Punishment Halls

Should he need a reason to tolerate Claude’s nonsensical approach in pacifying Samantha Marlowe, it would be how utterly out of his depth Cole felt inside the innards of such bizarre place. It took a lot out of the officer to not submit to frustration and anger, each breath tainted with the stench of paint and decay taking a higher toll than the last.

His fingers twitched intermittently, longing for a tangible target to handcuff and detain, but things weren’t as simple as that in here.

Drug dealers, drunken brawlers, petty thieves —those he knew how to handle, even if it was often with more force than finesse. The choreography of street violence was a dance ingrained in him, one performed countless times ever since his teenage years.

But this? To be presented by abstract puzzles in this warped parody of a funhouse? He didn’t like, being forced like this to try and find meaning amidst the incomprehensible. It made him feel like a newbie all over again, fumbling in the dark for a non-existent rulebook.

Not having much choice other than accepting his place, Cole simply watched as Claude navigated the minefield that the girl was, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at his attempts at theatrics.

“Yeah, of course we’re here for you.” The younger detective reassured her, his voice soft as he wove a comforting narrative around Samantha’s ravings. “As a fan, I’ve been so concerned it’s unreal.”

Playing along with delusions seemed counterproductive to him, a waste of precious time when they should be figuring out how to escape this elaborate trap. Yet as the girl’s defenses lowered and her eyes brightened due to his words, Cole admitted begrudgingly that Claude’s approach might’ve had some merit —though mostly he wondered how did he manage to keep that unfaltering smile of his.

“We might have missed some of the things you’ve shared on our way.”

>> “So why don’t you give me a recap of all that you’ve seen during this… Adventure?”

The officer’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding silently as he and Gianmarco were reduced to spectators. It felt wrong to him, to humor these fantasies. His experience taught him that reality needed to be faced head-on, no matter how harsh —but there was a reason why preferred dealing with criminals rather than victims.

To him, coddling was but a cruel tactic that served only to prolong an inevitable crash.

But with Samantha’s frantic energy starting to ebb, relaxing incrementally as she played along with Claude, Cole found himself reassessing.

Initially, he had dismissed him as nothing more than a pushover. What with his overly long brown hair tied in a short ponytail, the solitary ear pendant accentuating his soft features, and the baggy clothes that concealed a lanky build —they were all unbecoming of a proper police officer. He was an antithesis of the toughness that Cole equated with strength.

Yet there he was, wielding kindness in a way he could dream of achieving, disarming volatile conversations with well-chosen words and heartfelt patience. Perhaps… There was more than one way to be strong; a thought that nagged him at the back of his mind, as uncomfortable as it was persistent, challenging his long-held beliefs about effectiveness in their line of work.

Since it wasn’t his role to play along with Samantha’s antics, Cole allowed her account of a supposed month-long ordeal to fade into background noise, his gaze drifting instead to the shadows that lurked at the room’s edges.

At times like these, he couldn’t help but curse himself once more. For not being enough, for his inability to perceive a tangible blank amidst the malevolent intent slithering just beyond his awareness. Whatever temporary calm Claude was trying to achieve, the fact remained that they were very much far from safe.

So his hand instinctively moved towards his holstered gun, hoping that if push came to shove, it might help them in any way to survive. Yet even as his fingers brushed the cold comfort of steel, he still felt woefully ill-equipped in this maw of uncertainty. Maybe a flamethrower would get him at ease.

Needing to occupy his restless mind, Cole shifted from his position and attempted to wipe away the paint clinging to his clothes, disturbingly yet to dry. He chose a nearby sofa as his target, though the liquid proved incredibly stubborn to remove —its persistence heightening his unease as Samantha’s words pierced through his superficial focus.

She spoke of how the structure defied reality —of passages that moved when unobserved and rooms that rearranged themselves on a whim. Yet apparently certain landmarks remained constant, a paradox that Cole struggled to wrap his head around, building frustration as he rapidly gave up the idea of constructing a mental map of the place.

Then she moved on to that so-called ‘paint monster’ of hers —a towering mass that never coalesced into one defined shape. According to the girl, it was a churning vortex of gradients, a blackened rainbow that hurt to look at for long.

“It’s like… If someone took every color in the world and threw them in a blender.” She explained energetically. “It chases you, but slowly.”

