Chapter 526 - 3: Waking Up
And her face... had no features.
No eyes, no nose, no mouth—just a smooth, flat plane.
She was holding a stick of bright red lipstick, carefully applying it, stroke by stroke, to that smooth "cheek."
As if there were truly lips there that needed a touch-up.
Seemingly sensing Ron’s gaze, she stopped and slowly turned her face toward him.
Beneath the smooth skin, something indescribable seemed to be squirming faintly.
A sweet voice rang out:
"Am I pretty, Ron?"
"AHHH—!!!"
Ron let out a scream that didn’t sound human!
He shot up from his chair and turned to flee!
He knocked his chair over with a harsh clatter but paid it no mind, simply bolting desperately toward where he remembered the restaurant’s main entrance to be!
From behind him came the sound of footsteps: TAP... TAP... TAP...
They were unhurried, yet they followed him like a shadow.
No matter how fast Ron ran or how many corners he turned, the footsteps always remained clearly audible, not far behind him.
He didn’t even dare to look back. He just ran for his life as the scenery around him blurred and distorted, the ornate restaurant corridor seemingly transforming into an endless, dark tunnel.
"Am... I... pretty...?"
The sweet voice sounded again, this time as if it were right behind his head. It carried a cold, putrid breath that washed over the back of his neck.
"No! Don’t come any closer! Get away!" Ron cried out in despair, his legs growing weak, almost collapsing to the floor.
Just as that icy breath was about to touch his skin.
"Hah—!"
Ron’s eyes flew open. He gasped for air, his heart hammering wildly against his ribs. His back was drenched in an icy cold sweat.
’A dream... It was just a nightmare...’
It took him several seconds to realize he was lying on the hard wooden bed, a coarse, filthy blanket beneath him.
The room was still dim. Only the oil lamp in the corner flickered weakly, hanging on by a thread, casting familiar shadows of clutter onto the walls.
He sighed in relief and raised a hand to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead.
However, as his gaze subconsciously swept toward the center of the room, he froze.
It felt as if all the blood in his veins had frozen solid in an instant.
Beside the stone table, a figure stood silently. He had no idea when she had gotten there.
A light green dress, chestnut curls, a familiar back.
It was Lisa.
Ron’s breath caught. His mind went blank. All he could do was stare wide-eyed at her back.
As if hearing his ragged breathing, the figure stirred slightly and slowly turned around.
Still the same dress, still the same hair.
But the face that turned to him was still the same perfectly smooth, featureless plane from his nightmare.
A sweet voice emanated from the face:
"You’re awake?"
"AHHH—!!"
Ron’s scream tore from his throat. He scrambled and tumbled off the bed, trying to crawl on all fours toward the iron door.
But after crawling just two steps, he discovered in despair that the iron door was gone.
In its place was only a cold, grimy brick wall.
Looking around, he saw that even the high ventilation shaft had vanished. The entire room had become a completely sealed stone box with no exit.
"Don’t run, Ron." The creature in Lisa’s dress walked toward him, her steps soft, her posture even holding a hint of girlish shyness, yet her smooth face was turned right at him.
"Let’s... kiss."
"No! No! Go away!" Ron cowered in the corner, curling into a ball and shaking his head frantically, his face a mess of tears and snot.
She was now in front of him, reaching out with pale, cold hands to cup his face as he trembled violently and tried to twist away in terror.
Her grip was surprisingly strong. Irresistibly, she turned his head back, bit by bit, forcing him to face that smooth, featureless skin.
"Look at me, Ron." The sweet voice was thick with affection. "Let’s kiss."
As she spoke, the smooth face drew closer, and closer.
"AHHH—!!!"
Ron was scared out of his wits, and everything went black.
"GASP! GASP! GASP..."
He jolted awake again, his whole body flopping violently once like a fish out of water, before collapsing limply onto the wooden bed. All that remained was the harsh, wheezing gasp of a broken bellows in his chest and a heartbeat that felt like it would shatter his ribs.
Cold sweat had soaked through all his clothes, leaving them sticky and ice-cold.
’A dream... another dream...’
He didn’t dare to move right away. He just kept his eyes squeezed shut, using all his strength to feel his surroundings.
The coarse blanket, the hard wooden planks, the unique stench of the room... and the faint, blurry light from the oil lamp seeping through his eyelids.
’Right, the oil lamp.’
Slowly, so slowly, he opened his eyes a crack, first confirming the pea-sized, flickering flame in the corner.
Then, incredibly stiffly, with unparalleled fear and caution, he turned his eyes with excruciating slowness toward the center of the room, in the direction of the stone table.
Nothing.
There was no one standing there.
The string of tension in Ron’s mind, stretched to its absolute limit, loosened ever so slightly. He almost collapsed in relief.
He swallowed hard, his throat dry and sore.
But in the next second, a deeper chill seized him.
’Something’s wrong.’
’There’s no one standing... and no one lying down, either.’
The stone table was empty.
The boy in the long black shirt was gone.
...
In the utter silence, Ron could hear his own teeth chattering.
Then, another sound—extremely faint, yet impossible to ignore—wormed its way into his ears.
The sound of breathing.
It wasn’t his own ragged, frantic gasping.
It was another breath—extremely calm and faint, yet unnaturally clear.
Right beside him.
Every hair on his body stood on end, and an icy shudder shot through his entire being.
He forced his neck, which felt rusted shut, to turn, inch by inch, toward the inside of the bed, right next to him.
And then, his breathing stopped completely.
Right there, on the inside of the narrow wooden bed where he lay, almost pressed right up against his body, the boy was lying silently on his side, facing him.
In the dim light, the boy’s dark pupils were as deep as two ancient wells, clearly reflecting Ron’s face, twisted in absolute terror.
The boy’s face was still pale, his lips nearly bloodless.
He looked at Ron, his voice calm and flat:
"You’re awake?"