“Mary...”
Mary on the phone. This was a story Bai Ci was all too familiar with; she had occasionally used it as an icebreaker when hosting horror scenarios at the shop.
An abandoned doll, phone calls at regular intervals, and that step-by-step encroaching phrase: “I'm right behind you.”
Back then, she had only thought of it as an ordinary urban legend. But now, in this unfamiliar room, confronted by that distorted phone call and the lingering sensation of being watched, every detail became terrifyingly sharp.
Bai Ci shuddered and instinctively took a step back, her back pressing against the edge of the desk.
Don't panic.
She told herself.
In her three years as a DM, Bai Ci had seen far too many players make the wrong choices out of panic, ultimately causing the game to fall apart.
This place she was currently in, whether it was a dream or something else, was essentially like an unscripted escape room. Clues were hidden in the details, and danger lurked in the unknown. Only by keeping a clear head could she find a way out.
She instinctively slipped the phone back into her pocket, her gaze falling once again on the diary in her hands. The book she hadn't had time to open earlier had now become her only lifeline.
Bai Ci walked over to the desk, pulled out the chair, sat down, and flipped open the diary.
The diary's pages were already somewhat yellowed. The handwriting consisted of childish pencil strokes, crooked and uneven, with occasional spelling errors. It was clearly written by a child.
“June 12, Sunny
Today Mom took me to the park, we fed the pigeons, and Mom even bought cotton candy. It was so sweet. Dad didn't go; he said he had to work overtime. When Dad came home tonight, he smelled of smoke. Once Mom smelled it, she stopped talking. They had a quiet argument in their room. I hid by the door to listen, but I only heard Mom say, ‘What on earth do you want?’ Dad was very angry and his voice was very loud.”
“June 15, Overcast
Mom put away my little bear plushie and said I can't play with it anymore. I asked why, and Mom's eyes were all red as she said, ‘You don't need these things once you grow up.’ But I haven't grown up yet. Dad has been coming home really late lately, sometimes not at all. When I sleep alone at night, I hear footsteps in the living room, like someone is walking back and forth.”
“June 20, Rainy
We moved! The new house is so big. It has a pink room and a huge wardrobe. Mom said we're going to live here from now on and we're never going back. But Mom doesn't seem happy. She rarely smiles now and always sits by the window staring blankly. Dad said Mom is just tired and told me not to disturb her.”
There were no intense conflicts or bloody descriptions in the little girl's diary, but the anxiety between the lines grew stronger and stronger. Moving, parents arguing, mother's depression, father's late nights and bad temper...
A standard horror mystery setup. These fragmented pieces of information came together like a puzzle in Bai Ci's mind, slowly forming an unsettling yet laughably familiar outline.
The kind of laugh born of sheer helplessness.
Could Mary be this little girl? Or her mother? Or, like in the urban legend, was she just a doll abandoned by the little girl?
From the logic of game design, the way to resolve everything was highly likely to fulfill the little girl's wish or something similar.
“July 3, Sunny
Today Dad brought home a bouquet of flowers. They're red and very pretty. Mom smiled when she saw them, and she even made the braised pork Dad loves for dinner. Mom and Dad haven't argued at all these past few days. It feels like our home is getting better again. I asked Dad where he bought the flowers, and he said at a nearby flower shop, and that he would buy flowers for Mom often from now on.”
“July 7, Overcast
The flowers withered, and Mom cried again. I didn't dare to speak and hid in the wardrobe. I heard Mom scream, ‘You lied to me!’ followed by the sound of things shattering. Dad roared fiercely, and then everything went quiet. I stayed in the wardrobe for a long time until Dad called me out, saying Mom was tired and had gone to sleep.”
The little girl's innocent description made this family tragedy seem all the more chilling.
What happened to the mother afterward? The diary didn't say. It was just that after this day, descriptions of the mother became fewer and fewer.
“July 10, Sunny
Dad took me out to play today. We went to that flower shop we talked about before. The florist big brother gave me a little daisy and said I was cute. Dad bought a big bouquet of white flowers and said they were to be kept at home. Then we went to the convenience store next to the flower shop, and Dad bought me strawberry ice cream. It was delicious. I'm so happy, I want to save today forever.”
“July 15, Sunny
The white flowers at home withered, and Dad didn't go buy more. He's always staring blankly at a box lately. That box is placed at the very top of the wardrobe, and I can't reach it. Mom still rarely talks. Is it because there are no pretty flowers? She always sits in her room and won't come out. Even when I knock, she doesn't open the door.”
The diary ended here. Bai Ci opened the flip phone to check; today's date was July 16th.
There was no Mary, no doll's revenge. This diary only recorded a family tragedy from a little girl's perspective.
It was highly probable that the father had killed the mother and hidden her away. That was how horror mystery scripts usually went. Perhaps she was hidden in that “box at the very top of the wardrobe,” or in some corner of this house.
But who was Mary?
Was she a former resident of this house? Or someone related to this tragedy? Or... did she have absolutely nothing to do with this family's tragedy?
Just as Bai Ci's thoughts were in disarray, a familiar tune suddenly rang out—the ringtone of that old-fashioned flip phone.
She didn't dare answer it, but the ringtone showed no sign of stopping. After ringing persistently a few times, the phone automatically answered the call.
On the other end of the line, there was still that “drip-drop” sound of dripping water. Right after, that distorted female voice came through again, clearer and colder than before, as if she had taken another step closer.
“Hello there, I am Mary.”
“I'm downstairs now.”
Without any extra words or questions, just a straightforward announcement, the call was disconnected once again.
Downstairs.
That “Mary,” whatever she was, was drawing closer and closer to this room.
What made Bai Ci's heart race even more was that the moment the call disconnected, that feeling of being watched suddenly intensified. She could even feel a faint, ghostly chill creeping up from her ankles, instantly giving her goosebumps.
According to the plot of that horror story, on the next call, Mary would say which floor she had reached, and then step by step, she would make her way up until she stood right outside this room's door, right behind her.
She had to find something to protect herself, or find a way to leave this place.
The only clue was the diary in front of her.
The thing mentioned repeatedly in it... flowers!
It was flowers that had temporarily brought a smile to the mother's face. In the diary, the little girl innocently wished “if only we could go to the flower shop to buy more flowers,” and even attributed her “rarely talking” mother's state to “not having pretty flowers.”
A nearby flower shop... Bai Ci walked to the window and drew back the white lace curtains, wondering if she would be able to see it.
Outside the window, it was indeed a blazing sunny day. The sunlight was so glaring she had to squint. Below was a quiet street, lined with tall plane trees.
Directly across the street, there was indeed a small flower shop. A red sign read “Sunflower Florist,” and several pots of blooming sunflowers sat at the entrance. It matched the design on the diary's cover perfectly—it was practically a blatant hint.
Found it!
Rate on N.U.
