Chapter 18

Masahiro had truly changed by now. Once an emotional and impulsive person, a veil of apathy had descended over his feelings, shielding him from despair and making him rational and contemplative. Now he knew exactly what he had to do: uncover everything about the house and find out what Lisa had tried to tell him.

Masahiro, as if guided by a sixth sense, was convinced that by uncovering the secrets of the house, he could find its weakness; and by finding that weakness, he could somehow escape it. One thing, however, he knew for sure: to succeed, he would have to relive his entire past. And he knew that wouldn't be easy.

With this weight pressing on his chest, Masahiro stepped out of the room where he had woken up, the same one where he had found the hidden wall closet.

He slowly opened the door."A dead end?" Masahiro was confused, a growing anxiety rising from his chest to his throat. In front of the door was just a blank wall, no deeper than thirty centimeters. He examined it closely, scanning the floor, until he realized his mistake: the door actually opened sideways into an extremely narrow corridor, its darkness so thick it had made it seem, at first glance, like the corridor wasn't there at all.

He looked both to his left and to his right, trying to spot any clues or details that might hint at which way to go. At first, nothing happened, and truth be told, Masahiro felt almost foolish for even trying. But then he noticed it: a stagnant stench coming from the right. Without hesitation, he followed it.

The floorboards creaked beneath his feet, and the farther he went, the more unstable, brittle, and noisy they became. His steps grew softer. The stench of rotting wood grew stronger, and the air thickened with dampness. He walked slowly, barely able to see a thing.

The walls around him began to close in. His shoulders brushed against the surfaces, and it was then that he noticed... they were pulsing.

Finally, his hands touched the frame of an open door. He had reached another room.

The smell of dampness, rot, and mold thickened the air to the point it was barely breathable. Masahiro heard a plastic object rolling across the floor—it had been knocked over by his foot.

He crouched down and began feeling the floor. It was sticky. A shiver of disgust ran down his spine. A layer of viscous, metallic-smelling fluid coated his hands. He gagged but managed to hold it in. He found the object he had kicked and picked it up, running his fingers over it until he felt a button. A beam of light shot out in front of him. A faint grin crept across his face."A flashlight. This will make things easier."

He pointed the flashlight ahead, revealing the full extent of the room: it looked like an old basement. The floor and walls were entirely made of wood, which he could now see clearly eaten by termites, weakened by humidity, overrun with moss and other small weeds growing between the cracks. A line about a meter from the ceiling marked the water level; above it, the wood's original color was still visible. In two corners of the room, exposed, broken pipes dripped every now and then—the sound vanishing into the silence.

Now the truth was crystal clear to Masahiro: the basement had been flooded.

In the far-left corner of the room, a massive pile of objects covered with a red cloth caught Masahiro's eye immediately. He approached it and yanked the cover off in one swift motion, as if tearing off a bandage.That was where the rancid smell was coming from.

He shone the flashlight on the mass.Terror and revulsion overwhelmed him, forcing him to look away and vomit on the spot. He braced himself with one hand against the wall, breathing heavily after the retching. He couldn't bring himself to look again.His heartbeat was pounding in his throat like a war drum.How was it possible that he was dead?