Horror Game Designer

Chapter 2: Too Introverted to Talk to Parents

As Qi Yan meticulously secured the heavy-duty lock on the security door, he was unaware of the faint trail of mud that his shoes were smudging across the floor. His hands, which remained out of sight under his raincoat, were clenched so tightly that his nails were starting to puncture the skin of his palms. His breaths were uneven and rapid, a physical testament to his inner turmoil. The press had taken to calling him the “Rainy Night Murderer,” a nickname that resonated with him as it captured the essence of the terror he inspired – a blend of brutality, madness, and the kind of fear that chilled to the bone.

He mulled over a rather perverse thought, “How should I repay his kindness?” with a twisted sense of irony.

As he intently observed Gao Ming from behind, the sclera of Qi Yan’s eyes had become a network of red vessels, all converging like rivers of blood. The sight only fueled his sadistic desire to prey upon the kind, to systematically break their spirit and joy, and then to literally and figuratively grind that innocence into the dirt.

“He must have led a sheltered life to be this kind,” Qi Yan mused with a sneer. “Coddled by his parents, nurtured in a safe, controlled environment – he’s like a greenhouse flower, completely oblivious to the true nature of evil.”

While still shrouded by his raincoat’s hood, Qi Yan’s face contorted as he indulged in the twisted fantasies of how he would inflict suffering upon Gao Ming.

“You must be hungry,” said Gao Ming, offering up the meal he had prepared with a generous sprinkling of “special ingredients” and pouring a glass of water for his guest. “Today’s my birthday, so I’ve made more food than usual. How about some cake?” he offered.

The cake, a gift from Gao Ming’s ‘unusual’ parents, sat on the table, ‘symbolizing’ his belief in sharing life’s little joys.

Qi Yan declined, “No need,” steering clear of the food and drink, likely cautious of leaving behind any forensic evidence. “Isn’t that someone calling you from the bedroom?” he probed with deceptive innocence.

“Yes, my parents are here,” Gao Ming replied, his smile tinged with sadness. “They’re quite ill, bedridden, and incapable of looking after themselves.”

“Don’t you need to see to them?” Qi Yan urged, already envisioning Gao Ming as nothing more than a lifeless corpse. “Why not check on your dear father and mother?”

Admitting to his reclusive nature, Gao Ming responded with a sigh, “I’ve never been much for conversation,” and began to shuffle towards the bedroom, his limp noticeable. “They’re suffering from some odd illness; they need peace and quiet.”

The eerie sounds coming from the bedroom reached Qi Yan’s ears too. Following Gao Ming to the threshold, he noticed the unnatural way the light seemed to bend and a palpable drop in temperature compared to the living room.

As Gao Ming opened the door and stepped aside, Qi Yan, driven by a morbid curiosity, peered within.

The darkness inside the bedroom seemed to recede, splitting into a miasma of shadow and an elusive, faint light.

Where the obscurity met the gloom, grotesque faces and contorted forms emerged! The entities, posing as Gao Ming’s parents, suddenly became frenetic at the sight of their ‘son,’ scrambling toward the door in a chaotic dance of madness!

This tableau was so shockingly ghoulish that Qi Yan felt a chokehold of dread tighten around his throat. He had expected to find nothing more than two ailing elders confined to their sickbed!

As he recoiled in instinctive horror, his gaze caught Gao Ming hoisting a hefty vase. Qi Yan’s mind flashed back to Gao Ming’s earlier confession of being introverted.

Then came the sound of shattering – “Crash!” – a stark, violent punctuation to the surreal and chilling scene that had unfolded before Qi Yan’s disbelieving eyes.

The room was in disarray, porcelain shards scattered like confetti, while the sharp edges left their cruel mark on Qi Yan’s face, drawing blood that trickled down his cheeks. His senses reeled, and the room seemed to spin uncontrollably as he crumpled to the ground. In the midst of his collapse, Gao Ming, the “benevolent” host, made a show of concern by forcefully pouring a cup of “water” down his throat. The sequence of events was carried out with the precision and smoothness of a well-practiced play.

“You should’ve opted for the pharmacological agent to induce a pain-free paralysis,” Gao Ming commented, squatting next to the incapacitated Qi Yan, “but instead, you chose to experience a physical paralysis.” He added reassuringly, or perhaps mockingly, “Don’t worry, soon you won’t feel anything at all.”

At the sound of Gao Ming’s chilling words, a profound terror ignited in Qi Yan’s eyes. Panic surged through him as he realized he was utterly clueless about what Gao Ming intended to do next.

His eyes darted frantically, taking in the grotesque sight of the “parents” — bound and gagged — dispersed around the room. Then his gaze returned to Gao Ming’s eerily composed face, and his terror crescendoed.

Who was this person really?

