Chapter Thirty-Two: Lobby Hotel [5]
"Ding…"
That faint, unsettling metallic chime—now the soundtrack to our ongoing nightmare inside this cursed elevator—echoed once more through the tilted cabin.
The flickering, pale yellow lights finally steadied, as if the ancient machine had decided to grant us a brief moment to catch our breath…
The severed arm of the pale entity still lay on the floor, its final spasms having ceased.
Yet the sight of it alone was enough to stir another wave of nausea.
"Huff… haah!!"
Leo leaned against the wall, his face pale as chalk. His left forearm was wrapped in a torn piece of cloth that was quickly soaking through with blood.
"I'm… really sorry!"
Noor pressed against the wound, silent tears tracing lines down her dust-streaked face.
Sam Owens stared at the newly lit indicator above the control panel—the strange symbol of a closed human eye surrounded by a ring of thorns.
As for me… I was trying very hard not to throw up.
The terror from the flesh floor hadn't fully faded.
Adrenaline still coursed through my veins, mixed with that familiar, suffocating tension.
'A closed eye… surrounded by thorns…' I thought, staring at the glowing symbol.
'That can't mean anything good.'
"Kiiiik… shhhhh…"
The heavy brass elevator doors began to open again…
But this time, the movement was slow and hesitant, accompanied by a faint metallic groan and the hiss of steam—like some ancient, colossal machine awakening.
All of us instinctively stepped back, expecting another fleshy corridor… or that long gray nightmare waiting for us.
But what we saw when the doors fully opened was… completely different.
Silence.
Absolute, suffocating silence—so thick it felt tangible, almost painful to the eyes and ears.
A pale gray darkness.
Not complete blackness, but something like twilight… or a room whose lights had been extinguished centuries ago—just enough to vaguely make out shapes.
There was no smell of rot or blood.
No pulsating flesh walls.
Only silence.
And that gray darkness that seemed to swallow every sound and every trace of light.
"Wh… what the hell is this place?" Noor whispered, her voice barely audible.
She sounded afraid that even the faintest sound might shatter this oppressive stillness… and awaken something better left undisturbed.
"..."
No one answered.
I stared into the unknown, a mixture of fear, confusion, and curiosity washing over me.
This floor… was completely different.
"We need to get out of this elevator," Leo finally said.
His voice was strained, but that commanding tone hadn't left him—not even after his injury.
"Staying here isn't an option. And that severed arm on the floor… I don't want to find out if it decides to grow a new body and join us in this cramped box."
I nodded.
Being trapped in a metal coffin with a still-living piece of a monster was not comforting in the slightest.
"Noor," Leo turned to the orange-haired girl, who was still trying to tend his wound.
"Can you sense anything outside? Any movement? Anything that might tell us what kind of place this is?"
"O-okay…"
She closed her eyes and focused intensely, her face pale under the dim gray light.
Moments passed… stretching into what felt like an eternity.
"Silence… it's too dense here… it almost blocks my 'echo' from spreading properly or returning with clear information," she said quietly.
'Damn… figures.'
"Sam," Leo said, glancing at the silent young man who was cautiously observing the outside,
"can you use your shadows to give us some cover as we move out? This gray darkness… I don't like it. Not one bit."
Sam nodded slowly and raised his hands.
"Whoosh!"
The faint shadows inside the elevator thickened slightly around us, like thin, invisible cloaks weaving themselves out of nothing.
It wasn't much in this dim light… but it was better than nothing.
"Alright," Leo said, taking another deep breath, clearly suppressing the pain.
"I'll go first. Then Noor, then Sam… and you last, Lister. Stay close, and don't make unnecessary noise."
"And don't touch anything until we're sure it's safe."
'What a brave, self-sacrificing leader,' I thought with a hint of admiration.
'Either that… or he's just as desperate as the rest of us to get out of this damned elevator.'
He really should've stayed behind—he was injured.
And yet, he still chose to lead.
Leo stepped out first, cautiously scanning the area.
Noor and Sam followed… and I stepped out last, casting one final glance at the severed arm still lying on the elevator floor.
It had begun to lose its gray color, turning even paler.
Then the brass doors shut behind us with a dull, final thud.
We found ourselves in what looked like… a very long corridor.
Or perhaps an abandoned art gallery.
The walls were incredibly high, covered with large square canvases.
All roughly the same size.
All stretching endlessly into the gray darkness.
And the strangest thing…
They were completely blank.
White as fresh snow—or perhaps coated in a thick layer of gray dust, making them look like pages from an unwritten book.
The floor was made of dark polished wood, cracked and worn in many places.
Each careful step produced a faint creaking sound.
