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墨書 Inktalez
Her stomach churned, her legs weakened, and her body instinctively took a step back, breath coming in rapid, chaotic gasps. The scene before her exceeded her comprehension; this was not the reality she knew, but a complete nightmare.
Becky felt an increasing pressure in her chest, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. She wanted to turn and run, but her gaze was glued to the horrifying sight.
At that moment, it seemed her footsteps startled the only figure standing in the room.
Ethan remained facing away from her, his body completely still, like a puppet under control. Becky's heart raced as she felt herself sinking into an abyss of endless fear. Her feet involuntarily retreated, only to find there was nowhere left to go.
In that instant, Ethan suddenly turned around.
The face of the Wooden Mask intruded into Becky's view unexpectedly. Those hollow eyes stared at her intently, and the wooden mouth twisted into a grotesque smile, as if welcoming her arrival. A chill rapidly climbed up Becky's spine, plunging her into a chaos of terror.
Then, Ethan's masked mouth abruptly opened with a sharp "crack," like a vast chasm unfolding before her. In that endless darkness, the last sensation Becky felt was fear before everything was consumed by that merciless void.
Her perception quickly faded; the world became blurred and silent before her eyes. The last thing she saw was that eerie face accompanied by the eternally gaping dark mouth swallowing everything she was.
In the dark alley, a cold wind carried a stench of decay, raging between the crumbling walls like an invisible ghost whispering in her ear. Several old newspapers flew about in the wind, scattered on the damp ground. One bore a large headline reading: "Multiple Decapitation Cases in the City! Suspect Believed to be Mentally Ill Ethan Murray, Highly Dangerous; Report Any Sightings Immediately." The photo of Ethan on the paper was blurry, yet his deep-set eyes appeared particularly sinister in the shadows, as if staring through the paper at anyone who dared to look.
Beside a trash can, a ragged homeless man crouched on the ground, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to fend off the bone-chilling cold. His face was reddened by the biting wind, and his trembling hands reached toward a battered iron bucket containing only a flickering glimmer of fire. He blew on his palms repeatedly, trying to spread that faint warmth throughout his body.
Suddenly, the homeless man's gaze was drawn to the newspaper. He reached out to pick it up, his rough fingers gliding over the chilling report as his eyes quickly scanned the alarming phrases. Ethan's name, decapitation cases, highly dangerous—these keywords pierced his mind like daggers, yet he paid them no mind. He merely scoffed softly, thinking it was just another piece of societal trash that had nothing to do with him. Skillfully shredding the newspaper, he prepared to toss it into the iron bucket to stoke the dying flames.
However, just as he bent down to throw the torn paper into the fire, his gaze was involuntarily drawn to a figure at the alley's entrance.
The figure stood silently at the mouth of the alley, motionless, as if merging with the cold night. The homeless man squinted, trying to discern the strange silhouette, but the dim light at the alley's entrance obscured the person's face. He vaguely sensed that the figure was watching him, like a silent beast ready to pounce on its prey.
The homeless man's hand froze, scraps of newspaper fluttering gently in the wind. A chill ran down his spine as his heartbeat quickened. The figure at the alley's entrance remained still and silent, as if all the sounds of the night had been swallowed by it.
Suddenly, the flames flickered as if brushed by an invisible force, and in an instant, they extinguished. The glow from the iron barrel vanished so quickly it was as if it had never existed, leaving only a cold darkness pressing in. The homeless man instinctively looked up, trying to see that strange figure again. However, at that moment, his perspective underwent a shocking transformation—everything flipped upside down.
The world before him seemed inverted; the familiar ground became the ceiling, and he saw his own body helplessly collapsing toward the ground. His hands remained stiffly braced against the earth, as if in futile resistance, while his body tilted downward inch by inch until it crashed heavily onto the cold surface with a dull thud.
Panic swept over him; his mind went blank, unable to comprehend this bizarre shift in perspective. As his consciousness gradually cleared, he suddenly realized—his head was being tightly cradled in that figure's hands, turned upside down.
Those cold hands were as firm as iron claws, holding his head against its chest like a trophy on display. The world before him remained inverted; his gaze could only weakly watch as his headless body continued to fall, merging with the ground into a still corpse.
In that endless darkness, the homeless man finally saw the face of that figure.
It was an extraordinarily eerie visage—no, it should be called a strange Wooden Mask. The mask's hollow eyes were vacant and devoid of life; through those voids, something not of this world seemed to be staring back at him. The corners of its mouth curled slightly upward into a sinister smile, one that held no warmth but instead mocked the foolishness and ignorance of the entire world.
The homeless man's head could still feel that chill; his final awareness shattered within that grinning mask. He could not make a sound or resist; he could only be completely consumed by that chilling smile and merge into the darkness.
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