C109: The calm night (3)

‘...’

The smile on Gentle’s face vanished. Without another glance toward the village, he turned and walked back into the forest.

He buttoned and unbuttoned his cuffs in a frantic, obsessive rhythm. The small, repetitive motion continued as he walked, the fabric shifting beneath his touch, the click of fastening and loosening barely audible beneath the whispering wind.

His face contorted with terrifying speed. It twisted, shifted from a wide smile to a deep frown, to a flash of irritation, then to a mask of blistering rage, before snapping back to that same pleasant, empty smile.

He clamped his hand over his face, as if physically forcing the muscles into place.

For a moment, his features were hidden.

After a moment, he lowered his arm, and the face of the polite gentleman had returned to its normal, serene state.

“Sir, I must insist that you cease such… unnecessary interference,” his voice smooth, addressing the cold air of the forest.

Except, no one stood before him, only the dark forest.

“...”

“...”

“...”

The silence stretched.

From deep within the forest, where the gray mist thickened, the brush parted. Branches bent without sound. Leaves trembled, yet no wind passed through them.

From the gray fog, a figure slowly emerged. It walked over from the deepest parts of the dark forest, its movements slow and heavy.

“...”

The creature stood upright on two long legs. It was significantly taller than Gentle, looming at least two meters in height.

Its two wide eyes glared toward Gentle with a chilling intensity. The stag’s human-like face remained locked in its perpetual, unhinging smile, the teeth bared in a frozen mockery of joy.

“...”

“...”

“...”

The two entities faced off against each other for a long period, neither of them offering even the slightest movement.

The forest itself seemed to hold its breath. The silence pressed in like a physical weight. There was no longer any sound of insects chirping, nor the sound of leaves rustling. Even the fog slowed, hanging in the air like a suspended veil.

It was as if they were communicating through their gazes alone.

The Stag tilted its head at an unnatural angle. It said nothing, only continued to stare at Gentle with those wide, haunting eyes.

Gentle buttoned his cuff once more. He cleared his throat lightly and adjusted his bowtie, offering a polite smile.

“I would strongly suggest that you should—”

The Stag moved its front left leg with explosive speed, cutting him off mid-speech!

Gentle’s figure disappeared instantly!

*Bang!*

The massive tree behind where Gentle had stood exploded inward, a violent rupture tearing through its trunk.

Wood splintered outward, shards scattering across the forest floor. The impact left a gaping hole through its body, as though something immense had passed straight through it.

With a series of groans, the giant tree toppled over, crashing through the undergrowth.

*Thud.*

“...”

The man did not reappear. There was no trace of him left.

The Stag stood alone for a brief moment, its head swivelling to survey the area. The movement caused its coarse hair to sway, brushing against its elongated shoulders.

Its smile remained unchanged. But beneath that frozen grin, veins bulged along its head, black veins popped and throbbed across its bloated, human forehead.

It was as if the creature was consumed by a silent fury.

“...”

Afterward, a dense gray mist rose upward from the earth, rapidly surrounding the entire forest.

The Stag turned around. Its towering, two-legged figure retreated into the roiling mist, its silhouette growing smaller and more indistinct until its very form dissolved into the fog.

Soon, there was no one left within the clearing, besides the indifferent forest.

“...”

“...”

“...”

“My, that was quite dangerous indeed.”

Gentle stepped out from behind another tree nearby, leaning his back against the bark with a casual grace.

He meticulously fixed his attire, straightening the lapels of his black suit and brushing the fine gray dust from his sleeves. He watched the last traces of the big figure disappear into the gloom.

“Maybe I should not use suggestions next time.”

He unbuttoned his cuff, letting out a small sigh, and walked casually toward the heart of the deep forest.

[“Psychological Invisibility.”]

His figure disappeared.

----

Around the mansion, night deepened.

The sun had long since set beyond the forest, and the last crimson glow of dusk that once stained the attic walls had disappeared.

In its place remained the dim, unsteady light of the oil lamps fixed along the wooden beams. Their flames flickered weakly, casting wavering shadows across the slanted ceiling and dusty floorboards.

