Bad End Night

Volume 2, 8: Discrepancy

Volume 2, Chapter 8: Discrepancy

First nighT

One night, when the wind blew fiercely, seven actors celebrated a play.

It was a very joyous party. Then an eighth woman, a friend of theirs, visited.

The woman said she had found a letter speaking of a sin the seven friends had committed.

And that she would reveal their secret...

The seven were bewildered, and indignant.

Because they had important business they had to carry out, sin or not.

The actors blamed the woman. They said that revealing that secret would be to betray them.

But the woman stood her ground. She insisted that she was in the right.

She gave up on the quarrel and attempted to leave, and the seven tried to stop her.

But the woman stood her ground.

Negotiations failed to resolve satisfactorily.

At last, the woman produced a knife she happened to have in her pocket and threatened the seven.

The seven faltered.

However, by this point, they would not give in either.

If the truth within that letter, their sin, were revealed, all their efforts would be in vain.

There was a dispute and an ugly scuffle... and then.

Perhaps it was a prank played by the goddess of fate... To her, miracle and accident is all the same.

How easy the gears of tragedy begin to spin.

The woman tumbled down the stairs.

Once she reached the bottom... the knife was plunged into her chest.

The woman died... And what a tragic death.

The actors pitied her unlucky death and grieved.

And they thought this.

"If only this tragedy we see before us were the same as the plays we perform, the first scene of a fictional world...

Oh, if only time could come to a stop."

But the play of her life, where she was the lead, had already come to an end.

And so they decided to consign her tragic death to oblivion.

To hide everything in the theater's secret cellar, inside a coffin... ?

Sweat ran down my fingers as I turned to the final page. The thick book filled with words... Every time I flipped its pages, the words jumped out at me as if being typed directly into my head.

"I... know this... I know it!"

"HM...?"

I clearly remembered now. The events of "First nighT" were exactly those of the nightmare I'd had this morning. Seven men and women were gathered for a party, one came late and made an statement that caused an uproar, tried to run while still in discord with her friends... and died doing so. The dream I saw certainly went up to there. But if this book was the same as my dream, then had the seven tried to cover up her death afterward, and hide her corpse in a coffin? In a room underneath the theater...?

"It definitely is the same as that... No doubt."

"As WHAT...?"

"I had a dream this morning. When was rolling around in bed and couldn't sleep... I forgot all about it until now. But now... I can vaguely remember it."

"ReMEMber?"

"What's written in this book. Eight men and women... and seven of them chased one of the women, and she died. I think it was an accident, but... I feel like it could be interpreted as them killing her, too."

"Eight ACTors...? Just LIKE us, huh?"

"..."

Yes, exactly the same. The script of Crazy ? nighT, and this world. What connection did they have to my dream and First nighT? Was my dream a premonition...? Or...

"But WOW, so you can reMEMber DREAMS that clearly... We DOLLS can't even DREAM, so we WOULDn't know. Even remembering the NUMber of PEOPLE in your dream..."

"...I don't dream very often, so I don't know if that's normal or not..."

"Was it really SEVEN chasing THE girl...?"

"Yes..."

"RealLY? Good JOB rememberING that number. Since you don't SEEM that SMART, miss VILlager."

"Agh..."

"Hey, WHY do you reMEMber? Did you SEE everyONE's faces? Their VOIces?"

"...No... I didn't see. Or, well, maybe I saw them, but I don't remember now. I can't remember at all... Or what their voices were like, either."

"HMM. But LET'S see, if you counted YOURself as someONE in the DREAM, then SUBtracting yourself, it would be SEVEN people... or NOT?"

"Eh?"

I focused my thoughts on my memories of the dream again, but... As I thought, I wasn't going to remember anything more about it. The Doll Boy was looking at me seriously, not a hint of teasing.

