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墨書 Inktalez
Ethan was about to turn away from everything before him—the creature wriggling out from Grandma's murky eye, the wet sounds amplifying in his ears. His stomach churned violently, the urge to vomit rising within him, almost compelling him to flee.
However, just as he prepared to turn, four cold and powerful hands suddenly gripped his shoulders. The force was so heavy that he could barely breathe, instantly pinning him in place, unable to move. He felt the fingers on his shoulders tighten like some invisible shackles, firmly anchoring him in that suffocating reality.
"What’s wrong with you, child?" A voice filled with fury erupted from behind him, causing Ethan's heart to skip a beat. He dared not look back, knowing it was his father's voice, laced with anger and disappointment.
He timidly turned his head to the side and saw his father glaring at him, his face contorted with suppressed rage and confusion. His father's gaze was fixed on Grandma's lifeless body; her pale, rigid face and the oozing eyes made it nearly impossible for Ethan to contain the anger boiling within him.
"How could you not even tell the dead apart? You just stand there and watch her like this?" His father's voice struck like a loud whip, each word carrying a stinging force that mercilessly lashed at Ethan's heart. He felt as if a massive stone were pressing down on his chest, suffocating him and leaving him without a defense.
"How could this happen..." His mother's voice was low and icy, dripping with disdain. Ethan turned to see her standing on his other side, her eyes narrowed slightly, her face etched with disgust and shock. Her gaze darted between Ethan and Grandma's corpse, seemingly unable to believe that her child could be so oblivious, doing nothing in such a situation.
"Ethan..." His mother's tone was as cold as ice, carrying an unmistakable sense of alienation. "How can we trust you? How could you be so dull?" Her eyes were filled with disappointment towards Ethan, as if he were a stranger she could not comprehend. She looked at Grandma's body, her brow furrowed and lips twisted slightly, clearly overwhelmed by extreme discomfort and revulsion at the scene.
Ethan felt trapped in the shadows of his childhood, unable to escape. He wanted to explain himself, to tell them it wasn't intentional, to clarify that he didn't know how to handle this situation. He wished he could convey that when he realized something was wrong with Grandma, fear had frozen him in place; he simply didn't know what to do.
But his lips trembled; his throat felt blocked as if choked by an unseen force. A thousand words were stuck in his chest, yet he couldn't utter a single one. The weight of his parents' gazes bore down on him like invisible shackles, binding him tightly and preventing any escape.
He stood there feeling like a condemned prisoner, everything around him accusing and condemning him. His heart brimmed with helplessness and regret, as if he had returned to that younger version of himself—powerless and desperate for approval from his parents. No matter how hard he tried to be the "obedient child," he always received either indifference or anger in return.
Now that feeling of being unable to defend himself returned with a vengeance, trapping him in torment from disappointment and shame. He felt his legs weaken; the fear and helplessness inside him swirled like a dark vortex pulling him deeper.
Ethan's body was shaken vigorously by his father and mother; their hands gripped his shoulders like iron claws, applying relentless pressure. The voices around him grew increasingly piercing—his father's voice filled with rage and frustration: "How could you be so foolish? Do you even understand what you've done?" His mother's voice dripped with coldness and disdain: "You can't even handle something this simple; what good are you?" Each of these words pierced Ethan's heart like needles, mercilessly striking at him again and again.
He felt his shoulder being shaken to the point of dislocation, and the words exchanged between them grew increasingly intense, shifting from questioning to cursing and condemnation. "You're nothing but a useless waste!" "You can't even tell the dead apart; what else can you do?" His father's roar thundered in his ears, causing Ethan's heart to race, the pressure in his mind mounting as if it would burst at any moment.
"Shut up!" Ethan suddenly snapped, his voice tearing through his throat, filled with uncontainable despair and pain. He could no longer endure the insults and accusations from his parents; the pressure in his heart had reached its limit. "You both shut up! This isn't my fault!"
His body trembled from the overwhelming emotional turmoil, his hands flailing involuntarily as he tried to break free from their grip. "Grandma's death has nothing to do with me! I didn't do anything wrong! Do you hear me? None of this is my fault!" His voice echoed sharply and desperately in the surrounding darkness, as if he were trying to expel all his emotions in one breath.
However, as Ethan's voice gradually subsided, he felt an unsettling silence. The grip on him remained tight, but it felt strange, as if something was amiss. His breathing became rapid, his chest heaving violently, and everything around him suddenly felt eerie and unsettling.
He slowly opened his eyes, still filled with anger and pain, but when his gaze fell upon the faces of his parents before him, his heart lurched, and his breath caught in his throat.
Those were not his parents.
Standing before him were no longer his father and mother but Christopher. Their faces had somehow transformed into that horrific visage, twisted by blood and flesh. The skin was marred with frenzied scratches, bloodied and mangled, half-hanging as if it had been torn apart while still alive. On that face, both the indifference of his mother and the fury of his father were entirely replaced by this terrifying countenance.
Christopher wore a bizarre smile, the corners of his mouth curling up maniacally to reveal dark red teeth, eyes glinting with an indescribable madness and hatred. "It's not your fault?" he whispered in a distorted voice that dripped with a chilling rasp and mockery.
Ethan's eyes widened in horror; his body stiffened to the point of immobility as a bone-chilling dread crept up his spine. His mind went blank in an instant, his heart pounding violently in his chest as if it would leap out of his throat. He struggled to say something, to explain, to scream, but no sound emerged. That bloodied face—Christopher's face—was drawing closer and closer, becoming more twisted.
"None of this is your fault, right?" Christopher's voice continued to whisper in his ear, laced with sarcasm and resentment. The surrounding darkness thickened further, like an invisible web completely ensnaring Ethan as he fell into a terrifying abyss.
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