>> “As if it had no rush at all to pursue.”

Cole pondered what good bullets would do against such a thing, a consideration he deemed only partly necessary. He hadn’t completely discarded the possibility that it was all inside her head.

His senses picked up on a troubled glance thrown his way —Gianmarco, eyeing the paint smears that refused to let go of his clothing. It was a brief yet tense standoff, though neither of them acted on any immediate impulse.

“In that regard, it’s very unlike its children.” As Samantha’s voice dropped to trembling whispers, Cole’s attention was drawn back despite himself. “Those are just… The worst.”

“Children?” Claude asked gently, tilting his head with curiosity rather than fright.

Samantha replied first with a vigorous nod, her uneven hair shaking under the strong motions.

“They’re not like the big one… More like portrait paintings that came to life, ones where the artist messed up all the proportions.”

>> “I’m sure they were human once!” She rambled on, waving her arms frantically. “But now they’re all wrong and corrupted.”

>> “So please, if we ever come across any of them let’s just run for it, ok?”

“Where exactly did you last see one of these, missy?” Gianmarco interrupted their conversation, his face set in a deathly grim expression. Cole Recognized the look —the old man had likely reached the same conclusion he had. These ‘children’ Samantha spoke of could very well be other survivors, wrongfully labeled by her addled mind —be it the Seagraves themselves, or others who had sparked the curse rumours in the first place.

Her exuberant demeanor faltered under the scrutiny of the veteran detective. Cole similarly stepped closer, his posture unconsciously mirroring Gianmarco’s. Actual danger or not, they had to verify her claims.

“I…” The girl’s voice quivered as she glanced up at Claude, clearly hoping for any form of escape. Finding only encouraging nods, she continued reluctantly. “Alright… It’s easier if I just lead you guys there.”

>> “But I want it on record that I think this is a very bad idea!”

And thus, after what felt like an eternity of diplomatic maneuvering, they were finally on the move again. Samantha led them through one of the many doors connected to the circular room, with Claude matching his pace beside her. The younger detective continued his passive interrogation, perhaps to keep her distracted from her dead phone —or maybe just to prevent her from spiraling into panic.

Cole initially listened as they walked, but his questioning yielded little of substance. He failed to uncover any hint behind Samantha’s distorted sense of time, much less any potential escape route. Somehow, he managed his words well enough to avoid triggering anxiety in her, though eventually the girl’s rambling devolved into chatter about social media trends and follower counts.

Seizing the opportunity to disengage, the officer fell back alongside Gianmarco. With Samantha’s voice carrying loudly ahead, he felt secure in having a private conversation.

“Look at him go.” Cole muttered, jerking his chin towards Claude, who somehow kept up with Samantha’s topics. “Do you think he seriously believes her, with this ridiculous monster-talk?”

“Claude?” Gianmarco’s features softened briefly, surprising Cole as he appeared willing to talk. A part of him had expected the old guy to grunt and brush off the question. “Sometimes even I don’t know what that boy believes in.”

>> “But he has a keen sense, and he’s very good at opening people up.” There was a clear fondness in his voice, very much like that of a father proud of his son. “Maybe he does it unconsciously, I’m not sure, but there’s something about him that makes him easy to trust.”

>> “Or do you seriously think you and I could’ve managed to entertain that girl into cooperating?”

The implication that he’d be unable to handle this situation on his own wasn’t one Cole appreciated… Yet he had to concede. The old man had a point, even if it stung his pride like a thorn. His usual method of muscling through emergencies and violent encounters alike was about as useful here as trying to punch smoke.

And for that reason, while watching Claude smile despite all odds, a new resolve crystallized within Cole. If handling people wasn’t his forte, he’d contribute when action overshadowed talk. They’d all make it out of this hellhole, even if he had to carry them out himself and slap the cuffs on Seagrave personally.

That’s what he was good at, right? Thoughtless action. The making of hard calls when others hesitated —or at least that was what his sense of justice dictated.

Or so he tried to convince himself, despite the unending doubts biting the edges of his mind. Though he did his best to prevent such a thing from happening, his approach has backfired before during duty, earning admonishments from his superiors. No matter how hard he tried to help, he’d never managed to connect with the kids at the community center, even when their experiences mirrored his own youth.

