Chris sat alone in the dimly lit room, the air thick with tension. Before him, four eerie dolls lay motionless on the floor, their glassy eyes fixed in his direction. The room felt unnaturally still, as if holding its breath. If anyone had seen him sitting here, talking to a group of old dolls in the dead of night, they'd surely have been unnerved. But there was no one else here—just Chris and the ghosts he suspected were inhabiting these inanimate objects.
"I don't know why you've shown up in my haunted house," Chris began, his voice barely above a whisper, trying to maintain some semblance of calm. "And I don't even know what to call you. But I promise you one thing—I mean no harm."
His words echoed softly off the walls, the only response to his one-sided conversation. He looked at the dolls, each one different in size and expression, a pit of unease growing in his stomach. Part of him wished for some sign they were listening, a movement, a nod, anything to show they understood. Another part, the more rational side of his mind, hoped they stayed still. The thought of one of them moving on its own filled him with dread.
Seconds ticked by, and Chris realized he was holding his breath, waiting. When nothing happened, he let out a quiet sigh of relief, his body relaxing slightly. "Alright," he said, shifting tactics. "The midnight massacre scene simulates what happened five years ago in the Peaceful Apartments. You four must be the victims of that tragedy."
At the mention of the horrific event, the temperature in the room noticeably dropped. A cold breeze swept through, making the door lock click shut with a chilling finality. The furniture around the room began to tremble ever so slightly, vibrating in sync with the tension in the air.
Chris swallowed hard, his pulse quickening. "That case has already been solved! The monster who destroyed your lives, who shattered everything you loved, is now facing justice!" He reached into his pocket with trembling hands and pulled out his phone, hurriedly pulling up the news video from months ago. "See? The murderer's been caught. And it was me—I'm the one who helped bring him to justice!"
He could feel the coldness intensifying, but the dolls remained unmoving. Chris knew their rage and obsession were linked to the killer, a man named Daniel. But even showing proof that Daniel had been caught wasn't calming the restless spirits inhabiting these dolls. His efforts felt futile, like trying to reason with a storm.
The room's energy grew denser, the air thick with an unspeakable presence. The walls seemed to pulse with the tension, and Chris, though fearful, knew retreat wasn't an option. This haunted house, this nightmare, was his livelihood, and letting the spirits wreak havoc inside wasn't something he could allow.
"Listen," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "I'm here to help. I want to make things right."
The dolls remained silent, unmoved by his words. Chris clenched his fists, frustration building. He was talking to ghosts through dolls—what more could he do?
There was only one option left. "Looks like I have to try this," he muttered under his breath. Reaching into his jacket, Chris pulled out a tattered, yellowing missing person's flyer. The paper was stained with age and flecked with spots of dried blood. It belonged to Daniel's last victim, a young woman named Wendy.
As soon as Chris unfolded the flyer, the room's energy shifted. The trembling furniture slowed, the oppressive weight in the air lifted slightly, and the temperature began to rise, if only by a degree. It was as if an invisible hand had loosened its grip on Chris's throat.
"Is this what you're after?" Chris asked, holding the flyer up for the dolls to see. The reaction was immediate. The dolls, which had been completely still, began to twitch. It was subtle at first—a tilt of a head, a shiver of cloth—but then they started to move in unison, drawn toward the flyer.
The flyer, despite the room being sealed tight and the air still, began to rustle violently as if caught in a fierce wind. The dolls encircled it, their tiny hands reaching out toward the paper. Chris could only watch, transfixed by the bizarre scene unfolding before him.
Then, from the worn surface of the flyer, a face began to emerge. The features were faint, as if sketched in fog, but there was no mistaking the resemblance to Wendy. Her face, sorrowful and tormented, floated there for a brief moment before the image splintered and dissolved, each fragment absorbed into the dolls surrounding it. The room fell eerily silent.
Chris's heart pounded as he waited, watching for any further signs of movement. But the room had returned to its previous state of stillness, save for the four dolls lying once more in their original positions.
"That's it?" he whispered, barely able to believe what had just transpired.
Suddenly, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and stared at the screen. A new notification from his black phone flashed:
"Midnight Massacre Scenario: Unique Hidden Mission Completed! Spirits of the Peaceful Apartments have granted you their favor. They will clean and maintain the midnight massacre scene daily, preserving its original state."
Chris blinked, reading the message twice to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. "That was the hidden mission?" he muttered in disbelief. He had spent so long trying to figure out how to complete the hidden objectives tied to each ghostly scenario, but this… this seemed almost too simple.
As he processed the information, another thought struck him. "Wait… so to truly control each scenario in this haunted house, I have to complete over 90% of the trial missions for each one?" His mind reeled at the realization. The scenarios weren't just for show—they were built on real, tragic events. If he wanted to master the haunted house, he had to delve into these dark histories, unraveling the truth behind each one.
Thinking back to his earlier experiences in the Peaceful Apartments, Chris shuddered. If he hadn't chased down the truth, he might've survived the night, but the mission completion rate would've been abysmal, and he'd never have unlocked the hidden tools needed to handle the spirits.
"Devious," he muttered, a wry smile curling at the corners of his lips. "This game's pushing players to risk their lives for the truth."
He opened the "ghost team" section of his phone, expecting to see the victims added to his list. But the screen remained blank. "The mission says they've granted me their favor, but they're not listed as part of the team." Chris frowned, trying to make sense of it. "Maybe because they're not fully free? Or maybe they don't count as ghosts in the traditional sense…"
Unable to puzzle it out, Chris moved to check his inventory. The missing person's flyer was still there, but its "resentment value" had been wiped clean. He couldn't help but wonder, "What exactly is resentment value? And why did the spirits tear it apart and consume it?"
The more Chris uncovered, the more questions he had. He was peering into a world of dark, hidden truths, and while the answers were far from clear, one thing was certain: the haunted house was more than just a place to scare people. It was a living, breathing entity, and Chris had a feeling that the more he learned, the deeper into its mysteries he would fall.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, he got to his feet, shaking off the lingering tension. "The spirits can't communicate directly with me, but they can help maintain the haunted scenes. In the long run, that's a win."
Maintaining the haunted scenarios was an exhausting task, and having the victims' lingering spirits assist him saved him a great deal of time and energy. Chris glanced at the four dolls lying on the floor, his initial fear now replaced with a growing sense of control. "Maybe one day," he mused aloud, "I really will have ghosts working for me."
He turned to leave but paused at the door for one last glance. The dolls representing Wendy and her family were still, except for the smallest one, which had mysteriously shifted to a new position. It lay a little off to the side, as though it had tried to sneak away.
A small smile tugged at Chris's lips. "Not all ghosts are malevolent," he whispered. "Some are just curious, like mischievous little cats."
"Don't wander off," Chris warned the smallest doll with a chuckle. "Wouldn't want you to get stepped on."
With that, he stepped out into the hallway, the beam of his flashlight cutting through the darkness. As he made his way down the corridor, the grin on his face widened. "No wages, no complaints, never tired, and they're experts at scaring people. I couldn't ask for a better set of employees."
Buoyed by his success, Chris couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. "There are only three guests left in the haunted house tonight. Time to decide who gets the scare of their life next…"