VOLUME TWO
CHAPTER 8: FINAL VOYAGE
***
"HUWAAAAAA!!"
A guttural, skin-crawling scream shattered the silence of the dim room.
A Sadako actor, draped in a tattered, filth-stained white kimono with long, raven hair obscuring her face, lunged out from behind a rotting shoji screen.
It was a perfectly executed jumpscare, designed to send the average tourist sprinting for the exit of the 'Japanese Horror' attraction.
However, Margaret, the supposed victim of the jumpscare, didn't flinch.
She didn't even blink.
Instead, she stood perfectly still, watching the actor with an expression of clinical interest.
After a few seconds, she began to clap her hands slowly, a faint, genuine light of appreciation in her eyes.
"That was… a truly magnificent scream," Margaret noted, her voice flat but sincere. "The vocal fry is kind of excellent. However, if you were to deepen the diaphragm support to lower the tone, you could, uhm, mimic the sound of a death rattle more effectively. I bet with that, visitors would feel the vibration in their marrow, which increases the primal fear response."
The Sadako actor froze in her mid-lunge pose, the terrifying persona cracking instantly.
She pushed her long black wig out of her face, staring at the small, pale girl in disbelief.
"WHAT ARE YOU GIVING ME ADVICE FOR?!" the actor shouted, her voice cracking with indignation. "AND WHY THE HELL AREN'T YOU SCARED? I LITERALLY CRAWLED OUT OF A WELL FOR YOU!"
Margaret tilted her head, unaffected by the outburst. "I just found the choreography fascinating. It's a masterpiece of timing, not going to lie."
"You new generations are the absolute worst!" the Sadako actor barked, throwing her hands up in the air.
This time, her scream wasn't part of the act; it was a form of suppressed, high-pitched exaggeration born from pure professional frustration.
"I did NOT put myself through four years of a performing arts degree just so bozos like YOU can act all ignorant and nonchalant! What, did you grow up watching The Conjuring on a loop while eating cereal on an every day basis?"
"The Conjuring?" Margaret asked, blinking slowly. "Oh, you mean that funny horror movie from 2013? It was a bit too light-hearted for my taste, sure, but the jump-cuts were humorous. Their use of expressions was funny to watch. Hehe."
The actor stood paralyzed, her mouth agape. "'Funny'? You think a demon-possessed farmhouse is 'funny'?"
"I think Midsommar is much cooler," Margaret replied calmly. "The use of bright, over-saturated sunlight to mask horrific gore is far more unsettling to the human psyche."
The Sadako actor began to back away, her eyes wide with a very real sense of unease. "Midsommar? 'Cooler'? Girl, you are genuinely unsettling yourself. Get away from me before I call security on you."
Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the stale air of the scare room, echoing off the wooden walls.
It was a voice often heard across the social media feeds of Malacca City, currently pitched at a frantic, high-volume frequency.
It was a secondary voice belonging to one of Malacca City's greatest Influencers.
"Margaret!! There you are!"
Wyne burst into the room, her curly brown hair a mess from running. She didn't hesitate, diving toward Margaret and hugging her so tightly that Margaret's ribs groaned under the pressure. Though she didn't mind it. She liked hearing her own ribs.
Wyne snuggled her head into Margaret's shoulder with exaggerated relief, treating her friend like a human security blanket.
"I was so scared!" Wyne wailed, her voice muffled by Margaret's jacket. "Why did you leave me all alone? One second you were behind me, and the next you were chasing a ghost into a dark corner!"
"Sorry," Margaret murmured, not returning the hug but not pulling away either. "The practical effects were just too fascinating to ignore."
The Sadako actor, still standing nearby, pointed a trembling finger toward the dark corridor connected to her room.
"Okay, besides the exaggerated reaction—which is NATURAL for most people in a haunted house, thank you very much—why the hell is she holding a bat?"
Both Margaret and Wyne turned toward the entrance. The flickering overhead lights, meant to create suspense, cast long, rhythmic shadows across the hallway.
A figure was approaching. The silhouette was unmistakable: a woman with a long, wavy blonde hair.
She walked with a slow, menacing gait, a heavy wooden baseball bat dragging against the floor with a rhythmic skreeee sound.
The figure stopped at the threshold, slowly lifting her head.
When the strobe light caught her face, she opened her pinkish-purple eyes wide, staring at them with a look of frantic, wide-eyed intensity.
For a moment, even Margaret wondered if a new, unannounced 'creepypasta' actor had joined the cast.
But as the lights stabilized, the truth was revealed. It was Trizha. She looked nervous, her chest heaving as she forced a shaky, guilt-ridden smile onto her face.
"W-Wyne…? Margaret?" Trizha stammered, her grip on Margaret loosening. "Is that you guys?"
Wyne looked at Trizha, confused. Though her eyes are directed at the bat. "What are you doing with a weapon?"
"Oh, uhm… H-hey guys…" Trizha whispered, clearly ignoring the question.
She tried to subtly slide the baseball bat behind her back, but she wasn't fast enough.
"Hold it right there, young lady," the Sadako actor snapped, stepping forward with her hands on her hips. "I want an honest answer right now. Please tell me you didn't try to assault my coworkers out of fear. And where did you get that? Did you seriously rip that bat out of the hands of the animatronic 'Slugger' in Room 4?"
Trizha stayed silent, her face flushing a deep crimson. She looked back and forth between her friends and the disgruntled ghost, looking both terrified and deeply embarrassed.
Finally, she looked at the floor and muttered, "I'm sorry… it looked real in the dark."
