Devil under the Bed

After going to the front desk Shin and his sister were told to wash some dishes in the kitchen by a guy who looked like a chef. 

The chef wore a black double-breasted coat with gold embroidery, a crimson waist apron, and tailored black trousers. A tall pleated toque crowned his head, while a silver pocket watch hung from his apron.

Shin and his sister pushed open a door that was on the right side of the curtain that led to the weird hallway.

The bar's kitchen was a whirlwind of motion, filled with the clang of iron pots and the hiss of sizzling meat. Thick smoke and the rich aroma of roasted game, fresh bread, and spiced stews hung heavy in the air. 

Cooks in stained aprons shouted orders over the roar of the fire, their hands moving in a blur as they chopped, stirred, and plated. Brass oil lamps flickered above, casting a dim glow over wooden counters slick with spilled ale and grease. 

Shin and his sister made their way through the chaotic kitchen, weaving between bustling cooks and steaming pots. The heat from the stoves pressed against their skin and the scent of seared meat mixed with the sharper tang of spices.

The man who had called out to them stood by a deep, water-filled basin, his sleeves rolled up, forearms slick with soapy water. He was middle-aged, with a rough beard and tired eyes, his hands moving with practiced efficiency as he scrubbed a stack of plates.

"Over here," he said, motioning them closer without pausing his work. "You two will be washing dishes until we close for the night. Just scrub 'em clean and stack 'em over there." He nodded toward a worn wooden rack lined with drying plates.

Without waiting for a response, he handed them both a wet rag and a plate coated in grease. "Get to it. The pile's only gonna get bigger."

Shin and his sister exchanged glances before rolling up their sleeves. It was going to be a long night.

The duo continued washing dishes for an hour alongside the man. Shin stumbled at first but quickly got the hang of it. His sister, on the other hand, picked up the task almost instantly, carefully observing the other workers and mimicking their techniques.

These kids aren't half bad, the man thought as he stole a glance at them from the corner of his eye.

Sis turned to Shin and said, her voice as gentle as ever, "If it's too hard, you can take a break. I'll handle the rest."

"It's alright," Shin replied, trying to appear strong.

For the next four hours, they washed dishes, served food, and repeated the process over and over. At this point, they were essentially working as waiters.

By the time the clock struck midnight, the rush had died down. Customers began to leave, and the staff started wrapping up for the night.

Shin sank to the floor, exhausted, while his sister remained standing, washing the last few plates with ease. She hummed a soft tune, and the sound had a strangely soothing effect on him.

His tired eyes swept over the remaining workers, taking in their movements. Then, he noticed something odd. One of the workers grabbed a piece of leftover bread, placed it on a dirty plate, and walked away with a cup of water in hand.

At first, it didn't seem unusual. But then a thought struck him—all the customers had left. So who was the food for?

And more importantly, the bread wasn't even edible. Is he throwing it out? But if that were the case, why separate it from the rest of the trash?

Something didn't feel right.

"Sis, can you finish the dishes? I need to check on something," Shin said.

His sister shot him a suspicious look, sensing he might be up to something reckless. But after a brief hesitation, she nodded. "Alright, but don't take too long, okay?"

Shin gave her a reassuring smile before slipping away.

He trailed the waiter at a careful distance, watching as the man moved past the curtains, down the long hallway with a bunch of doors on both sides, and stopped in front of Garyuu's office.

Is he bringing that food to Garyuu? But why?

The waiter pulled out a ring of keys, selecting one before sliding it into the keyhole.

Click!

The door unlocked. He stepped inside and disappeared into the room.

Shin hesitated for a moment, then quietly followed, staying in the shadows as he observed the man's next move.

The waiter reached for a book on the large bookshelf and pulled it.

Click.

A faint mechanical hum followed, and deep within the walls, iron gears began to spin with rhythmic precision. Their teeth locked and released in a seamless motion, setting off a chain reaction of whirring cogs and shifting mechanisms.

Then, one of the stone slabs on the floor trembled before rising slightly, its sharp edges now visible. With a low groan, two mechanical pillars emerged from the sides, pushing the slab upward at a sharp angle—roughly seventy degrees.

A hidden staircase was revealed, descending into pure darkness.

The end of the staircase was unknown. The black void below swallowed any trace of light, resembling the gaping maw of the underworld itself.

Without hesitation, the waiter stepped forward and disappeared into the abyss.

The waiter's footsteps echoed into the abyss, each step fading into the unknown.

Shin waited, listening intently. When the sound finally disappeared, he stepped forward, stopping at the edge of the staircase.

The darkness below sent a shiver down his spine. It was deep, endless—consuming.

And yet, for some reason, he felt drawn to it. As if the abyss itself was calling him.

Taking a slow, cautious step, he descended.

Step by step.

Deeper and deeper.

Time stretched, each moment dragging on like an eternity.

Then, finally, his foot met solid ground.

He had reached the bottom.

When Shin reached the bottom, his breath hitched. His body locked in place, refusing to move.

What lay before him was beyond comprehension.

For the first time in his life, he felt true, paralyzing terror—an overwhelming fear that he had witnessed something no human should ever see.

The dim, flickering lights barely illuminated the nightmare ahead. A massive underground prison stretched before him, lined with rusted iron bars. 

Behind them, in each cell, lay the grotesque remains of prisoners—some half-alive, others nothing more than mutilated corpses.

The stench hit him like a sledgehammer. A nauseating mix of rotting flesh, burnt meat, and festering blood saturated the air, invading his lungs with every shallow breath. 

His stomach twisted violently. He barely had time to turn before vomiting onto the cold stone floor. Acid burned his throat, but he forced himself to stand.

He had to keep going.

The walls were slick with something dark—thick, congealed blood that had dried in streaks like someone had clawed at them in agony. The ground was littered with discarded limbs—decayed fingers, severed arms, feet with exposed tendons curling like dying worms.

And the bodies…

Some were decomposed beyond recognition, their hollow eye sockets staring into nothingness. Others were fresher, their torsos split open like dissected animals, ribs cracked apart, organs removed with surgical precision. But it wasn't just surgery—this was butchery.

Scattered among the carnage were medical instruments, their metal gleaming dully under the dim light. Bone saws with jagged, rusted teeth. A Trephine drill, caked in dried marrow. A Tonsil Guillotine, its blade still wet with fresh blood. A Scarificator, its rows of razors clogged with unidentifiable chunks of flesh. These weren't just tools—they were instruments of pain.

Shin swallowed, his throat dry, his hands trembling. His mind screamed at him to run, to escape this waking nightmare. Is this the Devil's basement?

Then—footsteps.

A slow, steady rhythm echoed from the stairs.

Shin's heart pounded against his ribs. The waiter was returning.

Without thinking, he lunged behind a stone pillar, pressing his back against the cold, damp surface. He held his breath, each second stretching into eternity.

The waiter's footsteps stopped.

Shin clenched his fists, sweat dripping down his forehead.

Did he sense me?

For a moment, the air felt thick with silence, the weight of an unseen gaze pressing down on him.

Then, without a word, the man turned and walked away, his footsteps fading up the stairs.

Shin exhaled shakily, his pulse still hammering in his ears.

He wasn't safe.

Not yet.