Lord-Campione
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Chapter no.52: The House Of Shoko
🕑 Added 2024-12-02 01:00:31 +0000 UTCRika stared at the door, her breaths shallow. It was just a door, plain and wooden, yet it didn’t belong here. It looked as though someone had ripped it out of a quiet suburban house and shoved it into the heart of the ruined detention center. The single number “1” was etched into the wood, glowing faintly as if daring her to touch it.
She didn’t know what Shoko had done, but she could feel the layers of his madness pressing in on her. She’d expected something horrifying—visions of death, twisted illusions meant to torment her. But this? This felt wrong in ways she couldn’t explain, as if reality itself had been altered.
Whatever his game was, she had no choice but to play.
Her fingers trembled as she turned the knob and pushed the door open. The air shifted immediately, cool and stale, sending goosebumps up her arms. Stepping through, she found herself in the first room.
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The room was absurd, almost laughable. It looked like the Halloween aisle of a discount store, complete with dangling sheet ghosts, animatronic zombies that jerked and growled on repeat, and plastic bats glued to the ceiling. Fake spider webs hung haphazardly in the corners, their stickiness clinging to her as she brushed past.
“Really, Shoko?” Rika said aloud, trying to mask her unease with irritation. “This is the best you’ve got?”
She moved quickly, her boots crunching over cheap rubber rats that scurried on wheels. At the far end of the room was another door—identical to the first, with the number “2” carved into it. She reached it without incident, though the static growls of the animatronic zombies sent shivers up her spine.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.
A wave of cold air hit her as she stepped into the second room. Fog crept along the floor, swirling around her boots like it had a mind of its own. The room was larger than the last, its walls disappearing into the mist. Overhead, a mechanical bat circled lazily, its squeaks eerily loud in the oppressive silence.
Somewhere in the fog, a Halloween soundtrack played on a loop. Cheesy organ music and occasional howls echoed faintly, though she couldn’t pinpoint the source.
“Cute,” Rika muttered, stepping carefully through the fog. Her hand never left the grip of her pistol, though she knew deep down it wouldn’t help her here.
As she walked, the fog thickened, clinging to her legs like icy hands. She tried to ignore the way it seemed to pull at her, urging her to stop. Finally, the next door loomed ahead—number “3.”
Rika hesitated. A feeling of dread settled over her, heavy and suffocating. Her chest tightened, and for a brief moment, she couldn’t breathe.
“Get it together,” she whispered, shaking her head.
With trembling hands, she reached for the doorknob and stepped through.
The room was different. There were no gimmicks, no cheap decorations. It was almost normal—wood-paneled walls, a single chair in the center of the floor, and a dim lamp in the corner casting weak light.
But something was wrong.
The shadows shouldn’t have been there.
Rika froze, her eyes darting around the room. The chair’s shadow stretched across the floor, faint and harmless. But there were others—shadows without sources. They flickered along the walls, shifting and bending in ways that made her stomach churn.
“What the hell…” she whispered, backing away toward the door she’d come through. She grabbed the handle and twisted.
It didn’t budge.
Her breath hitched. Someone—or something—had locked it from the other side.
The shadows moved closer, their shapes growing darker, more defined. She drew her pistol and aimed at the nearest one.
The shadows vanished.
Rika blinked, lowering her weapon slightly. The room was still. Only the chair’s shadow remained, stretching innocently across the floor.
She took a hesitant step forward, then stopped cold.
Her shadow was gone.
A cold sweat broke out across her skin. Her hands trembled as she stumbled toward the far door. She didn’t care where it led—she just needed to get out.
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The moment she crossed the threshold, the light vanished.
Rika stood frozen, surrounded by complete darkness. It wasn’t the kind of darkness you find at night, where the faint glow of stars or streetlights offers some semblance of comfort. This was absolute, smothering, and endless.
She couldn’t even see her own hand in front of her face.
Her breathing grew shallow, the sound unnervingly loud in the silence. But as the seconds stretched on, she realized even that sound was fading.
