Bab 136: Chapter 134: Nowhere to Hide
The night air was thick with terror, punctuated by the cacophony of screams that seemed to echo from every corner of the motel. The chaos was palpable, a living entity that fed on the fear of the trapped souls within.
"Fuck!" the owner spat, his voice laced with a venom born of desperation. He clutched the shotgun with a white-knuckled grip, the barrel wavering as he took aim at the monstrous Swooping Evil that had descended upon them.
But fate, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor. Before he could discharge the weapon, a spine, sharp as the night was dark, shot from the beast's body, impaling his hand with surgical precision. A cold numbness spread rapidly, a harbinger of the paralysis that would soon follow. The shotgun clattered to the ground, a metallic dirge for the hope that died with its fall.
The Swooping Evil, sensing the man's vulnerability, unfurled its wings with a menacing flourish, casting an ominous shadow over him. The owner, his eyes wide with the primal instinct of survival, did the unthinkable. With a shove born of cowardice, he sacrificed one of his own, pushing the unfortunate soul into the path of the beast. The man's screams were short-lived as the creature enveloped his head, feasting on the essence of his brain.
"Run, you fools! To the outside!" the owner bellowed, his voice cracking under the strain of his terror. He led the stampede, the masked men at his heels, as they burst through the door, ensuring it slammed shut behind them, a feeble barrier against the horror they left within.
The motel, a solitary beacon in the wilderness, seemed to mock them with its isolation. The owner, driven by instinct, herded his men towards the jungle's deceptive embrace. But the forest was no ally. A black mist coalesced before them, materializing into a figure as ancient as sin itself.
An old witch, her eyes gleaming with malevolence, stood before them, a twisted parody of the fairy tales of old. In her hand, a magic wand of deadwood; in the other, a red apple, its surface glistening unnaturally in the moonlight.
"By all that is holy... Is that stepmother of Snow White!" one of the masked men whispered, his voice a cocktail of awe and dread.
"Hssssh!... where do you think you're going?" The witch's voice slithered through the air, a serpentine caress that left a trail of ice in its wake. The branches around her stirred, animated by her dark will, and lashed out with deadly intent. Two men fell, skewered by the living wood, their cries silenced abruptly.
The owner, his bladder betraying him, turned on his heel and fled, the stench of his fear a tangible thing. The remaining men followed, a ragtag procession of terror.
Clack-click!
They sought refuge in another direction, but the jungle was not done with them yet. A new figure emerged, the sound of its approach a macabre symphony of clicks and clacks. The six-armed swordsman, a grotesque marionette of flesh and steel, stood in their path. His movements were jerky, unnatural, the sound of grinding joints accompanying each step.
"What in the name of all that's unholy is that?!" the owner cried out, his voice barely carrying over the pounding of his heart.
The swordsman's movements were a blur, a dance of death choreographed with the precision of a master. The owner's eyes widened in horror as the figure passed through the crowd, a specter of vengeance. The air was sliced with the sound of steel, and before the masked men could even register pain, their limbs were severed, their bodies crumpling to the ground in a silent testament to the swordsman's lethality.
"Damn it all!" the owner screamed, his voice hoarse with terror. He urged the remnants of his group onward, their feet pounding against the earth as they sought a new direction, a new hope for escape within the treacherous embrace of the jungle.
But the jungle was a cruel mistress, and their flight led them to a sight that drained the blood from their faces. A fire dragon, its scales a tapestry of smoldering embers, loomed before them. With a majestic beat of its wings, it unleashed a torrent of flames, a river of fire that consumed the last of the masked men in a conflagration that lit the night sky.
The owner, now alone, collapsed to the ground, his body shaking with sobs of despair. He was a broken man, a puppet whose strings had been cut. The fire dragon, its eyes reflecting the inferno it had birthed, seemed to regard him with a disinterest that was more terrifying than any attack.
Gathering the remnants of his shattered courage, the owner stood, his legs trembling. He took a step towards the dragon, a plea for an end to his torment in his eyes. But the dragon's roar, a sound that shook the very earth beneath his feet, sent him sprawling backward, a clear warning that his life hung by a thread.
