"Crack—
A deafening sound reverberated within me.
Blood filled my mouth and nose, and excruciating agony coursed through my body, as if it were rending my heart asunder.
The hands that had desperately propelled me forward suddenly lost all strength.
My teeth were forcefully dislodged, clattering onto the dirt.
I turned my head, and in front of me, I beheld the firmly sealed door.
The gap in the door that I had fought so valiantly to force open had mercilessly slammed shut.
My legs remained ensnared within.
The upper half of my body was trapped and bleeding profusely.
The searing pain threatened to overwhelm my sanity.
The ominous whirring of a chainsaw reached my ears.
Something gnawed at my legs.
An overwhelming terror consumed me.
The bone-chilling pain swept over me.
I succumbed to unconsciousness.
When I regained consciousness, I found myself standing before the wide-open doors of the wax museum.
I was firmly seated in a chair, unable to move my fingers, and my arms felt as rigid as stone. When I tried to lower my head, I sensed an inexplicable restraint around my neck.
My mind was an empty void, and a genuine feeling of unwellness overwhelmed me.
I recalled a phenomenon where, in moments of extreme pain, people tend to selectively forget things. Had I forgotten something crucial?
As I surveyed my surroundings, I noticed a young couple approaching, accompanied by a beautiful little girl. Their faces radiated joy, and the girl's playful twirls in her floral dress added a touch of elegance to the atmosphere.
"Mom, is the wax museum fun?" the young girl asked.
The young woman replied, "Of course, darling. It's my first time here too, and I want to share the artist's masterpieces with you."
Suddenly, two words reverberated in my mind:
"Run away!"
Dormant memories surged to the surface.
I remembered!
This was the infamous western suburbs' wax museum, known for its dark reputation of turning living people into exhibits! I desperately wanted to warn them, but my mouth felt inexplicably sealed shut.
A young man approached me to purchase a ticket, and they gathered around me, admiring what they believed to be an exhibit. They showered me with compliments:
"This ticket seller looks incredibly lifelike!"
"It's perfectly crafted, just like a real person."
They marveled as they ventured further into the narrow hallway, completely oblivious to the chilling truth.
In the distance, I could hear the enthusiastic welcome from the museum staff:
"Hello and welcome to the Western Suburbs Wax Museum."