Tuesday: How many times have I told you not to eat things off the floor?
Tuesday: Several guests have asked me where Mr. Jaden's gone. It's getting difficult to come up with excuses.
Tuesday: You promised to let some guests leave here alive so that the stories about us would go further, remember?
Tuesday: But now, between you eating them and those cultists sacrificing the rest ...
Tuesday: Soon, we won't have any guests left.
The wall shakes in dissatisfaction.
Tuesday: This is not open for discussion.
Tuesday: No more eating dead guests. You hear me?
Tuesday: Don't get involved with the guests problems. Let them figure things out themselves.
The sound of hurried footsteps echoes in the wall, disappearing into the distance.
Tuesday leaves the room in silence.
Tuesday: We had our quarrels, but that was a long time ago.
Tuesday: How did we solve the issue? Let me think.
Tuesday: I suppose there was a little conflict.
Guest: ...
Guest: Ms. Tuesday.
Tuesday: Do be careful, ladies. The blood will be impossible to remove once it seeps through the carpet and soaks into the floorboards.
Tuesday: But don't worry yourselves. I'm the maid. It's my job to clean these kinds of things.
Tuesday: Sorry, I suppose I'm feeling chatty today. My apologies for bothering you.
Guest: Actually, I wanted to thank you, for cleaning up after us and for giving us a place to stay.
Tuesday steps over the body lying on the ground, as if it were a fallen branch rather than a dead person.
She sees the fleeting look of fear in the woman's face and smiles. This is her first reward of the day.
But something else catches her eye.
Tuesday: ...!
Tuesday: What's this?
Tuesday: Is that me? Is this a vision of my future?
The figure slouched against the doorframe is indeed her. The puddle of blood beneath her has painted the floor a dark red.
There's a knife sticking out of her chest. She reaches for the wound. It's soft and warm beneath her fingers.
Tuesday: Interesting. Who would use a butter knife to kill someone? It can barely cut a slice of bread.
A faint voice comes from behind her.
Guest: M-Ms. Tuesday.
Tuesday: Yes? Is there anything else you need? You're shaking—I can tell by your voice.
Entranced by the sight of her own dead body, she answers without turning back.
Guest: Th-That smile ... I've seen it before.
Guest: Is that you? Christine from the farm?
Tuesday turns around to meet the woman's eyes. She ignores the knife clutched in her shaking hand.
Tuesday: Aw, you remember that girl?
Guest: O-Of course I do! She scared the crap out of Tonks. He still won't go into the forest alone.
Guest: Ever since that day, he's talked about the eyes in the forest, that if he went in, his eyes would be pulled out and hung in the branches.
Guest: And Jacob still thinks there's a ghost in his attic, too.
Tuesday: I'm sorry to hear that.
Tuesday: She never wanted to ruin anyone's life.
Guest: I-I know! I know!
She takes a step forward.
Guest: It was her life that was ruined! She could've gotten married, lived in a cabin near the farm, and visited her parents any time she'd liked.
Guest: They never should've let those two fugitives escape. Those monsters even shot the kids. Blood drenched the couch.
Guest: No one ever saw Christine again. There were all kinds of rumors, that she was killed and dragged off somewhere, or that she ran away and starved in the fields, or even that she led the fugitives there herself.
Guest: But I guess you came here, huh? I-I understand, given what happened.
Tuesday: Is that all you wanted to say?
She maintains a polite smile.
Tuesday: Do I know you?
Tuesday: This is a small town, so stories travel fast.
Tuesday: But how do you know it so well? Could you elaborate a little? About the blood-soaked couch, the cup of coffee on the table that was so turbid that it was almost unrecognizable, and the broken nails dug into the floorboards.
Tuesday: Where did you see all these? I saw it through the slit in the lock.
Tuesday: It was terrifying. I couldn't help but imagine if I were the victim.
Her cheeks flush red.
Guest: Y-You don't remember me? We were friends. We lived in the same town. I-I was there when you told us the story about the eyes in the forest.
Her voice shakes, together with the knife she's holding.
Guest: We played together, had fun together. You were the bravest of us all.
Guest: What are you doing here? Trying to avenge your family or something? Look.
Guest: Be careful! Something's wrong with this house. Every night, I saw Jaden's eyes near the bed, in the dark corners, in the wall.
Guest: His face torn apart and smeared on the wall, his mouth mumbling about the murder on the farm.
Guest: That reminds me. You look just like poor Christine!!
Guest: trembling I-It's ok, Christine. Don't hurt me. I-I can introduce you to THEM, and THEY will bless you.
Guest: You can be one of us! You can be enlightened!
Tuesday: sigh You must be terrified by the nightmare.
Tuesday: Should I walk you around? Perhaps that'll make you better.
Guest: Don't! Stay away! Please—
Guest: I can share THEIR ritual with you. I'll keep the secret for you!
Guest: I-I remember ... Jaden recognized you here and disappeared shortly after.
Guest: A-And those rumors. It can't be a coincidence—your whole family being killed when you just "happened" to be out.
Tuesday: sigh
Tuesday: It's a crying shame that I didn't die with them.
Tuesday: Oh, I won't do anything to you now, but I can't make any promises about later.
Tuesday: So run, missy. Run away while you still can.
Step by step, Tuesday walks toward the quivering knife until its tip is pressed against her chest.
Guest: Ahh!
As fear overtakes her, she drops the knife and rushes down the stairs.
Tuesday sighs, bending over to pick it up.
Tuesday: This knife is far too blunt to hurt anyone.
She hears the front door open and slam shut. The footsteps fade into the fields outside.
Laughter echoes from the walls around her.
Tuesday: I didn't tell you the story so you could pull a prank on me.
Tuesday: Nor use them to drive away useful guests.
She feels the floor shaking as if a child is running on the ceiling downstairs.
Tuesday: Even if you scare all those cultists away, my mind won't change. So stop eating and killing them, okay? It's not funny.
Tuesday: And please, try making up a better story next time.
Tuesday: Alright, you can do whatever you want with this body. But this is the last time, understand?
Tuesday: There will be no next time.
A door slams shut behind her.
She ignores the motel's bad temper, putting the knife away and fixing her hem as if nothing has happened.
Then she steps over her own body.