Inside, the attic room had fallen into silence, leaving only the constant howl of the wind, a low sound that whistled through the gaps in the wooden planks nailed over the window.

This window had been shattered since Benjamin's time. Since there was no one left capable of fixing the glass, only crude, weathered wooden planks remained to bar the elements, with a fraying sheet of oilcloth stapled over the gaps to keep out the draft.

But time had loosened everything. One corner of the oilcloth had slipped free, leaving a thin slit where the outside air could creep in.

*Riiit—*

Through that gap, the wind whispered its way into the attic with a persistent whine.

*Creakk...*

The boards creaked softly.

Soon enough, the attic door opened, creating a dull grinding sound.

A small patch of gray hair peeked into the darkness.

*Creaak.*

The door swung wider. The rusted hinges groaned, and the silhouette of a small statue became visible in the doorway.

A small figure stepped into the attic.

It was a porcelain doll.

Its tiny feet trotted into the room, making small sounds against the uneven floorboards.

*tap tap tap.*

The doll paused just inside the doorway.

Its head tilted slowly to one side.

Long gray bangs slid down across its glassy navy eyes, partially hiding them in shadow. The smooth porcelain face remained expressionless, its small lips molded into a neutral shape that neither smiled nor frowned.

“...”

The doll looked around the attic.

Its gaze passed over the dusty beams, the old furniture draped by white cloth, the old study table, chairs, and the bookshelf. At last, it gaze fixed on the planks nailed to the broken window.

“...”

It walked further into the room.

In its delicate hands, it gripped a heavy kitchen knife.

The knife looked too large for the doll’s tiny body. Its fingers could barely wrap around the wooden handle. Both arms were required to hold it steady.

Rather than lifting it properly, the doll dragged the blade behind it.

The metal edge screeched faintly against the floorboards, like a broadsword being dragged by a weary warrior. Its blade gleaming in the light of the oil lamps.

“…”

The little one stopped and looked down at the oversized kitchen knife.

For a moment, it simply stared at the object it had been carrying. Its porcelain head tilted slightly, and the navy glass eyes narrowed just a little, as if considering something.

“…”

*Thud.*

With an indifferent motion, it opened its arms and let the knife clatter to the floor with a dull thud.

The tool seemed too cumbersome for its small form.

It left the blade lying there and walked on. The small porcelain feet padded quietly across the attic boards. Dust stirred slightly beneath each step, and the hem of the doll’s gray dress brushed softly against the wood.

“...”

After several steps, the doll stopped.

Its head tilted upward.

Reflected in its navy glass eyes was the grand portrait hanging on the wall.

The portrait depicted a beautiful young girl seated upon a noble chair. Her posture was elegant, her hands resting gently upon her lap. Long gray hair flowed down across her shoulders like soft silk, and her eyes were closed in a peaceful sleep.

The painting looked exactly like it.

It was as if the doll were looking at a mirror of itself, trapped in oil and canvas.

But something about the painting had changed since the last time the doll had seen it.

A grotesque change to the masterpiece.

“...”

From the lower edge of the frame, a thick, viscous gray liquid slowly seeped outward.

It trickled down the wall in sluggish ribbons before dripping onto the floorboards below. The liquid pooled there in a spreading patch that resembled thick mud, smelling of oil painting.

It was as if the painting itself was bleeding.

“...”

The attic once again reverberated with the sound of wind forcing its way through the broken window.

*Rittt—* A long, sharp whistle that cut through the silence.

The doll turned its heels. It walked toward a nearby cabinet, one draped in a white cloth meant to keep dust away.

The cloth was a heavy sheet, yellow with age, the sort of cloth used to keep dust from settling over forgotten furniture that was no longer used.

“...”

The little figure turned its head again. Its gaze fell upon the kitchen knife it had dropped earlier. Dull lamps' light reflecting off the metal surface.

It stared at the knife with an unreadable porcelain face, its features frozen in a mask of indifferent beauty.

After a brief pause, the doll’s shoulders slumped, as if it were exhaling a weary sigh.