In that moment, a chilling realization washed over him. The horrors he had faced, the relentless pursuit, the inescapable terror—it was a mirror to his own misdeeds. He had been the architect of fear for others, and now he was reaping the twisted fruits of his labor.
"That bastard... he's making me taste my own medicine!" the owner hissed, the bitter irony of his situation a poison in his veins.
He was the prey now, ensnared in a nightmare of his own making, while his hunters had been dispatched with ruthless efficiency. The only reason he still drew breath was not out of mercy, but for a punishment far more exquisite and prolonged.
Defeated, the owner's gaze fell to the ground, his spirit eviscerated. It was then that the mocking voice slithered into his ears, a sound more cutting than any blade.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk... How pathetic~!"
Jon emerged from the shadows, the video camera in his hands an unblinking eye, capturing the owner's downfall. The red recording light was a malevolent eye, a witness to his humiliation.
"What do you want from me?!" the owner spat, his face a mask of darkness, his eyes hollow.
"You know exactly what I want," Jon replied, his smile a crescent moon in the darkness. "You've had a taste of being the caged bird, haven't you? Now, it's time to bring this show to its grand finale, to give this show the ending it deserves~!"
Haagh!
Haagh!
The owner's breaths came in ragged gasps, each one a shuddering testament to the terror that gripped him. The realization that his own actions had summoned this nightmare was a bitter pill, one that lodged itself in his throat, a constant reminder of his grim fate.
He had never fathomed that his mundane existence, running a motel in the wilderness and peddling his videos, would draw the ire of such nightmarish beings. It was a cruel twist of fate that he could scarcely comprehend.
With a casual flick of his wrist, Jon summoned the ensemble of horrors once more. The Swooping Evil with its sinister wings, the old witch with her malevolent cackle, the mechanical precision of Yoriichi Type Zero, and the fiery might of the dragon Igris—all materialized from the shadows, a grotesque audience for the owner's final act.
"Let's see some real fear," Jon coaxed, his voice dripping with a sadistic glee as he adjusted the camera. "Hold on, just getting the focus right... There we go. Now, give me everything you've got~!"
The command was Jon's cue to the monsters, who began their slow, deliberate advance. The owner, his mind frayed by fear, could do nothing but curl into himself, a feeble attempt to disappear from the world that had turned against him.
His screams, a symphony of agony, filled the air as the monsters descended upon him. The owner's life ended not with a bang, but with a whimper, drowned out by the cacophony of his tormentors.
[Ding! Soul Sacrifice function used successfully, soul exchange completed, 20 penalty points obtained]
Jon's tongue clicked in mild annoyance at the paltry sum of penalty points awarded. The system's stinginess was a minor inconvenience, but he shrugged it off. After all, even the smallest prey contributed to the greater goal.
With a wave of his hand, Jon stowed away Yoriichi Type Zero and the dragon Igris, leaving only the old witch, who was soon revealed to be Nancy under the guise of an enchantment.
"I'll never understand your methods. Wouldn't a simple killing suffice?" Nancy's confusion was evident in her furrowed brow.
Jon sighed, the weight of his contractual obligations heavy upon him. "It's not about what I want. It's about fulfilling the contract's terms," he said, his explanation trailing off into the night.
As a spirit of vengeance, Zatanos had lost sight of his original purpose, becoming consumed by the pursuit of retribution. It was a path that led to darkness, one that Nancy could not follow.
"What now?" she asked, her voice a mix of resignation and curiosity.
Jon's response was nonchalant, his demeanor untroubled by the night's grim events. "We hit the road. Honestly, the comfort of the car beats this place any day. We only stopped to take care of business."
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Bab 137: Chapter 135: The Skeleton Key Movie
A cool breeze brushed against Nancy's face, and sunlight sprinkled on her eyelids as she slowly opened her eyes. The world was a blur of colors at first, but as her vision cleared, she found herself greeted by the serene expanse of the countryside. The car's gentle hum was a soothing lullaby that had cradled her into a brief slumber.
