The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly in front of Mike, his breath quickening as each shadow seemed to ripple with danger. His legs felt like jelly, trembling uncontrollably, and his mind berated him for his earlier bravado. In a haunted house, of all places, he had boldly proclaimed, "I'm not scared of anything!" Now, stranded and alone in the dark, his flag-raising moment of false courage was something he would never repeat.
Separated from his friends, completely isolated, Mike found himself standing in the middle of a dimly lit hallway, anticipating the appearance of a deranged murderer at any moment. Yet, what scared him the most wasn't the killer that could be lurking in the shadows, but the doll. The one that followed him. The one he couldn't shake, no matter how hard he tried.
His breath hitched. "How did it get here? When did it start following me? And why is it moving on its own?"
Questions flooded his mind, each more unsettling than the last. In the span of a few terrifying minutes, his twenty years of life experience shattered into meaningless fragments. He clutched his phone tightly, though the device felt like a lifeline growing more useless by the second. His whole body was shaking, every muscle on edge, waiting for the next wave of terror.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed to life, the vibration sending a shock through his already frayed nerves. He answered quickly.
"Mike! Where are you? Help me! I can't get out, and I swear the dolls in the center of the room... they're staring at me! They're really staring at me!" The frantic voice of his friend, Lisa, was on the edge of hysteria, each word punctuated by the panic she was clearly trying and failing to control.
Mike swallowed hard, struggling to force words past the lump in his throat. "Lisa, if I come to save you, who's going to save me?"
The raw fear in his voice wasn't lost on her. He had never been this scared in his life. Taking a cautious step back, Mike's heel hit something small and soft. With a sinking heart, he looked down. The doll, which had been in front of him just moments ago, was now sitting beside his foot, leaning against his shoe as if it had been waiting for him all along.
Its dark, charred hair was eerily lifelike, and its burned face tilted upward slightly, as though trying to meet his gaze. Despite its disfigured features, Mike felt the oddest sensation—it was smiling.
"It's smiling..." The thought popped into his head, unwelcome and absurd, yet undeniable. For some reason, the doll seemed to be toying with him. He didn't want to linger on why it could move or why he felt this growing, malevolent presence. His body was already overrun with fear, and his leg muscles screamed in agony from standing too long in one place.
Just when Mike thought things couldn't get worse, his calf cramped. "Oh, no..." Pain shot through his leg, and he toppled to the floor, grabbing his calf in a futile attempt to relieve the pain. The tight, sharp ache was relentless.
"Cramps! Are you kidding me?!" He shouted, both in pain and frustration, rolling on the ground in the dimly lit hallway. "Is anyone there?!" His voice echoed through the haunted house. "I'm done! I can't take it anymore! I'm not playing this game!"
Meanwhile, on the first floor, Chris and Wendy were busy helping a dazed guest, an older man named Henry, stumble out of one of the rooms. Henry had been terrified to the point of incoherence, his wide eyes reflecting the horrors he had witnessed. Just as they were about to settle him, screams echoed down from the third floor.
Startled, Chris exchanged a concerned glance with Wendy. "That doesn't sound good."
Without wasting another moment, the two of them sprinted up the stairs, their footsteps echoing in the narrow stairwell. Chris led the way, flashlight in hand, scanning the dim corridor until the beam caught a figure on the ground.
"Mike?!" Chris hurried over, while Wendy kept a cautious distance. Chris knelt beside him, shaking his head. "Are you okay?"
Mike, still clutching his leg, looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. "I'm done, man. I'm never coming back here. Just get me out of this place."
Chris didn't respond right away. He pressed on Mike's knee, helping him straighten his leg. "You need to extend the joint. It'll ease the cramp."
As Mike groaned and followed the instructions, Chris scanned the area. His brow furrowed as he noted the two small dolls lying on the ground nearby. "Strange," he muttered under his breath. "How did he get this freaked out over a couple of toys?"
His thoughts were interrupted by Mike's hoarse voice. "Those dolls... They were chasing me. You were controlling them, right? You're watching everything on the security feed and laughing at me?"
Chris gave him a puzzled look, choosing not to confirm nor deny. "Let's just get you out of here first."
As Chris helped Mike to his feet, Mike pulled out his phone. "Lisa's still locked in one of the rooms. She's losing it in there."
Chris, glancing around to make sure the coast was clear, picked up the two dolls and placed them in his hands. Despite their small size, there was something unsettling about them, something beyond just their worn and creepy appearance.
"These tiny things made a grown man scream in terror?" Chris chuckled softly, half-amused but half-troubled. He idly poked the doll's face with his finger, and for a split second, he could have sworn it glared at him. A sense of irritation, maybe even resentment, emanated from it. He dismissed the feeling as his imagination, though.
"Interesting."
Following Lisa's panicked instructions, they quickly found the locked room. The door swung open, revealing Lisa huddled in a corner, her lips trembling and her face pale.
"I'm taking you out of here," Chris said, walking in. But Lisa barely seemed to register his presence.
"They're staring at me," she whispered. "Everywhere I move, they follow. I hide, and they just keep watching me."
Chris looked toward the center of the room, where two larger dolls lay in an oddly posed position.
"They were sitting before," Lisa stammered, her wide eyes full of terror. "I swear... they were sitting."
"It's just part of the show." Chris tried to reassure her. He examined the dolls briefly. One had a small stitched beard, and the other was dressed in a simple apron.
"Father and mother," he mused aloud, setting the two smaller dolls down beside the larger ones. Now there were four in total, a strange and eerie family portrait.
Something clicked in his mind. The layout, the dolls, the eerie atmosphere—it all connected to the notorious 'Miller Family Tragedy,' a decades-old unsolved case.
As if to confirm his suspicion, his black phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, surprised to find a new message:
"Fortunate are those whom the vengeful spirits have noticed! You've triggered the hidden quest of the 'Midnight Massacre.' The spirits of the dead remain bound by unfinished business. Fulfill their last wishes, and they may serve you in return."
A new, hidden quest? Chris had never encountered this before. "So the dolls... they represent the Miller family?"
It clicked. The dolls embodied the spirits of the family killed in the notorious apartment massacre. "If I bring their killer to justice, maybe I can put their spirits to rest."
Guiding Lisa and Mike out, Chris was already planning his next move. But first, he needed to gather more information.