"I think... I wasn't looking from anyone's viewpoint in particular in the dream. Like, if it were a play, and I weren't sitting in the audience, but was still close to the actors - that was how close I seemed to be. So if I included myself, it would actually go up to nine, maybe...? I'm not really sure. That's about all I can say about where I was watching from... Dreams usually aren't from one view anyway, it's like... a weird, ambiguous string of points."

"I SEE..."

The Doll Boy put his little left hand to his chin and went "hmm," showing that he was thinking.

"...You SAID you couldn't rememBER any faces or voiCES, but... Do you THINK they could have been OURS?"

He tilted his cute little head to the side and grinned slightly. But while the look in his eyes started out as slightly curious, as if that curiosity had changed into a greedy tenacity, he now looked at me obstinately with a hint of madness. His gaze was so sharp and cutting, I found myself turning away to escape it. If I were caught deep in those eyes... I felt like my heart's deepest secrets, ones which even I didn't know, might be exposed. My dried-up throat finally moved.

"...Umm... I don't know. I mean, I don't remember anything at all about the people in it. I only remember that... the person who died..."

Yes, I remembered that the woman who died was called the "lead role."

"...was the lead ROLE?"

"...!"

Why did he know that? The book hadn't said a word about that...

"If the LEAD died in the middle of the PLAY..."

"..."

"...Do you THINK the story would END there?"

I hesitated, having no immediate answer to the question. Generally, the lead wouldn't die in the middle. If the lead were to die, it was left for the finale of the story... and only when the ending was a tragic one. In the case of a book, there would be no one left to tell the story, and certainly in a play, it wasn't common to keep going on and on after the lead died. The common reply was that such a thing wouldn't be interesting.

"..."

"You DON'T know? I guess YOU are a little slow, AREn't you, miss Villager. That's a GOOD quality for a LEAD, though..."

"..."

I wasn't sure if the cruel doll was complimenting me or insulting me.

"The LEAD usually won't DIE. If they DO, the STOry will end there. But THERE is a way to keep GOing..."

"There is...?"

"Yes. IF... the lead can be rePLACED. If the lead dies, BUT the baTON passes to the NEXT lead, it's FINE. Then the STOry goes on forEVER."

"Replace the lead...?"

"You SWITCH the lead, and it beCOMES the story of the NEW lead. Doesn't THAT happen all the time in THE human world? HIStory... Everyone writes EVERlasting stories of inheriTANCE. If the lead DIES... Just look FOR someone ELSE, and bring them IN as the NEW lead. And you should KEEP quiet TO the new one aBOUT it. That's just NATUral. For NEW people to keep focusing on OLD, endED things, that's UNnatural. Those stoRIES aren't interesting. There's noTHING weird about moving to a new lead's CHAPter in a story, eiTHER. If it's a play with eight PEOple... You prepare a NINTH."

"A ninth..."

Look for a new lead, and bring them in. In place of the lead who's passed on. A ninth person for a play that only needs eight... I was stuck on something here. The person in my dream who was fated to die and enter a coffin... Just who was she...?

I unconsciously brought my hand to my chest. The time remaining in the play had gone down a little more. What now? There's no time. I have to hurry and do something. Do what? Right, the page! I had to get out of here and search. And think...!

"There's one MORE good thing I'll TELL you."

"Um, I should..."

"You don't NEED to be in such a HURry."

"Don't hurry...? But, the performance time! It's way past halfway gone, so I can't just..."

"And if it does RUN out? Will we go aWAY?"

"Huh...?"

"Sure, THE us of NOW will go away. But that's only the END of THIS play. It can conTINUE again another NIGHT."

Another...? The Doll Girl had said something similar. "Today will go on." I wondered what it meant. I looked the Doll Boy in the eyes, and his gaze said "Come with me." This time he walked to a bookcase on the opposite side of before, to the right from the door. He scrutinized a few of the thick books, but seemed unable to find the one he was looking for. As usual, nothing was written on the bindings of any of the books, so it was hard to search.

