Holy shit.
Lynch’s heart nearly burst, the hairs across his body standing on end. He mustered every ounce of strength just to suppress the urge to scream and collapse to the floor, immediately lowering his head to hide the cold sweat dripping from his forehead and his deathly pale face.
W-W-What kind of monster was that? An i-i-illusion, right?
If not for his experience the night before last inside the mystery relic’s memory, he was certain he would have gone completely insane on the spot.
In truth, he wasn’t faring much better right now.
“Are you all right, sir?” The emotionless voice sounded again.
Lynch’s heart hammered even faster. He didn't dare lift his head, merely hanging it low and shaking it. Stiffly scribbling a few hasty marks across the registration form, he pushed it back, yet ultimately couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at the middle-aged supervisor from the corner of his eye.
The anomaly had faded. Aside from being expressionless, the man appeared entirely normal, while the red-vested attendant beside him acted as if he hadn't noticed anything amiss with his supervisor, going about his business as usual.
Taking the form, the supervisor asked with apparent concern, “You look quite pale. Would you like me to contact the Hall of Suffering for you?”
“N-No, no need. It’s just my first time in a place like this, so I’m nervous.”
Lynch forced a smile. Even though the man now seemed normal, images of that insect head kept flashing through his mind. Especially when the supervisor leaned in to whisper to the normal, red-vested young attendant beside him, Lynch felt as if a grotesque, giant insect were crouching right beside his own ear, making every passing second feel like an eternity.
Yet he dared not show it. He instinctively felt that the moment he betrayed any sign of seeing the monster, he would be plunged into deep trouble.
A phrase he had heard earlier that afternoon surfaced in his mind: Mystery contact begins not with an encounter, but with perception.
Madam Bessie’s warning still rang in his ears. Lynch realized that if he showed any indication of having perceived the anomaly, he would likely be done for on the spot. Looking around, so many patrons and ordinary attendants walked in and out safely; these things probably didn’t attack customers who couldn't perceive them.
Therefore, Lynch fought to act as normal as possible. I didn’t see anything. I didn’t see a single thing.
Sure enough, the purple-vested supervisor showed no intent to attack him.
“Mick, register this gentleman. Sir, please take a seat in one of the surrounding booths and wait. If you prefer, you may also choose one of the private rooms along the perimeter, though they are billed separately.”
Lynch nodded, turned, and walked away immediately, feeling his shirt completely soaked with sweat.
‘Travel Companion, Travel Companion, w-what is going on? Why am I seeing these things?’
【When inspiration is too high, one may sometimes behold things beyond ordinary sense.】
‘Huh? Are these things real or fake?’
【Both reality and falsehood are part of the scenery along the journey; they must be savored for oneself.】
Phew, all right then.
Lynch let out a soft exhale. Glancing back with lingering fear, he wondered if it was his imagination, but that bizarre supervisor seemed to have just shifted his gaze away from Lynch.
At this moment, he recalled Madam Bessie’s terror once more.
What kind of damned place was this? What were these things?
Maybe I should just pull out.
Yet just as he was forcing himself to stay composed, a flat, monotonous female voice came from behind him:
“Sir.”
Lynch instinctively turned around. With a burst of static flashing across his vision, the phantom silhouette of a giant spider head met his gaze with ten eyes once more, only a few meters away.
Lynch nearly collapsed to the floor on the spot. He stumbled back two steps, barely catching himself against a nearby pillar to stay on his feet.
By then, two other attendants bearing insectoid double images were closing in from either side, hemming Lynch in from three directions.
In the main hall behind them, through his static-speckled vision, countless spiderwebs seemed to hang entwined, with dozens of white cocoons suspended from the ceiling. They squirmed and struggled from time to time, swaying violently in midair.
Then the static faded, and the hall returned to normal. Yet the three attendants with their overlaid phantoms remained unchanged. Twenty-four blood-red human eyes stared unblinkingly at Lynch, an incomprehensible light flickering within their icy pupils.
“Sir, are you all right?”
The waitress reached out to steady him. Terrified, Lynch quickly waved his hand, dodging her touch to steady himself. Are you kidding me? Who knew what would actually be touching him? Just thinking about the cocoons hanging from the ceiling made Lynch feel as if he had fallen into an icy abyss.
“I’m fine, just hungry.” Lynch forced a smile, though he was not fine in the slightest, and said in a dry voice, “Is there something you need?”
“You didn’t take your number plate.”
The waitress took out a metal plate inscribed with the number thirteen and offered it to him. On the surface, everything looked normal, but what reached out was a massive black jointed limb covered in barb-like bristles. It rattled and clicked as it moved, the brass plate sticking to its surface as it extended right in front of Lynch.
Meanwhile, the other two attendants merely appeared to stand beside her, but in the phantom images Lynch saw, two giant spider heads had pressed right up to his flanks, their chelicerae raised high as though ready to plunge down at any second.
Nothing in his past life as a shut-in had ever prepared him for this. Lynch felt as though his brain were about to burst, dreading that he might be strung up to the ceiling in the next second. But recalling his earlier deduction, he gritted his teeth and resolved himself.
Gamble on it one more time: I didn’t see anything. I didn’t see a single thing.
Yet resolve was one thing; watching those hideous spider heads swaying before him still turned his legs to jelly. All he could do was brace his entire body, suppressing his nausea and terror as he reached out, shifting his gaze away as inconspicuously as possible.
The sensation against his palm made him want to chop his own hand off, but it still felt like a human’s—just extraordinarily cold. Leaving the number plate, the waitress cast an icy glance at him and turned to leave. The other two attendants also turned and walked away without a word.
Lynch had already gone numb. He couldn’t even feel fear anymore, only a visceral disgust.
What the bloody hell? Are these disgusting things humans or monsters? Why can I see them so clearly?
Is this the price of high inspiration?
Lynch now fully understood the meaning behind that derisive chuckle in his mind when he had first entered the building.
Standing dazed for a moment, his ability to think gradually returned.
Only now did the lingering aftershock of terror assault his resolve, leaving his legs trembling.
Sweeping his gaze across the main hall, the patrons and attendants appeared entirely normal. Yet even though his vision had returned to standard reality, Lynch still felt as if those monsters were watching his every move.
No good, I need to hide first. Room 8. Room 8.
Taking advantage of the moment when no other monsters were approaching, Lynch swiftly slipped into a booth, peering through the shadows at the private room marked Room 8 across the way.
No one had gone in or out of the room, and there was no sound from within.
Hopefully it isn’t locked.
In truth, Lynch couldn’t help feeling uneasy, unsure whether his guess was right or wrong, or if his target was truly inside.
Whatever. If I stay out here and another monster pops up behind me, I’ll definitely be scared to death. Whatever is inside, it’s got to be better than dropping dead of fright out here.
His mind made up, Lynch repeatedly checked every direction in the hall to ensure no one was looking his way. Then, at top speed, he darted to the door of the private room and turned the knob.
Click.
The door opened.
Lynch breathed heavily. Sensing that someone’s gaze might be turning toward him, he didn’t have time to hesitate. Slipping inside, he ducked into the pitch-black room and closed the door behind him.
Reaching out to feel along the wall, Lynch pulled down the switch for the gas lamp.
The moment the light flared to life, Lynch saw a figure who had been waiting in the dark the entire time, now staring straight at him.
Rate on N.U.
