Surviving in an RPG Maker Horror Game — Chapter 9: Living Sculpture

Chapter 9: Living Sculpture

[15:25]‌

I blinked, dazed.

How‍ many times had‍‍ I died already?⁠ Thinking about it,‌ it had been four.

Twice by the guard,‌ once by the‍‌ computer, and once⁠⁠ by the painting.⁠‌

The fact that I was even counting my own deaths‍‌ was absurd in‍‍ itself, but within‍ this insane and⁠ unnatural school, that⁠ kind of thinking⁠⁠ seemed like the⁠ most normal thing⁠‌‍ in the world.⁠⁠‍

‘What‌‍ the hell was⁠⁠⁠ that just now…?’‌

The‌ last death had‍ been different from‍ the others. It⁠ felt like my⁠‌ body… wasn’t mine⁠‍ anymore.

As⁠ if my consciousness⁠ had been completely⁠ ripped away.

Tap.‍

While‍‍ I was thinking,‍‌ the picture frame‍ suddenly fell.

“Shit!”

I shouted, jumping from⁠ the fright.

‘Nearly gave me a heart attack…’

Was⁠ that their idea‍ of a scare?⁠‍ A cheap, forced,⁠ meaningless jump scare.‌ It was blatantly‍⁠ obvious the developer’s malicious intent to‍‌‌ startle the player. This kind of‌‌ thing drives me‍ crazy.

I calmed my nerves‌⁠‌ as best I could. They could‍ at least give‍ a warning.

‘Bastards.’⁠‍

I looked at the⁠⁠ painting that had⁠ fallen to the‌⁠ floor. It was The Brontë Sisters.‍‍⁠ The women in⁠‍⁠ the painting seemed‍ to be staring‍ at me.

And⁠‍ of course, there were still four.‌‌⁠

‘One⁠⁠‍ of them is⁠ the ghost, right?’‌⁠

This‍‍⁠ wasn’t an ordinary‍ painting. I stayed‌⁠ alert, fearing the‍⁠‌ ghost might leap⁠ out at any‌ moment.

But‍ then, how was‌ I supposed to‍ get rid of‌‍ it? At that‍‍‌ moment, a drawer‌ lit up. I opened it just‍ in case.

It was full of‌⁠ art supplies. One‌‌ of them caught‌ my attention.

[You⁠⁠⁠ obtained a paintbrush.]‍‍

A paintbrush? I read‌⁠ the description.

[Paintbrush]‍

【Used⁠ for painting. Must‍ be dipped in paint to be‍‌ used.】

This had to be⁠‍ the method to⁠⁠‍ eliminate the ghost‌ hidden in the painting. Now then,‍⁠ who was the‌ ghost?

I recalled the message‌ from before I died. So I wouldn’t forget it,⁠ I quickly jotted‌ it down on‍⁠ the whiteboard.

[Charlotte:‌ Emily is truly⁠⁠⁠ my younger sister.]

[Emily:⁠⁠ Anne is a woman of the‍ Brontë family.]

[Elizabeth:‌ One of Anne⁠⁠⁠ or Charlotte is‌⁠ lying.]

[Anne:‌‌ What Charlotte and‌⁠ Emily say is‌‍ true.]

“Hm…”‍

This‍ kind of logic‌ puzzle is solved quickly if you⁠ detect the contradictions.⁠‌⁠ I thought carefully⁠‍ while scribbling on‍ the whiteboard.

‘First,‌‌‍ Anne isn’t the‍ ghost.’

If⁠‍ she were lying,‍‍ then Charlotte and‍ Emily would be‍‍ lying too. But‍ there’s only one‌ ghost hidden in⁠‍ the painting.

If‌ Anne were the⁠ ghost, that would‍‌‌ imply there were‍ at least three‌ liars. A contradiction.⁠

Therefore,‌ Anne wasn’t the‌‍⁠ ghost.
What she said‌‌‍ had to be⁠ true. I circled‌ her statement.

[Anne: What Charlotte and Emily say is⁠‍‍ true.]

‘Huh?’‌‌‍

If‌⁠ Anne was telling‌ the truth, then⁠ what Charlotte and⁠ Emily said must⁠ also be true.‍

Which left just one‌ person out. If‌ all of that⁠⁠ was true, then⁠ only one wasn’t⁠⁠ telling the truth.⁠‍

‘I‍‌ found her.’

I took the paintbrush‍ and confidently approached⁠ the painting of⁠‍‌ The Brontë Sisters.⁠

[There‌ is a liar‍⁠ among them.]

As‌‌ before, red liquid‌‌ spread across the‍‍ painting.

Looking‌ closely, it was red paint.

‘So this is what⁠‌ I use to‌‍ dip the brush.’

I took out the‌‍ brush. A message⁠ appeared.

