Page 95 of Fake Game

JACKSON

“Iknow you’re there,”the creepy voice echoes.

I pause at the door I was just about to open and instead opt to look through the peephole. Everything is a little distorted, kind of like looking through a fish-eye lens, but it’s enough for me to determine whether the culprit is actually outside the room or just fucking with me.

When I confirm that there’s nothing out there except the flickering wall sconces making the decrepit hotel hallway look even shittier than it is, I say, “Fuck it.”

I open the door and step outside, looking both ways.

Left or right?

Left or right…

“All right, chat, left or right?”

I probably should’ve asked them this before exiting the room so I’m not standing here like a sitting duck in a haunted hotel where any number of fucked up creatures could come out and kill me at any moment, but we can’t win them all.

The chat seems pretty split, but I feel like I see more people opting for left.

“Left it is,” I confirm into the mic.

I make my way down the hallway, scanning every inch of it.

I come across a dumbwaiter in the wall about two-thirds of the way down. There’s a fifty percent chance I open this thingand some headless creature comes rushing at me, and a fifty percent chance nothing happens.

I steel myself and click on it.

“Come and play with me,”a childlike voice echoes as the dumbwaiter creaks open.

“Mm. Nope. Not fucking with that.”

I promptly shut the dumbwaiter and turn around, only to see what looks like a giant spider with legs made of human limbs crawling toward me.

“Shit,” I yell, my heart lurching. I spin and run. “What is that? Bro, I can’t even tell what that is.”

There’s no way for me to check how far behind me it is without losing speed. I’m just going to have to ride it out.

I come across another door and run through it. There’s writing on the wall, but I don’t have a chance to read it before I spin back around and lock the door behind me. I wait a beat until I’m sure the creature won’t follow me.

My chat is blowing up with a bunch of skull emojis and RIPs.

Dread settles in my gut as I turn around and look at what is written on the wall.

Don’t lock the door.

Of course.

And of course, it’s written in blood.

And of course, a bunch of bloody handprints start appearing all over the wall, a squelching noise accompanying each one.

And of course, when I turn around, the door won’t let me reopen it.

A pair of bloody handprints squish onto my screen and I think that’s the end until a bloody, peeling face jumps into the frame.

“Jesus fucking—” I grit out with a sigh as my screen goes dark.

I run my hand down my face.

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