced myself to remain calm; it was imperative.
I scanned the room, searching for an exit—perhaps a door or a window.
I remembered that it had just instructed me to stand by the window and close my eyes.
It couldn't be my husband.
This indicated that approaching the window was perilous.
I approached the elderly lady who had spoken moments ago and softly asked, "Is there a trap at the window? Will they turn me into a wax figure?"
The elderly lady's head remained immobile. she struggled to open her mouth.
Unfortunately, the wax that sealed her lips began to dry and harden.
She could no longer utter a sound.
She painfully shifted her eyeballs, her only means of responding.
"Thank you."
Tears streamed down my face.
I was utterly powerless to save her.
I felt as though I were standing on the precipice of death itself.
With no other choice, I sprinted toward the nearest exit, my heart pounding in my chest.
I dashed towards it with all the strength I could muster.
"Help me…"
That weak, trembling voice echoed in my ears once more.
It felt hauntingly familiar, like a beckoning from the past.
Driven by instinct, I followed the sound.
Concealed behind a mound of wax figures, a familiar silhouette gradually came into focus.
It was my husband.
Transformed into a lifeless wax sculpture.
I stared at him in sheer horror.
My beloved husband, whom I held in the deepest of affections—never could I have imagined that one day he would depart from me in such a cruel manner.
"Save me."
My husband struggled to open his mouth, his eyes filled with desperate pleading fixed upon me.
The sticky wax clung tenaciously to the corners of his lips, where he had kissed me countless times, now intermingled with crimson bloodstains.
He must have been enduring excruciating pain.
"honey..."
My voice quivered as I advanced toward him, one step at a time.
I gently caressed his cheek.
I clasped his hand firmly.
I ran my fingers over his body.
I even crouched down and gripped his ankle.
It was simply unfathomable—my husband's entire form was encased tightly in scalding wax.
What kind of grotesque technique was this?
To cover a living person from head to toe in wax in such a brief span of time?!
Tears streamed incessantly down my face.
A mixture of heartache, fear, and helplessness swirled within my gut, and I turned my head, retching.
"how can I save you?"
I implored, tears flowing freely.
My husband strained to speak, managing only three feeble, mosquito-like words:
"Take me away."
He must have heard my frantic distress call moments ago.
He realized that relying on rescue might not liberate him from this nightmarish predicament anytime soon.
His sole glimmer of hope rested solely in me."
I compelled myself to remain composed.
How could I possibly move a wax figure?
I couldn't lift him, couldn't carry him.
Even escaping on my own seemed like an insurmountable challenge.
"Darling, I'll scrape the wax off your shoes so we can make our escape together."
This was my only, albeit clumsy plan.
I had no scraper, no sturdy object within reach.
I scanned the room:
apart from the wax figure, there were no other tools.
There was no alternative,I had to wield my phone and strike at the wax block under my husband's feet.
The recently solidified wax began to crack, bit by bit.
Right away!
The left foot was finally free!
I swung the phone with all my might. the screen shattered, and the tempered glass cut into my palm.
I paid no attention to the pain, persistently pounding on the other foot.
Finally, as the wax released its grip on the sole of his right foot, I caught a glimmer of hope for survival.
"Honey, let's run."
I anxiously clasped his hand.
My husband moved awkwardly.
My heart sank once more.
I had overlooked one crucial detail: my husband's body was encased in a thick layer of wax from head to toe.
Even though his shoes were no longer stuck to the ground, his legs remained tightly wrapped in wax.
He couldn't step forward, couldn't walk normally.
His knees wouldn't bend, and he couldn't even hop in a straight line.
He resembled a paralyzed patient.
The flicker of hope that had just ignited in my heart was once again extinguished by the harsh reality.
Despair loomed like an endless abyss, completely engulfing me.
"Honey… I'm sorry, I can't save you."
I sobbed uncontrollably.
Clang—
The door behind me swung open.
I had no time to wipe away my tears; I turned around in terror.
It was arriving"