Emily awoke in a dim, unfamiliar bathroom, blinking against the odd half-light that spilled through frosted glass. She blinked, trying to steady her breath, realizing her bare feet pressed against cold tiles she didn't recognize. The air smelled faintly of rust, sharp and metallic, mixed with the damp, closed-off scent of stale water. She was nowhere near home.
Her gaze drifted toward the far wall, where an entire panel of glass stretched from floor to ceiling, revealing the world outside. Her pulse quickened. There was something uncanny about this view. She inched closer, her breath fogging the glass as she peered through it. Beyond the glass lay a courtyard, dimly lit by wavering torches that flickered an eerie, orange glow against a twisted statue at the center.
Around the statue, people had gathered in a tight circle. Their faces were turned downward, but even from a distance, their postures seemed wrong—stiff, almost lifeless. They moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm, raising their arms toward the statue in worship before swaying and shifting back in sync, over and over, as if in some ritualistic dance. Their movements were jerky, mechanical, as though they were forced to perform by some invisible puppeteer.
The statue at the center was grotesque, taller than any human, with elongated limbs and a head that seemed frozen in a scream of agony. Emily couldn't take her eyes off it. Something in its distorted face felt so wrong it made her stomach churn. The people in the circle moved around it, staring, their lips moving in silent chants, eyes wide and unblinking. She couldn't hear their words, but somehow, she felt the weight of each whisper, each murmured plea.
As if sensing her, a few of the people turned their heads slowly to face her. She met their eyes through the glass, her stomach twisting as she noticed the blankness in their gazes—like they were seeing her and yet seeing nothing at all. A few even began to move toward her, their hands raised, faces emotionless but eyes sharp and focused. She took an involuntary step back, her body cold with dread, the sense of entrapment growing heavy.
Desperate to escape, Emily turned and dashed into the hallway outside the bathroom. It was narrow, the walls so close they nearly brushed her shoulders as she squeezed through, moving as quickly as she could. The air was thick, cold, and carried the faintest trace of that metallic scent, clinging to her skin, her breath.
When she finally emerged from the hallway, she found herself outside, standing in the middle of a village that stretched ahead of her like a ghostly mirage. The buildings were old, their windows darkened, doors shut tight. Not a single person moved on the street, yet shadows flitted across the windows as if she were being watched from every corner. The whole village was silent, cloaked in an unnatural stillness that made her skin crawl.
Emily took a few hesitant steps forward, hoping to find someone—anyone—who could explain where she was. But each door she passed was locked, every window covered with grime and shadowed, as though nothing had lived there in years. The village seemed caught in time, its streets empty, frozen. A knot of anxiety twisted in her stomach, tightening with each step.
Then, a sound broke the silence—the faint shuffling of footsteps, a soft murmur. She turned, and at the far end of the street, a man appeared. He stood motionless, his back turned to her, head tilted slightly to one side. She felt the tension in her body intensify, every instinct telling her to run, but her feet felt rooted to the ground.
The man turned slowly to face her. He wore a twisted, unnerving smile that stretched across his face but didn't reach his eyes. In his hand, a knife glinted in the pale light. The air around her seemed to freeze as he raised the knife and pressed the blade against his own chest.
Emily watched in horror as he began to stab himself, each motion precise, methodical, yet his expression never changed. His face remained calm, almost serene, the smile fixed in place as if it were some permanent mask. Blood poured from his wounds, staining his clothes, pooling around his feet in a dark red circle. She wanted to look away, to shut her eyes, but something about his gaze held her captive.
After a moment, he turned his head to look past her, as if distracted by something over her shoulder. His eyes glinted with an eerie satisfaction, his smile widening. Panic surged through her, and she finally managed to tear herself away, stumbling backward before turning and running.
Emily didn't know where she was going—she only knew she had to get away. The village stretched out before her like a labyrinth, its narrow alleyways and shadowed corners twisting and turning, trapping her within. She pushed on, each breath ragged and strained, the echo of the man's laughter, low and sickly, following her down every street.