Even's heart was drumming inside his chest like a frantic beat. At the sight of the gruesome scene unfolding before his eyes, he tried to recoil as far as possible. Finally, he came to a dead halt, slamming hard against a corner of the wall.
Even was in no mental state to comprehend what had actually happened. In a daze, his trembling hand fumbled for the wall switch and flicked on the light. His eyes, long accustomed only to the blue glare of a laptop, were momentarily blinded by the yellowish light.
Once he steadied himself, what he saw was no nightmare—it was the stark, absolute truth. His brother in name only, Vasco, lay motionless on the floor. From his cracked forehead, a stream of salty blood trickled down, tracing a macabre pattern across the tiles.
Was Vasco finished?
Even wanted to be sure. Driven by intense fear and a sliver of curiosity, he took small, hesitant steps toward the still body. Then, with a shaking hand, he held two fingers near Vasco's nose. He felt a touch of breath—faint, but warm.
Vasco was still alive. This certainty soured Even's heart in an instant. Unconsciously, he let out a deep sigh. Perhaps he would have been happy if this monster had ended for good!
He felt predatory, almost animalistic for thinking it, but it was the ultimate truth—was it truly a sin to wish for the death of the man who was the root of all his life's agony?
Even now looked up at the mysterious void in the ceiling. "How… how did that open? What's up there?!"
His gaze fell upon the old, dust-caked study table. He noticed that the table was no longer in its place; the impact had shoved it several inches away. Through deep observation, he realized there was some connection between this table and the secret mechanism in the ceiling. The shifting of the table had somehow brought the hidden door to life.
Even couldn't believe his eyes. He had spent years in this cramped room, and all the while, there was a secret chamber right above his head? Unable to suppress his curiosity, he grabbed the table and tried to push it back to its original spot. He wanted to see if returning it to its place would make the iron ladder disappear, just as the impact had revealed it.
But to his astonishment!
The very table that had slid easily under Vasco's impact wouldn't budge an inch, even though Even threw all the strength of his hundred-kilogram body into it. It was as if it had fused eternally with the floor.
"Vasco, where have you run off to? You won't escape my hands! And what was that sound? What mischief are you up to up there?!"
Auntie's voice. As she climbed the stairs, her voice grew from thin to heavy—a signal that danger was closing in. Meanwhile, the laptop screen was still blaring the obscene moans and rhythmic cries of pornography. Between Auntie's approaching footsteps and the toxic sounds of his own dark world, Even's brain felt like it had suffered an electric shock and ceased to function.
When danger knocks directly at the door, human reason often vanishes. This is exactly what happened to Even. His brain lost all control. He knew well that in this house, no word or logic of his would hold any weight. Sweating in terror, he began to imagine a horrific future:
Auntie would enter. The moment the door swung open, her eyes would fall on Vasco's still, bloody body on the floor. She would let out a sky-shattering scream. Then, with all her fury, she would pounce on Even. No one would listen to him. The police would come, the handcuffs would snap shut. The rest of his life would be spent in a dark prison cell. The thought of the brutal torture in jail made Even's soul shiver; death was far better than that hell!
Fear now ignited a frenzy within him. His breathing quickened. He began to look around wildly—was there no way out, no tunnel to escape?!
Even's mind was in utter chaos. His gaze kept fixing on the gaping darkness of the ceiling. It felt as if that silent black hollow was calling him with a supernatural pull. Without wasting time, Even quickly calculated the equations of reality in his mind.
He hurried toward Vasco's limp body. Gritting his teeth, he muttered, "Whatever happens, happens!" He thought he would heave Vasco's body onto his shoulders and carry him up that ladder. But within seconds of trying, his unrealistic plan collapsed like a house of cards. With his heavy, weak body, lifting Vasco's fit, muscular frame an inch off the ground—let alone carrying him up—was impossible.
In his terror, Even had forgotten that to take Vasco up, he would need to bind him to his back with a sturdy rope. His common sense had been so eroded by panic that even this simple calculation didn't register.
And the river of dark red blood on the floor?
Who would wipe that away?
No matter what Even did, there was no escaping Auntie. There seemed to be no destination left for him but death.
Just then, Auntie's footsteps reached the very threshold of the door. Even was out of time. Desperately, he slammed the laptop shut in one swift motion. Clutching only his sole companion, the laptop, under his arm, he bolted up the iron ladder.
