Off in a distant corridor, something horrible crawled along the walls and floors of the once bustling hospital. It knew of Holden's presence, though Holden could not see it. Rather, he felt a pressure within his chest cavity, one that ate away at him from inside with each step he took. As the hairs on his arms and neck stood erect, he knew that this was no mere drill. This was real, all too real. He was alone inside of an unknown labyrinth of doors and hallways, isolated from the outside world. Whatever occupied that space with him, no matter its appearance or history, projected a clear and concise intent.
Calamitous malice.
It was a sensation Holden had been prepared for, yet its sudden application was still off putting and impossible to ignore. With every motion, his movements became more apprehensive. The intuition of prey brewed within the heart and mind of he who pushed forward into the suffocating shadows ahead. No matter how courageous the man, his instinctual urges will always prioritize survival first. It will try and make him flee. When that fails, it will resort to tricking him, making him evaluate each and every component of his surroundings as an imminent threat. What was once a coat rack had transformed into a lanky, malicious man reaching forth to rip off his head. Chairs become hunch-backed goblins possessing watering mouths and a desire to sink their chipped, crooked teeth and claws into the meat and bone marrow of any wanderer. Only by directing his flashlight towards these slight hallucinations would they be dispersed, much to Holden's relief.
Taking a moment to steady himself, Holden whistled into the air, continuing his path ahead. Turning back was not an option now, for he was already here. Further he went, his imagination racing with even wilder nightmares. Long tendrils erupting from the walls, grasping his limbs and ripping him to pieces like a medieval rack, painting the room with what was left of him. He paid no mind to how every passing draft of wind seemed like someone was whispering into the back of his ear. Onward, he went. There was only onward. With it, the beating of his heart grew in volume, from a faint thumping, to a violent knocking. His mouth grew dry more frequently, forcing him to swallow often, although even that was only a brief reprieve. What others might discount as reasonable paranoia, Holden knew to be far more substantive. Melony had told him as much, after all.
When cryptids and hybrids are within a close radius, their supernatural capabilities manifest. However, what also emerges is the nature of those same supernatural capabilities. No matter how intelligent or experienced the being, they could not entirely conceal the intent, the attitude, the meaning behind their powers. Powers are only a mechanism of force, after all. What truly drives them, what really inspires them, are what ends those mechanisms are meant to achieve. Before, these things went unnoticed by Holden. Even after the woman who emerged from the television that day attacked him, this aura of ill-will had not infected his senses. Melony correctly presumed that after his exposure to both her and that creature, his sensory capacities would advance, and so they had.
What he felt now was something foul, something odorous, something corrupted. Neither life nor death, neither pain nor pleasure. The conventional incentives of both predator and prey could not apply to the domineering energy Holden felt coursing through his veins. Whatever shared space with him as he marched through the building had no such visions in mind for him. What they seeked was different, and perhaps even more malicious. To control him, to toy with him. To utterly subjugate him to its whims. The eradication of his will, the enslavement of his being. The cleansing and reconstruction of "Holden Cauthwell'' himself.
It was only an intuition that fueled Holden's belief, but it was a strong one at that. He could trust his gut that he was entering the womb of the mother of thrall.
The ruined passageways of the structure continued, a disorganized clutter in all corners of the facility. Crumpled and torn papers were strewn about across the floor, with some even coating entire chairs and desks. Furniture had been toppled and, in some instances, stacked. Their positioning was often irregular, as some of the piles were sloppily built up to conspicuously open vent covers. Of what little Holden could see of the actual surfaces that constituted the walls, floors, and ceiling, all were muddied by sickly browns and greens. Based on their putrid scent, he would not be surprised if the discoloration were a product of vomit, piss, and shit compiling together.
Even further it went, the trench beyond beckoning him to come closer. Holden began to perceive indents on the filthy walls and ceiling, wondering to himself what they could be. Based upon their size and curvature, the notion that they were footprints flashed in his mind, inciting an unpleasant image within his brain; that of an enormous arachnid on the prowl. Those displeasing beliefs would soon be made all the more worrying as Holden's ears perked up, alerted by the scuttling of feet in the distance.
"Great... I hate spiders."
