“How rude,” Vincent muttered, resting his hand against the wall to steady himself.

  Rafael gripped the pan tightly. “Just leave him to me!” he growled aggressively, but Leon held him back firmly.

  “Calm down, Rafael… at least we can eat now,” Leon said sharply.

  “Fine, let’s just go,” Rafael said, stretching his hands while still holding the pan.

  Rafael slammed the door one last time with the pan.

  Leon glanced back. He, Vincent, and Jayson exchanged quick looks before moving.

  “Run!” Jayson shouted, urgency tight in his voice.

  They hurried down the hall, footsteps echoing off the walls. Not a full sprint, but fast enough to feel adrenaline surge. Behind them, the creak of a door opening made them freeze for a moment, hearts hammering, before instinct pushed them onward.

  “Enough… I’m tired,” Vincent muttered, slowing slightly, hands on his knees.

  Leon’s eyes flicked to the door where Zhayne had been. He stepped toward it, hesitant, and opened it quickly.

  The room looked exactly as before—but Zhayne wasn’t there.

  A memory hit Leon sharply. Before Victoria left Dan’s room, she had heard Clara’s voice and hurried to the door, whispering, “Don’t let anyone find out.” She then looked at the corpse, back at Leon with a calm smile, and added, “It will disappear on its own.”

  Leon lingered on the room, unease curling in his chest.

  Rafael stepped fully inside, dropped the pan on the table, and lowered himself into a nearby chair with a heavy sigh. “Let’s go back to our room. I’m tired,” he said.

  Vincent followed, placing a hand lightly on Leon’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about him. He’s probably fine,” he whispered, then added, “Let’s head back to our room.”

  The group walked down the hallway, quiet except for their footsteps, the previous room still heavy in Leon’s mind.

  They finally arrived at their room.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Jayson stepped forward, opening the door with a grin that slowly faded. His mouth turned down, eyes widening just slightly, uncertainty flickering across his expression.

  Leon noticed and hurried inside. The moment he saw Zhayne sleeping on Rafael’s bed, his face went blank. Without a word, he carefully placed the stove on the table, acting as if he hadn’t noticed anything.

  The memory faded.

  “…and that’s the whole story,” Jayson finished.

  Zhayne looked down. A blanket and pillow lay neatly on the floor.

  He leaned closer to Jayson. “Did he sleep on the floor?”

  “No… no, it was the banana guy,” Jayson said, waving his hand quickly.

  Zhayne frowned slightly, confusion flickering across his face, then turned toward the door—which opened at that moment. It was the banana guy.

  Zhayne didn’t ask why he was there; his mind was consumed by the dream.

  He glanced at the two water bottles by the bed—one empty, the other half-full. He picked up the half-full one and took a small sip.

  As he drank, Rafael’s voice cut in, calm but edged. “Leon told us to wait until you were awake. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind us drinking your water, would you?”

  Zhayne lowered the bottle slightly, glancing at Rafael, unsure how to respond.

  The banana guy moved closer, sitting down silently on the blanket.

  Leon, near the stove, turned and said, “Food’s ready.” He glanced briefly at Rafael, expression unreadable.

  Vincent tapped Zhayne’s shoulder. “When Rafael’s speech sounds polite,” he whispered, “it usually doesn’t end well.”

  “Rafael, give me some tissues,” Leon said, holding out his hand. Rafael handed them over without a word.

  Leon began carefully parting the fish, distributing portions to everyone while leaving Rafael’s share in the pan.

  Jayson, eating his portion, kept glancing at the colored window above the desk, eyes following the sunlight.

  Zhayne, finishing his bite, became fixated on the window. A creeping unease settled over him—was there even a window there?

  He got up quickly, eyes widening with realization. As he turned, his gaze met Leon’s, and for a brief moment, it was as if they were thinking the exact same thing.

  Zhayne’s hands trembled in the air as he pushed the desk aside with Leon’s help, giving a clear view of the window. He leaned forward, looking down.

  A jolt of terror shot through him. His face went pale, eyes wide and unfocused, body heavy as if all energy had drained. He froze.

  “Shut it!” he shouted to Leon, voice cracking with fear.

  Leon’s eyes caught the view below, and without hesitation, he slammed the window shut.

  Clowns.

  They crawled along the walls, grotesque and unnaturally twisted. Heads nearly severed, held together by a thin strip of flesh. No noses. Mouths grotesquely wide, dripping blood. Every movement made wet, gurgling, scraping sounds against the walls,sickening, choking.

  The massive crowd surged upward, heading straight for the window.

  And then—he saw the lion, its head twisted backward, crawling toward them with horrifying intent.

  Leon went silent, staring at the closed window, hands trembling.

  Jayson jumped up, panicked. “What’s… what’s going on?!”

  Before Leon could answer, the horrifying sound reached them—the wet, scraping, gurgling crowd outside pressing against the room. The building seemed alive, and Zhayne’s pulse raced, every nerve screaming.

  Jayson lunged for the door, hands trembling as he worked the key. Fear crept in with every scrape and gurgle. Finally, the key clicked, locking the door.

  Zhayne and Leon exchanged a sharp glance, silently acknowledging what to do. Without a word, they shoved the desk toward the door, muscles straining. Banana helped, sweat pouring down their faces, breaths sharp and ragged.

  The hands, slick with blood, clawed and hammered at the door, sticking through the scratches, each scrape digging deeper, echoing like nails on bone.

  Leon shoved everyone back. Gripping a chair, he swung it again and again. The chair splintered, leaving him stumbling backward.

  Panic gripped them. Zhayne’s hands shook in the air, there was nothing to hold onto; the desk blocked the door. Jayson’s knees trembled, while Rafael’s eyes were wide with fear, sweat beading his forehead. The door groaned, the window rattling violently.

  Then, a sharp crack from the door made Zhayne freeze. Eyes wide, he shut them tightly, sweat running down his temples.

  Then—silence.

  The scraping, gurgling, grotesque sounds vanished. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

  He wasn’t in the room anymore.

  Instead, he found himself alone inside a large, rectangular mental cage, bathed in a soft, eerie light.

  Thanks for reading.