⚠️ Content Warnings ⤴
Info
Has mentions of alcoholism, domestic violence, child abuse, suicide, and murder.
SURVIVAL CLASS
4
Resources: 5/5
No Drinkable Fluids
Exit: 3/5
Difficult to Exit
Environment: 0/5
No Environmental Risks
Entities: 1/5
Minimal Hostile Presence
Date: 15.01.2025
The moment I came here, my hands became smaller… I looked in the mirror and saw my younger self… How the fuck is this possible? This place looks exactly like home, but I have a strange feeling about it. It's like I'm being watched all the time. I feel like something happened in this place, but I can't remember what it was.
I sat on the sofa in the living room and tried to rest, but I couldn't. So I climb the stairs to the next floor. The picture of a daisy on the left wall, the astronaut rug in front of my room (I had a dream, like any other kid, of being an astronaut), the trapdoor in the ceiling with the broken rod… I remember when I was 9 years old and got stuck in the attic while my parents were out. Of course, Dad was supposed to be home with me, but he told me he would only be at the bar for an hour and would be back soon. That's what I thought. So I decided to sleep.
Five hours later, I heard the door open and, obviously, I screamed for help. It was Dad. I could hear him muttering to himself as he walked with heavy, uneven steps. I screamed for help, but I am certain now that Dad was trapped in his own delusions. He drank too much - he always did. Not even a minute had passed before I heard Dad pass out on the living room floor.
Twelve hours later, Mom came home and asked Dad where I was. He just said I was playing in the attic and had decided to sleep there. She opened the trapdoor, then saw me curled up on the floor, shivering from the cold and moaning softly in pain. I couldn't cry anymore because I was so thirsty. I couldn't scream anymore because my vocal cords were damaged. Seeing my Mom that day was the greatest relief of my life. For her, it was a crisis of pure rage.
I'm trying to remember what happened, but I'm too tired to think. I opened the door to my room and… nothing had changed. It was as if time had stood still. Although it was nostalgic, I couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. At least there is my old bed to sleep in, and traveling through Level 8 was exhausting. I just need to rest.
- JJ
Description
Level 123 has shapeshifting properties, always taking the appearance of a childhood place to which the wanderer feels some connection. Trying to go outside proves ineffective, as doors and windows cannot be opened and, if there were originally no doors in the house, the exits were filled in with bricks.
Due to the fact that Level 123 is customized for each visitor, it can be concluded that it is impossible for two wanderers to meet. It is suspected that the place only supports one visitor at a time, and that it is imperative for the visitor to leave so that the next one can enter.
Wanderers report experiencing a mix of strong nostalgia and dread once they enter this level. It is not clear whether this feeling is caused by the level itself or by the memories associated with the place. There is no food supply in this level, but it isn't needed because no one starves there.
Level 123 can be entered from any level via a white wooden door serving as its entry point. According to reports, it seems that Level 123 only presents itself to wanderers with severe childhood trauma. Unfortunately, although seven wanderers have reported entering this level and described how it looked, only one person, known as JJ, was able to describe what happened during his stay through a diary he had in his possession. For an unknown reason, visitors cannot remember what happened during the period they were in Level 123. For this reason, it is theorized that the level itself seeks to protect the mental health of its guests through a process called “selective amnesia". However, due to the very small number of reports that exist about Level 123, it is not possible to confirm whether this explanation is close to reality.
Once the wanderer enters the level, they will have the appearance they had when the incident first happened - usually resembling a child. One day after first entering the level, an event known as "Recall" will occur. The level will materialize one or more people related to the wanderer's trauma, forcing them to relive the experience for the same amount of time it originally lasted. After the first time "Recall" happens, there will be a two-day break before it repeats itself indefinitely.
The wanderer JJ, upon returning from Level 123 and being taken to Level 1, was found with tears in his eyes, murmuring in an almost inaudible whisper, “I'm sorry, Mom. I'm still scared.” As soon as the last word was spoken, he collapsed unconscious on the floor. After that, he was taken to a hospital so that any neurological injuries could be checked. A week after the incident, JJ woke up with no memory of his stay at Level 123. However, it was possible to recover a diary that was in his pocket, recounting the entire experience he had gone through there.
Attached is the only documentation available regarding this level.
