Michael was standing under the orange banderole – it was still foggy outside, yet an eerie, reddish glow pushed through the mist, accompanied by the faint rain. Michael tried to think: judging by the text message, it indeed seemed Beth was waiting for him in the motel. Of course, this was nonsensical – surely another inconsistency caused by the town. Still, following its guidance had led Michael so far – stopping now would have (probably) been a bad choice.

Michael started walking; he shivered as cold rain drops landed on his neck. He was about to pass a diner, yet had to stop from confusion: half of the building was covered by several white tarpaulins, wrapped tightly around it. Michael watched as veins of rain water ran on the canvas, continuing their ways on the parking lot. Weirdly enough, there was a short vertical cut in one of the sheets – red liquid seeped through it, distilled by water. Michael disregarded this phenomenon and kept moving; there was no need to waste any more time.

Michael followed the driveway to the motel's parking lot – photographer's car was gone, yet Michael had other things to pay attention to: on his left was room number 6. Michael read the text message again; he got anxious. He knew Beth wasn't waiting there, but something was behind the door – something he would have to confront. Michael considered this his only remaining option, so he opened the door and stepped into the room.

Michael looked around, noticing that the interior was drastically different when compared to room number 1. There was a green sofa with black wooden table in front of it – a TV was placed on top of a drawer next to the sofa, which seemed like a less ideal position. Kitchen and bedroom were placed on Michael's right, in addition with the bathroom. Michael walked slowly around, realizing that everything was exactly like in his old apartment. His head was aching – air smelled unpleasant. The living room's ceiling lamp was on, yet the kitchen and bedroom were left in shadows.

Michael sat on the sofa, feeling sick. A small, red object was lying on the table – another C-cassette. Michael became grim – he took out the player, already somewhat aware of what he might hear. The tape began with silence – it lasted for a minute, until Michael heard a sound; as if door was opened and closed. Then, his own voice:

"B?"

Footsteps and knocking – someone knocked on a door.

"B? Hey...are you..."

Short pause.

"Beth? What's..."

No more sounds; just quiet crackling. Michael stared at the bathroom's door – lights were turned on behind it. He stood up, as smell of cadaver filled the air. He entered the bathroom, keeping the gun ready – yet the room was empty. There was a smooth pool of blood in the bathtub, and several bloody footprints on the floor. Michael leaned against the sink, as waves of nausea hit him. Lights turned on and off several times until dying out completely. The door disappeared – blue tiles became partially broken; ceiling was leaking dirty water. All pipework in the bathroom corroded; white mold gathered on the wooden cabinet.

Michael looked at the doorway – the bloody footprints ended in front of it. Behind this doorway opened a rectangular corridor made out of gray concrete. Dim light travelled between its surfaces, entering through the corridor's opposite end. Michael started walking, dragging his tired self along the hallway. He arrived in a cylindrical room, about 10 meters in diameter. Rusty metallic stairs followed the wall and spiralled downwards. There was no roof – above, nothing but the gray sky bleeding rain drops. Despite the weather, it was rather bright in the room, as sleepy natural light passed through the clouds.

Unlike the room's walls, the floor wasn't made out of concrete – it was just wet, brown soil, with several pools of rain water and some growths of green moss. Michael saw a humanoid figure kneeled down in one of the pools – a pale character with sickly white skin and brown hair, long enough to touch its shoulders. In front of it, there was a circular, pitch-black hole in the wall. Michael stared at the figure for a long time – eventually, he started walking along the stairs, taking slow, reluctant steps.

Michael stepped on the wet soil and approached the figure – it looked like a naked woman. She was holding something in her arms – something wrapped in a white, dirty towel. With slow movements, the woman placed both of her hands in the black hole, and dropped the bundle in darkness. She grabbed the edge of the hole – for a moment, her body was shaking. Eventually she stood up, with her legs dripping russet water. She turned around and stared at Michael without any expression: her lips were blue, her eyes were cloudy – their sight carried no meaning. Michael took a step forwards, then backwards – the woman twitched, as something moved under her face, contorting the skin and facial features. A black, sharp tip punctured the cheek below her right eye. Thin whip-like appendage pulled itself out and circled in the air, spitting distilled blood on the walls.

Michael heard a cold whistle, as the organ swung above his head – in the next second, it dove smoothly through his leg, cutting straight through flesh. Hellish pain threw Michael on the ground – he cursed and shot the woman twice; both bullets drilled through her temple. Several maggots fell down from the wounds; twisting their bulky, red painted bodies. The whip got pulled back and threw Michael's blood on the soil – he let out several screams.

The tentacle circled in air again; high-pitched exploding sounds echoed between the walls. Michael fired once more – this time he aimed above the woman's waist. Three bullets punctured her body; she let out a whining, helpless sound, while caressing her bloody abdomen with her hands. Michael used the last bullet; the creature fell on its back. The tentacle twitched several times until turning numb and falling on the ground.

Michael tried to stand up, yet the wound was too painful – he leaned against the closest wall, gasping for air and looking frantically around. He dropped the gun – there was nothing but rain, wet soil and the pale corpse of that creature. Michael shivered; air smelled clean – drops of cold water on his burning forehead felt heavenly. He closed his eyes, as tears started pushing through – eventually he burst out crying. His phone was ringing again, yet it took several minutes from Michael to answer it:

"Mike, I'm sorry. It wasn't your fault. I love you."

"…"

"Mike, you there?"

"...yeah."

"I'm sorry. I know what you think, but it wasn't your fault. I love you."

Michael dropped the phone. He looked at the black hole in the wall – something was wrong with it, since the hole seemed to get closer. Slowly, its circular mouth filled Michael's vision; he saw himself falling beneath it, in the rotten smell and swarms of flies. Time passed slowly, until this vision became weak – insects and darkness disappeared; they were replaced by white light. It was snowing again; mesmerizing scent lingered in air. Among the the snowfall was walking a woman – she disappeared in white obscurity without even noticing Michael.