The ceiling…
It was so high we could barely see it in the gray gloom—like an endless, clouded sky.
And the silence…
The silence still ruled this place.
Heavy. Oppressive.
Pressing against the eardrums, as if the entire space was holding its breath… waiting.
'The floor of the closed thorned eye…' I thought, recalling the symbol.
'This must be connected… but how?'
"Ha—!"
Noor suddenly gasped softly.
She pointed with a trembling hand toward one of the blank canvases on the right wall, just a few steps away.
"L-look… over there…"
We all turned.
At first, it looked like the others—completely blank.
"Wssh…"
Then… slowly… as if invisible ink were forming on its own…
Thin, dark lines began to appear.
They intertwined… sharpened… grew clearer with each passing second…
Forming… a face.
A human face.
Pale as death.
Eyes tightly shut.
As if sleeping.
Or… dead.
We froze in place, staring at the canvas that had been empty moments ago.
And now…
A pale human face with closed eyes was slowly taking shape upon it.
"..."
The silence grew heavier.
The gray darkness seemed to thicken around us—as if the place itself was reacting.
"What… what the hell is that?" Leo whispered, his injured hand twitching instinctively.
"Is it… moving?"
The canvas wasn't moving.
The image was forming.
Like something emerging from behind a veil of fog.
It was a middle-aged man's face—tired… sorrowful.
Lips tightly pressed.
Eyes closed in deep sleep.
Or something worse.
My skill, [Narrative Engineer's Blueprint], activated again as I focused.
A familiar blue screen appeared.
[Active Narrative Analysis: Lobby Elevator (Rank E) – Current Floor: Gallery of Slumbering Souls]
Floor Nature:
A repository or gallery of trapped memories or souls, manifested through canvases.
Canvas Mechanism:
Canvases respond to the presence or attention of intruders. Each represents a sleeping soul or a frozen memory.
Objective (Probable):
Locate the main canvas or key memory that holds part of the exit sequence or the item required to satisfy the elevator.
Interaction Rules:
Prolonged observation / intense focus: May "awaken" the soul, revealing information, triggering a puzzle, or… manifesting a "nightmare." Touching: Unpredictable effects (positive or negative). "Closed Eye": Common trait. Opening the correct eye may be the key.
Potential Threats:
Manifested Nightmares: Disturbing the wrong soul may trigger hallucinations or temporary entities. Gallery Guardian: May appear if certain rules are broken. Memory Entrapment: Excessive interaction may trap the intruder inside the memory.
Hint:
What you don't see may be more important than what you do.
I studied the information carefully.
'So… a haunted gallery. And these paintings are gateways into sleeping minds,' I thought.
'And we're basically playing gacha with ghosts… hoping we don't pull the one that kills us.'
"Should… should we touch it?" Noor asked, her voice trembling.
"I don't think that's a good idea right now," Leo said cautiously.
'Sharp as always.'
"Look!" Sam suddenly said, his voice low but surprised.
He pointed to another canvas on the opposite wall.
We turned—
Another one… was forming.
Then a third.
A fourth.
One after another…
Within minutes, the corridor was filled with pale faces—eyes closed—watching us from their canvas prisons.
The scene was surreal.
Unsettling beyond words.
It felt like standing in a silent courtroom…
And all these faces were the jury deciding our fate.
"They're… they're appearing everywhere!" Noor said, stepping closer to Leo.
"Stay calm," Leo replied, though tension flickered in his jaw.
"They're not attacking. Just… appearing."
'For now,' I thought.
"What happens if we stare too long… or touch the wrong one?"
"Manifested nightmare…"
Yeah. No thanks.
"There has to be a pattern," I said, forcing myself to think logically.
"They can't all be meaningless."
The objective was clear.
Too clear.
After a brief silence, we began moving slowly along the corridor, studying the faces.
Men. Women. Young. Old.
Some looked peaceful. Others… terrified. Angry. Broken.
Like walking through a graveyard.
"Do you notice anything… different?" Leo asked.
"They all look equally disturbing to me," I muttered.
'Dead people, probably. Trapped here to haunt idiots like us.'
"Wait…" Noor said suddenly, stopping.
"This one… is different."
Different?
We approached.
It was a young girl's face—maybe seven or eight.
Curly dark hair.
Closed eyes, like the others.
But her expression…
Wasn't sorrowful.
It held… hope.
Or maybe innocence.
But more importantly—
There was something else.
In the lower corner of the canvas…
A faint drawing of a small child's hand…
Pointing upward.
'A hand… pointing up…'
My heart started beating faster.
"What does it mean?" Noor asked.
"I don't know," Leo said quietly.
"But it's definitely… an exception."