AAAAARGH!
What a terrible headache!
Instead of slowly subsiding, it was getting worse! Like someone was pounding the inside of his skull with a sledgehammer!
Lan Jin Hao jolted back to consciousness. His body hung upside down, coarse rope tightly binding both his ankles, tying him to some kind of rusty iron beam on the ceiling. Blood rushed to his head, making his temples throb even harder. The world in his eyes was upside down—literally.
The pain was so real, so physical, yet his mind wandered to random things. Being a bat must be nice, he muttered inwardly. They must be used to this. He tried to move his hands—tied. His feet—tied. His whole body felt like a squeezed wet sack, weak and numb.
Slowly, his eyes began to adjust to the darkness. Or rather, to the pale purple light seeping in through the large, broken windows. In the sky, two crescent moons hung side by side like a pair of giant eyes, emitting a purplish light that made the entire room feel like being inside an aquarium filled with glowing water.
What the hell is this?
Lan Jin Hao blinked. Two moons? Purple? He tried to process the scene, but his brain seemed to be working on two different tracks—one track was panicked and chaotic, the other cold and accepting. It was the second track that eventually calmed him down.
Okay. This isn't my room. Clearly not.
The room was vast—maybe some kind of hall or large waiting room. In the distance, rows of long wooden benches leaned against the walls, some overturned, some broken. A dusty reception desk with an old typewriter on top. In the corner, a giant iron stove with a chimney reaching up to the ceiling—an antique room heater. Rusty iron pipes snaked across the walls like veins.
A hospital, he thought. An abandoned mental hospital.
The signs were clear: a signboard on the wall with a faded red cross symbol, the hallway behind the reception desk leading to a dark corridor with rows of doors on either side, and most strikingly—a large bulletin board on the wall near the window.
The board was tilted, covered in dust and a thin layer of moss, but there were still yellowed sheets of paper attached. Lan Jin Hao squinted, trying to read from his inverted position.
The writing was strange. At first, just unfamiliar scribbles. Not a single letter he recognized. What language is this? he thought. No script looks like this.
He frowned—as much as possible while upside down. The pain in his head still throbbed but was starting to subside slightly. Enough to let him think more clearly.
"Hey."
Lan Jin Hao almost flinched. The voice came from beside him—very close.
He turned his head as best he could. Beside him, standing casually leaning against the wall near it, was someone.
Carmen.
The name just popped into his mind, as if he had known it for a long time. Their face was indistinct in the purple light, vague like a shadow you can never clearly remember after a dream fades. But he knew it was Carmen. Like knowing the sky is blue during the day. Simple, natural, needing no explanation.
"You're awake," said Carmen. Their voice was formal, sounding like someone accustomed to speaking politely even in strange situations. "I've been waiting for you for quite a while."
Lan Jin Hao didn't ask how Carmen could be there. Didn't ask who Carmen was. All those questions seemed to evaporate before they could form. What came out of his mouth instead was:
"Can you untie me?"
Carmen shook their head gently. "Sorry, I can't. It wasn't me who tied you." Their voice paused for a moment, as if considering the next words. "And I'm not allowed to touch."
Not allowed to touch? Lan Jin Hao processed this information with bizzare confusion . Maybe there were specific rules. Maybe certain consequences. He didn't ask further.
"Then, can you at least tell me what's written on that bulletin board? I can't read that language."
Carmen turned towards the board. "Yarmviv language. An ancient language." Their voice sounded like they were reading a report. "That board contains announcements about the discovery of ancient scripts and the successful translation of the Yarmviv language. That discovery happened in the Wamolas Empire, seven years ago."
Lan Jin Hao blinked. "Discovery of scripts? Translation?"
"Yes. According to those records, the Yarmviv language was indecipherable for years until an expert finally found the key to its translation." Carmen paused for a moment. "There's also a warning at the bottom, but the writing is too faded to read."
"A warning?"
"Perhaps about something they found." Carmen shrugged—or at least a gesture resembling a shrug. "Or maybe just a standard warning. Hard to tell."
Lan Jin Hao pondered for a moment. Discovery of ancient scripts in the Wamolas Empire. Translation of an unknown language. A faded warning. It sounded like the beginning of a horror story, but strangely he didn't feel afraid. Maybe because his brain just worked oddly—sometimes like a curious child, sometimes like an adult coldly accepting absurdity.
"Okay," he said finally. "I need to get free first."
He started swinging his body. Slowly, then harder. The rope creaked but didn't break. On the floor below, about two meters beneath his head, there were broken glass shards and lifted tiles. If he fell, my head would hit first.
"I could look for something to cut the rope," Carmen suddenly said. "Although I can't bring it to you, at least I can show you where it is."
"Just show me."