At least, he hated the kinds that he couldn't simply swat away with a rolled up magazine. Up until today, he hadn't believed such a type existed. Still, ruminating on his disgust would be immaterial to his survival. What he figured he should do instead was devise a strategy. This was more difficult however, considering he was entirely unarmed, and hadn't a clue what the cryptid he would face was capable of. Melony likely knew, but refused to disclose such information. So too had she demanded he appear naked of any equipment that could help him in combat. According to her, the sole purpose of this "mission" was to allow Holden's body to be further exposed to a cryptid and, therefore, develop his willful manipulation of his dormant ability, whatever it may be. To bring a weapon and fight with it instead would defeat the purpose, and to have an exact understanding of the cryptid's abilities would make him overthink and distract his body and mind from acclimating properly, as she said.
"All that withstanding, walking in here like a sitting duck is unbelievably stupid," Holden mumbled with a sneer.
If it were truly a spider, it would mean that his mobility and strength would be vastly inferior to it. He also figured that he ran the risk of stumbling into oversized cobwebs that might litter the area, serving as an environmental hazard. It was with that thought, however, that two questions came to mind.
"Why haven't I seen any webs yet... and why were the footprints on the ceiling human-like?"
The thought that he was handling a half human, half spider creature formulated in his head, but he shot it down quickly. Melony had specifically told him that he was handling a cryptid, not a hybrid. Still, so far as he knew, it was possible that a half-human, half-spider creature could be a full blooded cryptid, but that still failed to account for the lack of webs thus far.
He froze when he once again heard scampering all along the walls in the distance. This time, though, it was accompanied by a faint, childish giggle. One that echoed all throughout the structure, its innocence and soft tone juxtaposed by the context it took place in. Holden held his breath, opting to stand perfectly still so as not to attract its attention. This didn't stop the giggling from picking up once more, this time sounding a little closer to his position.
Backing away slowly, Holden understood that in such a vast space, it would be impossible to pinpoint the source of the laughter. He worried about how he would know its real distance, anxiety bubbling within him while he glanced around, eyes feverishly scanning all that he could. He flicked his wrist, shining light in all directions to aid his search.
Luckily for him, he would soon get confirmation that the noise had stemmed from the floor above. Sadly, his fortune was short-lived, because that fact was discovered by virtue of the many legs he heard barrelling down the stairway ahead of him. This all culminated in the feet arriving at the bottom step before the stairway door flung open, revealing... nothing, at first. For a while, time passed, and that was all. Holden felt his heart jump up into his throat, forcing him to concentrate on dismissing his stress.
"Stay calm... it's just a low level cryptid, like Melony said. I've faced one before."
Right before his eyes, he witnessed a large, smooth head peek around the corner of the door, staring right at him with its glossy eyes. The head was that of a baby doll's, and after a moment of quiet, its mouth dropped open, allowing another giggle to escape its throat.
"Right, a creepy fucking doll... that's not too bad."
Then, it revealed more of itself, demonstrating to Holden that it was, in fact, that bad. As the doll's head extended beyond the scope of the door frame, its neck and body just kept going and going. At first, it appeared to just be the head, neck, and torso. Beyond that, though, were a myriad of limbs and parts, fused together like sloppy puddy. Arms mashed into one another to form long appendages that dragged along the ground. Its upper half was far too large and heavy for the multitude of "legs" that dangled and protruded through the bottom section of its torso. Thus, it could only sustain its standing position temporarily before falling forward and collapsing to the ground. Even still, it pushed itself towards Holden, slowly but surely gaining distance as laughs of joy emitted from its maw.
Every inch of its shell had long since cracked and dented, allowing a highway for roaches and centipedes to crawl around its exterior and then settle back inside. Those soulless eyes seemed to look right through Holden, although he knew damn well that he was the object of its attention. As it grew closer, its hodgepodge of parts along the lower half of its body flung upward and stuck to the ceiling like glue. With this it was rendered upside down, gliding along the ceiling and swinging back and forth as it pleased. Holden, still holding his ground, began thinking of how exactly to handle it.