After watching him look for a book from behind for a while, I noticed one of the teddy bears elegantly sitting in a leather armchair was holding a book. What a strange sight. I approached and looked at the book. The title was Bad ? End ? Night.

Just flipping through the pages, it was the same as before; the words flowed direct into my thoughts like a muddy stream. The waves that those words comprised crashed hard against my mind. The unexpected shockwave nearly carried away my senses with it. The final wave withdrew, and I turned the last page, then let my hands down powerlessly. The book collapsed upon the deep crimson carpet.

"..."

A tempest of emotions swirled in me, and I was at a loss for words. This had to be... some kind of elaborate joke, right? I hoped it was.

"AhHH... I was going to recomMEND something less inTENSE first..."

The Doll Boy approached me carrying a small stack of books in his hands. But after being swept up by that wave of words, I was just barely hanging on to a boulder along the bank. I wouldn't be surprised if I were swallowed up by such fierce rapids. I was giving all my might to cling onto this small, unreliable rock to not be swept away. I had no time to piece together the swirling words. With trembling hands, I grabbed my shoulders.

The actress playing the Villager was suddenly sucked into a strange play world, and was greatly confused. While running around the mansion looking for an exit, she found a cellar. And eight coffins. This frightened her more than ever, and she tried to run, but the seven inhabitants of the mansion... no, the seven actors who were once her colleagues and friends, persistently chased her. Only the actress playing the Villager knew that this was a play... She couldn't get through to them; her friends had gone mad. She ran all around the mansion, but the others chased the Villager until she came to a stop. Convinced that at this rate, she'd also be killed and put in those coffins... the Villager remembered that the hour hand of the stopped clock was a knife, and she -

"Lies... This is all lies... I don't remember this at all... This isn't me!"

"...MemoRY is a BORing book. Its pages won't alWAYS be open..."

"...No way... But..."

"If this TIME ends, there is still a NEXT time. It goes ON and ON. FORever..."

Forever. This play world... the one I thought I'd been suddenly trapped in after picking up that strange letter on stage... Had it actually already repeated again and again? Was that "Bad ? End ? Night" merely a single act of the repeating night...?

"These BOOKshelves are quite a MASterpiece, aren't THEY...?"

"...!!"

It couldn't be... all these books without titles on the bindings. Were all of these bookshelves that filled up the walls of the room...?! No...!!

"Then, First nighT, too...? Is that..."

"Wrong. THAT one is difFERENT. That didn't HAPpen in this play..."

"..."

"If you DON'T remember anything, well, it's BETter that WAY..."

"Huh...?"

I couldn't see the Doll Boy's lowered expression from here. His gaze was different now... this boy who only came up to around my hips. It was nearly the same look as when he'd held that blue bouquet and teased me. Not like the other him.

Did they remember, I wonder? That this night had repeated again and again. I was the only one who knew this world wasn't reality. And yet, had I also been the only one to forget that it repeated again and again...? And what did it mean that First nighT was the one book here that wasn't an event in this play?

A bright light flashed in the room, and I was dazed for a moment. This room had no windows. I turned toward the entrance, and the door which the small boy had surely locked earlier was slightly open. A flash of lightning had come in through the large window at the end of the hallway.

I left the library, and still in a daze, went down the stairs. I went behind the stairs to the hallway between the entrance hall and the living room, turned right, headed straight ahead, and after I passed guest room #1, to my left I could see the hallway that had that giant wall-covering painting. I paced quickly without stopping, as if being drawn in by something. I proceeded ahead listening only to my own footsteps.

Right as that Twilight ? nighT painting entered my vision and I glanced toward it - the Master appeared at the end of the hallway. I was certain he was still checking the second floor rooms he was assigned; why was he so far from them...?

"Hey. Can you lend a hand? I want you to look in the stockroom on the first floor."

"Err..."