And then it was gone.
Rika clutched at her chest, panic setting in. She could feel her heart beating wildly, but there was no sound. No sound at all.
The silence pressed down on her like a weight, suffocating and cruel. She stumbled forward blindly, her arms outstretched, searching for a wall, a door—anything.
And then she felt it.
Something was behind her.
The silence was broken by a low hum, so faint it was almost imperceptible. But it grew louder, closer, vibrating through the air.
Rika spun around, her pistol raised, though she knew it would be useless.
“Who’s there?”
The hum became a screech, wild and piercing. She screamed, clutching her head as the sound drilled into her skull. It was unbearable—inhuman.
Through the darkness, a flicker of light revealed something ahead. For a split second, she saw it.
And it was nothing.
Nothing human, nothing monstrous—just nothing.
The light vanished, and the screeching reached a crescendo.
Rika ran.
She stumbled backward, her hands fumbling for the door behind her. The handle was there, solid and cold beneath her fingers. She twisted it desperately and fell into the next room.
---
When Rika stumbled into the next room, she fell to the ground hard, her pistol slipping from her grip and clattering onto the wooden floor. For a moment, all she could see was the ceiling, far above her—too far. It wasn’t a ceiling at all but a canopy of trees, their twisted branches reaching into one another, forming an impenetrable maze of greenery and shadow. The room smelled of damp earth and moss, a sharp contrast to the sterile air of the previous spaces.
She lay there, staring up, her breathing ragged. The first thought that crossed her mind wasn’t fear but confusion. How is this here? The detention center was nothing but concrete and ruin. She pushed herself upright, her hands trembling slightly, and took in her surroundings.
The room was massive—easily larger than the ones she’d been through before. The trees were thick, their roots snaking across the wooden floorboards as if they had grown there for decades. Brush and vines obscured most of her vision, and she couldn’t see the walls or the door she’d entered through.
The silence pressed down on her at first, a heavy, unnatural quiet that only deepened her unease. But then, faintly, she began to hear sounds—forest sounds. The chirp of unseen insects, the rustle of leaves, the occasional flap of wings somewhere in the canopy above. It was almost peaceful, but that was what unsettled her most. The sounds felt… wrong. Too distant, too perfect, as if someone had taken a recording of a forest and looped it endlessly.
As she walked deeper into the room, Rika couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. Every shadow between the trees seemed to shift in the corner of her eye, and the sound of her boots on the wooden floor seemed unnaturally loud. She tightened her grip on her pistol, though she couldn’t imagine what good it would do against something like this.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. The words sounded hollow, swallowed by the oppressive air. “Just another trick. That’s all it is. Shoko’s illusions.”
She kept moving, weaving between the trees, brushing aside low-hanging branches and vines. Time lost meaning in this place. She walked and walked, but the door to the next room remained elusive. The forest seemed to stretch endlessly, and though her boots moved steadily across wooden floorboards, the canopy above and the ground below felt like an entirely different world.
Then she felt it.
At first, it was just a single prick against her arm, faint but unmistakable. She flinched, brushing at her skin reflexively. Nothing was there. A moment later, another touch—this time on her neck, then her leg. Tiny, crawling sensations began spreading across her body, moving with maddening precision.
Rika stopped in her tracks, looking down at her arms. Nothing. Her skin was bare, unmarred, yet she could feel them—dozens of tiny legs scurrying up and down, stinging, biting, burrowing. She swatted wildly, her breath coming in short gasps.
“Get off me!”
Her fingers clawed at her arms and legs, her nails leaving angry red marks on her skin, but the crawling didn’t stop. If anything, it intensified.
It wasn’t real. She knew it wasn’t real.
But knowing didn’t matter.
She screamed, her voice tearing through the false serenity of the forest, but the sound barely seemed to carry. She clawed at the floor, crawling blindly through the underbrush, her mind focused on one thought: Find the door.
