The Love Doll Locked-Room Massacre (4)
"Ugh! Fuck!"
"What the hell is this?!"
"Why the fuck would something like this happen here...!"
Even if it was all guys here, actually seeing a gruesome murder scene up close for the first time would hit anyone hard—and yeah, that thick stench of blood would trigger anyone's gut-level revulsion. Still, S-man and I deliberately dragged the folks from outside into the communal dining hall to show them the slaughter that had gone down.
It was partly to scare some sense into these idiots who'd dragged their asses up this mountain in the dead of winter just to fuck a goddamn love doll. But more importantly, it was a unity play to stop them from turning on each other. Create a fake "external enemy," send the silent message that we're all on the same side here, so quit bitching and suspecting each other.
Crowd psychology is a scary bitch. If one guy does something suspicious or starts throwing accusations, everyone else jumps on the bandwagon. Hell, the second I tossed that manager into the snow pile, they were all ready to lynch him like they'd been waiting for it.
Put simply, it was to preempt that retarded formula where everyone including me is a "victim," and whoever gets the blame is the perp no matter what. Guilty or not.
"We came in first and found this shitshow."
This wasn't just some ordinary "incident," but I framed it that way to help the normies process it. Better for their mental health if they chalk it up to a regular crime instead of some freaky supernatural bullshit. Scary as hell, sure, but they'd think it's got nothing to do with them and the cops will sort it out.
"Wait a sec! You mean... the sick fuck who did this is still somewhere here?"
"Y-yeah! And to take out ten people? That means there ain't just one or two killers...!"
"That's why I showed you all this upfront. As long as us grown-ass men stick together, we'll be fine."
Unless the perp was some immortal chainsaw monster, normies figure the killer's just another human. I played their herd mentality like a fiddle, scraping together the biases of the absolute majority.
If some special power was at work here, their suspicions would outweigh mine a thousandfold. Even if I screamed, "This is a monster's doing!" if the masses decided, "Nah, just some psycho killer, dumbass," that'd shatter any barrier I could throw up.
Supernatural shit only stays supernatural because humans observed and understood it that way. If they can't perceive it, it ain't supernatural anymore. Even if a virgin ghost stripped naked and danced the bon dance right in front of them, to blind normies it's nothing.
From now on, this scene is a 'crime scene that doesn't need solving.'
The overwhelming majority of normies had judged and defined it that way. Terrifying and gruesome, sure—but outside their wheelhouse, no need to solve it or take responsibility. Leave it with that gaze, and it stops functioning as supernatural. Because they can't even perceive it as such.
I finished up, shut the dining hall door, and used the staff master key to lock it tight.
"Locking this for scene preservation and safety. No objections, right?"
"Yeah, seal it shut. Better that way."
"Then where the hell we eating?"
"In your rooms, dumbass! You wanna choke down food next to stinking corpses?!"
"What about ingredients..."
"There's a separate pantry and kitchen from the dining hall. Cook there and eat in your rooms, or gather in the big rec room."
"Let's do that. And you!"
One ajusshi who'd blocked the entrance till the end—and gotten the near-lynch—pointed at the lone surviving staffer, the one covered in snow.
"Only staffer left alive? And the one who kept us from entering till the end? You're the most suspicious suspect by far—don't forget it."
"Yeah, we're reasonable folks, so no kangaroo court. Anyone else would've already dogpiled you as the killer."
"Be grateful for the rule of law and us upstanding citizens."
They were full-on batshit, but I didn't step in or call them out. Best to let the majority's biases fester if I wanted to keep 'em locked in.
"Alright, five rooms each on the second and third floors—ten total. Groups take one each. No solos, right?"
"Give the bigger rooms to groups of three or more."
"Phew, gotta thaw out and rest. Shivering out there for hours—my bones are killing me."
"Hit the rooms for round two. Booze'll warm us up."
"Hey, staffer—crank the heat."
They spat their lines and stampeded up the central stairs to the second floor.
Once they were gone, we gathered in the first-floor lounge: me, S-man, and the most-suspected staffer.
No big reason to send everyone up first and talk solo. Just figured if he was legit staff, he'd know about tonight's Demonbozi.com event.
"I just woke up in the staff lounge at dawn, got dressed, and stood guard at the entrance like scheduled. Why the fuck...?"
"'Scheduled' means someone ordered you to stand at the entrance at the crack of dawn?"
"Yeah, last night the lodging manager called all staff and announced it. Five others besides me."
Including the manager and this guy, seven staff had been holed up here since yesterday. By elimination, that left three Demonbozi.com people.
"Hear or feel anything weird at night?"
"I crash hard once my eyes close, don't wake easy. Unless it was a huge racket like this murder... but it was a normal night."
"You woke alone, place dead quiet—no red flags? With six coworkers, even in a big lodge, you'd bump into someone."
"Thought it was weird, but early dawn—figured they were quietly working their posts. Never dreamed they were all dead. For real."
No lie. I can see sins, and a mere fib would've lit up.
"No breakfast? Gotta eat something to start early."
"I skip breakfast. Big lunch and dinner type."
True again.
I leaned back on the lounge sofa after the grilling. Wasn't playing detective for shits and giggles. Like the guests upstairs, he was a normie—if he felt any weird disconnect despite that, I wanted to pinpoint it.
Disconnects turn to suspicion, then doubt—landmines. So the human brain bullshits itself endlessly. Links obvious lies to vague similars with "yeah, that fits" self-hypnosis, or wipes memories clean.
Unfixed disconnects nag like a thorn in your pocket. Catch and patch 'em early.
But this guy's story checked out—no ties to the lodge mess, no shady vibes. Like the incident and him were deliberately siloed.
Incompetent cops would pin it on him easy, but he's no killer. Certain.
One guy couldn't slaughter, dismember, display, and clean traces that many. Not even a psycho serial killer pulls obvious shit like that.
Just wait out the thaw—easy. Sprawled on the sofa, that's when hot, sticky liquid splattered my face. I grimaced.
Red fluid dripped from the lounge ceiling.
"What's right above the lounge?"
"Room 201..."
I nodded at S-man toward the central stairs. He bolted up; I headed to the locked dining hall with the shivering staffer.
Door open—only two bodies now.
The two ajussees yapping about rule of law? Butchered like pork cuts on the big table.
The original ten corpses from the seats? Gone.
"Aigoo, fuck."