And cutting deeper than any knife… Aisha’s disappointment during their last breakup also flashed before his eyes. ‘Why can’t you give people the same patience you do with your stupid plants!? I just can’t take it anymore!’ Her words echoed, refusing to fade.

This wasn’t the time, Cole told himself as he shoved introspection aside. Yet as he made his utmost to shake off the remorse, his mind was suddenly invaded by a pulsing image —too vivid for mere memory.

It was that god-forsaken fig tree mural.

Dark purple flowers assaulted his consciousness, his skull feeling like it might implode as the unnatural petals unfurled between erratically moving frames. Syconiums erupted in stark detail, each floret a spiral of distortion. Seeds and flesh reached out to him like grasping fingers, drawing his bloodshot eyes to the center with an undeniable pull.

The figs’ ostiole widened inside his pupils, devouring all surrounding light, and inside a void gaped —one capable of consuming his very thoughts.

Until an eye stared back from the depths, straight into his soul.

A momentary collision that jolted him away from illusion.

Pain throbbed wildly, so much that it felt like it would split his skull open. His feet wobbled as he snapped back to reality, the floor shifting like a storm-tossed ship.

Gritting his teeth, Cole forced himself to straighten —he wouldn’t show weakness, he refused to it.

Casting a furtive glance, the officer confirmed that the others remained too engrossed in Samantha’s blabbering on like a tour guide, or at least enough to not notice his lapse.

Must’ve been the stress, he reasoned, or just this bizarre place getting to him. He’d pull ahead, like always. Hadn’t he survived growing up in that rough neighborhood, watching his father drink away the pain while his mother worked herself to the bone? Hadn’t he clawed his way through the police academy, proving wrong everyone who’d written him off as just another punk kid?

This was just another obstacle. A poor excuse of a ghost story blown out of proportion —it had nothing on him.

“… Buddy?”

>> “Are you doing okay?”

Despite his efforts to mask the growing delirium, Cole couldn’t hide his deteriorating condition from Claude’s perception. It irked him… No, it was more than that. It was an affront.

To think that this fucker could see through his facade felt like a challenge to his self-imposed devotion to power and control.

Or perhaps he was just in that bad of a state.

Only the mounting anger managed to bring the swirling world into sharper focus. Real or imagined, insidious undercurrents of liquid swelled behind the woven paper walls stretching ahead —small droplets of black paint filtering through minuscule gaps. They had been there for a while already since they began walking, but they had grown harder and harder to ignore with each new traversed corridor.

He felt feverish, intoxicated. As if someone had slipped a potent drug into his system. Maybe to confess his weakness would’ve been the correct choice, yet…

“Shut up. I don’t need your damn help.” Cole snarled, swatting away Claude’s outstretched hand. The words came out far harsher than he intended, fueled by the burns inflicted on his wounded pride.

Driven by that surge of defiance, he charged ahead, shouldering past Gianmarco and Samantha to the front of their group. He moved with determined strides, even though he had no idea where they were going anymore.

A blind, stubborn march forward, rooted in nothing but rejection of his own deficiency.

Cole’s steps faltered only when he was forced to rely on the wall at his side for support. For a brief moment, the surface felt warm, almost comforting in its pulses that resonated with his throbbing brain —so he immediately yanked his hand back, bloodshot eyes wide in fright.

In mute horror, he raised his palm to his face, pupils dilating at the sight of tiny flecks of paint clinging to his skin. They writhed like living beings, desperately seeking to drill a path under his pores.

With every blink, the purple flowers continued to bloom behind his eyelids... But what did they mean!? What did that monster want from him!?

“Cole, wait!”

Claude’s voice rang out again, this time filled with immediate, urgent worry rather than his unasked-for, patronizing concern.

And so he turned, intending to identify what prompted the detective to yell like that —only to find his own breath caught inside his throat. The trail he’d walked had transformed, no longer the austere carpet he’d left behind.

Taking the outline of his footsteps a sea of blooms had erupted from the floor, their black-purple petals writhing and undulating as the fruit flesh danced to silent tune.

“What the…” Cole muttered, his voice barely a whisper. He took a faltering step backwards, only for more fig buds to manifest before his eyes, torn from his imagination and thrust onto the real world. A sickening, overly sweet scent wafted upwards, thick and cloying, bordering on intoxicating.