Unlike Jon, who had grown accustomed to nocturnal activities, she had taken a brief nap in the car last night. Her body was still catching up to the odd hours that their investigation demanded. Upon waking, Nancy found herself still on the highway, surrounded by a tranquil landscape of fields that stretched out like a patchwork quilt.
The vehicle sped along a muddy path, and Nancy looked around curiously, her detective instincts kicking in. She sensed that this was not the way to New York. The trees seemed to lean in, whispering secrets as they passed.
"Where are we?" Nancy asked, her voice tinged with a mix of confusion and curiosity.
Jon's eyes remained fixed on the road as he maneuvered the car with a practiced ease. The forest seemed to close in around them, the path narrowing as if the world was funneling them towards an unknown destination.
Suddenly, the car turned and entered a secluded forest path, and a sign emerged faintly into Nancy's view. The words were like a whisper from the shadows, a foreboding omen.
'Private Property.'
Nancy's frown deepened, her eyes narrowing as she read the sign. She turned to Jon, her voice laced with a playful accusation, "I think... you saw that sign, right?"
Jon's silence was a stone wall, unyielding and cold.
Nancy huffed, a mix of exasperation and amusement in her tone. "Whatever!" She stuck out her tongue, a rebellious gesture that belied her growing unease. She had heard that people in this line of dealing with horrors and evil spirits, due to their frequent encounters with things beyond the reach of ordinary people, tended to be a bit eccentric. She had mentally prepared herself for this, just not sure if she would end up the same way.
Before long, the car arrived in front of a manor with a large house. The building loomed like a silent giant, its windows dark eyes watching their approach. Jon showed no intention of stopping; instead, he drove straight into the estate, the gravel crunching under the tires like bones.
At a second-floor window of the house, a young and beautiful woman saw Jon's approaching vehicle. Her brow furrowed slightly, a shadow of concern flickering across her features before she hurriedly left the room.
Soon after, the woman emerged from the main entrance of the house, her posture rigid with authority, yet her eyes held a weariness that spoke of sleepless nights and haunted dreams.
"Hey, didn't you see the sign outside? This is private property!" the woman chided softly, her voice weary but not harsh due to her disposition. It was clear she was no stranger to uninvited guests, yet there was a tremble in her voice that hinted at fear.
Jon stepped out of the car, his movements deliberate and calm. "Keep quiet for a bit and follow my lead," he said to Nancy, turning his head just enough to lock eyes with her. There was a seriousness in his gaze that told her this was no ordinary visit.
Nancy nodded, swallowing the lump of anxiety that had formed in her throat. She stepped out of the car, her senses heightened to the charged atmosphere of the estate.
"I believe you are... Caroline Ellis?" Jon spoke up, his voice carrying a weight of certainty that seemed to unnerve the woman before them.
The girl named Caroline was taken aback, her eyes widening as she searched Jon's face for answers. "How do you know my name?" she asked, her voice a mix of suspicion and intrigue.
Ahem!
Jon cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the tension like a knife. He stepped forward, his presence commanding yet not overbearing, an aura of quiet confidence emanating from him. "Let me introduce myself. I'm the chief exorcist of the Exorcism Association, my name is Jon Vinson. You can call me Jon."
His eyes then shifted towards the house, narrowing slightly as if he could see through its walls and into the very heart of the darkness within. "I sense a malevolent aura engulfing that house, likely a harbinger of something ominous...," he paused, his brow furrowing as he corrected himself, "I mean, I feel an evil force swirling around this house, and there might be something sinister inside. So we did some investigation beforehand and found out that you are the nanny of this house, Miss Caroline!"
Jon's realization that his professional jargon might be too complex for those not versed in his field prompted him to switch to simpler terms mid-sentence, a subtle shift that did not go unnoticed by Caroline.
However, Caroline's expression was one of skepticism, her gaze fixed on Jon as if trying to discern his true intentions. "Sorry, I don't believe in that, and this isn't my house. You shouldn't be discussing this with me," she said, her voice firm, yet there was a tremor of uncertainty that betrayed her composed exterior.
She turned to leave, her movements brisk, but Jon's next words rooted her to the spot. "You opened that door, didn't you?"