"It's just a doll, and a damaged mashup of parts at that. If I can get some heavy hits off on it, it should crumble... but given how many limbs it has, getting close isn't the move. I don't wanna grapple with something like that or I'll get overwhelmed. With its awkward movements... I should be able to out-maneuver it, even if it's quick. I'll gain distance and find heavy things to throw at it from far back."
Analyzing the situation, Holden had a set plan in mind. So, it would be fitting to say he was left surprised when the creature opened its mouth and, after releasing another giggle, exclaimed the following.
"Hi the-the-there! W-Wanna p-p-play with me? Let's play... let's play! H-h-h-h-hide and seek! Let's play! Find me! T-try and find me! T-t-try and find me, you're it! You're the s-seeker! Come on, p-play with me!"
It then abruptly turned around, and bolted away, its legs clinging to the walls as it clumsily moved out of sight.
"Shit... there goes my plans."
Immediately Holden gave chase, trying to find the Doll entity as quickly as possible. His heart sank as he realized that this dark place filled with many stories and doors would make it borderline impossible to fulfill his role as seeker effectively. Yet, he burst into every room he came across, sweeping every inch he could access. As he did, something Melony told him cycled in his head constantly. This possibility was one she had warned him of as well, and it was something he dreaded.
"Y'know kiddo, cryptids really are an interesting type of uh... type of whatchamacallit? Yeah, you got me? Point is, they're unique and tend to vary a lot. One type of cryptid is the more direct kind that you can just bully and beat down till it dies. Other's though... well, they're a little more annoying. A few of em' engage in these pesky rituals, ones where they set a series of rules on you as well as themselves. N' these quirky games of theirs can have a few different outcomes, depending on if you win, so to speak. These rules and outcomes can be fair and obvious, or they can be deceptive and worked around through loopholes. Whatever the case, you'll wanna identify which kind of shenanigans you're dealing with early on, or things will turn sour quick."
Holden's hands quaked while he moved, swiftly navigating the halls. Could he even be sure the thing was still on the first story? What would be the consequences if he failed?
"T-T-TIMES UP, PLA-PLAYMATE!"
Those words were followed by the sudden appearance of the entity as it blitzed towards Holden, stopping mere feet away from him. It positioned its devilish face near his, snickering in triumph.
"You lose! You Lose! You Lose! T-t-time for your punishment!"
Without warning, Holden fell to his knees and clutched his right arm in agony. It felt like excruciatingly hot iron rods were being pushed through his flesh, all the while the underlying tissue and muscle boiled and popped. In reality, as he looked down with trembling eyes upon his affected limb, he witnessed the skin itself cracking like a ruptured egg before peeling away and sinking to the floor. The white of his bone was visible as the once protective layer had been removed, and even the air stung like hell when grazing upon his exposed wound.
"I take your arm! I'll t-t-take more than your arm! I'll take e-e-e-e-everything, hehe! Arms, legs, body, I'll take it! A-a-all for me! A-Add to my c-c-collection! So we can p-play for etern-nity!"
As soon as the remaining skin had finished departing Holden's now mangled arm, a new layer began to replace it. Vinyl, like that of a doll, started forming around his muscle and bone. As it solidified, Holden found himself unable to move that part of him, and it now served as a stiff consequence of his inability, both literally and figuratively.
"Happy, happy, HAPPY! I'm SO HAPPY! PLAY WITH ME! P-P-PLAY WITH ME MORE! READY OR NOT, I'm GOING TO H-HIDE AGAIN, PLAYMATE. COME AND FIND ME!"
Once more, its childish voice carried far even while it darted off again. Holden watched it depart, still stunned from what had just happened. Lifting himself to his feet, he took several small steps forward, his brow furrowed and his teeth gnashing in pure frustration. Rather than allowing the pain to paralyze him, he embraced it while it tore through his body. He let it serve as a reminder that, simply put, failure was not an option. Give up and weep only to die a worthless death, or grab that fucking doll by the throat and crack it against the wall. To him, those were the only two choices. He could feel it. His own aura, his own intentions. As he heard the cryptid quicken its pace somewhere out of view, he was sure it felt it too.
Holden's desire need not be said. In a room devoid of noise, even a pin drop could register in the ears of all who listen. So too would his intent be heard clearly, when he rendered his target silent.
"You annoying little shit… Ready or not, I'm coming for you."