It walked back toward the knife and lifted the heavy tool, dragging the tip across the floorboards as it moved toward the white cloth.

With difficulty, it began to cut many small pieces from the cloth. Piercing the cloth first, then moving the blade.

The knife tore through the aged fabric with a ripping sound. Small, uneven strips torn from it, each one jagged along the edges where the blade passed through.

Once the pile was sufficient, the doll wrapped the strips of cloth around its small porcelain body, tying the ends securely.

It tied as many pieces onto its small form as possible, layering the rags until it looked like a bandaged casualty of some miniature war, all so it would not have to bother moving back and forth so many times.

After finishing, it moved toward the gray puddle beneath the painting.

“...”

The small figure knelt. It placed the strips of cloth into the thick liquid. Using both hands, it pushed the rag around the floorboards, scrubbing away the gray liquid.

Soon, the liquid absorbed into the fabric, turning the white fabric into a heavy, sodden mass of leaden hue.

Its little form lacked the strength to wring the cloth. Its small arms trembled with effort, but the soaked fabric remained heavy.

As one piece became soaked through, the doll moved the used rag away and reached for another piece to continue.

“...”

Cleaning. Mopping. Repeating.

Time continued to move forward.

The wind continued its restless howl through the attic, rattling wood, filling the space with a constant noise.

“...”

Yet, no matter how many times the doll wiped the floor, the gray liquid did not lessen.

The viscous sludge still seeped from the frame, onto the wood the doll had just cleaned.

It was as if it were trying to clean a waterfall. The water wouldn’t stop leaking.

“...”

Eventually, realizing it was futile to keep cleaning the floor, the doll stopped.

It stood amidst a sea of gray-stained rags and gazed upward, toward the painting of the sleeping girl.

After a long pause, the doll walked directly toward the gray puddle.

Its porcelain feet sank slightly into the viscous substance. The hem of its gray dress darkened as the liquid soaked into it, clinging to the fabric, weighing it down.

But the doll paid it no mind. It only had eyes for the figure above.

The doll stopped beneath the painting. Directly under the waterfall of gray liquid.

It stretched its two articulated arms toward the portrait and jumped.

*trot trot*

Its small feet tapped against the floor as it landed. The sound of gray mud splattering reverberated through the room.

“…”

It tried again, jumped higher.

*trot trot*

“...”

The doll looked down at its own small, fragile form.

A stray gray bang fell over its eyes, slicked with the gray liquid.

It couldn’t jump any higher.

It could not reach the painting.

“...”

The doll slowly swept its gaze across the attic.

Its eyes paused on a heavy wooden chair standing nearby, staying there for a moment.

“...”

Finally, its gaze returned to the painting.

The doll stared at it for a long time, as if pondering something.

“…”

The doll’s head tilted slightly to one side, its eyelids drooped lower.

Slowly, it lowered itself onto the floorboards, lying in the gray puddle beneath the painting.

Its long gray hair spread outward across the wooden floor and soaked into the thick liquid slowly dripping from above.

The gray substance seeped into the doll’s dress.

Across its arms.

Around its neck.

Soon the small porcelain body was smeared and coated in the strange gray fluid.

The doll curled slightly onto its side, drawing its limbs inward.

Its navy eyes remained open, still staring toward the painting above.

Then—

A faint green mist began seeping from its body.

The mist drifted slowly upward, rising like smoke.

*Crack.*

A fracture appeared along the surface of the doll’s porcelain head.

Its navy glass eyes flickered. They continued watching as the green mist drifted upward… slowly… slowly…

Until the mist touched the surface of the painting.

It seeped into the frame and vanished inside.

“...”

The doll’s eyes flickered again. The color inside them began to fade.

The deep blue dulled, losing its luster.

It faded into pale glass.

Into empty whiteness.

“Mom.”

A small, ethereal voice reverberated, cut short by the wind.

“Cold.”

The doll’s body slackened.

Its porcelain limbs loosened.

Many fissures began to form.

The small figure lay motionless inside the warm gray fluid.

It curled itself inward, closing its eyes.

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