The Monster's Room - Chapter 67
New Case 4: Nightmare and Brainwashing
The nightmare contained a wealth of information. As suspected, the longer one remains in a dream, the more one becomes assimilated. The more assimilation occurs, the stronger the influence of the nightmare becomes.
Because of this, Marie was also under the influence of the enemy.
‘And that I’m doomed…’
There was no need for things to be this consistently unlucky. Marie sighed at her misfortune.
She was fixed at the starting point of the corridor. Her immobile body, like in many nightmares, was a burden.
Marie looked around the corridor, feeling frustrated. Fortunately, the containment doors remained intact, offering a small comfort.
<SCP-▉▉▉5 door opening.>
With the announcement, the containment door at the end of the corridor opened.
<SCP-▉▉▉3 door opening.>
<SCP-▉▉▉2 door opening..>
The remaining announcements followed, and the containment doors opened in succession, but Marie could not be pleased.
The first reason was that she could now understand both the sign and the announcements. The second reason was that despite the situation allowing her to meet the monsters, there was an oddly unsettling feeling.
‘Why?’
The Iron Horse Knight and the Marionette Troupe Leader, as well as J, were on Marie’s side. So why was there such a foreboding feeling?
Bang!
Marie’s thoughts were interrupted by the Iron Horse Knight. He was banging away at something as if obstructed. He tried lifting and striking with the front legs of the enormous battle horse and charging into it, but the invisible barrier remained unblemished.
Clunk. Clunk.
<Miss?>
Tap. Tap.
<Are you there? My Marie.>
Tap. Tap. Tap.
In contrast, the Marionette Troupe Leader knocked politely. Strangely, while the knocking sound was clear, his voice, coming from the gramophone, sounded muffled and blocked.
Marie looked one last time at J’s room.
Splash!
The transparent jelly-like monster was struggling to melt the even more transparent wall. It seemed that J, like Marie, had been somewhat affected by staying in the nightmare.
Smash! Smash! Smash!
J lashed out at the wall in frustration, but it was useless. Marie understood why. As with all dreams, an inexplicable sense of knowing took over her, as if she should have known without anyone telling her.
That barrier wouldn’t easily break.
Because…
“It’s a wall you’ve built in your mind.”
“Who are you?”
Startled by the sudden voice from behind, Marie asked, but the owner of the voice did not answer immediately. Instead, the small footsteps approached her and then passed by.
“How does it feel?”
“Huh?”
The presence that passed Marie now stood in the middle of the corridor. With only the back visible, it was hard to tell, but the figure looked quite young.
“Your nightmare.”
“…!”
Only then did Marie realize who this child was.
The Nightmare, John Doe’s successful experiment that had attacked the facility. Marie, unable to respond beyond a gasp, saw the child turn around, revealing a different reason for her speechlessness.
Braided hair on either side.
A small body tightly clutching a doll.
“A child…?”
The enemy’s true identity was shockingly young.
* * *
The child’s complexion was pale. Particularly alarming were the bright red eyes, as if burst blood vessels that looked like they urgently needed medical attention.
Marie briefly considered the possibility that this might be a fake.
“No, it’s not. I’m nine years old.”
It was not a fake.
The child was truly young.
At that moment, Marie desperately wanted to take John Doe’s head off. How could he experiment on and attack the facility with such a young child?
As Marie seethed with anger, the child spoke.
“My name is Mary Hunt.”
“Oh, I’m Marie Garcia…”
It was a coincidence that their names were the same.
“I didn’t ask your name.”
“Huh?”
“You’re going to die anyway.”
“…”
Marie thought she must have misheard. Wasn’t this too vicious for a child to say?
“Uncle said so. All monsters must die.”
“Hey.”
“You’re a monster too.”
“What?”
“So die. Please die. I’ll get praised by Uncle. I have to prove I’m useful.”
The child, biting their fingertips incessantly, appeared extremely nervous and unstable. Each fingertip was wrapped in bandages, but it seemed they were ineffective.
Marie decided to try to calm the child first by speaking.
“Why don’t we talk about this first?”
“Talk?”
“Yes, talk.”
“Adults seem to really like talking,” the child said, having finally stopped biting their fingertips.
“Even though they’re just going to hit you anyway.”
“What…?”
“Everyone was like that. When my dad killed my mom, when the police pulled me out of the fridge. They all wanted to talk.”
The child blinked, and the blood that had pooled in their eyes began to trickle down. The child wiped it away indifferently, leaving red stains on her pale cheeks.
“But it seems those people preferred hitting to talking.”
“…”
“They said I gave them bad dreams, so they hit me. My mom, my dad, the kids in the orphanage, the teachers. They all hit me and hated me.”
It seemed the child also couldn’t control her abilities like Marie. And with nightmares as an ability, anyone would become worn out if subjected to them daily.
The child’s life must have been inevitably harsh.
