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墨書 Inktalez
The door to the consultation room creaked open slowly, the sound piercing through the silence of the room. Ethan's gaze snapped to the entrance, his breath momentarily caught in his throat. The figure that stepped inside was wrapped tightly in layers of fabric, making it impossible to discern their appearance at first glance. Christopher appeared in the doorway, his entire body swathed in heavy material, leaving almost no skin exposed from head to toe. The most chilling aspect was his face—entirely covered in thick gauze, with only a narrow slit for his eyes, resembling a mummy rising from its grave.
Christopher wore an old hat that cast deeper shadows over his gauze-wrapped head. His eerie appearance sent a shiver down Ethan's spine, causing the hairs on his neck to stand on end. He felt an involuntary tension grip him, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. The scene was absurd; Christopher seemed like an entity from a nightmare, blurring the lines between reality and dream for Ethan.
Christopher did not speak as he moved slowly and stiffly into the room, as if pulled by some invisible force. Each step appeared clumsy and unnatural, his footsteps echoing softly in the space. Ethan's heart raced even faster, but he forced himself to remain calm, striving to mask his inner fear with a professional demeanor.
"Christopher, please take a seat," Ethan said, struggling to keep his voice steady, adopting a gentle and rational tone. He attempted to guide the conversation with the professionalism of a psychologist, hoping to alleviate some of the bizarre atmosphere.
Christopher awkwardly approached the sofa and sat down with a jerky motion, as if he were a marionette that had lost its strings. His head hung slightly low, and he seemed to fall into a strange state of stillness, devoid of awareness or reaction. His gauze-covered face faced Ethan directly, yet his eyes were sunken within the fabric, revealing no hint of emotion.
Ethan swallowed hard, feeling an increasing weight in the air around him. He suppressed his growing fear and tried to break the unsettling silence. "Christopher, how have you been? Do you feel any better lately?"
His voice sounded faint in the room, almost like a feeble echo. However, Christopher remained motionless on the sofa as if he had not heard Ethan's question at all. His body was unnaturally rigid, resembling a soulless shell quietly trapped in that eerie silence.
The atmosphere grew heavier; Ethan could feel a chill creeping up the back of his neck as sweat formed in his palms. His sense of unease intensified; this scene was too surreal to comprehend. The awkwardness and bizarre tension between them hung heavily in the air, making it nearly impossible for Ethan to breathe. He wanted to ask more questions but found himself unable to shatter this chilling stillness.
Ethan sensed an escalating anxiety in the air; Christopher's immobility, his gauze-wrapped face, and that strange atmosphere allowed fear to spread uncontrollably within him. Christopher sat rigidly on the sofa as if he had lost his soul, only the gauze-covered head remaining bowed.
Feeling compelled to break this unsettling silence, Ethan took a deep breath and mustered his courage as he slowly approached Christopher with light footsteps. With each step closer, his heartbeat grew louder in his ears as if fear were gradually consuming the edges of his sanity.
When he stood just a step away from Christopher, Ethan halted. He looked down at this man, struggling internally to maintain composure. He opened his mouth to inquire about Christopher's condition once more; however, before he could utter a word—
Suddenly, Christopher moved! His hands shot out rapidly towards Ethan as if controlled by some hidden force. Yet his eyes remained fixed away from Ethan; he did not lift his head at all. The movement was disturbingly erratic—like an uncontrolled machine devoid of purpose.
Ethan panicked and instinctively stepped back, but in that moment, Christopher's hands merely swept through the air, grasping nothing. Before Ethan could fully process what was happening, he felt a cold, stiff hand lightly touch his legs, sending a chill down his spine.
Christopher's hands lingered on Ethan's legs. His head remained bowed, and his voice was eerily unsettling. It was low and hoarse, as if it came from the depths of an abyss, each word dripping with accusation: "Doctor... you lied to me..."
Ethan's heart sank like a stone, as if plunged into icy water. He felt his blood turn cold, every hair on his body standing on end, palms sweating, breath quickening. That voice—Christopher's voice—carried an indescribable strangeness, thick with resentment and accusation, as if it emerged from some unseen darkness, piercing straight into Ethan's soul.
"You... lied to me..." Christopher whispered again, his voice trembling with a bizarre rhythm, like a low growl emanating from deep within his throat, laced with a hidden curse of terror.
Ethan's mind spiraled into chaos; his heartbeat raced uncontrollably as if it might burst free at any moment. He fought to suppress the fear rising within him, striving to remain alert. Yet that voice, those cold hands, and Christopher's strange movements ensnared him in an invisible pressure—a web he could not escape, tightening around him little by little.
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