[Do⁠‌‌ you want to‌ dip the brush‍ in the paint?]‍

[Yes‍ / No]

Without⁠‌‌ hesitation, I answered:⁠‍‌ “Yes.”

The‍‍⁠ brush soaked up‌‍‌ the red paint.‌‌‍ The liquid dripped to the floor.‍‌‌

‘Perfect.’‍

Everything was ready.

I held the brush with a graceful‍ motion. Like a master painter before his masterpiece.

Like⁠‍ a martial artist⁠⁠ mastering their form.‌‍‌ Like a conductor‌ in the middle‌‌ of a climax.‌

With‌⁠ fluidity and grace.‍⁠ I slowly raised⁠ the hand holding‍ the brush.

And⁠ then:

“Elizabeth,‌ you damn bitch!”‌⁠‌

I threw the paint at her with‍⁠ all my strength.‌

Slash!‌‍

Elizabeth’s⁠ face was splashed‍ in red. This‍ time, I was‌ sure I wouldn’t die.

‘If‌⁠ neither Anne, Charlotte, nor Emily is⁠ the ghost, it‌ can only be‍⁠ her.’

The⁠⁠ ghost hidden among the Brontë sisters.⁠‍⁠ The real impostor⁠ was Elizabeth.

Why‍ hadn’t I seen⁠‌‌ it before? Last‌⁠⁠ time everything happened‌ so fast I couldn’t think straight.‍‍

If‌‍ there hadn’t been⁠‌‍ a time limit⁠ from the start,‍ I would’ve solved‍⁠ it instantly.

Ssssh!‌

The⁠‌ Elizabeth in the‍‍‍ painting opened her‍‍ eyes in horror.⁠⁠ She screamed in⁠ pain as the‍‍ red paint hit‍‌‍ her skin.

But‍ she didn’t disappear just yet.

‘One‌‌ stroke isn’t enough?’⁠

I immediately began covering‍ her entire body‌ with the brush.‌⁠ Erasing every trace,‌ not leaving a speck behind.

Slash!‌ Slash Slash!

The⁠ frame of the‌ painting started to shake violently. It looked like the‍⁠ figure was trying‌ to escape the‍‍ canvas.

‘Where‍ do you think⁠ you’re going?’

I pinned the frame‍‍ down with both‍‍ knees. And struck‌ her face with⁠ the brush.

Crack!‍⁠‌

The⁠⁠ ghost in the‍ painting had only⁠ her head fixed,⁠ while the rest‍⁠⁠ of her body‌‍ trembled uncontrollably.

She⁠ writhed desperately, as‌ if clinging to life, but she‌‌ couldn’t resist the weight of the⁠⁠⁠ brush. Eventually, her⁠⁠⁠ movements ceased and⁠‍ she hung lifelessly in place.

Her⁠⁠ head remained pinned‍ by the brush,‌‌ while her body‌ dangled limply, swaying.‌‌ She looked like⁠⁠⁠ a hanged corpse.‌‌

Gradually,‌⁠ the ghost’s form‍‍ began to fade.

In‍ the end, only three women remained‍‌ in the painting—Charlotte,⁠⁠‌ Emily, and Anne.‌⁠

All‌‍ women of the‌‍ Brontë family.

Their‍‌‍ previously tense, distressed expressions returned to⁠‍ normal.

‘Now‍ that looks like‌‍ a proper family‍⁠ portrait.’

Where did that intruding‍ ghost think she‌ was? At last,‌‌⁠ the painting was‍⁠ back to how‍⁠ it should be.‌

A paper framed next⁠‍‍ to the painting fell to the floor.

‘Did the text change?’‌‌

Unlike⁠ before, the content⁠ had gradually been‌‍‍ modified:

[Branwell‌ Brontë – The⁠ Brontë Sisters]

【From left to right:⁠‍ Anne, Emily, Charlotte. This painting was‌ made by Branwell,⁠ Charlotte’s younger brother⁠‍ and older brother to Emily and‍⁠⁠ Anne.

Originally,‌ Branwell had painted‍‌‍ himself in the⁠‍‌ middle of his sisters,
but felt it⁠‌ looked disorderly and⁠‍ erased himself. The⁠⁠ faint figure between‍⁠ Emily and Charlotte‌‌ is the trace of that edit.】⁠⁠

“…”‍

There had never been⁠‌⁠ a ghost in⁠⁠⁠ this painting. No‌‌ such thing as⁠ a “cursed painting” or “possessed painting.”

Then… who or what‌ was Elizabeth, really?⁠‌ It was enough‍ to drive you mad.

‘I‌ guess I should⁠⁠‍ put it back‌ in place.’

I returned the painting‌⁠‌ of The Brontë‌ Sisters to its‍‌ place.

At‍ that moment—

Clack.‍

A door opening sounded.‍‍ It was the‌ door to the‌ supply storage.