A personification of malevolence, Gao Ming exhibited all the traits typical of a psychopathic killer — he was cold and intricate, cunning and perilous, and his methods of crime were not only meticulous but perversely intricate.

“Do you hate me so much that your eyes are filled with curses?” Gao Ming mused aloud.

He then pressed down on Qi Yan’s back, seized his hair, and forcefully angled his head to face the bedroom. “Before the drugs take full hold, answer me this,” Gao Ming demanded, “Can you see the figures in the bedroom?”

Gripped by an overwhelming dread, Qi Yan was beyond the point of articulation. His head throbbed with agony, his psyche was severely rattled, and the drug’s effects were steadily asserting their dominance.

It was as if Qi Yan had been struck by an existential crisis, teetering on the brink of the Underworld’s legendary crossing bridge of the souls, sipping the waters of Lethe, only to be violently jolted back to a torturous limbo, trapped between consciousness and a numbing void.

“Judging by your reaction, you can see them,” Gao Ming inferred as he bound Qi Yan’s limbs securely. “I am not delusional; the game has indeed assumed a peculiar form of reality.”

The shadows that had lingered in the bedroom were now rapidly dissipating, and the haunting “parents” merged back into the creeping darkness as if they were apparitions born from a tear in the fabric of reality itself, manifesting in a rare moment when two planes of existence momentarily converged.

As the temperature in the room began to normalize and breathing became less labored, Gao Ming noted, “It seems my game has inadvertently become a conduit, bridging our reality with the domain of those bizarre ‘parents.’ Once the game reaches its conclusion, everything should revert to the ordinary. But if left unresolved, could these horror stories continue to proliferate, eventually blending with our reality until they are indistinguishable from it?”

The bedroom was now mostly illuminated by regular light, the “parents” being confined to an ever-shrinking corner of darkness. But then, unexpectedly, one of the “mothers” broke free from her chains!

Her gaze, laden with a twisted affection, was petrifying as she dragged the shadows behind her, surging towards Gao Ming!

Gao Ming, caught by surprise, made a split-second decision to flee. Qi Yan, however, still trapped and unable to move, was left to face the horrifying onslaught alone.

In the final moments of her unsettling disappearance, the spectral mother pulled Qi Yan into the shadows with her. A piercing, heartbreaking scream filled the air, hinting at the horrific possibility that the spectral mother had drawn something out from Qi Yan—perhaps a part of his very essence.

By the time the clock struck 4:44 a.m., the bedroom appeared as if nothing had happened. Gao Ming walked in, mop in hand, to find the room seemingly untouched by the strange events that had occurred. It was as though the spectral parents had never been there; even the cake and candles they had supposedly brought had disappeared without a trace. All that remained was Qi Yan, lying in a daze.

Qi Yan’s eyes were devoid of any spark of life, reminiscent of the vacant gaze of someone in a vegetative state as if his soul had been drained from him.

In the exact location where the spectral mother had vanished, Gao Ming stumbled upon two eerie black-and-white photographs. He pondered if these were some twisted form of victory prize for conquering the game.

These photographs were antiquated and tattered, printed on an unfamiliar substrate that suggested a considerable age.

The first photograph captured Gao Ming seated at a dining table enjoying cake, encircled by an unnerving throng of spectral parents. The picture seemed to have been taken against his will, with everyone in it, including the cake, furniture, and the multitude of parents, appearing in black and white except for Gao Ming himself, who was portrayed in full color.

On the reverse side of this photograph were crooked, child-like scrawlings soaked in bloodstains, which made for an unsettling sight.

The inscription addressed Gao Ming as “my dear child,” marking his eighteenth birthday as the transition into adulthood. It declared him the new patriarch, endowed with the key to the family home—a place shrouded in the twilight zone of nightmares, skirting the most bizarre fringes of reality. Although distant, it was also described as being connected to the darkest crevices of every heart.

The note detailed that as the head of the family, Gao Ming could opt to save each family member, love them equally, exploit them, or even inflict upon them twisted forms of torture.

It elaborated on his newfound freedom, stating that the only thing required of him was to lure more people into playing the game after dusk. The energies they would emit could nourish an entity only whispered about in rumors.

The second photograph Gao Ming discovered depicted Qi Yan, his features distorted by terror as though it was an image used for a memorial service. The back of this photo, too, bore cryptic words.

This message described the “family photo” as a symbol that only those consumed by their grip on reality, those teetering on the brink of death, those longing for death, ensnared in nightmares, suffering mental disturbances, or burdened with grave sins could find their way to their home—a place purported to be the penultimate stop before death, offering a secondary option to the finality of death itself.

The note ended with a grim observation: most who found their way to this abode ended up regretting their choice, wishing they had chosen the simplicity of death instead.

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