Caroline's step faltered, and she slowly turned back to face him, her frown deepening. "What are you talking about?"
Jon's demeanor was unflappable, his voice steady. "Come on, Caroline, no need to play dumb with me." He waved his hand dismissively, a gesture that seemed to bridge the gap between skepticism and belief. "The owner of this house gave you a skeleton key, which can open any door in the house. Believe me, I might know more about what's happening in this house than you do."
Caroline's eyes darted to the house, then back to Jon, a silent battle raging within her. Jon's words had struck a chord, and she knew that denying it further would be futile.
This was Jon's purpose for coming here. While driving, he had sensed the evil presence here and thus turned around to investigate, hoping not to involve ordinary people like last time. He preferred dealing with ghosts and demons, as it not only made him stronger but also earned him plenty of penalty points.
As he entered the estate, he breathed a sigh of relief because the system had issued him a mission.
[Ding! A new task has been assigned. Task Three: Break the Voodoo Curse and eliminate Papa Justify and Mama Cecile. Completion awards 300 penalty points, failure results in no new missions for the current world (Progress 0/2).]
Indeed, the house Jon was in was the setting for the horror movie "The Skeleton Key," and Caroline, without a doubt, was the protagonist of the film. Justify and Cecile, mentioned in the task, were the two main antagonists.
Caroline's eyes darted between Jon and the looming figure of Mrs. Devereaux, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. "Who exactly are you?!" she demanded, her voice a mix of fear and curiosity.
Jon's face remained impassive, his eyes steady. "I've already introduced myself, Caroline. I'm Jon, and this is Nancy. We're here to help," he said, his voice calm and reassuring.
Caroline's hands flew to her temples, pressing against the burgeoning headache. "Oh my God!" she gasped, the room spinning with the weight of revelations. "This is too much. It's like something out of a twisted nightmare."
Nancy, her brow furrowed with concern, leaned in closer. "How did you do it, Jon? How did you uncover all of this?" she asked, her voice a whisper of intrigue and fear.
Jon chuckled softly, a sound that seemed out of place in the heavy air. "There's a knack to it," he said, his eyes glinting with an unspoken knowledge. "You just need to know where to look and what to look for."
Nancy's frown deepened, her mind racing to keep up. "What?" she asked, the single word heavy with confusion.
Caroline's gaze snapped back to Jon, a flicker of understanding igniting in her eyes. "I did see something in the attic," she admitted, her voice steadier now. "Symbols, candles... it reeked of Voodoo black magic! They say that as long as you don't believe in it, it can't hurt you, but..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "I still can't easily accept what you're saying!"
Jon's smile was gentle, disarming. "I understand, Miss Caroline. It's a lot to take in," he said. "But consider this—haven't you always felt something was off with Mrs. Devereaux? Mr. Ben has sought your help repeatedly. You've noticed, haven't you?"
Caroline's breath hitched, her secret fears laid bare. "How could you possibly know about that?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Mrs. Devereaux has you administer a certain medicine to Mr. Ben daily, yet she shrouds its purpose in mystery," Jon continued, his voice a soothing balm. "The first time you gave him the medicine, he didn't finish it due to your carelessness. That night, he leapt from the second floor, as if the very hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. He was trying to escape, wasn't he?"
Caroline's face drained of color; Jon's words were a mirror to her own memories. "Yes," she breathed, "that's exactly what happened."
The plot thickened around them, the air charged with the sinister history of the house and its owners. Mrs. Devereaux's daily medication of Mr. Ben was a pivotal point in the original work, a detail that now seemed to come to life before Caroline's eyes.
A sudden, sharp voice cut through the tension. "Caroline, who's come to visit us?"
The old lady's voice, laced with authority and a hint of malice, sent a shiver down Caroline's spine. Mrs. Devereaux stepped into view, her presence dominating the space. In her hands, she held a double-barreled shotgun, its barrels gleaming ominously in the dim light.
"We don't welcome strangers here," Mrs. Devereaux declared, her tone brooking no argument. "Leave immediately!"
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(A/N: If you want to see more chapters, go to my Patreon to see +20 chapters ahead.
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