Garry

It's been ten minutes and they're still not back yet. I sigh, absent-mindedly tapping on the stone vines. I knew I shouldn't have let them go!. But I suppose… there might be some other way to get through from this side. I guess I should check where I came from. A shiver runs down my spine. I shake my head. Come on, Garry! It's just dolls! They can't hurt you!

Although… I would have said the same thing about paintings only yesterday.

I take a deep breath and enter the room once more. The dolls stare at me with their empty, red eyes. I shudder, then walk across to the other side of the room. Hm. There's a bookshelf I can move. Why didn't I notice that before? I shove it to the side, and find a hole in the wall just tall enough for me to fit through.

I make my way through more rooms with different puzzles. I keep running into this disturbing doll, though. Everytime I see it, there's a sign on the wall next to it.

HELLO GARRY.

I WANT TO COME WITH YOU.

WHY WON'T YOU TAKE ME?

DO YOU HATE ME?

I KNOW LOTS OF FUN GAMES WE CAN PLAY!

STAY HERE FOREVER.

"This place is not good for my mental health," I mutter. I come across a room with seven pedestals. There's a sign that says, "Collect the seven balls of paint. Then the room will be colored, and the bridge will be made."

What the heck does that mean? I walk out, and nearly trip over something. I bend down to pick it up. "A red ball… is this one of the balls of paint?" It vanishes as soon as I touch it. Huh. Well, I guess I'll look for the other ones; seeing as it's the only way to progress.

I search in all the rooms I can, and find five balls of paint. The last one I find is in a library. None of the books really look interesting.

Except…

I take the one titled, "Collected Works of Guertena" off of the shelf. It seems vaguely familiar, but I can't figure out why. The book lists Guertena's paintings in alphabetical order. I open it, and it falls open to the "M" page.

"Mary" (date unknown) The last work of Guertena's life. While the girl appears almost lifelike, naturally, she is not based on a real person.

Something about this page tugs at my memories, making my head ache. I can't remember. I turn to the next page, which has a picture of the painting described.

Oh, my…

My jaw hangs open as I stare at the painting… a painting that depicts a young girl with blonde hair, wearing a green dress. A painting depicting the girl that has been following us through the gallery.

Mary.

I slam the book shut, my heart racing. Ib's with her! I have to find them! I dash out of the room, dropping the book onto the floor.

"Aagh!" I let out a strangled cry as I come face-to-face with the doll that's been following me.

I KNOW MARY'S SECRET…

I kneel next to the revolting thing. The stomach's swollen… I reach down and rip it open to reveal the next-to-last ball of paint. As it vanishes, I wipe the sweat off my hands onto my pants. This is not good, I think. Then, I hear a clicking sound. I turn to the room that had been previously locked behind me, and see the doll I had just disemboweled run in. Without thinking, I run in after it.

When I walk in, I see I'm surrounded by the dolls. There! Near the far wall, sat the last ball of paint. I gulp, then make a dash for it. It disappears like the others, and I turn to leave. But when I get to the door…

Oh, crap.

It's locked.

LET'S PLAY A GAME. WHO HAS THE KEY?

The raspy, soft voice echoes through my head. I hear the sound of a clock's chimes, and see a figure rising from the blank frame on the wall like some sort of disfigured sunrise. My mind goes into panic mode, and I race around the room, searching for the key.

BETTER HURRY…

I find a doll that looks more stuffed than the rest, and tear the key out of it. The figure in the frame is almost up. I run for the door, unlock it, and flee as fast as I can away from that room.

"Thank… God." I gasp. "Why… why did I have to… go through that…?" I slump down on the floor, but then stop.

"Quit complaining. Ib's in a much worse situation than you are. Suck it up." I stand, clenching my fist.

"Don't worry, Ib. I'll find you."