‘What a noisy trick.’‍‌

Since‌ it had opened,‌ I decided to‍ go in. The⁠ “No Unauthorized Access”⁠ sign irritated me‍ a little, but⁠ I ignored it.‌‌

Creeeak.‌⁠

The storage room was‍ quite narrow—like a supply closet for‍‍ the art classroom.⁠‌

Canvases‍ were stacked against‌‌ the walls, and⁠ piles of 4B⁠ pencils lay neatly sorted in boxes.‌‍ But the most‌‍ striking items were‌‌ the plaster sculptures.‌⁠

White,‌ pallid heads of various kinds were‌ lined up—around ten⁠ or more—all staring‍ directly at me.

‘They⁠‌ give me the‌ creeps for no‌‍ reason.’

I pushed one gently‍ to turn its‍ head—and noticed a document taped to⁠ the wall.

[School‌ Art Department Budget‌⁠ Receipt]

[Art⁠‌ Room]

【The following materials have‍‍‍ been purchased. Please verify quantities are‍ correct.】

Landscape⁠ canvases, type P × 100
Portrait canvases, type⁠ F × 100‍‌‍
4B pencils (1⁠ dozen) × 50⁠
Male plaster sculptures⁠‍ × 3
Female plaster sculptures‍‌‌ × 3
Elderly plaster sculptures⁠⁠ × 3
Child plaster sculptures‍‌ × 3

‘Is‌‍ this a clue‍‌ too?’

I read the receipt‍ carefully. Nothing seemed‌ off—so I left⁠‌ it and continued‌⁠ exploring.

[A⁠ dusty box. Won’t⁠ open.]

[Paint‍ palettes neatly stacked.]⁠

[Paintbrushes‌‌⁠ organized by size/type.]‌‍

[A⁠‌ giant eraser—brick-sized.]

Just⁠ as I was⁠‍‌ repeating meaningless checks,‌ something glowed in⁠‌ the corner.

[You obtained a hammer.]‌

A hammer? I opened‍‌ the item description at once.

[Hammer]⁠‍‌

【Old,⁠⁠ cracked hammer—it looks⁠‌ like it’ll break⁠‌‌ in one strike.】‌

I lifted it with‌⁠‍ effort.

Maybe‍ because of the‌⁠ metal head, it‌⁠ was quite heavy.⁠‌

‘Ugh,⁠‍ how heavy.’

Judging⁠ by its condition,‌⁠ it was clearly‍ very old. The iron part was‌ rusted and had⁠ deep notches.

The⁠ handle was also⁠ worn down; it⁠ looked like it‌ would break if⁠ I applied any‌⁠ force.

What was I supposed⁠ to do with this?

I remembered the classic‍⁠ function of a hammer—a tool used‍ to break things.‌⁠

Whether‍ for hammering nails,⁠ banging on a neighbor’s ceiling, or⁠‍ even killing someone.⁠‍⁠ But in an‍ RPG Maker game,⁠‌ it’s usually used‍‌‌ to smash something.‍

‘What‍⁠ around here can‌‌‍ I break?’

I looked to the‍⁠ back. I saw‌ one of those⁠‍ white, shiny heads.‌‍⁠

“Aha.”⁠

A chill ran down⁠ my spine. I understood perfectly what‌ the game’s creator‍‌ intended.

I read the document on the wall‍‍ again:

【The⁠‌ following materials have⁠‍ been received. Please‌ check if the‌ quantity is correct.】⁠‍

The‌⁠‌ important part was⁠ the number of‌ plaster sculptures:
– Male x3‍‌
– Female x3‍
– Elderly x3⁠‌‌
– Children x3⁠‌⁠

‘Check if the quantity‍ is correct, huh?’⁠‍

I counted the sculptures‍⁠ one by one: one male head,⁠‍‌ one elderly head,‌‍ and so on.‌‍

As⁠ I suspected, there‍ were 13 sculptures‍ in total.

‘One’s⁠⁠ extra.’

There’s‌ no way the‍‍ receipt was wrong.‌⁠‍ That could only‌‍ mean one thing—something⁠‌⁠ was pretending to‍ be a plaster⁠‌ sculpture. And I was apparently meant⁠‌ to find it…⁠ and smash its⁠ head in with‌⁠⁠ this hammer.

“You‍‌ better come out willingly.”

I waved the hammer‌ in the air.‍⁠‌ The sculptures didn’t‍⁠ respond. I had⁠⁠ no choice.

I started pulling the‌ heads out of the storeroom one‍ by one. Elderly‌ head, woman’s head,‍⁠ child’s head.

I arranged them according⁠ to the inventory.⁠

At⁠‌ the end, only‌⁠‍ four heads were‍‍ left in the‌‌‌ storeroom.

