Blurb：
In the chilling aftermath of the Room 414 slaughter, four girls from Room 314—Leah, Nina, Zoe, and the narrator—seek solace from the brilliant criminal psychologist Dr. Evelyn Reed. Her legendary hypnosis technique promises to heal their trauma and unlock buried memories of that fatal night. But as a profound calm settles over them, a sinister question emerges: what secrets did Dr. Evelyn Reed truly uncover under hypnosis? And whose memories is she manipulating? Dive into a psychological thriller where the healer might be the most dangerous predator of all. If you survived the carnage in Room 414, could you trust the hypnotist sent to save you?Content：
The noise from the room upstairs ripped me from my sleep.It was the scraping of chairs on the floor, the sound punctuated by shrieks and what sounded like laughter.
Idiots, I muttered, clamping a pillow over my head. I fumbled for my earplugs on the nightstand, shoved them in, and rolled over, surrendering back to the darkness.
The next morning, the landing for the fourth-floor staircase was cordoned off with police tape.
When I asked what happened, the story came out in hushed, horrified whispers.
Sometime in the dead of night, the girls in Room 414 were slaughtered.
All four of them. No survivors.
1
To understand the timeline, the four of us from the room directly below—314—were brought to the station for questioning.
It was the girls in 427, the room next door to the victims, who found them. The winter dawn was still a vague promise in the sky when they got up for an 8 AM lecture and noticed 414 was still dark.
Then they looked down. A thick, blackish-red liquid was seeping from under the door.
The police were fast, but someone was faster. Before the scene was fully secured, a photo had been snapped and blasted to every group chat on campus.
The pictures were… a Jackson Pollock of blood and something worse.
Leah threw up the second she saw them.
Now, Nina, Zoe, and I sat in a sterile waiting room at the police station while Leah gave her statement. The air was thick with a shared, unspoken weight.
If just one of us, annoyed by the noise, had gone up there to complain… could we have stopped it?
And if not, could we at least have seen the killer’s face? Given the police something to go on?
But we didn’t. None of us did.
I just laid there, beneath the unfolding carnage, and cursed them for waking me up. I called them idiots, then fell asleep and didn't wake until morning.
Sleep feels impossible now.
Every time I close my eyes, I see blood dripping through the ceiling tiles above my bed.
Sensing our fragile state, the police brought in a specialist to “interview” us—a department-approved psychologist.
The door to the interview room opened, and Leah emerged, leaning on the arm of a woman with long, dark hair.
2
Dr. Evelyn Reed was a renowned criminal psychologist, a frequent and vital partner in the department’s major cases. Her reputation was built on one extraordinary skill: a masterful use of hypnosis.
A conscious criminal can lie, can control their narrative. But under hypnosis, the mind’s floodgates open. Every detail, every buried memory, is laid bare for the hypnotist to see.
Dr. Reed gently guided Leah to a chair beside me, her voice as smooth and soothing as warm honey.
"Alright, girls, thank you for providing what you could. The detective tells me you’re all quite shaken up. Don’t worry. I’m going to have a one-on-one session with each of you, just to help you process everything. How does that sound?"
She was talking to us like we were children. I glanced at her ID badge. She couldn't have been more than four years older than us.
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