The body was carried up in silence, the officers' boots scraping against the cursed floor of the shop. Sasha stood at the top, waiting.
When the stretcher reached her, her world caved in.
She stared at him—at what remained—and something inside her snapped. Grief chewed her ribs like starving rats, and her breath was a withered thing, barely surviving. Without him, she felt hollow. Like glass after the storm. Like laughter buried in ash.
Everything she had loved was gone.Everything she had cared for—devoured by the curse.She sat at her desk like a shell, her eyes empty.
Sheriff McLaurel approached, voice trembling with borrowed strength."It's okay. It's going to be alright."
Sasha flinched. "No, you don't—" she hissed through her teeth. "You don't know anything!"
McLaurel went still. Something cold swept her spine.
A memory stirred.
Flashback: The Tenth Floor
She opened her eyes and realized she was dreaming—but not dreaming. Trapped in memory. A puppeteer pulled her from the shadows of the past.
She was outside the building again.That cursed hotel.
Her legs moved without her will. Her hand rose and waved. Her sister waved back, grinning wide.
"These are the memories…" she whispered.
The elevator creaked upward, floor after floor. With each ding, her heartbeat grew louder. Her hands trembled.
Room 1014 was open. She ran. The hallway stretched like a wound, warping and darkening with every step. Her feet pounded, echoes chasing her down.
Inside the room, a voice greeted her.
"Did you eat anything today?"
"Mom, don't go near the couch!" she screamed, breath ragged.
"Why not, Sam?"
"Mom! Please!"
But she didn't listen.
A hiss. A silence too loud. A flash—Then the boom.
The walls splintered like ribs cracking. Her mother was swallowed by fire and air, tumbling from the tenth floor.
Sam was hurled back. The door slammed shut like a coffin lid.
When she opened her eyes, she was on the floor. Shaking. Crying. Bleeding.
And then—A voice behind her. Sarcastic. Sweet. Wrong.
"Oh, you poor thing. Couldn't even save your own mother."
She turned. An entity stood there, grotesque and elegant. A girl made of nightmares. Skin stitched. Hair like burnt threads. Her intestines hung like curtains beneath her grinning head.
"Who… are you?" Sam croaked.
The entity stepped forward, her eyes too wide, too old.
"I'm Lorie," she whispered, smile sharp as scissors. "And I'm here to ruin your life forever."
Sam's jaw trembled. "You… you did this?"
"I planted the bomb," Lorie whispered, voice coated in syrup and rot. "And your mommy? She chose me. Said I'd be your soulmate. Your bestest friend."
Sam screamed and hurled a block at her, hitting flesh that didn't flinch. She ran.
"You'll always be hunted," Lorie's voice echoed. "By the shop. By the boy. By me."
Sam awoke gasping, tears wet on her face.
"I tried to save her… but it was Lorie. Lorie killed my mom!"
Sasha looked up, horrified. "Is she the one with the head… and the tentacles?"
"Yes," Sam whispered, "and now we report her—if they'll believe us."
Meanwhile: In the Shop's Guts, the other officers swept through the storage room. The stench hit first—like death steeped in vinegar. It curled their stomachs.
Then— A box.
Blood leaked from its seams, thick and dark.
They opened it.
Body parts.Stacked. Folded. Bleeding.
"Oh god…" one officer muttered. "This is a massacre."
"Search everything!"
They did. More boxes. More limbs. Faces that once smiled now reduced to lumps of flesh.
Suddenly— Bang! The storage room door slammed shut.
"Hey! HEY! We're trapped!"
They kicked. Screamed. Nothing.
Ventilation snapped closed. Windows slammed. One officer got his hand stuck—bones crushed.
"MY HAND! IT'S STUCK!"
"On three! One—two—three!"
They pulled. Flesh tore. Fingers stayed behind.
Val wrapped Dex's bleeding hand, their breathing ragged, heavy with panic.
"Why is this door so strong?!"
"This place is cursed!"
Behind an old closet, they found a vent. Val's voice cracked: "Sasha said she fell through one like this." "And killed Carol in another house," Dex added.
The vent was tight. Claustrophobic. They sent officers through, one by one.
Then— "Dude! Something's behind you!"
The officer turned. A figure approached, playful and dead-eyed.
"I'm Sketchie," it sang. "Wanna play? I seek, you hide!"
The officer fired. Sketchie didn't flinch.
"Ten… Nine…"
Dex screamed, diving into the vent.
Val smashed Sketchie with a baton, saving the officer.
But—
Another entity emerged.
Wide grin. Mouth split to his neck.
"Go, Val! GO!" Dex shouted.
They ran. One officer got caught. He grabbed Val—begging.
But panic overtook him.
Val stomped his head to break free.
Sketch dragged the man down. Whispered: "Let's play Die or Die." He hurled him into the dark, the sound of clanging metal echoing like a death bell.
In the maze, six officers remained. They crawled through the vent and emerged into a room lined with dead computers.
"What the hell is this…?"
"A junk shop?"
Val looked around. Sir Bel grinned, eerily calm.
"Continue the investigation?" he asked.
"We're dying," Dex hissed.
"You like money, don't you, Dexter?"
"You're not real," Dex whispered. "You're a lie."
"Oh no, I'm very real," Sir Bel chuckled. "And I won't eat you."
"You're a greedy little bitch."
"You're fired."
"GOOD."
They walked deeper into the shop's metallic gut. A maze of rust and forgotten tech. Meanwhile, Sketch strapped the injured officer to a chair. Whispered in his ear: "Can't fight the weakest entity, huh?"
The officer spat blood. "You're just a weak ant."
Sketch grinned, chainsaw in hand. Blood already painted its blade.
"Then prepare for ant-season."
He sawed off the man's leg. Screams echoed.
Sketchie arrived, furious.
"You almost killed me! Now you pay!"
She grabbed the chainsaw and sliced off his head.
His mouth hung open. Eyes turned white.
"Rockabye baby," Sketchie sang. "Don't you cry…"
Sketch licked the blood. "Mmm. Red velvet flavor."
They placed the head on a shelf.
"For the boss," Sketch whispered. "He'll love it."
The officers continued. Another vent. Another path.
"I'll go," Val said.
He crawled in—heart pounding. One slip, and—
Crash.
He fell. He landed in his childhood home. The house was quiet. Cold. Familiar. A broken photo under the cabinet. His mother's face, intact. His own—ripped.
He wept. On the couch, his family appeared. Laughing. Whole.
Happy.
Then— Crash. The window shattered.
"Vale! Hide!" his mother screamed.
He did. Inside the dressing room.
From the crack in the door, he watched his father get axed. His brother's head—gone. His mother—stabbed through the skull. He covered his mouth to muffle the scream.
And in that moment, Val remembered what he always tried to forget. That he survived. And they didn't.