The Price of High Inspiration

Damn it.

Lynch’s heart felt as if it were about to explode, and his skin crawled. He used every ounce of his strength to suppress the urge to scream or collapse, immediately lowering his head to hide the cold sweat and pale complexion on his face.

What, what kind of monster is that? It has to be a hallucination.

If he hadn't experienced the memories of the mystery relic the other night, he was certain he would have gone insane with fear right there on the spot.

In fact, he wasn't doing much better right now.

“Are you alright, sir?” The emotionless voice came again.

Lynch’s heart beat even faster. He didn't dare lift his head, just shook it while staring at the floor. He stiffly scribbled a few marks on the registration form and pushed it back, but in the end, he couldn't help himself. He stole a glance at the middle-aged supervisor across from him.

The vision had faded. Apart from the man's expressionless face, everything seemed normal, and the red-vested attendant beside him acted as if he saw nothing unusual about his superior, still behaving as usual.

The supervisor took the form and asked with a semblance of concern: “You don't look well. Would you like me to contact the Hall of Suffering for you?”

“No, no thank you. It's my first time in a place like this, so I'm just nervous.”

Lynch forced a smile. Even though the man had returned to normal, the image of the insect head he had just seen kept flashing through his mind. Especially when the man whispered to the normal young attendant in the red vest, Lynch felt as if a giant, grotesque insect were perched right by his ear. Every second felt like a year.

Yet he dared not show it. He instinctively felt that if he revealed he could see the monsters, he would end up in a very troublesome situation.

A phrase he had heard at noon surfaced in his mind: Mystery contact does not begin with the encounter, but with the perception.

Madam Bessie’s lessons still rang in his ears. Lynch realized that if he showed he perceived the anomaly, he would likely be finished on the spot. Looking around, so many guests and normal attendants were entering and exiting safely; these things probably didn't attack guests who couldn't perceive them.

Therefore, Lynch tried his best to act normal. I didn't see anything. I didn't see anything at all.

Sure enough, the supervisor in the purple vest had no intention of attacking him.

“Mick, register this gentleman. Sir, please take a seat in the lounge area. You can also choose one of the private rooms if you need to, though there is an additional charge.”

Lynch nodded and immediately turned to leave, feeling as though his shirt was soaked through.

‘Travel Companion, Travel Companion, what is going on? Why am I seeing these things?’

【When inspiration is too high, one may sometimes see things beyond common sense.】

‘Wait? Are these things real or fake?’

【Both reality and illusion are part of the scenery on your journey; you must taste them for yourself.】

Hmph, fine.

Lynch exhaled, looking back with lingering fear. Whether it was an illusion or not, the grotesque supervisor seemed to have just moved his gaze away from Lynch.

At this moment, he recalled Madam Bessie’s terror once again.

What kind of hellhole is this? What are these things?

Maybe I should just leave.

However, just as he was trying to feign composure, an emotionless female voice suddenly came from behind him:

“Sir.”

Lynch turned around instinctively. As the static flickered across his vision, the phantom of a giant spider head and his own were locked in a ten-eyed stare once more, separated by only a few meters.

Lynch nearly collapsed on the spot, staggering back two steps and grabbing a pillar to steady himself.

At this moment, two other attendants with insect-like overlays were approaching from both sides, surrounding Lynch in a three-sided formation.

In the hall behind them, within his static-filled vision, it seemed as if countless spiderwebs were coiled everywhere. Dozens of white cocoons hung from the ceiling, twisting and struggling from time to time, swaying violently in the air.

Then the static faded, and the hall returned to normal, but the three attendants with the overlays remained as they were. Twenty-four blood-red human eyes stared at Lynch without blinking, and in their cold pupils, it seemed as if an incomprehensible light flickered.

“Sir, are you alright?”

The female attendant reached out to steady him, and Lynch waved his hand in a panic, avoiding her touch to stand on his own. It was a joke—who knew what was touching him? Thinking of the cocoons hanging from the ceiling, Lynch felt as if he had fallen into an ice cellar.

“I'm fine, just hungry.” That was not fine at all. Lynch wore a forced smile, his voice raspy as he spoke, “Is something the matter?”

“You didn't take your number tag.”

The female attendant handed over a metal piece inscribed with the number thirteen. It seemed perfectly normal, yet what reached toward him was a giant, black jointed limb covered in spike-like bristles. It made a clicking sound as it moved, holding the copper tag, and it had already reached right in front of Lynch.

As for the other two attendants, they appeared to be merely standing beside her, yet in the phantom image Lynch saw, two massive spider heads had leaned in close to him, their chelicerae raised high, as if ready to strike at any moment.

The experiences of a shut-in never included content like this. Lynch felt his brain about to explode, as if he would be hung from the ceiling the next moment. But remembering his earlier judgment, he steeled himself.

One more gamble. I don't see it. I don't see anything.

Thinking was one thing, but watching the hideous spider heads sway in front of him still made his legs weak. He could only tense his entire body, enduring the nausea and fear, and reached out his hand while looking away without a trace.

The sensation of the touch against his palm made him want to chop his hand off, but it still felt human, just unnaturally cold. The female attendant left the number tag, gave him a chilling look, and turned to leave. The other two attendants also turned and walked away without a word.

Lynch was already numb; he couldn't even feel fear anymore, only a strong sense of revulsion.

What the hell, are these disgusting things people or monsters? Why do I see them so clearly?

Is this the price of high inspiration?

Lynch finally understood the meaning of that scoff in his mind when he entered the door.

He stood dazed for a moment as his ability to think slowly returned.

The aftereffects of the terror finally washed over his will, and his legs began to tremble.

He scanned the hall. The guests and attendants were all normal, yet even with his vision returned to normal, Lynch felt they were still watching him.

No, I should hide for a bit. Room 8, Room 8.

Taking advantage of the moment when no other monsters were approaching, Lynch quickly snuck into a booth, peering at the private room marked with an eight from the shadows.

No one had entered or exited the room, and there was no movement inside.

I hope it isn't locked.

Lynch couldn't help but feel uneasy, wondering if his guess was right or wrong, and 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 has to be better than dropping dead from fright out here.

With his mind made up, Lynch checked every direction in the hall again to ensure no one was watching this area, then dashed to the door of the room as fast as he could and turned the handle.

Click.

The door opened.

Lynch’s breathing was ragged. He felt as if someone’s gaze had shifted toward him. He didn't have time to think; he slipped into the pitch-black room and pulled the door shut behind him.

Feeling along the wall, Lynch flipped the switch for the gas lamp.

As the light flickered on, Lynch saw a person who had been sitting in the dark room all along, now staring straight at him.