"It's not a very big room, but it has a lot of things. Ideal for hiding something. It might take a little while... but search as diligently as you can. The others are finishing up their last rooms, it seems."

"Are they, now..."

"So, were you headed somewhere?"

His question made me ask myself why I was standing here right now. Hadn't I been headed to the study on the second floor to look for the Master...? But when I left the library and absent-mindedly wandered in no particular direction, I ended up way over here... as if my destination had been the Twilight ? nighT painting. Why in the world...?

"...I was just walking around trying to find someone..."

"I see... All right. For now, I'd like you to go to the far stockroom. Once you're done, meet up in the study upstairs and report. I'm in the middle of informing everyone right now."

"...Understood."

As the Master instructed, I promptly headed for the room in the southeast corner of the first floor. It was a rather widely-built storage room.

By now, I'd noticed how most objects were just background for the play; "papier mache," so to speak. For instance, the vase of white lilies on the glass table on the living room which had looked so real. It looked exactly like real flowers in a vase, with water. But it had no properties beyond giving the impression of "there's a vase there," so you couldn't even take the flowers out of the vase. As I searched through the stockroom filled to the brim with such props, I began to predict that I wouldn't find that next page. My busily-moving hands gradually came to a stop.

I probably should have asked the Master when we met in the hallway. Why hadn't anyone told me this world was repeating itself? Did everyone know that? Or was it just the Doll Boy assigned to the library who happened to find out? Why hadn't we searched people's bodies in our search for the page? Why had we found no sign of the next page after all this searching?

I read some of the other books the Doll Boy brought from the shelves, besides that repulsive Bad ? End ? Night one. They were all events I had no recollection of. But I suppose they were Crazy ? nighTs that had been performed. If I were to take the Doll Boy at his word, then I... then all of us had repeated the script of Crazy ? nighT a mind-numbing number of times. And in the books he showed me too, as expected, everyone was searching for a stolen page, just like now. But there wasn't even a single one where the page was found in time...!

"I'm... always alone, huh..."

Everyone had forgotten the real world, and they were made part of this one. As much as I tried to tell them that fact at the outset of this absurd act, they didn't seem to comprehend, every time. Which meant it was really only me who was trapped in this world, wasn't it? These people were just fictional creations of this world, and the real ones were elsewhere... Yes, still back in reality. It was just me who was invited to this world as a guest... as the lead role.

In that case, I think I could understand why only I lost my memory every time. If everything but myself was papier mache, and even the characters were purely fake, then I wouldn't even have to feel lonely. And that horrid book that I dared not even remember...

That Bad ? End ? Night - I absolutely wouldn't believe that it was something I had actually done. Even if they were fakes, how could I kill them... kill my friends with my own hands?! I opened my clenched hands in front of my face, staring at them hard enough to bore a hole. I had absolutely no memory of it. But when I closed my eyes, I could faintly picture my hands being stained in blood.

It was just my imagination, surely... a spineless weakling like me could never do such a thing. I shook my head to knock it out of my brain, but the intense and ghastly image wouldn't go away easily. Guilt crept up on me for something I hadn't even remembered doing. My throat was completely parched.

This wouldn't do... I would go mad from my suspicion, guilt, and self-hatred. I needed something to change my mood and calm me down just briefly... Something to calm my heart...

"Our maid's tea is truly superb. It just calms your heart, doesn't it?"

Suddenly, the Mistress's line crossed my mind. After she repeated it three times word-for-word, like brainwashing, it was well-ingrained in my mind. Yes, tea...! But... I remembered the principles of this world. Only the Maid could make tea. The Villager, a guest, surely couldn't go to the kitchen, boil water, and make her own tea. That said, I didn't feel like tracking down the Maid now and having her make me some. My mind was still in disarray; I didn't want to meet anyone.

