Losing Time

While I sat crying in the bathroom, the remaining survivors—excluding me—gathered in a bedroom where the smoke had cleared and the lights still worked.
“Aoi, why are you covered in blood?” Naima asked, eyeing Aoi with suspicion, searching for answers.
“There was a girl who attacked me with a knife,” Aoi replied calmly. “In self-defense, I killed her. But there’s more. She was terrified of the situation, holding the knife for protection. Two people must have mistaken her for the culprit and attacked her first. She killed them, then hid their bodies in closets.” He paused, letting the group absorb his words. “At least, that’s what I could deduce from the scene.”
Naima looked at him, weighing his explanation. “That makes some sense,” she finally said, her tone cautious. “I’ll let you off the hook for now since you’re my friend, but don’t think for a second I’m letting my guard down around you.”
“Isn’t it crazy?” a man spoke up. It was the same guy who had been sitting by the fire during Naima’s earlier interrogation. “The name’s Shin, by the way. The culprit could be any one of us.”
“Or Mark,” Aoi added.
“No, it can’t be him,” Ango interrupted, holding on to hope, still trusting in me.
“We might have to fight for survival,” Shin continued, a dark glint in his eyes.
Naima frowned. “Since when were you this open?” she asked. “When I first talked to you, you were so shy and closed off.”
“Well,” Shin replied with a smirk, “this is my true self.”
“I swear, this group is full of psychopaths,” Naima muttered under her breath, shaking her head.
Aoi glanced at the clock. “Looks like the hour is almost up. We’ll have to sleep now and solve this during the final hour.”
Ango, who had been quiet until now, suddenly spoke up, his voice low and serious. “We should keep some distance,” he said, his tone darker than usual. “I think I know who the culprit is.”
Everyone stared at him, confusion and suspicion swirling in the air. But there was a spark of hope, a glimmer that maybe they were close to figuring it out. Silently, they all agreed and maintained a two-meter distance from each other, their nerves on edge.
“All right, everybody!” The voice from the speakers returned, cheerful as ever. “Three hours have passed, meaning you’ll all sleep now to let the murderer strike once again.”
The five in the bedroom, and me alone in the bathroom, braced ourselves. The gas began to fill the rooms, and one by one, we all drifted into unconsciousness.

As I succumbed to the sleeping gas, the recurring nightmare hit me again.
It was a year ago, on Halloween. Me, Ango, and Misaki were out trick-or-treating, just like any other kids. After collecting our candy, we headed back to my house to watch a horror movie. But instead of fun and scares, a real-life nightmare unfolded. A man broke into the house, holding us hostage. My parents were taken immediately, while me, Ango, and Misaki were pushed aside. Oddly, the man didn’t bother tying us up. My protective instincts kicked in, and I lunged at him, hoping to stop him. But he didn’t hesitate—he shot both my mother and father on the spot.
Panic consumed me, and I blacked out.
When I woke, I was drenched in blood. Ango was shaking me, trying to wake me up, and Misaki was crumpled on the floor, crying in agony. I rushed to her, horrified—she’d been stabbed and was bleeding profusely. By some miracle, the ambulance arrived in time to save her. My parents, though—they were gone. My life changed after that, and my grandparents took me in.
But the nightmares never left.
Every time I fell asleep, I would relive that night. Sometimes, I’d wake up with a knife in my hand, mid-attack—either going for Ango or Misaki. I was later diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). I had another personality, one that emerged when I slept or blacked out. Its goal was terrifyingly clear: to kill everyone I loved, and then itself, so we could all reunite in the afterlife.
It explained why Misaki was in pain that night—my other self-had tried to kill her, even though I’d blacked out. That other self-had already killed the man who shot my parents, driven by rage. Since then, I chained myself before sleeping to prevent any harm. But whenever I failed to restrain myself... people died.
Whoever the mastermind of this twisted game is, they know about my disorder. How they know remains a mystery.
I jolted awake, feeling weak. The same voice crackled through the speakers.
“Everybody, prepare yourselves, because we are now in the final hour of this murder mystery!” the voice declared, disturbingly upbeat. “Better find the culprit before time runs out, or I’ll kill you all.”
I ignored the voice and immediately ran through the mansion, searching for the others. I needed answers. But then…
“AAAHHH!!! A dead body!” I heard Ango scream from upstairs. Relief hit me—he was still alive. But did this mean my theory was wrong?
Wasting no time, I sprinted upstairs, bursting through the door where the scream came from. The others were all there, spread out, terrified and keeping their distance from one another. Ango was standing near a corpse, his face drained of color. The body had fallen on him.
Suddenly, it hit me. The realization broke something inside me.
A sinister laugh forced its way out of my throat, uncontrollable, terrifying. “Ah... AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! WAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” I couldn’t stop. It was the laugh of someone who had lost everything—sanity included.
“So it is true,” I rasped through my laughter. “I am the true culprit!”

To be continued...