Ryan and I nearly hit the ceiling when Granny's skeletal hand clamped onto my wrist, her fingers digging in like a bear trap. I yanked back, pain shooting up my arm. "Let go, you creepy fossil!" I yelped, flailing like a fish on a hook. She sat up, stiff as a mannequin, her face blank and eyes shut tight. No soul, no vibe—just a freaky puppet with a death grip.
Ryan lunged to pry her off, but her hand was welded to me. "Damn, she's got Hulk strength!" he grunted, tugging at her fingers. I grimaced, panic spiking. "She's gonna snap my wrist! Talk about a bad Yelp review for this B&B!"
Ryan paused, his phone's flashlight catching her face. "Hold up, Jake—her eyes. They're closed. Last night, they were open, all cloudy and creepy. Remember?"
I blinked, the detail cutting through my fear. He was right—Granny's blank stare had haunted me, but now her lids were sealed. Yet she was moving. "What's her deal?" I muttered, waving a hand in front of her face. No reaction. "She's blind as a bat, but still bench-pressing my arm. How's she tracking us?"
Ryan's jaw tightened. "No clue, but we're not here for her life story. Keep her busy—I'll search for clues." He hesitated, eyeing my trapped wrist. "You good, man?"
I forced a grin, pain throbbing. "Peachy. Just me and Granny having a moment. Go!" Ryan nodded, sweeping his flashlight across the shack. The spot where Jasper's corpse had hung was empty, the walls bare as a minimalist's Pinterest board. "Where's the zombie decor?" I whispered, my voice shaky. "Someone cleaned house."
Ryan cursed, circling back. "Nada. Either Granny's got a secret stash, or someone beat us to it. And her? She's a walking glitch." He grabbed her hand again, yanking hard, but it was like wrestling a statue. In frustration, he smacked her head—lightly, but enough to make me wince. Miraculously, her grip loosened, and I stumbled free, rubbing my bruised wrist. "Nice one, Rocky," I said. "But let's not anger the zombie grandma."
I wanted to poke around her eyes, see if they were fake or just creepy, but my courage was on vacation. Ryan crouched, shining his light under the wooden slab she lay on. "Yo, check this," he said, his voice tight. A wooden bucket, like something from a medieval well, sat tucked beneath. He dragged it out, and a wave of blood-and-guts stench hit us, so foul I gagged. "What is that?" I choked, peering in.
The bucket was a horror show—piles of raw, bloody meat, glistening like a butcher's nightmare. No bones, no head, just… flesh. My stomach lurched, and I dry-heaved, the memory of the game's torture scene flashing in my mind: imps slicing ghost meat, tossing it into a bucket, over and over. "Ryan, this is straight out of the game," I gasped. "The lingchi punishment—eternal carving. But in real life? No way this is human tech."
Ryan's face was grim, his flashlight steady. "It's too perfect. The game's bleeding into reality, and this bucket's proof." He paused, then added, "What if it's Lila's? Her head showed up at your place—no body. This could be the rest of her."
I froze, cold sweat trickling down my back. "Lila's… meat? So Granny killed her and Jasper? Why? And why's her MO a carbon copy of the game's torture fest?" My brain spun, grasping for logic. "Jasper and Lila built the game, got Ethan to code it, but Granny's the one turning their script into a snuff film. Is she their boss? Or just a fan?"
Ryan stood, his eyes narrowing. "Here's a theory: Lila tracks Jasper to Hollow Vale, maybe to stop the game or save him. Granny catches them, turns Jasper into a zombie flop, then butchers Lila. But why? And how's Granny linked to the game? She's not exactly a Silicon Valley coder."
I nodded, the puzzle pieces jagged and incomplete. "Every time we get close, the trail goes cold—Jasper's body dumped, Lila's head delivered. We need to crack Granny open, figuratively or literally, before she pulls another fast one."
Ryan glanced at Granny, still frozen on her slab, eyes closed like a creepy Sleeping Beauty. "She's not right—dead, alive, or something else. We need evidence." He pointed to the bucket. "I'm taking that for testing. Might confirm it's Lila. You cool waiting outside? This stench is a war crime."
I gagged, nodding. "Yeah, I'd rather not puke on the evidence. Hurry up." Ryan slipped back inside, leaving me in the chilly night. The silence was oppressive, the darkness pressing in like a bad dream. I paced, trying to shake the feeling of eyes on my back. The air felt… wrong, like someone was breathing down my neck. I spun, scanning the empty field. Nothing but shadows.
"Come on, Jake, you're just paranoid," I muttered, rubbing my arms. But the sensation grew, a cold prickle crawling up my spine. I turned again—still nothing. Then, a faint brush grazed my neck, light as a feather but chilling as ice. My hand flew to the spot, heart pounding. "Who's there?!" I barked, spinning wildly. The field was empty, but the itch lingered, my skin crawling with phantom touches.
I backed toward the shack, my pulse deafening. Whatever was out here wasn't human—and it was toying with me.