???: And then? And then?
???: Did they make up? Did they make up?
???: What about the kid in the walls?
Tuesday: Oh, it's not in the walls. It's the motel itself.
Tuesday: Anyway, eventually we found a way to resolve the conflict between us.
Tuesday: It formally belonged to me.
Tuesday: And I decided to be its caretaker.
GAMEPLAY
Tuesday: I once found a notebook left by the previous owner.
Tuesday: She got lost—wandered in here thinking it was just a haunted house. Poor girl had nowhere to go, so she decided to stay.
Tuesday: Do NOT enter doors that appear out of nowhere.
Do NOT reply to the voices. They aren't real.
Do NOT answer late-night room service calls.
Tuesday: There are more "rules" like this. She wrote them all down, as if living in this motel was some kind of game.
Tuesday: Aww. Did she really believe that following these rules would keep her safe?
Tuesday nudges the body on the floor with her foot.
Sneering, scratchy sounds come from the walls.
Tuesday: Look at you, creating all these illusions as if you can predict my miserable fate.
Tuesday: That I'd fall to the floor, scratching my throat and gasping for breath.
Tuesday: cough Suffocated by an eyeball.
Tuesday: What did I see? What made me do this?
Tuesday: Ah. It must have been those blinking eyes outside, huh?
A ridiculous story, like those she once told to scare her friends.
GAMEPLAY
Tuesday: There are many doors in the hallway.
Footsteps pitter-patter behind her.
Tuesday: Nobody knows what's behind each of them.
Tuesday: Perhaps there's a butcher with a paper bag on his head or a chupacabra with dry, matted hair.
Tuesday: Or maybe there's a wandering ghost spying on the living through the keyhole.
Tuesday: There are no windows here, but the wind still blows.
Tuesday: I can hear voices in it. Someone's calling out.
Tuesday: "Christine." "Christine—"
Tuesday: Her parents are missing their child and her siblings are missing their older sister.
She steps into the shadows.
Tuesday: Poor child, so far from home.
Tuesday: Like a piece of flesh that's been torn from the body. She should be placed back in the wound.
Tuesday: Reunited with her family.
*pound*
A dull pounding sound comes from the wall beside her.
Tuesday: Or perhaps she should hide in the nearest room.
Tuesday: Just like this.
GAMEPLAY
Tuesday: Hmm, no. That's not it.
Tuesday: This room is far too small to hide in.
Tuesday: And my pursuer is everywhere.
*pound*
Tuesday: That's a loud one.
Tuesday: What should I do? Hide under the bed, or make a run for it?
Tuesday: Things won't end well if I stay here. Look!
She studies her own twisted face in the mirror.
Tuesday: I hope I'll never make that face.
Tuesday: Alright. Think, Tuesday.
Tuesday: Oh, maybe the bathroom's a safer place. The walls there are thicker. And it doesn't like water.
*pound*
The vase on the cupboard falls to the floor and shatters.
Tuesday: It's here, in this room with me.
Tuesday: Luckily, there's a public washroom outside. I'd better lead it there.
Tuesday: This disobedient child has to learn a lesson.
GAMEPLAY
Tuesday: But I have to get through this door first.
The doorknob won't turn.
No matter what she tries, it won't budge.
???: Haha ...
Laughter rings in the room.
Tuesday: Who shut the door?
She bends down to look through the keyhole.
Just as expected.
Tuesday: Maybe I didn't make myself clear.
Tuesday: Don't eat off the floor, and certainly don't spit them out again.
Tuesday: I'm getting pretty tired of you blocking doors with dead bodies.
She takes a few steps back and leans, preparing to ram the door open with her body.
Ready ...
Tuesday: My apologies, Mr. Jaden.
Tuesday: But curiosity killed the cat. Maybe you should quit staring through keyholes.
The destination is at the end of the hallway. All she has to do is run, and keep running.
GAMEPLAY
Tuesday: These walls are thick enough to hold it off.
Tuesday: But this door could be easily broken, and I don't have time to barricade it.
Tuesday: What else do we have here? A mirror ...
Tuesday: Everyone knows you shouldn't look into the mirror in a horror story.
How about shattering it?
She might be able to use a shard to defend herself. But she also might hurt herself in the process.
Then she recalls that handy little thing.
???: Haha ... Christine ...
She turns around to face the door.
Tuesday: This is the obvious weak point. It's most likely to break in through here.
Tuesday: Watch your feet and stand firm.
Tuesday: You don't want to fall like that vase. What a mess that would be.
Her heart pounds in her chest.
It's beating at a familiar pace—like when she looked down at the farm from the hill and saw the townsfolk panicking after another bloody murder.
Is this the thrill of escaping death?
No, it's more than that.
GAMEPLAY
Tuesday: The townsfolk were compelled by their curiosity, but even so, they didn't dare look at your bodies.
Tuesday: Daddy, Mama, my younger brother, and my dear little sister.
Tuesday: You've no idea how quickly people crumble in the face of fear.
She clings to the tool with her clammy hands.
It's a silver table knife. The kind that can bend easily.
It isn't threatening at all.
Throw it away. What can a blunt knife do?
Tuesday: Fear is a warning.
Tuesday: It protects us from danger.
Tuesday: Our fear of fire protects us from getting burned; our fear of heights stops us from falling.
Tuesday: Most of the time, fear comes from our imagination.
Tuesday: Countless unknowns and endless possibilities swim around in there.
Tuesday: What's hiding in the dark? What'll happen next? Whose footsteps are those echoing behind me?
Tuesday: When we don't have the courage to face it, fear overtakes us.
Tuesday: Fear is surrender.
Tuesday: Succumbing to fiction, to imagination.
She repeats the name. Christine.
Christine herself is a tiny silver knife. Thin, delicate, and quiet.
But sharper than anything.
Tuesday: And frightening others is defying your fear.
Tuesday: Oh, what a sweet moment. To defeat the undefeatable.
Tuesday: I forgive you.
Tuesday: Because you need me—a maid to tell you bedtime stories and a friend to spread fear.
Tuesday: You need a mother.
Tuesday: A mother to teach you, raise you, and also scold you when necessary.
Tuesday: A person who will teach you how to properly play with fear. Someone who will keep you from fire and water and all the rest of life's dangers.
Tuesday: I'm sure you've realized by now that your little tricks don't work on me.
She touches the floor and feels the beating pulse of the motel.
Tuesday: Fear comes from the unknown. So I need you to take a visible form.
Tuesday: Then I can keep my eye on you at all times. So ...
Tuesday: I wish you were small enough for me to cradle you in my arms.
A bundle of swaddling cloth appears on the floor in front of her.
She picks it up.
Tuesday: See? Fear isn't so scary.
Tuesday: Good child. Good.