Their presence was only the beginning.

Suddenly, a low rumble reverberated through the underground passage, causing the very foundations to quake. The air itself seemed to ripple just beyond his grasp, as if a gaping wound gashed its way through the fabric of existence.

From beneath the walls, a viscous, oily substance began to ooze forth —not liquid nor solid, but something in between; a mass of shadows pulled by a new center of gravity, clustering and expanding in mid-air.

The ethereal divide rapidly grew into a more imposing shape, stretching from floor to ceiling and wall to wall. It pulsed with an otherworldly vibrancy, flashes of crimson and midnight blue crackling across the unstable surface like lighting in a storm-tossed sky.

Cole realized then that the fissure sought to separate them.

“Claude! Hound!” Cole shouted, momentarily surrendering to panic. They were still fully visible on the other side, their faces as shocked as his own.

Gianmarco acted first and lunged forward, his large hand outstretched in a desperate attempt to reach him. But that, too, was to be halted.

“Don’t touch it!” Samantha Marlowe screamed in terror, employing all her body weight to pull the older detective back, her warning similarly stopping Cole from launching himself to struggle against the blackened chasm.

For an ephemeral moment that lasted a miniature lifetime, Cole raised his gaze to find Claude’s —guilt-ridden and concerned. Even if he lashed out against the darkness, it’d be futile now. The divide sealed itself with a disturbing wet sound, leaving him alone on his side of the newly formed barrier.

Its texture wasn’t smooth. It rippled like the surface of the sea, just translucent enough to make out the outlines of his colleagues on the other side. He wondered just how ill-advised it’d truly be to try and plunge through…

… But was he that fearful of ending up alone?

“Cole, can you hear me?” Claude called out from the other side, slightly muffled yet still clear enough.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He replied, forcing the tremors in his lips to disappear. “What the hell is this thing?”

As much as he wanted to give it all a rational answer, be it practical effects or optical illusions, there was little denying now that something certainly preternatural was going on inside that mansion —work of the devil or something else, a certainty yet to be grasped.

Conversation carried on above his hearing, but he remained at a safe distance from the living wall, waiting patiently for a conclusion to be reached. As they spoke, Cole couldn’t shake the feeling that the thing itself was listening on them, swirling and reforming as it reacted to noise.

“Sami says that if you follow a path, we’re bound to find each other at a new intersecting point.” Claude explained after a couple of minutes. “I’m sorry it had to happen like this, Cole.”

>> “We’ll get out of this together, okay?”

Cole groaned internally before replying. He didn’t need such cheap optimism; they were all as equally lost inside this labyrinth.

“What else is there to do? We can’t get anywhere if we stay put.” He finally relented, relieved at least that some of the mental fog had cleared after the chaos. “I’ll meet you there. Don’t lag behind too much.”

“One more thing.” Claude’s voice halted him before he could embark on his solo journey. “She also says that there’s a monster in your direction.”

>> “So, just in case… Please stay safe.”

That’s how it was? One of those so-called monsters waited ahead for him? Then sure, let it come. He wouldn’t have to play therapist to some damned creature at least. Whatever it was, he’d give it a piece of his own book.

“Worry about yourself.” Cole retorted bitterly, drawing his gun and gripping it firmly, seeking reassurance in the certainty of its cold steel. “Don’t you dare die. Neither of you.”

And so he set off alone, senses heightened and alert, mentally preparing for any abomination that might cross his path. The weight of the firearm provided a modicum of comfort, not sparing any headspace on the possibility that it might prove useless against the horrors ahead.

It didn’t take long for a subtle shift to emerge in the environment surrounding him, with Cole picking up a new recurrent theme in the imagery as he advanced through the hallways. The paintings and sculptures along the way carried a distinct motif, taunting his awareness while eluding his full understanding.

One of the many Madonna and Child paintings caught his eye, the faces obscured by messy black brushstrokes. That wasn’t the only odd detail in the portrait, as the mother’s arms were uncannily elongated, wrapped protectively around the infant in a way that appeared more suffocating than comforting.

Further along, a marble sculpture stood in an alcove. At first glance, it appeared to be a classical representation of a woman, but as Cole passed by, he could’ve sworn the figure’s belly swelled rapidly, as if his steps quickened the life within.