Date: 16.01.2025
It's daytime, and I just had the best sleep of my entire life. This house still gives me shivers, but it feels so comfortable here, and I cannot explain why. The bad news is that there's no food, and the doors won't open, so I'm screwed. I'll… just wait and find out what happens.
And, of course, the incident in the attic. After Mom found me, the first thing I heard were her screams, which sounded like a mixture of primitive rage and horror — the same horror that can be felt on the day an individual comprehends their own mortality for the first time. Shortly after putting me in my room and closing the door, I heard her abruptly open her bedroom door and yell at Dad.
"You disgusting son of a bitch," said Mom. "Today was the last day you set foot in this house. You don't even give a damn about our son, so how could I possibly care about you? You ruined our family. Get out or I'll fucking kill you before you can open your filthy mouth."
"But… but…" Dad started talking as he tried to get up from the floor.
"Get out."
All I could hear was Dad angrily storming out of the house. Although I sobbed uncontrollably during the whole day, I felt slightly relieved to know that Dad could never hurt me again… Dad was gone.
Date: 16.01.2025
Jesus… my hands are trembling. I heard a gunshot in the living room and… I saw Mom lying on the floor, with blood all over the place. Dad… he looked at me with rage in his eyes. He looked at me like it was my fault. He looked at me like I had just shot my Mom dead.
"You made me do this."
How could it be my fault? What happened that day? I tried — I swear I tried — to remember everything that had happened in that house, but it was as if my brain wanted to protect me from the incident, as if it wanted to fulfill the role that God had failed to assure me. After all, it would only be real if I remembered, right? That's what I always told myself.
I was paralyzed. I couldn't remember Mom's face, which at that moment was completely disfigured. But I could remember Dad's face; that damn look never ceased to be the main plot of my dreams. I could see a slight smile on his face, as if his spirit were trapped in this place and my death could finally free him from this hell. Dad had a shotgun in his hands. I closed my eyes because I knew that after Mom, I was the one he wanted to take. I knew he would come for me.
Then I heard another shot, but I wasn't the target. Fuck… it was all over my face, and I could taste the iron in his blood… I was in shock and couldn't believe what had just happened. That scene was too much for me. I vomited violently for a whole minute. I tried to take a few steps toward the stairs, but then I fell unconscious on the floor. When I woke up, everything was gone. Not a single drop of blood. Everything had disappeared.
Yes, I remember the fact that Dad and Mom have been dead for a long, long time, but I don't remember what happened during that evening… Was what happened today the reality of the past, my interpretation of events, or a sadistic joke played by this house? I guess my brain decided to shut it off or something like that, according to my psychiatrist. Whatever.
Date: 17.01.2025
I remember it now. I was playing tag with the neighbor's sons in the backyard. I was the fastest kid on the street, and they uselessly tried to run away from me. But I was faster.
I could hear the door leading to the living room opening, but I ignored it. I thought it might just be Mom going shopping. She would be back soon, of course.
I was about to catch the kids when I heard his voice. A few seconds passed, and the almost inaudible conversation turned into a loud and noisy fight. I was a coward. I was afraid to confront Dad because he was stronger than me. I was afraid of being considered a badly behaved child by him, and I knew very well what he did to badly behaved children. I was frozen in place, standing next to the neighbor's children.
That's when I heard the two shots. The two shots that always woke me up in the middle of the night. After ten minutes of complete silence, I returned home only to find "Mom and Dad sleeping on the floor," as the cops told me. I believed them. I really did. But this place brought them back. This place took them away from their rest.
Date: 18.01.2025
It happened again, during the same time of the day. I am a coward. I could've stopped it, but I stayed in my room. This time, they were arguing.
"I know you're fucking Claire, and I'm so, so goddamn tired of eating your bullshit," said Mom. "I don't care about your apologies — that you 'had to work overnight,' that 'the traffic was intense,' or that you were 'drinking with a friend.' I shouldn't have trusted you. Never. LEAVE MY HOUSE OR I'M FUCKING CALLING THE CO—"
And there was the first shot. I kept waiting for the second one, but it took way longer than I remember. Then Dad came into my room. He had the same look as the last time.
"You made me do this."
And once again, he put the shotgun into his mouth and pulled the trigger.1 The blood didn't disappear this time.
I slept through that night staring into his lifeless body.
Date: 20.01.2025
I was ready this time. At least I thought I was.
