This House Is a House That Hates
rating: +8+x

In the depths of Level 161.

It's cold, again.

I hear the sound, that hateful ambiance, seeping into my mind, digging its claws into my skull like a rake. Another doll is lying on the ground before me, fake blood staining the fake floor and the fake sheets covering the body.

I hate it. I hate seeing them. I hate the walls of this place and everything in them.

But it won't let me out. I want to get out. I need to.

"This house is a house that hates."

That sentence kept flashing into my mind, no matter how much I try to get it to stop. It was the last thing I ever heard from another person, from the dying breath of a fellow wanderer I found bleeding out, their head cracked open as they lay by the wall, their eyes bloodshot as they repeated that same phrase over, and over, and over.

"This house is a house that hates. This house is a house that hates. This house is a house that hates."

I don't want to think about how long they were in here. How long it took for them to try to escape in the best way they knew how. How much longer I have before I give up.

Their bag was empty, their supplies long gone. No hope for restocking mine. The apples in this place are wood, the water is paint, the bread plastic. There is nothing left to eat, nothing left to drink, and every passing hour I feel my throat become more parched and my stomach more empty.

I keep finding more and more of those damn bodies in this place, the dolls strewn about the floors, limbs bent in impossible ways as they lay dead on the floor. But they were always dead, weren't they- objects, and nothing more.

But each time I saw them, they looked more alive, more livid, with the red flush in their cheeks flowing out of them and onto the floor.

I hate them. I hate them so much.

"This house is a house that hates."

I'm wandering down another hall, the patterns on the walls and floor the same ones I've seen for days, the shapes and colors repeating over and over and over again.

I look into every room, behind every door, hoping to find that room, the one room that would let me out. It's been so very long and I have yet to find one. I've slept in so many fake beds with fake windows that open to nothing for so very long and yet I haven't found the exit. Not even a hint of it.

The sound grows louder.

I open a door. It's a bathroom, with a doll sitting in the bathtub, kitchenware strewn about the place. I move on.

I open a door. A bedroom, with two dolls under the bed, paint covering the floor. I move on.

I open a door. A laundry room, with no light, 3 washing machines lined up on the wall.

A laundry room.

This is it. This is it. There's a doll in the corner, hidden in the darkness, looking at me with its lifeless eyes. I pull out all the fake clothes, all the fabrics and socks and shirts desperately. I force myself inside one machine. Nothing happens. I empty the second, frantically now. This is it. I crawl inside. No exit.

I empty the third, the doll still watching me with her damn eyes. The constant droning noise gets louder.

I crawl inside.

Nothing.

I sit there, crammed in that damn machine, and I can barely muster the strength to get out. I lie there, against the wall.

And I never get up.


Jesse Hannah Carpenter

1989-2011, aged 22

Hometown: Washington

Cause of death: Dehydration, Starvation

Uncertain about specifics of death. Variety of factors, but dehydration and starvation are the most obvious. Found in a laundry room next to a separate case (suicide by overdose).

Surprised to see a body so vivid, so real. Insides appear to be comprised of unknown materials- a variety of materials, actually, instead of a single homogenous composition, as found in the other cases. A bizarre medical anomaly. Far easier to dissect, though, since the outer layers of the body did not give as much resistance to sharp tools.

Revelations:

Unsure of what to make of this case. Possibly not human, so any information drawn from this may be unsubstantiated.

Humans are susceptible to prolonged deprivation of food, water, and social interaction.

Humans are psychologically/mentally weak and easily "broken" via extreme stress. Perhaps exploited in other cases? (Investigate further)

Such a shame they gave up so soon. The exit was just down the hall.

The Tinkerer

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