I had to do something to recover from this crushing unease, no matter how small... I understood now, just the tiniest bit, how the Villager who'd enacted Bad ? End ? Night must have felt. This mental state I was in was very dangerous. So much had happened in one night, and I had no one to share it with, to consult with, to depend on... That situation had actually lasted far, far longer than I even knew, and each time I would forget... learn what I forgot, and forget again... all that on loop. I never knew when madness could creep up from behind in a moment of weakness. Even my own self, the only one I could trust since coming to this world, was someone I couldn't help but fear.

The Butler had said that the world is what we perceive. If so, then myself and the world I was perceiving now were real. But then, were "real" things which were separate from my perception, and long since forgotten, no longer real? I'd forgotten acting out Bad ? End ? Night, and while I'd been told now that it had once been real, I couldn't accept that; so had it become fake? And so had the real world...

While ceaselessly turning over my memories since coming to this world, I suddenly remembered. When I was talking with the Butler, hadn't there been just a little bit of wine left? Alcohol would do fine. I could drink a little to brighten my spirits some. I hurried for the wine cellar.

I creaked open the wine cellar door. The Butler wasn't there. Where had he put away that not-yet-empty wine bottle...? I searched for the single bottle with just a bit of real wine among all the fakes.

"...Here it is!"

I found the minuscule amount of wine which was barely enough for a single glass. But I didn't hold my drinks well, so just this could get me pretty drunk. The bottle had been re-corked. I took a nearby sommelier knife, screwed it into the cork, and slowly twisted. Once the cork was out, an aroma like fresh roses wafted out.

There were no glasses in the cellar. I was hesitant to go to the kitchen, on the off chance the Maid or Mistress would show up. It may have been bad manners, but I would just drink from the bottle. No one was watching. I held it in both hands, head it up above my head, and turned it downward.

For an instant, there was roaring thunder that seemed to shake the whole room. The low roar rang out with such exact timing as to seem like it was trying to stop me from doing what I was about to do.

"Yahhh!"

Frightened by the surprising sound, I spilled the wine.

"Ahh..."

Yet another blunder. I only wanted the slightest chance to get away from my depressed and desperate state... But even that wouldn't go as I wanted. Ultimately, I only felt worse. Not even being bothered to sigh, I looked at where it'd spilled. Some was on the stone floor, and some had stained my skirt a little. As I reached for the handkerchief in my pocket, I noticed that letter inside had also gotten a bit of the wine on it.

"Ah... The letter got stained..."

It was thinly dyed with the color of the wine. And was it just me, or were the wine-covered areas actually a little whiter than the faded brown paper...? I brought my eyes closer. But actually, it hadn't gotten whiter - the paper itself was giving off a faint light.

"This is...!"

The same as when I was about to take First nighT in the library; the book had faintly glowed for a brief moment. And it surprised me enough to make the stepladder fall. Why was it shining...? What if there were some common point between First nighT and this letter? I remembered what the Doll Boy said: that First nighT wasn't part of this play. Then from its title... I could make some predictions.

Perhaps that book wasn't

a part of this fictional world, and had been brought in from reality... Or perhaps it was the events written in that book which took place elsewhere - in the real world. Yet it had some kind of connection to this world... If the common point between First nighT and this letter was "the real world," then what if the letter was the key to returning to reality? If it could be used as the "End roLL," like the envelope said, then maybe it could end the play and lead back to reality!

My downtrodden mood was suddenly lifted. If I could write an ending about returning to reality on this blank sheet, what would happen? For instance, if I wrote "The play ended, the actors regained their memories and bodies, and they all returned to the real world"... Would it really happen just like that? Or else, no, we would have to perform as the mastermind who sealed us in this world wanted us to, and write the ending that way; and no matter what we wrote, we wouldn't get back to reality.

If the laws of this play world were in effect, then what was written in the script was absolute, and everything and everyone acted accordingly... Well, I would just have to give it a try to find out. Okay...!