[Plaster‌‌‌ sculpture with male‍ head.]
[Plaster sculpture with⁠‍⁠ male head.]
[Plaster sculpture with‌‍ male head.]
[Plaster sculpture with‍ male head.]

One⁠‍ of these… is‍ fake.

‘The question is how to tell them⁠ apart.’

I took one and touched it carefully.‍‍ Its surface was‍‌ cold, smooth, and‍⁠ slick.

I touched the others‍ too. They all‍⁠‍ felt similar.

…Except⁠ one.

One‌‌ had a rough,‌‍‍ gritty texture. It‍‌ was much heavier,⁠‍‍ almost like it‌ was made of metal. And it‌⁠ was warm. Like⁠⁠‍ it had body‌ heat.

“Is⁠‌ it you?”

The‌ head remained silent.⁠⁠ It seemed it⁠⁠ really believed it‌ was a sculpture.⁠‌‌

There‍‌ was no choice,‍‌⁠ then.

[Would⁠‌ you like to‍ use the hammer?]‌‍

[Yes‌‌‍ / No]

I smashed its head‍ with all my⁠‍ strength.

Crack!⁠⁠

It‍⁠⁠ shattered with a sharp snap.

[The⁠‍‌ hammer has broken.]‍

The⁠ impact was so‍⁠ strong, the hammer‍⁠ became unusable. Looks⁠⁠ like it was‍ single-use.

‘Too‌‌‍ bad. It might’ve⁠⁠ come in handy‍ later.’

‘Anyway…’‌

The sculpture’s head was completely caved in.⁠ A stream of⁠ blood gushed from⁠‌ the crack. And⁠ a soft lump‍ slid out with⁠ it. Everything was‍ mashed together. It⁠⁠ wasn’t a pretty⁠‌ sight.

‘Ugh.’‌‌‌

Seeing‌ that scene made it feel like‍⁠‍ I had really⁠ crushed a human‌‍ skull.

A lump that looked‌ like a brain‍ slithered toward me.⁠ I quickly stepped⁠‌ back.

I felt nauseous, like⁠ I was about⁠‍ to vomit. As‌⁠⁠ I turned my gaze away, something‍ glinted from within the broken sculpture.‌

There⁠‍‍ was an object⁠ inside the head.‌‍

‘Ah,‍ fuck this…’

I cursed silently.

Then⁠⁠‍ I reached into‌ the opening of‍ the head. My⁠ hand slid in easily, as if coated in lubricant.⁠⁠‌

A sticky, slimy sensation‍ enveloped my hand.⁠‌‍ I felt my⁠‌ senses going numb.‍

‘Where‌ is it…?’

For‍ some reason, I couldn’t grab the⁠ object. I fumbled‌ around inside the⁠ head. Every time‌ I moved my‌‌ hand, the sculpture‌ trembled. It was‌ so disgusting I almost threw up.⁠‌⁠

‘Come⁠⁠ on, just get‍ it… get it…’‌‌‍

Finally,⁠ I managed to‍ grab something. I squeezed it tightly⁠‍‍ and yanked my hand out.

Blood‍⁠ and brain matter⁠ oozed out like⁠⁠ slime.

[You’ve⁠ obtained the Library‍ Key.]

“Urgh…”⁠

I felt like my‌ right hand had⁠⁠ been completely defiled. I couldn’t even focus on the‍⁠‍ message. I ran‍‌ straight to the‍ nearest bathroom.

Luckily,‌ the one on‍‌ the fourth floor‍ was open and‌ I could wash‌ up. Only then‍ did I check⁠‍ the message. The⁠ newly obtained item was the key⁠‌ to the library.‍

‘The‌ library is right‍ next to the‌ art room.’

If‍‌ it had been‌⁠ as far as⁠⁠‍ the first floor,‍ I’d have worried⁠‍ about running into‍ the guard along⁠ the way, but‍ this time I didn’t need to.⁠⁠‌

I immediately headed for the library.

[You’ve⁠ used the Library‌ Key.]

As‍ soon as I stepped in, the‍ characteristic scent of‌ old books filled⁠‍ the air.

Especially⁠ at our school,⁠⁠ where the facilities‍ were awful, most‌⁠ of the books⁠⁠⁠ were yellowed and⁠ worn out.

‘Is⁠⁠ it going to be a book⁠ puzzle?’

I entered without much⁠ thought. That’s when‍⁠‌ I felt a presence inside. I thought it was‌‍ just my imagination,⁠‌ but no. Someone‌‌ was definitely there.‌⁠

Amid‌⁠‍ the books lined‍⁠‌ on the shelves, a blurry silhouette‌ appeared. I quickly⁠‌‌ hid behind a bookshelf.

‘Who⁠‍‌ is that?’

There⁠‍ was someone else‍⁠ in the library‌ besides me. I peeked slowly from‍ the edge of‌ the shelf. And there she was—⁠‍

“!”

A student was reading‌ a book.