© 2025 Alena. All rights reserved.
No part of Twisted Lies may be copied, reproduced, or distributed in any form without the author's written permission. This work is protected under copyright law. Unauthorized use, reproduction, or adaptation is strictly prohibited and punishable by law
Content Warning:
This chapter contains scenes involving psychological distress, violence, and murder which may be disturbing or triggering to some readers. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
The room was silent—too silent for a place that reeked of death and iron. Pipes ran across the ceiling like veins, twisting downward, merging into the girl's pale arms. The steel clamps bit into her wrists as translucent tubes greedily siphoned her blood. Drip by drip. Her skin was losing color, draining into ghostly white—more corpse than girl now.
But her voice?
It was still alive. Still fighting.
"You MONSTER!" she screamed, throat raw, lungs burning. "Get me out of here! SOMEONE HELP ME!"
Her voice echoed through the metallic chamber, bouncing off rusted walls smeared with things better left unidentified. Her breath came out in ragged clouds. Cold. Too cold.
The man across the room didn't flinch.
He stood still—like a statue carved from the worst parts of humanity.
A surgical mask covered the lower half of his face, but his eyes… those eyes behind the cracked lenses burned with something twisted. Something broken.
He stepped forward. The glint of his knife flashed under the flickering light.
With a sudden twist of his wrist, the blade hummed as he sharpened it on a metal edge, each stroke a threat. He tilted his head like a curious animal, then barked:
"Do you want to die, huh? Then shut up, girl!"
But she didn't.
"WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO US, YOU PSYCHOPATH!?" she howled, fighting against her restraints, even as blood drained from her.
Still, he didn't answer.
He just stood there, staring at her as if debating whether her scream was music or noise. Then finally, he spoke—with a voice so calm, so detached, it made her stomach twist.
"...I'm bored."
He chuckled to himself, a slow, sick sound that didn't reach his eyes.
"Story time."
She froze. Even her heart seemed to hesitate.
The man crouched before her, knife still in hand. His voice took on a strange lilt—almost dreamy. "There was a woman. I loved her. So much, it hurt."
The girl trembled.
He smiled beneath the mask. She could feel it.
"But she… didn't love me back." His tone dropped, cold and hollow. "She said she loved her husband. Always him. Never me."
The girl whimpered, voice quivering: "Then… what did you do?"
His eyes met hers. Empty. Frozen. Not even rage burned in them—just pure void.
"I STABBED her."
He said it like he was reciting a grocery list.
The room fell still.
And the scream that followed shattered the silence like glass.
FLASHBACK
Rain whispered against the windshield as the man parked his car a few meters away from the secluded farmhouse. The night cloaked him like a secret. No moon. No stars. Only shadows and silence.
He moved like smoke—quick, quiet, unseen.
The security guard stationed by the front gate lit a cigarette, oblivious to the figure that slipped past the hedges, sliding through the cracks in routine like a ghost. One wrong move and it would've been over. But he knew the layout, the blind spots, the timing. He had been watching for weeks.
He crouched beneath a side window, heart thudding not with fear, but with excitement. Anticipation. The moment had come.
He reached the front porch.
Knocked.
Footsteps from inside. He smiled behind the mask of calm.
The door creaked open.
There she stood. A white silk robe. Hair unkempt, skin glowing in the soft yellow light. Her eyes widened the moment they met his.
"...Hello, butterfly."
She froze. Then stumbled back as if his words were venom.
"W-What are you doing here?" Her voice trembled, hands clutching her robe tighter. "You… you can't be here."
He stepped inside, shutting the door gently behind him. "Why are you scared?" he asked with a tilt of his head. "You used to smile when you saw me."
"That was before I knew what you are," she whispered. "You're sick. Please, leave before someone sees you."
But he didn't move.
Instead, he smiled. A soft, twisted curve.
"I love you, butterfly," he said, stepping closer. "I love you so much it drives me insane. Every night, I hear your voice in my head. Every dream—your face."
She shook her head violently, eyes brimming with tears. "No. No, I don't love you. I never did."
His smile cracked. He reached for her wrist.
"Say it," he whispered. "Say you love your Abhi. Say you love me."
But she wrenched her hand free, retreating step by step, spine hitting the wall.
"I love Abhi," she choked out. "MY HUSBAND. I love him only. Forever. Till my last breath."
His breathing slowed.
Then, something inside him snapped.
With a swift, unthinking motion, the knife in his coat pocket found her chest.
Steel tore through silk. Through skin. Through love she never gave him.
Her gasp was soft—like a falling petal.
She crumpled to the floor, blood blooming around her like a crimson halo.
Then—
A voice.
"...Mami sa?"
He froze.
He took a step toward the sound.
And everything shattered back into darkness.
FLASHBACK ENDS
The silence that followed his words was louder than her screams had ever been.
"I stabbed her."
The girl stared at him, heart hammering so loud she thought it might burst through her chest. Her blood, still dripping slowly through the tubes, felt colder now—like ice through her veins.
He had stopped moving. Standing in the dim light, the mask hanging loose from one ear now, revealing a faint smirk. As if confessing to murder had given him relief. Like he had just released a secret that had been feeding on him for years.
But it was her breath that caught.
"...You're not just a monster," she whispered. "You're dead inside."
His eyes flicked to her. "Dead?" he repeated, almost curiously.
He walked toward her slowly, like a cat toying with prey. "No, Girl. I'm more alive than anyone out there. They live boring, meaningless lives. But I—"
He placed the knife against her cheek. Not cutting. Just... letting her feel the threat.
"I feel everything."
Her lips trembled, but her eyes didn't drop. "You felt nothing when you killed her."
His expression twitched. A moment of tension. Then, laughter—dry, hollow, almost playful.
"She chose him," he whispered. "Even when I begged. Even when I loved her more than life."
He leaned in closer. "And now… you're here. A part of her story."
The girl's voice cracked, but she forced the words out. "Why us? What did we do?"
He smiled, wide now. "Because none of you ever learn. Love isn't a choice. It's an ownership. And if I can't have it…" his gaze flicked to the knife again, "...no one will."
The girl shook her head, trying to move, trying to breathe.
And she smiled, bloodied lips curling slowly.
"You're not alone anymore," she whispered. "They're coming for you."
TO BE CONTINUED....