The sheer strength of her grip sent a jolt of disbelief through me.
"Ehh?" The sound slipped from my mouth, more out of instinct than comprehension.
Before I could process what was happening, she screamed—a shrill, ragged cry that felt like it came from deep within some abyss far older than the house itself. Her icy fingers clamped around my leg with the force of a vice.
Then everything spun.
"Wah-ah-ah-ah!"
My scream pitched high, comically undignified, as she hurled me like a toy. The world blurred into streaks of motion. My back slammed into something warm—Ronald. The two of us collapsed into a tangle of limbs and panic.
"Ack!"
Our cries overlapped like broken chords, the chaotic thud of our collision barely muffling the horror chasing us.
I blinked rapidly, disoriented, the world still tilting around me—until Ronald grabbed my shoulders and shook me hard, his voice cracking through the haze like a whip.
"Llyne! Llyne!"
Then—SMACK!
And again. And again.
"Get a grip already!"
Pain registered.
Clarity followed.
"Oui! Was she strong!" I gasped, eyes finally snapping into focus. "Looks like our only chance is to run away."
Ronald didn't waste a second. He yanked me to my feet with a strength that belied his usual cowardice. We turned, bolting again down the endless corridor. The woman's shrieking grew louder behind us, her wails clawing at our sanity.
"My kick didn't work!" I cried out mid-sprint.
"That's because zombies don't feel pain, Llyne! They're already dead!" Ronald answered between gasps.
"But aren't zombies supposed to be weak?!"
Ronald shot me a glance, panic and sarcasm blending into one sharp breath. "Maybe it's an evolved type?"
I barked out a laugh—dry, wild, frantic. "You mean the first zombie we face is an evolved type? What rotten luck!" I screamed, voice rising with the tempo of terror.
And then—
Hope.
A door. Just meters away. Slightly ajar. A speck of salvation in this madness.
"Ronald!" I shouted, my voice cutting through the dread.
He saw it. We didn't need words.
We ran.
The howling behind us grew sharper. The beat of her hands against the walls like drums of death.
We reached the door.
SLAM.
The heavy wood shut behind us with a satisfying thud.
Silence didn't follow.
BANG.
Her fist smashed through the wood, splinters flying between Ronald and me like shrapnel.
"That's some strong-ass zombie!" I yelled, stepping back as more cracks spiderwebbed across the wood.
"What do we do? I don't think the door can hold much longer!" Ronald shouted, eyes wide, body trembling.
My torchlight swept forward—only to reveal a twisting series of doors, arranged like the bones of a creature made of passageways and confusion.
"Let's try opening those doors!" I said, urgency snapping at my heels.
Ronald didn't question. He nodded. We rushed forward.
Door by door, we twisted knobs. Turned handles.
Nothing.
Still locked.
Still locked.
Still locked—
Clack.
"This one!" Ronald shouted, pointing to a door that creaked open.
At the same moment—
BOOM.
The zombie lady tore through the previous door like it was paper. We turned. We screamed.
"AACCCKKKK!!!"
In a wild burst of motion, I kicked Ronald through the door—then dove in after him. As I slammed the door shut, her bony hand grazed my hair, clawing inches from my neck.
The latch clicked.
Darkness fell.
We collapsed.
Silence.
We waited. Our breaths are loud in the stillness.
Ronald exhaled in disbelief. "We made it."
"For now." I nodded, eyes scanning the room again. "We can't stay here for too long. We don't know when she'll find us and break through."
He agreed with a nod.
I slumped against the door, every muscle trembling from the exertion. "What a narrow escape," I muttered.
Then came the words I wasn't ready for.
"How the heck did that zombie lady come out of the portrait? And are we in some kind of horror genre world? Gosh, this place doesn't make any sense."
Ronald's voice was casual—too casual.
"Hm? But I thought there's a demon inside you, Llyne."
I snapped my gaze toward him. "How do you know that?!"
He smirked. "Isaac told me. We communicate sometimes."
"Oui. That small oaf…" I grumbled, then rubbed my arms as the room's cold crept under my skin. "Anyways, I'm getting chills down my back, so let's block the entrance with something."
"Let's block the entrance with these." Ronald lifted one of the paintings off the wall.
I turned to look at it—and froze.
The painting was of a child. A girl.
Ethereal, doll-like beauty. Blonde waves, cheeks like peaches. Her green eyes almost glowed. She wore a dress spun from dreams—rose pink and sapphire blue.
And coiled on her lap—
A king cobra.
Coiled. Calm. Regal.
Its eyes stared straight out of the canvas.
I swallowed hard.
The image sinking deep into my thoughts.
'Why a cobra…?'
And then I saw it.
Or didn't.
There was no death date. No numbers etched into the corner of the painting.
"Err... Ronald...?" My voice was quiet.
"Yes?" He turned.
"Let's forget this room and explore another one, what do you say?"
"Why? Besides, the zombie is still out there."
"Cause... why not?" I said with a weak smile, eyes still locked on the portrait.
"But I haven't finished looking at all these paintings," he said, turning to the wall.
I followed his gaze.
There were more.
All of them—children. Beautiful. Strange. Every canvas masterfully painted, as if the artist had breathed life into them.
"Whoever drew these paintings is really talented," Ronald said. "They seem almost enchanting."
"Charming us to death more likely," I muttered.
I knelt down and checked the lower corners.
No death dates. Not a single one.
Just like the woman.
"…They all have no date of death," I whispered. "Same as the portrait of the zombie lady. Why?"
"Did you say something just now?" Ronald asked.
"Huh? Oh. Nothing important." I gave him a tight smile, though my mind raced.
'These paintings couldn't possibly… come to life too, right?'
And then—
HISSSSS.
I froze.
My blood turned cold.
That sound wasn't human.
It wasn't in the painting.
The sound came from behind us.
From within the room.