The carpet beneath his feet gradually changed texture and patterns, becoming more wet and viscous. Above, the sporadic chandeliers took on organic shapes, their crystal teardrops holding what appeared to be pulsing veins highlighted by their reddish luminescence.

Not like it mattered, Cole told himself as he shook his head trying to dispel the creeping unease. Better to dismiss them all entirely. He wasn’t there to analyze the art inside this madhouse.

Rounding a final corner, the hallway opened into a circular door frame dominated by a large, ornate glass —and nowhere else to go. Its frame was adorned with intertwining figures, women in various stages of pregnancy and children in early infancy, their faces serene yet somehow sorrowful. Cole approached cautiously, his diffuse reflection distorting under the stained crystal.

For a moment, he thought he saw something move behind him through the mirroring surface. He quickly swirled around, gun raised, only to find empty space. Once he turned back, the tempered glass showed only himself, alone and on edge in this church of terrors.

“Come on, then…” Cole muttered, steeling himself. “Did I find something I wasn’t meant to?”

>> “Let’s see just what you’ve got.”

Adrenaline surged after embracing the role of an action movie hero. With a forceful elbow strike, Cole shattered the ornate glass, sending crystal shards cascading around him. Sweeping away some stray remnants with his gun, the mirroring barrier gave way to reveal a hidden chamber beyond.

Stepping through the jagged opening, his eyes drifted around the grotesquely distorted room —of two worlds colliding and merging into a warped amalgamation. On one side, rusted medical equipment and blood-stained incubators spoke of a twisted medical ward. The other half resembled a young boy’s bedroom, though corrupted from easy recognition. Toys lay scattered, their plastic forms melted and fusing with the floorboards.

But every bizarre detail paled in comparison to the monstrosity that dominated the center of the expansive room. A massive, emaciated figure hunched over what appeared to be a crib, its elongated arms reaching inside. As Cole watched, frozen for a minute, the creature seemed to be… Cradling?

A solitary wing, more bat-like than avian, furled tightly against its left shoulder, dark-veined skin tensed taut over spindly bones. On the right side of its frame, a broken, vestigial appendage twitched uselessly.

His breath grew ragged, heart thundering inside his chest. This was it —the moment of action he’d been waiting for. A chance to prove himself, to overcome the weakness that had plagued him until then. His finger tightened on the trigger, ready to unleash bullets before thought.

Yet… He hesitated. (***)

“Raise your arms!” The words tumbled from his mouth, unbidden. This wasn’t what he wanted —he planned to shoot first and ask later, but something held him back. “Turn towards me and surrender!”

>> “Identify yourself!”

And just like he asked, the figure slowly turned to face him, making Cole’s blood run cold in the process. The creature towered several feet over him, its engorged belly distended grotesquely. Lank, dark hair, matted with grime and blood, framed a face that was no face at all. Where eyes, nose and cheeks should have been, there was only a massive, gaping maw. Yellowed teeth protruded at chaotic angles, a nightmare of misaligned bone and rot.

The beast hunched defensively over a swollen abdomen, withered breasts hanging like deflated balloons against her ribcage. Her skin, a sickened gray, stretched painfully across her skeletal frame, poorly healed wounds and scars crisscrossing its surface like a roadmap of suffering. In places, her flesh gave the impression of cracked modeling clay, peeling off faintly with every movement to end up littering the floor.

When his gaze traveled downward as it moved in his direction, he noticed that the hands partly supporting her weight ended in sharp, knife-like claws that glinted dully in the dim light. Scattered across her body, small breathing holes wheezed out a constant mist, filling the air with an acrid haze that Cole couldn’t quite identify yet.

Any further word died in his throat, his hands trembling in the struggle to maintain his aim. A low, guttural growl emanated from her cavernous mouth in acknowledgment of his presence, extinguishing any hope of establishing whatever form of communication.

He had been... Naive.

This wasn’t some common criminal to be taken down. This was something else —a monster beyond his comprehension or capabilities.

As the creature took a lumbering step forward, inky droplets falling from her wet hair, Cole’s confidence crumbled entirely. The gun in his hands felt… Empty, useless. How foolish of him to think he could face this alone, that sheer willpower could overcome the impossible.

Realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

There was no way he could take this thing down with bullets alone.