I dipped my right index finger in the pool of wine on the floor and drew lines on the paper. But this time, it didn't glow. As a test, I wrote in short words, "All went back to reality," but alas, nothing happened. Maybe it wouldn't start to take effect until this was put in as the final page of the script. Or else the words written with the wine were too light, and having to strain your eyes to make them out wouldn't do. Or maybe even it had to be written with something like a pen. I didn't know how it worked, but if I tried all the possibilities, then maybe...

But... What if I failed?

All the information I'd gathered since waking up would go back to a blank sheet. Would I forget everything again, and repeat the same actions? I'd wake up in an unfamiliar place, realize I was sucked into a strange world, be overcome with panic and fear... Then the others who had forgotten themselves and been made part of the play would appear... I'd despair, and vow to help bring everyone back to reality... In the middle, I'd learn that this world was repeating again and again...

Every detail of the night wasn't guaranteed to happen the same way every time. A single one of my actions could change the entire outcome; it had resulted in a different ending each time. After countless nights, I'd finally found a major possible hint toward returning to reality, so I didn't want to fail here.

I have to save everyone...

There was still time. I put my hand to my chest to check; about two-thirds of the play had elapsed.

In the back of my mind, I pictured everyone's expressions I'd seen since being sucked into this world. It was possible that they were always part of this world, and thus completely fake from the beginning. But no matter what, I couldn't think of them as mere fabrications.

There were many instants where their actions, words, and expressions overlapped with the habits of their real world counterparts. So they were the real ones, who in being adapted into this world's systems, forgot their real names and other memories... This seemed like the most likely explanation to me. Thus, the only one who could save them from this crazed world of night was me, Miku, the one who hadn't lost sight of her past, true self. In order to prevent another Bad ? End ? Night from taking place here... I had to firmly believe in Miku, in myself.

I wiped up my wet skirt with the handkerchief. The brand new one I'd just gotten from Luka. But now that I'd learned that I'd already spent ages in this world and had just forgotten about it, I saw the new handkerchief as already being worn out. How strange... Of course just knowing the reality wouldn't make any physical changes. I knew that it was only my mind that changed. Yet... I couldn't believe how different an impression it gave me.

The light green leaves were dyed the pale color of the wine. The formerly pink roses sucked up the color, looking like they were in full bloom. I had to wash this once I got home... I squeezed the wet handkerchief tight, carefully put it in my pocket, and stood up.

To gather clues about ending this play and returning to reality, first, I had to know the whole picture. There were many books in the library, and while there could be hints piled up in all those past events... after a bit of hesitation, I shook my head. I didn't have time to read them all one by one. Right now, it was better to make the most of the possibilities on hand, and solve the mysteries in front of me. I had to investigate the points of interest thoroughly...

I proceeded right down the hallway after leaving the wine cellar, and on my left appeared the forbidden room outside which the Twilight ? nighT painting hung. When I left the library in my dumbstruck state of mind and wandered, I somehow found myself drawn here. There had to be a reason for it; I'd forgotten about how long a time I'd spent in this world, but surely my bodyremembered.

When Meg poured me milk tea for the first time here in the living room, I was certain my hand slipped and dropped the teacup, but that didn't actually happen. Surprising even myself, I took the hard-to-hold cup skillfully and without hesitation to drink the tea. That odd discrepancy... it was caused by my memory loss. My body remembered, but my mind forgot. So my mind would think "why?" about subconsciously natural actions it had forgotten. In that case, I could stop thinking and let my body carry itself to hints I had gathered in the past... Hopefully.

I gazed at the Twilight ? nighT painting on the wall thoughtlessly. My right hand, seeming to know the truth of it, reached out toward the left palm of the girl dancing in the middle of the painting, which was faced forward. Since the girl was drawn life-size, it looked somewhat like I was putting my hand against a mirror, she on the inside and I on the outside. Then I noticed there was a slight indentation on that palm, and as if trying to enter the painting, I leaned in toward it.