Carmen walked away—or rather, floated? Walked? Lan Jin Hao couldn't tell in his upside-down position. What was clear was that Carmen disappeared into the dark hallway and returned moments later.
"In the corridor to the left, about ten meters from here, there's a storage room. The door is open. Inside, on the third shelf from the left, there's a flat piece of iron—maybe an old hinge. That could be used."
Lan Jin Hao nodded. With difficulty, he started swinging his body harder, trying to direct his swing towards the mentioned hallway. It took several attempts, but he finally managed to grab the door frame with his toes—the only free part of his body besides his hands tied behind his back.
He held on tightly with his toes, then slowly released the rope from the beam. His body hung dangling from the door frame, then he dropped himself onto the floor at an angle.
THUD!
He landed shoulder-first, rolled a few times, and finally lay sprawled on the corridor floor. The rope around his wrists was still binding him, but at least he wasn't hanging anymore.
"Are you okay?" asked Carmen from beside him.
"Still alive." Lan Jin Hao squirmed, then rolled over and started crawling towards the indicated storage room. With great effort, he managed to get into the room, find the third shelf from the left, and grab the rusty flat iron piece mentioned.
Twenty minutes later, after sawing the iron piece against the rope on his hands, the binding broke. Lan Jin Hao stretched his raw and bruised wrists, then stood up unsteadily.
"Alive," he muttered.
Carmen watched him from the doorway. "You didn't ask why I helped you."
"You were going to help me anyway."
"You're sure?"
Lan Jin Hao stared at Carmen. Vague, unclear, but there was something there—something that made him feel like he had known Carmen for a long time. Perhaps from a dream. Perhaps from another life. "I don't know why, but I trust you."
Carmen didn't answer. Only smiled faintly—or at least that's what Lan Jin Hao perceived.
They walked.
The mental hospital was vast—larger than it looked from outside. Corridor after corridor they passed, door after door they opened. Carmen walked beside him, sometimes in front, sometimes behind, always there without ever touching anything.
Each room had a story.
First room: a patient dormitory. Twelve iron beds in a row, the sheets already decayed and moldy. On one of the beds, a human skeleton still lay with a blanket covering half its body. Lan Jin Hao stopped for a moment, staring at the skull.
"Died in bed," he said softly.
"Such was the end for most inhabitants here," replied Carmen. "They died where they lay, waiting for help that never came."
Second room: a therapy room. There was a long chair with leather straps still attached—perhaps an electroshock therapy chair. Beside it, a large machine with buttons and dangling wires. An antique emergency generator.
"The electricity might still work if turned on," said Carmen. "But I wouldn't recommend it."
"Why?"
"Not everything that can be turned on should be turned on."
Lan Jin Hao nodded, accepting the answer without further question.
Third room: a communal kitchen. Large iron pots still hung. A coal stove with a chimney. The faint smell of long-dried rotten food lingered. On the floor, there was a long black trail like something had been dragged.
"Blood," said Carmen before Lan Jin Hao could ask. "Dried for years."
They continued.
Fourth room: an administrative office. Desks were strewn about, open filing cabinets with scattered yellowed documents. Lan Jin Hao picked one up, glanced at it. More Yarmviv. He handed it to Carmen.
"What does it say?"
Carmen read—or at least pretended to read. "Records of a patient named Daras Vabraham. Diagnosis: chronic severe hallucinations. At the end it's written: 'Patient claims he can see them. Every night. Cannot sleep. Cannot escape. They always come.'"
"Them?"
"Perhaps something that lives here." Carmen stared into the dark corridor outside the room. "Or perhaps something that comes from outside."
Night grew deeper. The purple light from the two crescent moons grew brighter, as if the moons were drawing nearer.
At the end of the deepest corridor, they found the last room. Its door was different from the others—made of thick iron, with two layers of locking bolts. But now that door was slightly ajar. Just a thin crack.
"Go in?" asked Carmen.
Lan Jin Hao nodded. He pushed the iron door—heavy, but movable—and slipped inside.
Inside... empty. Just a small room, 3x3 meters. The walls were lined with peeling black rubber. The floor was also rubber. No windows. Only one dead light bulb on the ceiling.
But in the middle of the room, there was a chair. An iron chair with leather straps. Facing the wall. And on that wall, scribbles—thousands of scribbles—covering every inch of the rubber surface. More Yarmviv.
Carmen translated: "'They are coming. They are coming. They are coming.' Repeated thousands of times." They paused. "But at the bottom, there's one different line: 'But they are already here.'"
Lan Jin Hao felt the hair on his neck stand up. "Already here?"
"Perhaps." Carmen looked at him. "Or perhaps just a patient's hallucination. You know, a mental hospital."
