Gavin continued to stare at the doll, as though his gaze could pierce its lifelike exterior and uncover the secrets hidden within. He shook his head at the suggestion. "I have no intention of smashing it. I was just wondering where to place it tonight."
"Just leave it in the living room. You're not planning to take it to your room, are you? It's not a real woman, ha!"
Gavin cast Rowen a glance but said nothing, turning away in silence.
"Hey, wait for me!" Rowen called, reaching out with a roguish smirk to brush his fingers against the doll's face.
The light in the living room had been left on. In the dim glow, the doll's face was cast in partial shadow. A breeze—perhaps from some unseen crack—gently stirred its damp hair. As strands began to dry, a drop of water slipped from its lash, making it seem as though the doll had blinked.
Beyond a drawn curtain, light glowed faintly from a back room. The subdued illumination did little to disturb rest, yet offered the players a fragile sense of security.
They exchanged quiet conversation, all centered around the strange half-bodied doll recently retrieved.
"Where's the lower half gone?"
"I have a feeling this incomplete puppet serves a purpose. I just can't figure out what..."
On the bed against the wall, Eric lay sleepless at first. The air smelled of decay and old dust, and the images of the two dolls they'd encountered that day replayed endlessly in his mind.
The scenario's clue had instructed them to craft a finished puppet for the village chief. Eric didn't believe an ordinary doll would suffice—more likely, only a doll imbued with "spirit" would meet the requirement.
In horror-themed scenarios, words like "spirit" and "immortal" were often just veiled references to ghosts.
In a previous game involving a ghost infant, the village chief had claimed that drinking a special soup would allow one to bear a spirit child. In truth, the players ended up gestating ghostly infants.
In another instance, they were told to summon a "Pen Immortal"—but what arrived was a ghost, cloaked in a different name.
Yet Eric no longer felt the same dread. After all, he had once carried a ghost infant within him, even had ghost eyes embedded into his sockets. Compared to that, crafting a doll that might house a spirit no longer felt particularly terrifying.
Pleased by his own resilience, Eric silently praised himself and finally drifted off to sleep.
Meanwhile, in the side wings of the house, the male players had drawn lots to divide the beds. Each wing held slightly smaller beds than the master room, so three players slept on beds while the other three made do on the floor.
In the left wing, Rowen grumbled as he lay on the ground, unable to fall asleep.
Earlier, Kai had been terrified by the doll and hadn't even managed to bathe. He had taken the straw mat from the bed to use as padding on the floor. Those who slept in the beds had only bare wooden planks beneath them. Kai found the boards unbearably rough and tossed and turned, making the bed creak. One of the other players hushed him.
"Sorry," Kai whispered quickly.
Rowen chuckled. "Can't sleep? Still thinking about that beauty, huh? Man, that doll was made real nice. Too bad it's missing the bottom half."
Someone snapped, "If you're so desperate, go spend your money in a red-light district. This is a paranormal scenario—watch your damn mouth! Don't go bringing curses down on us."
Rowen shrugged, unfazed. "Alright, alright, relax. We haven't even started making puppets yet. We're probably still in the safe phase."
"Suit yourself. You'll die from that mouth of yours one day."
As the argument flared, someone intervened, "Enough, it's late. We should all get some rest."
Rowen scoffed and rolled over, turning his back to the others.
In the dead of night, a shadow silently emerged from one of the rooms and slipped into the living room. Within ten seconds, it hunched over and crept out again.
Hours later, Rowen—who had finally fallen into a deep sleep—was startled awake by a strange, rustling noise above his head. Annoyed, he opened his eyes, only to see a dark mass suspended above him.
Whatever words of reproach he'd planned to speak died in his throat.
Rowen was no fool. He didn't believe for a second that the long hair dangling above belonged to one of the female players. None of them were so bored—or vindictive—as to scare him in the middle of the night.
That hair belonged to the doll. The one in the living room. The one with the long hair.
At the first hint of dawn, Kai awoke.
He needed the toilet, so he carefully stepped around the sleeping forms of the others, making his way across the dim room. Still bleary-eyed, he tripped and fell directly onto someone.
The impact jolted him awake. Pain shot through his body, and he couldn't help crying out.
It felt like he hadn't landed on a person, but on a block of wood.
Kai winced and struggled upright as angry muttering rang in his ears.
"What the hell, it's barely morning and you're already making a racket!" Rowen's voice was thick with fury at being disturbed.
"S-sorry! I didn't mean to—ah!"
A scream tore through the morning stillness.