There was a sudden clunk of movement, and I pulled my hand away. Was there a switch in the indent on her palm? The wall slowly and silently receded back into the "forbidden room." When it was finally done, a spiral staircase leading to the basement appeared. So this forbidden room hadn't been a room to begin with, only a secret spiral staircase.

I peered at the dark stairwell. Lamps along the wall provided faint light. A gentle breeze blew up from below; maybe the basement had ventilation of some kind that led outside. Still leaving it to my body, I went down step by step. Just how deep did this go...? The long staircase went on so long, I couldn't even tell how much progress I'd made.

After walking for a while, large doors appeared before me. The old wooden doors were definitely heavy, but putting all my weight against them made them slowly creak open. The musty stone room was bathed in light by lamps around the walls. Going inside and looking around, I found many coffins. I fearfully counted them.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven... eight.

Eight coffins... I approached the one positioned way at the back and slowly put my hand on the cover. But appearing to be locked, it wouldn't come off. Same for the coffin beside it, and the one beside that... I checked every one, but none would open. A loud, discouraged sigh reverberated in the quiet room.

At this point, I came back to my senses.

Thinking about the unconscious actions I'd just done, I backed away from the coffin in front of me. I'd tried to open these coffins. When I let my body take over, in an exceedingly natural way, it checked each and every coffin, longing for something inside them. Like something inside the coffins was drawing me toward them...

While this could have been connected to a hint regarding returning to reality, since I didn't remember anything, I was hesitant to open these closed coffins without any clear aim. I was glad they were locked... it was a good thing they didn't open, I thought with deep relief.

But at the same time, a vague intuition that I had to open these coffins quickly began to swirl in my head. The two thoughts mingled, and I pondered what to do for a while. But either way, the coffins seemed to be locked, so they wouldn't open for now. A cursory look around didn't turn up any keys or anything, either.

Amid the books I read in the library, there had been no mention of opening these coffins. The Master had divided up the rooms to everyone and told them to search diligently for the next page, but for some reason he omitted this room of coffins, not even bringing it up. Did the others want to hide this room's existence from me, the Villager? Was that a natural part of their role as the mansion's residents? In fact, in past scripts, the Master had told me to stay away from this area, saying it was dangerous. But I had a feeling there was something important hidden in these coffins. Like it said in the First nighT book...

"But the play of her life, where she was the lead, had already come to an end.

And so they decided to consign her tragic death to oblivion.

To hide everything in the theater's secret cellar, inside a coffin... ?"

A secret cellar with coffins; in First nighT, it only said that the dead woman was being hidden. But here there were eight coffins, all carefully locked... On the side of each coffin was a thin, rectangular hole I supposed served as a keyhole, that looked about the right size for a thick playing card. Was there an item that was a perfect fit for this somewhere in the mansion? Would I have to search for that, too, in the short remaining time?

For now, there didn't seem to be anything more I could do in this underground room. I turned on my heel, headed to the entrance, and put all my might into opening the heavy doors again, this time pulling. Then in the corner of my eye, I noticed a thick wooden bar for the door leaning against the wall beside it. Aha, so the room could be locked from the inside. Should I use this latch? I went and looked at the other side of the doors, and saw no keyhole or way to lock them from outside.

After thinking about it a while, I decided to leave the heavy doors open. Having to open them again would take up time. I left the room of coffins behind and hurried up the spiral stairs. Before I went looking for the key to the coffins, I'd meet up with the others. I hadn't even come close to finishing the Master's request to search the stockroom, but surely the next page wouldn't actually be there... so I felt.

There was something more important for me to report: that there might be a hint leading toward the ending in these underground coffins. And everyone was told to meet in the study and report as they each finished searching, so who knows, maybe someone really had found the next page. We were pressed for time, but there was still some hope. If we all brought together our knowledge, surely... we'd be able to manage something. Trying to keep in my hopeful excitement, I hurried up the grand stairs in the entrance hall and made a beeline for the study.