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墨書 Inktalez
Chapter Three
I awoke to a bone-chilling cold, my temples throbbing and a dull ache lingering in my head. The surroundings were pitch black, and I couldn't see my hand in front of my face, as if something was stirring in the darkness. A damp, decaying odor filled the air, mingled with a sharp chemical scent that made me feel nauseous. I tried to move my limbs, only to realize I was tightly bound to a cold metal chair, completely immobilized.
"Awake?" A low voice emerged from the darkness, belonging to Chen Mo, like a beast lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce and tear apart its prey. Suddenly, a dim yellow light flickered on, stabbing at my eyes like countless needles.
As my vision adjusted, I discerned my surroundings—I was in an underground chamber, approximately thirty square meters in size. The walls were lined with a dozen wax figures. Under the harsh light, they stood rigidly, their expressions eerie and contorted, their eyes seemingly flickering as if they were conveying some unspeakable agony or mocking my ignorance and fear.
"Do you know?" Chen Mo stepped closer to me, playing with a sharp scalpel in his hand, its blade glinting ominously. "Every piece of art requires patience and focus." His gaze swept over the wax figures on the wall, a glimmer of obsession flashing in his eyes. "Especially when it comes to transforming living beings into eternal works of art."
I fought against the fear rising within me and felt my stomach churn as I attempted to reason with him. "Why do this? These are innocent people."
He suddenly burst into laughter, the sound echoing harshly in the chamber like some nocturnal creature's eerie call. "Innocent? No, they all volunteered." He approached one of the wax figures dressed in a red gown and gently caressed her cheek, his fingers gliding over her lifeless face. "Especially Xiao Wan; she is the most special one."
I noticed his expression soften as he spoke, as if lost in a memory filled with deep nostalgia tinged with an almost imperceptible pain. "Twenty years ago, Xiao Wan was my fiancée. She was so beautiful, so perfect—like an exquisite piece of art."
"And then?" I asked cautiously while secretly trying to move my bound wrists in an effort to free myself from the ropes.
Chen Mo's expression darkened suddenly, as if an old wound had been exposed—painful and grotesque. "But she betrayed me and eloped with someone else. I searched for her for so long until one rainy night I cornered her at the end of this street." His voice turned sinister, emerging from deep within his throat filled with endless hatred. "I wanted to forgive her, but she chose to jump into the river rather than return to me!"
My heart nearly stopped—this was just the beginning of the truth. The wax figure in the red dress was his fiancée. The other missing women had been targeted because they bore some resemblance to her. In that moment, I felt as if I were staring at a venomous snake slowly slithering toward me.
"Later, I retrieved her body," Chen Mo continued, his gaze growing more frenzied like a mad artist consumed by obsession. "I discovered that only by turning her into a wax figure could I preserve her beauty forever. This revelation changed my life and gave me a new pursuit."
He turned to me, a sickly smile spreading across his face, one that sent chills down my spine. "Do you know? Every girl who comes here shares traits similar to Xiao Wan. Some have the same gaze, others the same smile, or even the same aura. And you," he leaned closer to my face, his icy breath brushing against my skin, "your stubbornness is just like hers."
At that moment, a sudden rush of footsteps echoed from upstairs, sounding like someone was running or perhaps a heavy object was being moved. Chen Mo's expression changed, and he quickly walked toward the control panel in the corner. I noticed him press a button, and immediately the ground emitted mechanical sounds, as if some mechanism had been activated.
"Police! Don't move!" With the sound of a door being broken down, beams of bright light pierced into the basement, slicing through the darkness like swords. Chen Mo did not resist; he simply stood there with an eerie smile on his face, as if waiting for something.
"You are too late," he said softly, a hint of pride and relief in his voice. "My collection of artworks is now complete."
The police rushed in and swiftly subdued Chen Mo. As they untied my ropes, I realized I was drenched in cold sweat, as if I had just been pulled from water. A Female Officer handed me a cup of warm water and said gently, "We received an alert from your colleague. She said you were supposed to submit your work today but couldn’t be reached."
So it was my editor who saved me. During the police search of the secret room, they discovered more chilling evidence hidden in a compartment: detailed surgical records, tools for preservation, and photographs of each victim during their lives—each photo seemed to be a silent accusation.
But what shocked them most was the diary found in a safe. The diary revealed a more brutal truth: twenty years ago, Chen Mo's fiancée did not die because she betrayed him; she died trying to escape after discovering his perverse tendencies. Her death marked the beginning of this madness. The words within the diary revealed Chen Mo's twisted love and deep remorse; he poured his love for his fiancée and his hatred for himself into these "Wax Figures."
As I was taken to the hospital by ambulance, dawn was breaking. In the morning light, that building filled with evil was cordoned off by police tape while passersby pointed and whispered. I gazed out the window, my mind replaying scenes from the secret room—those "Wax Figures" with their hollow eyes, Chen Mo's maniacal laughter, and the bloody truths recorded in that diary.
As a Thriller Writer, I knew this story was far more horrifying than anything I had ever written. Now, I had to document it so that the world would know what terrifying truths lie behind some works of art.
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