When I saw Dad coming with the gun, I tried to stop him, but he was stronger. I screamed at my Mom to run, but it was too late. There were three shots that evening. As I bled, watching Mom gasp for air, I started to crawl, trying to hold her hands before my death. Before I could feel her touch once again, everything went black.
Maybe everything was over.
Maybe I was free from this living hell.
And then I woke up in my bed. The blood was gone, at least.
Hell was not.
Date: 21.01.2025
I haven't slept since the 16th. Dying had been a curious experience, I admit. Seeing Dad shoot me after I resisted him futilely awakened in me a fear that differs from death itself.
It was my sixth birthday. Dad was working from home that day, while Mom was making extra money as a waitress. I knew she was preparing a surprise for me, as she always did every year. It was Dad who gave her the money so she could prepare my party. However, that particular year, money was tight. I was sad, of course, but I understood the situation despite the circumstances, and so I didn't throw a tantrum.
Dad asked me to get him a bottle of beer from the freezer, so I did, but something happened. The bottle slipped out of my hands and broke. I shouldn't have done that… it was all my fault. When Dad came in and saw the broken glass, I understood his anger. When Dad grabbed my arm, I understood his rage. When I struggled to break free from him, forcing him to pull me harder to restrain me, I understood his violence. When he twisted my arm until I screamed, I understood his cruelty. And so, when Mom came home and saw my broken arm, I told her I had fallen down the stairs. It was because of me that the bottle broke, and punishment was necessary so that it wouldn't happen again. Correction was necessary.
Date: 22.01.2025
Once again.
Mom screams.
Dad shoots.
Mom is dead.
Dad shoots.
Dad is dead.
Nothing changes.
I will refrain from writing…
For now.
Date: 14.02.2025
I've died so many times that I've ceased to count.
Not all of my deaths were at Dad's hands.
Date: 15.02.2025
This time, I didn't even think about Dad. I didn't even think about the blood. I didn't even think about how everything was unfair, how my life was finally doing well and this place fucked it all up.
I didn't think about this hell.
I only thought about Mom.
I saw her once again. Nothing could be changed. She would always die in this living room alongside her murderer. She would be murdered by a fuckass who always came home drunk and smelling like shit.
She would have her brains blown out by an asshole who only cared about leaving the house in the middle of the night to blow his money on hookers and drinks. So many times he came home staggering, with a subtle scent of women's perfume. I always knew about Dad's secrets. Mom suspected too, but every time she asked him, he lied. He lied to Mom so many times, and she ate up the lies because she loved him.
When Mom was sleeping on the floor, I couldn't understand why Dad was angry at me. I get it now. I remember when he used to beat my Mom. “The fucking house is still dirty,” “You're a retard who doesn't even care about your responsibilities in this house,” and “You're a disgusting whore who doesn't even know how to cook a fucking meal,” were the things Dad used to say while Mom cowered on the floor to endure the punches and kicks. I would lock myself in my room, afraid of what he might do to me. He was used to knowing that Mom would put up with the beatings. The only reason she let it happen was so we could have a home, because Dad was the only source of income in the house. However, the day I got stuck in the attic was different. When she saw me alone and realized he didn't even care about his son, Mom finally stood up for herself. She kicked Dad out of the house. For him, of course, I was the cause of everything that happened that night.
I knew she was going to die again, so I just hugged her. I hugged her tight and expected Dad to come in ten seconds.
Thirty seconds passed, and nothing happened.
So I looked at Mom. She smiled at me.
"Look at you, darling," said Mom. "You look so tall and handsome. I made the most lovable boy in this world."
I looked at my hands again. I was no longer a child, but I was as helpless and vulnerable as one at that moment. Tears started to appear slowly, and then they flowed like a river. I couldn't say a single word… I couldn't believe what was happening.
"You are so, so strong. I know you will beat this world — I know you. Life was too harsh to you, but I'm here. I'll always be with you, pookie, even if you can't see me. I love you so, so, so much, and you know I do. You can do it."
As I hugged her, with tears streaming from my eyes like a dam that had finally given way to the force of the river, I could hear the sound of something unlocking. The door finally opened.
I love you so much, Mom.2
Entrances and Exits
Entrances
- Wanderers with severe childhood trauma may find a white wooden door that leads to Level 123.
Exits
- It is believed that forgiving yourself is the only way to leave Level 123. Escaping will teleport the wanderer to a safe level.