"Perhaps." But Lan Jin Hao wasn't sure.
---
"Night is late," said Carmen after they left the room. "You need to rest."
Lan Jin Hao nodded. They returned to the first patient dormitory—not the one with the skeleton, but another cleaner room. He chose the farthest bed, the one with the driest sheet, and lay down.
The headache was still there, but had subsided to a faint pulse. He closed his eyes.
"Carmen."
"Hm?"
"Will you stay here?"
"If you want."
Lan Jin Hao thought for a moment. "Tomorrow we look for a way out."
"Alright."
He closed his eyes. On the edge of sleep, he heard Carmen's voice, formal yet strangely soothing:
"Sweet dreams, Lan Jin Hao. May your dreams be peaceful."
---
He slept.
But his sleep was not restful.
There were whispers around him, faint like wind rustling through empty corridors. Sometimes it sounded like crying, sometimes like laughter, sometimes like a voice calling his name from afar. In his dream, Lan Jin Hao saw the hospital corridors stretching endlessly, doors opening and closing by themselves, and shadows flitting at the edge of his vision—always avoiding, never clear.
He felt watched.
Not by one pair of eyes, but by many. Hundreds. Thousands. Those eyes glowed purple in the dark, watching him from behind walls, from behind doors, from behind the broken windows.
And that sound—faint, distant, but definitely there.
KREEK...
Lan Jin Hao jolted awake.
He sat up halfway, breath racing. His heart pounded, pumping adrenaline through his body. What was that? What sound?
Purple light still streamed through the window. Meaning it wasn't morning yet. How long had he slept? No idea. His body felt stiff, his eyes still heavy, but something inside him screamed that something was wrong.
KREEK... KREEK...
That sound again. Not a dream.
From the room's door.
Lan Jin Hao turned slowly. His still-drowsy eyes tried to focus on the dark threshold. Carmen wasn't there—but something else was.
At the doorway, stood—no, propped itself—a creature.
Its body was humanoid, but the way it supported itself was strange. It used all four limbs to support its body, like an ape. Its posture was long and slender, with joints bending the wrong way. In the dim purple light, Lan Jin Hao could see its pale skin, like a corpse long submerged in water.
Its head... God, its head was like an axe. Flat, with one side tapering forward like an axe blade, the other side blunt and rounded. No eyes. No nose. But at the bottom of that head, there was a slit—like a mouth—slightly open.
From that slit, rows of teeth. Not human teeth. Sharp, pointed, fanged, layered like shark teeth. All glistening in the purple light.
KREEK...
The creature moved a step forward. Its front leg—its left hand—touched the floor. Lan Jin Hao saw its fingers. Three fingers. Each like a curved butcher knife, sharp on both sides. At the tips, long claws like a combination of tiger claws and crocodile teeth. When those metallic fingers touched the iron floor, the sound of metal scraping metal was clear, shrieking in his ears.
KREEK...
Its feet were also horrifying. Four toes, each like a curved blade, with the sharp edge facing forward. Every step left scratch marks on the dusty floor.
Lan Jin Hao froze.
Mind blank. Just woken up, his brain wasn't working yet. All that existed was raw fear—primitive fear that made his hair stand on end, his heart seemingly stop, his breath catch in his throat.
The creature moved again. One step. KREEK. Closer.
Lan Jin Hao's body reacted before his brain could command. He leaped from the bed—no, not leaped, but tumbled sideways, falling to the floor with a thud. His knee hit the tile, painful, but he didn't care.
KREEK! KREEK! The creature moved faster.
Lan Jin Hao crawled, got up, then ran. Where to? Didn't know! Just get away! His foot stumbled on broken glass, he almost fell, but his hand grabbed a door frame and propelled his body into the corridor.
Behind him, the sound KREEK! KREEK! KREEK! grew louder, faster. The creature was chasing.
Dark corridor ahead. Purple light from a window at the end provided slight illumination. Lan Jin Hao ran as fast as he could. His breath came in gasps. His heart pounded all the way to his ears.
Don't look back! Don't look back!
But he glanced back anyway.
The creature was crawling on the floor and the wall—yes, the wall! Its feet gripped the vertical surface, its body twisting like a spider, chasing him at terrifying speed. That axe head stared—no, pointed towards him, as if it could sense his position.
KREEK! KREEK! KREEK! KREEK!
Its sound filled the corridor, echoing off the walls.
Lan Jin Hao turned left. Another corridor. Darker. At its end, faintly, he saw an iron door. Emergency exit! He remembered—from the exploration with Carmen.
He pushed his run. His legs felt like cotton, but he forced them on.
KREEK! KREEK! The sound behind was getting closer. Too close.
Iron door. He grabbed the handle—hot? cold? didn't know—and flung it open. Went inside. Turned around. Pushed the door.
