Heh heh heh! Scared now, you naturally wicked little brat?
Emma's nightmare adventure earlier was, of course, all Barry's doing.
As a man of great love and virtue, Barry had spotted a crooked little sapling that seemed fated to him—and so he took it upon himself to straighten it out, no matter the effort required, to help it grow strong and healthy.
So he used his unbeatable power of imagined transformation to resurrect the dead Lavia and stage a little on-site "zombie" performance—a vengeful spirit claiming a life.
Naughty kids need tough lessons!
After scaring Emma, Barry felt like the cross on his chest shimmered even brighter.
At that moment, Barry stood in the dark, disguised as a tiny straw-man doll tucked beneath Emma's bed.
If you try to do anything bad, Uncle Barry will be watching you the whole time.
Whether sensing his great benevolence or not, Emma, sleeping, furrowed her brow and looked uneasy.
The instant Emma jerked awake from the dream, the dream-bubble burst—and Barry, about to be pushed back into the dream realm, grabbed onto the thread of her waking consciousness just in time.
Then they were back in reality.
Bold move.
For a malicious spirit that feeds on dreams, sneaking into waking reality is risky—but unlike Freddy, who's weak in reality, Barry still stands tall in the real world.
So he wasn't afraid.
After all, a true do-gooder goes all the way—deliver the message and see it through.
Now that his lesson had begun, Barry was determined to straighten out this wicked little brat properly.
Besides, there weren't that many dream realms to visit—missing one was wasteful.
And Barry felt it was odd that someone as kind as he was would have a connection with Emma. Something didn't sit right.
His instincts told him there was more to this than met the eye.
He glanced at the shrunken silver cross hanging from his neck and mulled it over.
Was this a mission? A test?
…
"Emma, is something wrong? Why are you staring at me while I sweep? Do I have something strange on me?"
As she swept the dust from the stairs, the maid Lavia asked the child who had been staring since she began working.
Emma was usually obedient—well-behaved and respectful. She wouldn't disrupt someone working or throw a tantrum. But today she was different: she just kept staring.
Emma thought: I'll keep watching you, Lavia.
After the massive nightmare last night, whenever Emma looked at Lavia, she saw a demon wearing human skin. If anyone discovered Lavia's true identity, they'd get eaten.
So Emma hid herself.
"No—I'm just… thinking. You're being too sensitive," Emma offered with a flawless fake smile.
"Alright, that's my problem then," Lavia sighed and sped up her sweeping without realizing it.
From the corner of her eye, Lavia noticed Emma still glancing at her now and then. Only after the stairs were done did the strange stare finally stop.
During the afternoon nap, the tired Emma—having slept poorly—couldn't fend off sleep and dozed off on the sofa.
Barry, watching from the shadows, tensed—he sensed it.
Dreams. The scent of dreams.
They were close.
I must enter now.
Diving into the dream world, Barry found Emma's dream-bubble nearby and slipped inside.
…
"Emma, is something wrong? Why are you staring at me while I sweep? Do I have something strange on me?"
Lavia asked again, puzzled by Emma's furtive gaze. In her mind, what was so interesting about sweeping? Hadn't she seen it before?
The repeating scene and dialogue felt eerily familiar to Emma.
"No—I'm just—ah!" Mid-sentence, Emma screamed. She watched Lavia slip—then tumble down the stairs with a sickening roll, striking the final step and dying on impact.
There was a shocking amount of blood, pooling into a trapezoid-shaped stain.
She swore she hadn't done anything—she didn't even have the thought of hurting Lavia.
But Lavia… had killed herself.
Emma was stunned at the suddenness of Lavia's death, and then the bone-grating creak started again.
"Why am I saying 'again'?" Emma muttered to herself, a sick feeling crawling up from her gut.
Run—get out now!
That's what her instincts told her.
Emma, always one to follow her instincts, hurried down the stairs to go tell her father David—"the maid fell and died."
Thump-thump-thump—the rapid sound of feet on the stairs.
"Why am I back on the second floor?!" Emma cried. Though she was descending, she somehow reappeared at the second-floor landing.
Maybe I'm dreaming?
Emma pinched her pale cheek hard and pulled. "Ow—that hurts. It's real. Dreams don't hurt."
Then a memory surfaced in her dream-mind—a terrifying recollection.
When the memory came fully awake, Emma's face drained of color. She suspected Lavia would fake rising from the dead again.
She had to leave immediately.
Thump-thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump.
She barreled down three flights of stairs in a burst, but each time she crossed the last step she'd reappear at the second-floor landing—caught in an endless loop of stairs.
If going down didn't work, what about going up?
Emma tried the reverse. She climbed and found herself at the first step of the ground floor.
There, Lavia's lifeless eyes stared at her, as if to say: you can't escape.
The creaking grew louder and faster; Lavia's body began twitching—her shambling resurrection accelerating.
"Daddy! Daddy!" Little Emma cried out in fear, instinctively shouting for her father—yet there was no answer.
The louder she yelled, the more frenzied Lavia's convulsions became. Now half her body was already propped up.
Emma ran back up to the second floor, putting as much distance as she could.
"Don't come near me! You fell on your own! It's not my fault!" she pleaded in a trembling voice.
Seeing Lavia crawling from the blood, faking life, made Emma's skin crawl; her screams echoed up and down the stairwell.
"You hurt me—I remember it all. I remember! Emma, you don't understand what life is. Your malice killed me. I want revenge!" Lavia rasped, her voice like a demonic chant ringing in Emma's ears.
"I—I didn't! I didn't do it, it wasn't me…" Emma sobbed.
"If you won't confess, then come with me to hell!"
Suddenly both sides of the staircase collapsed, revealing a hellish scene below—like a furnace of torment.
"No! No! I don't want to go to hell! I was wrong—I really was wrong!" Emma wailed, shaking her head so hard tears streamed down her face.
—