Eric rushed out with the female players. As they passed the living room, they noticed the doll was gone. Its coat had fallen to the floor.
"Where's the doll?"
"Did the guys take it?"
"What would they want with it...?"
Murmuring anxiously, they continued toward the left wing, where the scream had come from.
The room was already crowded, filled with gasps and cries. Eric pushed through the group and saw the male players gathered around one of their own, faces etched with fear.
"He's really turned into a puppet! How did this happen? Did anyone hear anything last night?"
"Does snoring count?"
"There's no sign the door was opened. What about the window?"
"The windows in this wing only open a crack. No one could've gotten in or out..."
Eric reached out and tapped the player-turned-puppet. His arm made a hollow wooden sound.
It was terrifying. Overnight, a human had turned into a doll.
Everyone was on edge, desperate to uncover the cause.
Gavin spoke: "Lay him on the bed. Let's talk this through in the living room."
They carried the puppet over. It landed on the bed with a heavy thud.
Back in the living room—
"Wait, where's the other doll?"
"Did you guys take it?"
"No, we thought *you* took it!"
"It was gone when we woke up—"
"Enough!" Gavin raised his voice. "This isn't the time to argue. The village chief will probably come teach us puppet-making today. We need to get our facts straight before that happens, or we'll all be in danger."
He turned to the left-wing room. "Let's start there. Who slept closest to the victim?"
Damian, a newcomer to supernatural scenarios, raised a trembling hand. "I did."
"And on the other side?"
Rowen folded his arms with a scowl. "Me. I didn't notice anything. If that idiot hadn't yelled, I wouldn't even know he turned into a doll. Damn unlucky."
"Could you be any colder?" Boris snapped. "He turned into a damn puppet, and that's all you've got to say?"
Rowen rolled his eyes. "What, are you the manners police? I'll say what I want." He was in high spirits, smug in his own safety.
Rowen owned a peculiar item—one that allowed him to reflect ghostly damage onto others. It wasn't direct confrontation, just redirection, so the item remained durable. He'd used it multiple times and it still worked fine. That was his secret weapon.
"Enough. Think. Did either of you notice anything strange last night?"
Damian said he'd slept like a rock.
Rowen shrugged. "Heard something maybe, didn't pay attention."
The unfortunate player hadn't done anything unusual. No one could say for sure what had triggered the curse. It was a mystery without a clue.
They turned again to the missing doll.
"If someone took it, that's one thing..." Brill muttered.
"But if it moved on its own—that's a nightmare."
"We should look for it."
They scoured the old courtyard, even dredged the well once more. The doll was gone.
Tension ran high.
Just then, the village couple arrived with breakfast. The players asked about the doll in the well.
The younger woman laughed, "Probably someone's old reject. Where is it? Let me see."
Upon hearing it was missing, she didn't seem to care. "No matter. If you like it, you can make your own once you learn how. That way it'll be more personal. The village chief said, after you eat, my husband will take you to pick wood."
"Where?" Eric asked.
"The Forest of Wooden Men. It's a bit far—so eat plenty."
Staring into the rice bucket, Eric had a feeling *far* was an understatement.
She still refused to eat anything from the scenario, secretly discarding the food after serving herself a portion.
Soon after breakfast, the couple returned. The woman collected the empty bucket, while the man slung a basket over his back and adjusted his cloth shoes.
"Let's go. I'll take you there."
On the road, the players chatted. The man introduced himself as Dashan.
"Brother Dashan," Gavin asked, "how do we pick good wood?"
Dashan chuckled, "You'll know when the time comes—it's all about feel."
The path was rough. It took them two hours to reach the destination.
Eric, who was used to mountain hikes from previous games, managed just fine. Most others endured it too. Only Kai, still wearing slippers, whined and stumbled halfway there, almost ready to give up.
Dashan offered, "Want to rest here? I'll come back for you after taking the others."
Kai considered it, but the sight of a friend turning into a puppet that morning had left him terrified. No way he'd stay behind alone.
He gritted his teeth and kept walking, copying the others by picking up thick branches to use as walking sticks.
After more than two hours, Dashan finally announced, "Here we are. Just up ahead."
Eric looked up and saw a dark, dense shadow looming in the distance—an unfamiliar forest.
As they neared the Forest of Wooden Men, a chill crept into Eric's bones. She turned to Ximena. "Don't you feel something's wrong?"
Ximena nodded slightly, rubbing her arms. "It's a bit cold. Stay sharp."
"There it is!" Dashan called out, pointing to the grove ahead.