BAM!
The door closed. His hand fumbled, searching for the locking bar. There! A thick iron crossbar. He slid it into place.
CRASH!
Something hit the door from outside. The iron door shook violently, its hinges creaking.
Lan Jin Hao stepped back. Two steps. His eyes fixed on the door, slightly dented in the middle.
CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!
Relentless pounding. Metal groaned. Through the small gaps at the door's edges, he could see those claws—three sharp fingers—prying, tearing at the iron as if it were rotten wood.
KREEK! KREEK! The sound of metal scraping mixed with the screech of forced iron.
Lan Jin Hao retreated further, until his back hit the corridor wall on the other side. He could only stare, breath ragged, body trembling uncontrollably.
CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!
The tenth impact? Twentieth? No idea.
Then suddenly—it stopped.
Silence.
Only the sound of Lan Jin Hao's own breathing filled the corridor. And the heart still pounding in his ears.
One minute. Two minutes. Five minutes.
No sound.
Lan Jin Hao waited longer. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Nothing. Only heavy silence, pierced by purple light from a vent in the ceiling.
Slowly, he slid down, sitting with his back against the wall. His legs were weak. His hands still trembled. He only now realized the soles of his feet hurt—cut by the broken glass earlier. Sweat soaked his entire body.
Safe... I'm safe...
It took a long time for him to think clearly. His brain only started working after the adrenaline subsided. That thing... that creature... one of 'them'? His mind drifted to the record of Daras Vabraham. 'They always come.'
He took a long breath, trying to calm himself. Still alive. That's what matters.
With difficulty, he got up. His body felt shattered, but he had to move. Not safe here. That iron door might not hold forever.
He walked slowly, navigating corridors he now recognized. Past the administrative office. Past the communal kitchen. Past the therapy room. Not back to the previous dormitory—that was too close to the corridor where he was chased. He looked for another room.
At the very end of the farthest corridor, there was a small wooden door. Hidden, almost invisible. He tried it—unlocked. Inside, a cramped room, barely enough space for one iron bed and a small cabinet. A small window on the wall, but covered with bars.
He went in, locked the door from inside—an old lock that still worked. Then he collapsed onto the bed.
Still alive.
He closed his eyes. His body was exhausted, his mind chaotic, but slowly calm began to return.
A moment later, a voice came from near the window.
"You survived."
Lan Jin Hao opened his eyes. Carmen sat on the narrow windowsill, leaning against the frame. Vague as usual.
"Did you see it?" asked Lan Jin Hao, his voice hoarse.
"Yes." Carmen looked at him with an unreadable expression. "But I couldn't help. Sorry."
"I know." Lan Jin Hao sighed. "You're not allowed to touch."
A moment of silence.
"That thing... one of 'them'?" Lan Jin Hao asked again.
"Perhaps." Carmen gazed out the window, towards the two purple moons. "Or perhaps just your hallucination. You know, a mental hospital. Daras Vabraham's diagnosis—chronic severe hallucinations. Maybe you're experiencing the same."
Lan Jin Hao smiled faintly. "My wounds are real. My fear is real."
"Hallucinations can feel real too. That's what makes them dangerous."
Lan Jin Hao didn't argue. He was too tired to debate. He just lay there, staring at the cracked ceiling.
"Carmen."
"Hm?"
"Tomorrow we look for a way out."
"You already said that."
"Now it's more serious."
Carmen looked at him for a long time. On their vague face, something like a smile appeared.
"Alright. Tomorrow we look for a way out."
Lan Jin Hao closed his eyes. On the edge of sleep, he heard Carmen's voice again—formal, polite, as usual:
"Rest well, Lan Jin Hao. May there be no more disturbances."
He slept.
And this time, no dreams.
No kreek sound.
Only deep silence, accompanied by the two purple moons that kept watching from outside the window.
---
Morning never came to that place. Only purple that shifted intensity—sometimes brighter, sometimes dimmer, like a strange cycle of day and night. But Lan Jin Hao woke up refreshed, ready to search for a way out.
Carmen was already waiting by the locked door.
"You woke up right on time," Carmen greeted formally. "There are many corridors we haven't explored. Maybe one of them leads outside."
"Maybe." Lan Jin Hao got up, stretching his body. "Or maybe not."
"You don't seem disappointed."
"I'm used to the worst possibilities."
He opened the door. The corridor outside was still the same—dark, dusty, lit by purple light from certain ends.
"Which way shall we try?" asked Carmen.
Lan Jin Hao looked left, then right. In the distance, faintly, that kreek sound was heard again. Still far away. Still waiting.
He smiled faintly.
"To the left. As left"
They walked.
[END OF CHAPTER 1]