This game was freakin' twisted!
Pew's back was drenched in cold sweat.
As a hardcore horror game vet, he'd tackled hundreds of titles. But Silent Hill P.T.? It was the only game that didn't show a ghost yet scared him a thousand times worse than any apparition.
Sam Harper was a fear mastermind, stacking dread like building blocks, each layer pressing deeper into players' minds.
"Shit! Shit! Shit!" Pew gasped, his nerves fraying.
Now he got why players bailed after three minutes, some pale and leaning on friends. It wasn't disgust—it was raw terror. The psychological weight and eerie vibe crushed even a pro like him, spiking his heart rate. Casual players? No chance.
But fear fed curiosity.
Stiff-legged, Pew followed the thickening blood smell to the corridor's corner. He sniffed—the stench came from a door there. Shiny black cockroaches scuttled out through the cracks.
"Ugh, nasty!" Pew winced, shrinking back.
He reached for the door handle.
Boom!
A heavy thud echoed from inside.
"Gift crab!" Pew screamed, body jerking.
Thud... thud... thud...
The muffled bangs continued, slow but clear, like someone inside was slamming their head against the door, blank-faced.
Pew's scalp tingled. He curled into a corner, a living scared emoji. If those psychiatric drugs on the counter weren't props, he'd have downed a fistful.
He considered bolting—screw the loop, screw the next cycle's horrors. But Sam Harper was a step ahead. As the corner door creaked, the corridor's exit clicked shut, locking him in.
Trapped in a narrow hall, inches from whatever was making that noise. Would it burst out? When? Maybe it'd fling the door open any second.
Who was it? The murderer who slaughtered his family? The innocent daughter? Or Lisa, dead with her unborn child?
No clue.
Worse, the corridor was a dead end both ways.
Panic swallowed Pew. His legs wobbled; his gut churned.
Then, the banging stopped.
Click.
The door cracked open, a dark sliver.
A baby's sob drifted out, chilling and faint.
Woo...
Pew froze. "I'm done."
"Seriously, bro?!" he yelled. "What the hell?!"
He'd played countless horror games, his mental armor tough. Yet he was teetering. Other players had been kicked from the pod here, but Pew clung on, barely.
Heart racing, breathing ragged, he stared at the door crack. "What's in there? A baby? Why's there a freakin' baby?!"
A lightbulb flicked on.
The baby. In Lisa's belly—before her brutal murder.
Now, that eerie wail.
Pew's scalp prickled. "Holy crap, Sam! This is messed up!"
The game was sick. Terror pushed him to impotent rage, shouting to mask his fear.
The live stream chat erupted:
"Gift crab!"
"The baby in Lisa's belly...?"
"This is straight to hell!"
"Sam's a total psycho!"
"I'm clutching a cross watching this."
"Can't handle it. This demo's too much."
"Lisa's staring through my screen."
"This trial version's already the scariest game ever."
Pew's breathing hitched, his fingertips numb. The exit door? Locked. The way back? Blocked. The baby's cries seeped from the blood-soaked door crack.
He groaned, "Please... don't do this..."
"If I'm guilty, let the law punish me, not P.T.!"
Trembling, he reached to close the door.
Bang!
A pale, swollen arm shot out. A woman's face—right eye gouged, bloated—flashed through the crack.
Gone in an instant. The door slammed shut.
A scream exploded from Pew's pod, echoing across the Komina booth.
"AAAAH! Shit! Shit!"
Ding! Abnormal heart rate, blood pressure, breathing, and mental state detected. Disconnecting for your safety...
Meanwhile, in a Twitch live stream, a blacked-out screen showed a pod hissing open. Cody Black, dubbed "Young Master" by fans, squatted outside, chugging water and gasping.
A top Twitch streamer known for slick strategy commentary and sharp edits, Cody crushed most games. Except horror. He was a total coward.
He'd teamed up for Phasmophobia streams before, and his partners agreed: Cody was scarier than the ghosts. His screams and flailing tanked any team's composure.
But that made his horror streams gold. Fans called him one of Twitch's "three cowards."
Today, Silent Hill P.T.'s debut drew a flood of viewers eager to see him crack. Curious himself about the "scariest game ever," Cody dove in.
The chat roared with laughter:
"Haha, kicked out again! Three times in five minutes!"
"Voice shot from screaming."
"This game's pure hell, Young Master."
"That door slam yeeted my phone."
"Sam Harper's game. Others kill with open doors; he kills with closed ones."
"Daytime stream, no lights needed."
"This psych horror's next-level."
"Beats Phasmophobia for scares."
"Pod's safety saved lives."
"Sam's out for blood with this vibe."
"This demo's the scariest ever."
Cody gulped water, hit the bathroom, and climbed back into the pod. Deep breath. "Haven't screamed like that in ages. Throat's toast," he said, back in the looping corridor. "It spooked me, but I'm not bailing."
Chat jeered:
"You scared Lisa with that yell!"
"Lisa: 'Chill, dude, close the door!'"
"Kicked thrice and 'not scared'?"
"Young Master's all talk."
"Respect for jumping back in."
"Worried for your heart, man."
"Normal folks don't reconnect after three kicks."
"Horror's Wolverine, healing fast."
Cody smirked, "Not stubborn, guys. I'm back in, so I'm fine, right? That was a door-closing kill—better than an open-door one. And Lisa didn't even show up..."
Woo-hiss-cluck-woo...
A woman's sob echoed from the corridor's end, choked, like a slit throat leaking air.
Cody's voice caught. He froze.
Chat exploded:
"Wasn't that a baby cry before? Now Lisa?!"
"Jinxed it, Young Master!"
"Lisa: 'You rang?'"
"Heart rate's climbing!"
"Game's got voice detection or what?"
"Sam Harper grants all wishes."
Cody's blood pressure spiked. He inched forward, stopping every step, and hugged the corner wall. Peeking out, he glimpsed something.
A scream. "Holy crap! Something's in the hall!"
Under the swaying chandelier, a figure in a white dress stood two meters away, blood or shadows staining the fabric, liquid dripping from the hem.
Cody stumbled back. "She won't chase me, right? She's not coming?!"
No movement. The sobbing continued.
Gathering courage, he peeked again. The figure loomed, nearly touching the chandelier, face obscured. Her head tilted unnaturally, legs apart, long arms dangling.
Squeak-squeak.
Woo-hiss-woo.
The chandelier's creak and Lisa's sobs made breathing hard. Cody's scalp buzzed.
Now what? Back was a dead end. Forward risked Lisa jumping him.
He steeled himself. "Just a face-jump scare. I'm ready. No one's killing me!"
He stepped forward. "Come on, come on—"
Bang!
The lights went out.