The moment he reached the top, he frantically hauled the folding iron ladder up after him. As he slammed the wooden ceiling hatch shut, a mechanical 'click' echoed. Simultaneously, a slight tremor hummed through the floor. Holding his breath, Even sensed the dilapidated study table being pulled by some invisible force back into its original position.
…
The moment the ceiling door closed, a pitch-black, suffocating darkness swallowed Even. He collapsed onto the floor, panting. The room was quite large, but Even was in no mental state to examine the walls or his surroundings. Every nerve he had was focused on the situation on the floor below.
Crawling on the floor, he found a tiny pinprick of light—a minute hole that acted like a lens, showing the room below. Even pressed his eye to the hole.
A moment later, Auntie burst into the room like a storm. But the second she entered, her screams froze. Seeing Vasco lying in a pool of blood, she stood petrified for a heartbeat. Then, with a soul-wrenching wail, she collapsed over Vasco's still body.
"Vasco! Oh my son, what has happened to you!" Auntie began to shake Vasco's body like a madwoman. Her hands became soaked and stained with his blood. She started muttering, "I won't say anything to you anymore, do whatever you want! Mary or anyone else—I won't say a word! Just open your eyes, son, just wake up once!"
Even could clearly hear her pitiful wailing from above. But suddenly, Auntie's grief transformed into a demonic rage. She hissed, "Even! This is the work of that cursed Child! He has finished my son!" She began searching the room frantically. Behind the wardrobe—everywhere. Finding no one, she screamed in rage and sorrow and ran downstairs, likely to call the police or an ambulance.
Once the room below was empty, Even tried to relax slightly. His whole body was trembling violently, sweat dripping from his forehead. To escape this extreme mental pressure, the only path his brain knew was—a dopamine hit. To find relief from this terror, his subconscious immediately began searching for that forbidden pleasure.
He turned his laptop back on. The bluish light reflected once again on his devastated face. Habitually, Even was about to play a video, but then his eyes fell on his two empty hands.
There was no tissue box on the floor!
He was alone in this dark chamber. There wasn't a single piece of tissue paper here to bury his 'unborn children.' Even paused for a moment. His breathing grew heavy. He wanted to look around—was there any help or any tool hidden in the darkness of this vast chamber?
Or would he remain trapped in this dark void between his lust and his terror?
Suddenly, Even felt a sliver of golden glow piercing through the veil of darkness. He snapped back to reality. Shifting his gaze from the blue screen of the laptop, he looked behind him, and his pupils froze.
Standing in a corner of the massive room was a gargantuan golden mirror. The frame was covered in intricate craftsmanship; he had never seen such work of gold and jewels before. The golden light wasn't coming from an artificial source; the mirror itself seemed to be glowing like a lamp.
Even now looked around properly. There wasn't much else in this vast room—only piles of dust and useless junk. Today he understood why his father never allowed anyone into this room. It had once been his father's study, later turned into a storeroom. But that such a royal mirror could be hidden amidst this trash was beyond imagination.
The mirror seemed to be hypnotizing Even. A supernatural sound from within it was calling him. Even shut his laptop. Let the world turn upside down or be destroyed—this one little plastic box had been his only companion for years. Clutching the laptop under his arm, he walked toward the mirror as if entranced.
The mirror reflected a hideous figure. A bloated 'pig.' Hair smelling of Vasco's urine, torn clothes, stains of dark red blood all over his body, and a face marred with acne. Even burst into tears seeing his own form. Salty streams ran down his eyes. But as he wiped his tears, closed his eyes, and opened them again—
He was stunned!
Standing inside the mirror was a powerful youth of twenty. Broad shoulders, muscles like tempered steel, and a pair of intelligent eyes. There was no acne on his face, no scars, no sign of impurity. Even wanted to touch that reflection with his hand. He whispered, "Is this me? Impossible! I was never like this. Maybe… maybe if my parents hadn't died, I would be this handsome today."
A moment later, doubt crept in. He thought perhaps this was just another trick, like those 'motivational books.' But he couldn't ignore the allure of that form. Whether it was a lie or an illusion, he reached out to touch his perfected self just once.
And the moment he touched it, the mirror turned liquid. With a powerful pull, it began to drag Even's body into its belly. Even did not try to resist; instead, he surrendered himself in the hope of a strange liberation.
"AAAAAH!!!"
A sky-piercing scream resonated in the room. Immediately after, everything went silent. In that dark chamber, Even and his laptop—vanished into some unknown womb of eternity.