Chapter Sixteen: The Ghastly Face with Red Eyes and Fangs

“Is it really possible for a haunted house actor without a head to run so fast?” Tian Yuan cowered behind the monk, both hands clutching his shoulders as his calves began to tremble.

“His head is with me,” came a sudden voice from behind them.

Startled, they whirled around to see, beside the operating table behind them, three men in white coats with ghastly pale faces who had appeared without warning.

The one who spoke was the tall doctor on the left, his expression cold and sinister. In both hands, he cradled a human head, eyes still rolling wildly, blood dripping steadily from the severed neck.

The doctor in the middle, Dr. Chen, held a large surgical knife in his right hand and what appeared to be a length of human intestine in his left.

On the right, Dr. Sun gripped a gleaming pair of handcuffs in his left hand, and in his right, an oversized, intimidating syringe.

Confronted with these horrifyingly realistic doctors, neither the monk nor Tian Yuan could muster the thought that these were merely haunted house performers; their eyes brimmed with terror.

Dr. Gao fixed the two terrified police academy students with a murderous glare. “You say there are no ghosts in this world? Once you’re dead, you’ll know if that’s true.”

Suddenly, the lights in the physical therapy room went out. In the pitch blackness, their nerves stretched to the edge of collapse.

“Don’t… don’t come any closer,” the monk whimpered, voice quivering with tears. Tian Yuan clung to his waist, legs so weak he nearly collapsed.

They heard the doctors’ footsteps drawing nearer, each step amplifying their dread, unsure when a knife might slash or a needle stab them.

Suddenly, the human head in Dr. Gao’s hands was illuminated by a faint glow, its mouth agape in a horrific scream, thrust mere inches from their faces.

The abrupt shock in the darkness was too much to bear. Both students’ mouths fell open, pupils dilated, hearts seeming to stop, and they slumped to the floor.

…

Curly was about to bend down and pick up the prison regulations in his cell when he noticed a deathly pale hand stretching out from under the bed.

He had been through many haunted houses and was far more resistant to sudden shocks than most. Instead of panicking, he leaned down for a closer look.

Beneath the bed was indeed only a single hand—there was no sign of the haunted house actor he expected, which left him suspicious.

Suddenly, a cold drop landed on his forehead. He instinctively looked up—only to find, inches from his eyes, an upside-down human face.

Long black hair hung down, the face swollen, eyes bulging, teeth white as death.

Though he thought himself prepared for any fright, this apparition left him utterly stunned.

He let out a thunderous yell and scrambled out of the cell on all fours.

Still shaken, he saw Butterfly ahead of him, stumbling from one cell to another in a panic.

He then caught sight of the monk and Tian Yuan fleeing their cell in utter disarray, pursued by a headless corpse in prison garb.

Before he could call out, the two had vanished from sight.

Steadying his nerves, Curly dared not look back to see what that upside-down woman truly looked like. He walked forward, intending to check on Butterfly in her cell.

Suddenly, hurried footsteps echoed behind him.

He turned to find the Duke, hair standing on end, eyes vacant, limping hurriedly toward him.

“Duke, what’s wrong?” Curly called.

The Duke dashed past him, expressionless, as if he didn’t recognize him at all.

Alarmed, Curly quickly followed, not noticing the disembodied head bouncing along behind him.

At the end of the corridor, up a flight of stairs, the Duke seemed to know exactly where he was going and slipped into a room.

Curly glanced at the sign overhead—“Medical Supply Storage”—and hurried in after him.

Inside, the Duke’s eyes were bloodshot, and he tore frantically through boxes on the floor like a madman.

“Duke! Duke!” Curly shouted, but the Duke ignored him, as if he were someone else entirely.

Curly stepped forward and grabbed the Duke’s shoulder.

The Duke suddenly twisted around, his face contorted into a demonic mask with blood-red eyes and fangs.

“You—” Curly’s pupils contracted; before he could finish, he collapsed on the spot.

…

Yuan Rushuang entered the cell, bent down to pick up the prison regulations, and casually flipped through a few pages.

She read for a moment and found the contents rather standard, detailed enough to resemble a real prison handbook, but the more realistic it was, the duller it became.

Suddenly, with a loud clang, the cell door slammed shut.

She looked back and saw the face of a man in a prison guard’s cap peering in.

“So the haunted house actors finally show themselves,” she muttered, tucking the regulations into her pocket and walking to the door to study the face outside.

“It’s just a living person dressed as a guard—nothing scary about that.”

She didn’t know why she needed to reassure herself, but for the first time, unease crept into her heart; a crack appeared in her psychological defenses.

She scrutinized the guard’s face, unable to pinpoint the source of her fear.

Amid self-doubt and mental suggestion, the seed of terror began to grow within her.

Soon, she heard Butterfly’s anguished, blood-curdling scream from outside.

Before she could process what had happened, she heard three more screams in succession, unmistakably Tian Yuan, the monk, and Curly by the sound of them.

Yuan Rushuang grew anxious. She tried to push open the cell door, only to find it firmly held from outside by the guard—there was no way to budge it.

“Does this haunted house actor think he can just lock me in here? What right does he have to do that?”

Her anger flared, but then she heard Curly’s voice as if he were speaking to someone just beyond the door. She wanted desperately to get out and see.

At that moment, a strange woman’s voice sounded behind her: “You died a terrible death!”

She had already checked the entire cell and was certain no one was hiding inside.

The sudden voice behind her made her heart jolt.

She spun around quickly but saw no one.

Puzzled, she bent down to check under the bed—nothing but emptiness.

Straightening up, she was about to inspect the wall when she suddenly felt a cold breath against the back of her neck.

Her heart leapt. She whirled around; still, no one was there.

Her unease deepened.

Slowly, she turned back—and found herself face-to-face, mere centimeters away, with a visage almost entirely veiled by black hair, only two eyes visible through the strands.