Lisa crumpled the note in her fist and threw it to the floor. Now she didn't just suspect something was wrong with this house—she was certain. And more determined than ever to find Masahiro.
"Don't try to fool me. I know Masahiro is here."
She left the room without wasting another second and started opening every door in the hallway. But each one led to a dead end. Some of the rooms didn't look familiar, but she couldn't say for sure—she hadn't seen Masahiro's family home in years.
She entered what appeared to be the last room in the house. Masahiro wasn't there either.
Despair washed over her. But not surrender.
She started opening furniture, drawers, cabinets, as if Masahiro might magically be hiding inside. It was insane, but at this point, she knew anything was possible in this house. And if it hadn't shown her its worst yet, it was only a matter of time.
She was slamming a wardrobe shut when she noticed something. From behind the furniture, a faint light—and a sound. A muffled whisper, maybe. She leaned closer to the gap between the wardrobe and the wall.
A dim, translucent red light was leaking through. She couldn't tell what it was. She began pushing the furniture. She used every ounce of strength she had—arms, legs, shoulders. At last, the wardrobe toppled over with a dull crash.
And what she saw made her blood run cold.
Instead of a wall, there was skin. Human skin. Stretched, nailed down, pulled taut like fresh leather on a frame. She could still see the hair, a belly button. It pulsed. It breathed. Alive.
Lisa stepped back. Frozen. A sharp, metallic, violent stench hit her nose. She doubled over, fighting a gag.
She looked away from the wall—and only then did she realize the room had changed. Completely. How hadn't she noticed?
It was no longer a simple bedroom. It was a crime scene. A slaughterhouse.
On either side of her, two autopsy tables. Both soaked in blood.
Lisa was no longer calm. She was nothing. She stared horror in the face—and horror stared back.
"Masahi...ro..."
"You want to see him again, don't you?"
The house had spoken.
"Who are you?! What did you do to him?!"
Fury. But her legs were shaking. On the table to her left, a tangle of viscera glistened under the red light. The blood was fresh. The skin on the wall looked newly stretched. On the right table, a pair of arms—torn off by something not of this world—still dripped.
"In front of you… that's a door. You'd do anything to see your Masahiro again, wouldn't you?"
The voice laughed. A cavernous, inhuman sound.
Lisa clenched her fists. She rummaged through her bag. Pulled out a Swiss army knife. She never went anywhere without it.
She stepped closer to the skin. The blade trembled in her hand. The urge to vomit rose again, but she forced it down with raw desperation. She pressed the tip in. Sliced.
She crossed through the slimy, slippery, nauseating door.
And on the other side… Masahiro.
"Oh my God, Masu! Oh my God!"
She ran to him. Hugged him. A desperate, tight embrace, filled with love and horror.
Masahiro sobbed in her arms.
"Lisa… my love… I missed you so much… What are you doing here? How did you get in?"
"Masu, we have to go. Now. But first I need to tell you something—"
The first sound was sharp.
Crack.
Masahiro pulled back to look at her. Lisa was smiling. But on her left cheek, a thin black line had opened. Like a crack in porcelain.
She raised her hand. Another fissure, clean across the back of it.
"It hurts… a little…" she whispered. Her voice shook. Not from fear—but from shame.
The skin began to split. Not like a cut. Not like a wound. It opened in jagged seams, as if something inside was pushing to get out.
But nothing came out. Only fragments.
A piece of her shoulder broke off with a dull thud. Hit the floor.
White. Smooth. Hollow.
"Lisa—"
Masahiro stepped forward, but she backed away. She staggered. More pieces fell: arms, neck, chest. Her skin cracked like porcelain under pressure.
Her lips trembled. She tried to speak. But her jaw detached.
It dropped.
Then the rest followed. Her face shattered into five pieces. Then ten. Then twenty. Even her eyes fell, emptied.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Lisa was falling apart.
In less than three seconds, there was nothing left. Her arms, her legs, her torso—every piece hit the ground without flesh, without blood. Just hollow shells. Like statues gutted. Like broken masks.
Even her ribs snapped in the end.
All that remained was a pile of shards.
No blood. No scream. No breath.
Lisa was gone.
Or maybe… she had never existed at all.