They locked eyes across the dining room, both equally stunned at the sight of each other.
The mime's shoulders went rigid. Its mouth formed a perfect O as it stared at Hill from the far end of the table, clearly as surprised to see him as he was to see it.
Hill's body betrayed him. His limbs refused to move, lungs refused to work. Cold panic pooled in his gut. Nothing in his experience with the soulscape had prepared him for this.
The mime shook off its surprise first.
Its face churned through a bunch of different expressions. First, shock. Then, melting into confusion. And finally it settled into a thoughtful expression.
It had made up its mind.
It tapped a gloved finger against its chin, glancing down at the fork and knife that it clutched in its hands, then at Hill, who stood frozen in the doorway. Its smile grew slightly wider.
Without any warning, the mime cocked its arm back and threw the fork at Hill.
The utensil whistled past Hill's ear, slicing into the wall behind him with a sharp thunk. Hill couldn't help turning toward the noise.
What the f—
It was the opening the mime needed.
By the time Hill looked back, the mime had already gotten up from its seat and crossed half the room, its arms spread wide as it lunged at him.
Hill's paralysis finally broke.
He stumbled backwards as adrenaline began to pump through his system, leaning away just in time. The mime's fingers brushed his sleeve as it missed its grab attempt.
The creature's momentum carried it forward, sending it sprawling across the marble floor where Hill was standing just moments before.
Hill ran.
Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit! I can't catch a damn break!
His heart slammed against his ribs as he bolted out of the dining hall and into the foyer. The front door stood out to him as he rushed towards it. He grabbed the handle and pulled as hard as he possibly could.
But nothing happened.
"Shit," he muttered, yanking at the unyielding knob but to no avail. The door had opened on its own when he had arrived, and now that it was locked, uncomfortable thoughts began to rise in his mind.
Is this place a trap!? But why? What did I do?? What is this happening???
Behind him came the soft scrape of movement – the mime regaining its feet, stalking toward him with predatory soft steps. It still smiled at him, the expression taunting him incessantly.
Hill whirled away from the door, scanning for options. A heavy crystal paperweight gleamed on one of the side tables next to the door. He snatched it up and turned toward the nearest window.
The mime stomped hard, the sound cracking through the foyer like a gunshot. When Hill glanced back, it was slashing its arms in a frantic X-pattern, head shaking violently – clearly warning him against breaking the window.
Hill paused, confused by the warning, then threw the paperweight anyway. The window gave away in a shower of glass shards. Wind immediately began to whip through the new opening.
The mime's shoulders dropped in what could only be resignation.
Hill didn't waste time wondering why. He clambered through the opening, his clothing catching on the jagged edges of the ruined window pane, and tumbled outside.
The cold hit him harder than he had expected. Wind mixed with wet snow slammed into him, nearly knocking him off his feet. The atmosphere was now dominated by a blizzard that howled around him.
He stepped through the snow, the depth reaching to his knees.
Over his shoulder, he saw the mime poke its head out. It was tracking his movements.
"You won't get me that easily, bastard," Hill mumbled.
He staggered along the side of the mansion, his legs getting a grueling workout due to how high he had to lift them in order to evade the snow.
His plan was to find some other way to get into the mansion and to then find a hiding spot. There was no way that he was surviving this cold.
However when he reached the far side of the mansion, he saw a metal ladder that hung from a balcony on the second floor.
He fought his way toward it, his clothes already soaked with melting snow. His hands had turned red and felt awfully numb. He couldn't even feel his face.
In the short time that he was exposed to the elements, the cold had already reduced him to this state. He needed to get inside.
His first jump for the ladder fell painfully short, his fingers barely grazing the icy metal as he crashed back down onto the snow. He fell on his back, sinking through the accumulation and hitting solid ground.
He scrambled up towards the ladder and leapt up again. This time, he was able to grab onto the lowest rung. He pulled himself up, his shoes slipping on the rungs as he climbed.
As he reached the halfway point, he looked down to the ground.
The mime was somehow directly below him, staring up at him. Its grin stretched wider than what was considered normal. Its red eyes were glowing through the barrage of snow.
Hill hadn't heard it follow – hadn't heard anything over the howling wind.
The bastard's toying with me.
He scrambled up the ladder until he finally dragged himself onto the balcony. The mime remained below, watching his movements with that same old smile.
Hill grabbed the balcony door's handle which was locked, of course. Panic rose in his throat as he slammed his shoulder against the wooden frame. It creaked but held firm.
"Not like this," he growled. "Open up!"
He stepped back and threw his foot against the door with every ounce of strength he had. The wood splintered around the lock, causing it to give away. With one crank of the knob, the door flew open.
He stumbled inside the room and slammed the door shut behind him, the windy howl temporarily muted by the damaged wood.
He found himself in some sort of study. It had bookshelves lined up along the walls and a big desk that stood proudly in the center. A fire crackled in the hearth, giving the room a nice hearty warmth.
The sound of something clamping against metal from outside snapped him back to reality.
It's coming up the ladder!
Hill tried to open the other door, the main door of the room that led deeper into the mansion, but it wouldn't budge.
He threw his weight against it several times, but it might as well have been part of the wall based on how tough it was in comparison to the balcony door.
He was trapped again. His eyes darted around the room in an attempt to search for anything useful. The fireplace caught his attention.
He grabbed an iron poker from a steel wire basket positioned next to the fireplace. Gripping it like a spear, he positioned in a manner that allowed him to watch both doors, keeping his back to the wall. If the mime wanted him, it would have to fight.
The ladder outside rattled. It had reached the balcony.
Hill's fingers tightened around the poker until his knuckles ached.
The balcony door eased open slowly. The mime stepped through, snow melting on its shoulders, that terrible grin still stretching across its painted face.
It feigned surprise at seeing him, eyes widening dramatically before it started stalking forward with predatory footsteps, placing one after the other in a rhythmic sequence.
Hill didn't wait. He lunged toward the mime, thrusting the poker toward its chest with all his remaining strength.
But this time, the mime was faster. It sidestepped his attack with ease, its hands darting toward his head. Hill barely managed to block with his free arm, stumbling backward. They circled each other, the mime constantly reaching for him while Hill swung the poker in wide, desperate arcs to keep it at bay.
The two of them danced around the study. The mimic seeking Hill, while Hill did his very best to keep it at bay.
Suddenly, without warning, the mime sprang forward with increased speed. Hill swung the poker quickly but the creature caught his wrist mid-swing. With a sharp twist, it tore the weapon from his grasp. The iron clattered against the floor as the mime's hands closed around his head.
It pulled Hill's face close to its own with a triumphant smile on its face. But before anything else could happen, Hill felt himself suddenly slipping away.
His consciousness felt like it was draining like water through cupped hands. It wasn't painful – just sudden, as though reality itself had opened beneath him.
As darkness claimed him, his last glimpse was of the mime slapping its own face in evident frustration, its features twisted in disappointment.