The Sadako actor let out a long, weary sigh of peak frustration. "That's it. I'm done. You're getting kicked out."
She then turned to Wyne and Margaret, who were standing there completely dumbfounded by Trizha's unexpected, violent entrance.
"As for the two of you, you're getting kicked out as well," the actor declared, pointing toward the 'Exit' sign. "Reasons? The pale girl is creepier than the actual attraction, and the curly-haired one clearly knows this blonde vandal. Now get out before I press charge you for the damages to the animatronic!"
***
A few minutes later, the trio found themselves standing ignominiously at the exit of the scare room house.
A long line of students and tourists waited nearby, and a low ripple of stifled laughter broke out as they watched the three girls being escorted out by a very angry woman in a wet kimono.
The atmosphere was thick with public embarrassment.
Trizha let out a heavy sigh of disappointment, dropping the bat—which she had been allowed to keep only so she could return it to the front desk—and putting her hands on her hips. She glared at the entrance doors.
"Great," Trizha huffed, turning to her friends. "We got kicked out because of you two."
Wyne's jaw dropped. "Like you're one to talk?! You are the entire reason we were banned! You were wandering the halls like a serial killer with a stolen bat!"
Wyne marched over to Trizha, poking her friend in the chest for emphasis. Trizha didn't back down, her purple eyes sparking with defensive fire.
"Well, if only you hadn't yelled my name so loudly, she wouldn't have connected us!" Trizha argued.
"What?!" Wyne shouted, her voice rising an octave. "You're seriously blaming me? You're the one who made the reckless decision that the actors were a real threat and decided to go on a 'creepypasta' hunting spree!"
"Haaaaahhhh?!" Trizha gasped, looking offended.
"Heeeehhhh– No, I mean, Shut up!!"
Wyne barked, pressing her forehead against Trizha's. "You want to settle this right now? Because I am in the perfect mood to crash out!"
The two girls glared at each other, the tension between them thick enough to cut.
They were seconds away from a full-blown argument when Margaret intervened. She was staring up at the flickering sign above the door, her hand on her chin.
"Those flickering lights in the hallway," Margaret said, her voice cutting through the heat of the moment like an ice pick. "They didn't happen to be Halogen bulbs, did they? If the gas inside leaks during a short circuit, constant flickering can cause a small-scale explosion. The force is enough to tear human skin apart directly."
She paused, her eyes drifting toward Wyne and Trizha.
"Much worse, the shrapnel could cause thermal damage to the victim's corneas, leading to permanent, agonizing... blindness."
Wyne and Trizha froze. They slowly leaned away from each other, their anger instantly replaced by a cold, visceral terror at the thought of exploding lightbulbs and eye damage.
"Eek…!" Trizha squeaked, covering her eyes instinctively. "Yeah, no. I am NOT going back inside that place. Ever."
"Margaret…" Wyne whispered, shivering. "You just made that scare room a hundred times more realistic."
Wyne crossed her arms, trying to shake off the lingering sense of dread. She shook her head, her mind finally catching up to the timeline of the day.
Her eyes widened as she realized a glaring inconsistency in their current situation. She turned to Trizha with a confused, suspicious expression.
"Wait a second," Wyne asked. "What are you even doing here? Weren't you supposed to be on a 'dream date' with Zackier?"
Trizha blinked, her confident posture faltering for a split second before she smoothed it over.
"O-oh… well, uh…" Trizha started, looking away. "This is a bit strange and embarrassing, but let's just say the crowd was a bit too much. The festival got packed, and I… I lost track of him in the shuffle."
Wyne raised an eyebrow, her slow-moving thoughts finally clicking into a sharp focus. "So, in other words, you got lost. But he's a tall guy with red eyes—he's hard to miss. Didn't he try to yell for your name? Didn't he call your phone?"
"No, he didn't," Trizha admitted, her voice dropping. "I mean, there was still a signal, and I tried to call him three times, but he wasn't available. He didn't pick up."
"...Yeah, that is definitely strange," Wyne murmured.
While the two of them pondered Zackier's sudden disappearance, Margaret was once again staring at a random point in the distance.
Her sharp eyes caught a flicker of movement near an alleyway—a flash of a familiar outfit.
Nomoro was there.
He was watching them from the shadows, silent and unmoving.
Suddenly, Trizha let out a loud, forced shout of cheerfulness, snapping her phone out of her pocket and holding it up like a trophy.
"Well, anyway! That doesn't matter much right now!" Trizha declared, a bright, manic smile returning to her face.
"We'll find him eventually! Or he'll find us! He's a big boy."
She raised the phone high, her right hand on her hip, looking at Wyne and Margaret with a look of fierce determination that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Besides, Zack is not the type of guy who would cry just because he's lost. This is a beautiful day, and we are at a world-class festival! So, let's just have fun while we're all together!"
Trizha lowered her arm, quickly opening her camera app. She grabbed Margaret by the shoulder and pulled the smaller girl close, forcing her into the frame for a selfie.
"First off," Trizha chirped, "a memorable selfie to mark our survival in the scare room!"
Margaret showed no emotion, remaining a statue of indifference as Trizha angled the phone.
She knew there was no stopping Trizha when she was in this 'intense' mode.
Wyne, however, stayed back.
A look of profound vulnerability appeared on her face.
Her eyes were wide, filled with a deep, gnawing hesitation.
She was torn between the urge to call Trizha out on her obvious lie—to demand to know what was really going on with her and Zackier—and the fear of breaking the fragile peace of their friendship.
To Wyne, the moment felt like it lasted forever.
But she had finally made her decision.