Bang! Bang! Bang!
The Iron Maiden trembled.
The thunderous clamor shattered the heavy silence that had settled in the chamber like dust over time. The iron prison that was supposed to hold our undead guest groaned in protest.
"Oui... Couldn't we have one peaceful moment for a change?" I muttered, exasperation thick in my voice.
Ronald shifted beside me, brow furrowing.
"I guess the zombie lady has fully recovered," he said, as if announcing the weather forecast.
But the moment for snark was gone in a heartbeat.
CRACK!
The locks burst apart in a violent explosion of sparks and rusted metal. From within the Iron Maiden's jagged maw, the zombie lady erupted—not crawling, not limping—charging, faster than before, wilder than before, her fury carved into every movement.
The air turned heavy. Musty decay and centuries of rot pressed into my lungs. In the low light, her hollow eyes shone with a twisted clarity—like hunger had finally remembered what it wanted.
Her gaze fixed on us.
And she lunged.
Reflex took over.
My body moved before thought could catch up. Ronald dove right, I rolled to the left, and in that blink, her claws slashed past our necks with ghost-thin margins.
Time slowed. Her figure—a blur of death—crashed into the opposite wall, stone splintering under the impact.
BOOM.
Dust burst like smoke. Plaster cracked and rained in chunks. The chamber trembled.
I couldn't help myself. A short, sharp laugh escaped.
"Serve you right!"
But we both knew.
This wasn't over.
The dust hadn't even settled before she rose again. Unfazed. Her twisted body straightened with inhuman speed. Her clothes fluttered around her like torn flags at the end of a war.
Grrrrghhhhhh...
That low, guttural growl cut through the silence. A sound less of rage and more of inevitable hunger.
Her eyes locked onto me.
Heart. Stop beating.
I took a step back instinctively.
"Uh-oh," I muttered.
Her steps were uneven, erratic. Yet every one brought her closer with certainty.
But then—I smiled.
Not because I wasn't scared. I was.
But because she wouldn't expect a grin.
The zombie lady froze mid-stride, tilted her rotting head in confusion.
"Ronald! Now!" I barked.
Ronald, standing across the room exactly where I needed him, moved. No hesitation. No panic. Just action.
He grabbed the old knife tied to the lever's pulley system—and with one swift motion, cut the frayed rope.
SNIP.
The thick rope screamed as it snapped. A shadow moved above us.
The cage fell.
The rush of air, the shift of weight—everything collapsed into that single moment.
CRASH.
Steel thundered into the earth. The massive cage slammed shut around the zombie lady. Her roar was cut off, muffled beneath the sound of clashing bars and screeching hinges.
She thrashed. Screamed. Twisted.
But the iron held.
She was trapped.
And we were safe—again.
I leaned against the wall, breathless, and grinned like a victorious jester.
"Look who's trapped again!"
Ronald approached, glancing at the violently shaking cage with an odd softness in his eyes.
"I feel kinda sorry for her."
I turned to him sharply, eyes wide.
"Oh no you don't. Don't even think about letting her go after she nearly KILLED us!"
The desperation in my voice didn't even try to hide itself.
But Ronald shook his head gently.
"Don't worry, I won't. I've had enough running for today."
"...And fainting." I smirked.
He flushed red, scratching his head, lips curling into a sheepish smile.
"So, uh... what do we do now? Are we supposed to face that old ghost or something?"
His voice wavered with dread, just enough to remind me he hadn't forgotten our real mission.
I laughed, patting my stomach.
"Now? Nah. We can tackle the ghostly encounter after we've had a good meal."
"Eat? How can you eat after what just happened?" Ronald gawked, utterly scandalized.
"But, aren't you hungry?" I tilted my head.
Ronald opened his mouth to respond—
Growl~
The silence broke with a deep, betraying rumble.
My eyes dropped toward the source.
I looked at Ronald's stomach.
Then at Ronald's face.
Beet red.
"Oh?" I teased.
He covered his stomach with both hands.
"Let's feast!" I declared, grabbing his arm and dragging him forward.
I kicked the door open with dramatic flair.
"Door Maze, here we come again!"
But what greeted us wasn't cold labyrinthine stone.
It was… a living room.
A warm, rustic fireplace. Cozy armchairs. A table. Everything coated in sunlight.
Behind us: iron cages, broken stone, and blood-soaked memories.
In front of us: home.
"Huh? Wait a minute! Where's the Door Maze?"
"It disappeared," Ronald replied like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I stared.
"Oh well," I sighed. "Guess that saved us the trouble of coming back here."
We stepped in, wary but grateful. Ronald, ever the handyman, began setting up the fireplace.
I turned to the dining table.
Crows. Fat. Plump. Perched like offerings.
Poor birds never saw it coming.
They were dinner now.
"Yum... Mmm..." I munched on crow leg, savoring the oily gamey flavor. Ronald sat beside me, chewing with solemn silence.
For a moment, everything faded.
The zombie. The ghost. The screaming iron. It all fell away under the simple pleasure of food.
We lay on the wooden floor, the meal still warm in our bellies.
"Wah! What a hearty meal that was." I sighed contentedly, patting my stomach.
"I'm having indigestion..." Ronald murmured, face twitching with pain.
I frowned. "Huh? Why? Did you eat too fast?"
He looked away.
"Cuz we gonna face the old ghost soon."
'Ah.'
I reached out and gently patted his head.
"It's gonna be alright, Ronald. We've faced that old ghost before, and look! We're still alive!"
He turned, tears threatening to spill, snot already making its move.
"Weallyy?"
I grabbed a cloth and wiped his face clean.
"Yup! Trust me, and everything will be fine."
He nodded.
"Okay. We can do this."
"That's the right attitude." I ruffled his hair, and this time he smiled—real, full, bright.
He stood up, fire returning to his eyes.
"Let's go hunt that old ghost."
But I leaned back with a yawn.
"Hold your horses, cowboy. Let's relax a bit."
"Huh? We're not gonna strike the old ghost now?"
"Not saying we won't, partner. But even ghost hunters need a breather."
He blinked, torn between momentum and logic.
"I guess you're right. A little break won't hurt."
"That's the spirit." I patted the spot beside me.
He joined me.
And for the first time in what felt like forever—
We rested.
Not in fear.
Not in haste.
But in peace.
Even if just for a moment.