Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
If he took the stairs, he could reach the top in about ten steps by skipping two at a time. However, Song Bunan felt as if he had run fifty steps while gripping the handrail, yet the staircase continued to stretch endlessly beneath him. He dared not stop, muttering to himself about the situation, panting heavily but forced to move forward. After another ten steps, his lungs immediately protested, feeling dry and burning, accompanied by a suffocating sensation that made his head buzz. Dizzily halting to look up, he realized he was halfway up the stairs, still at least ten steps away from the turn.
"What’s going on?" Wiping the sweat that was streaming into his eyes with the back of his hand, Song Bunan gasped for breath while gripping the handrail. He wanted to take out his water bottle to soothe his throat, but instinctively turned to check for that tall shadow behind him. To his surprise, there was nothing but emptiness; instead, he noticed that the area around him had suddenly brightened.
In astonishment, he quickly scanned his surroundings to confirm that the shadow had indeed left. The white light illuminating the entire staircase came from the end of the stairs where he had seen a painting in his dream. Unlike when he first entered the house and it felt like a black hole, now there was a large floor-to-ceiling window divided into four sections, each made of glass, and the moon was perfectly positioned outside.
Knowing that it was a full moon night, Song Bunan stared at the bright, round moon. Although he wondered if it was indeed the fifteenth day of the month, he didn’t dwell on it too much. After taking a sip of water to regain some strength, he continued up the stairs. This time, without any threats behind him, he walked steadily, taking two steps at a time.
Upon reaching the corner, he looked back at the path he had taken and reflected on how he had been running yet seemed to be standing still. Something felt off, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
"What is this?" he muttered to himself. "Is this some kind of wall of ghosts? Did that tall guy just want to prevent me from using the stairs?"
Unable to make sense of what had happened, Song Bunan quickly pushed those thoughts aside and strolled casually into the corridor on the second floor. He placed his hands on his hips and glanced left and right. Earlier on the first floor, he had prepared to go right, but now looking down that corridor filled him with an inexplicable sense of resistance. His instincts told him not to go there; besides, his eyes couldn’t make out what lay within that darkness, and even the beam from his flashlight seemed blocked by something.
To his left stretched a clear view down a corridor lined with tightly shut doors; even the decorative paintings on the walls were covered with white cloths. The staircase leading up to the third floor was clearly visible with its handrails and pillars. At the end of the corridor was another floor-to-ceiling window where moonlight spilled in like sparkling gems.
Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, Song Bunan stepped toward the left corridor.
The second floor featured a small platform in its center where he had just been facing earlier; it contained only a round table. As Song Bunan walked toward the left corridor and passed by that table—almost reaching the first painting on that wall—he suddenly felt a chill breeze behind him along with a sigh filled with disappointment.
The voice belonged to an elderly man and seemed to come from where the round table stood moments ago. The cold wind made every hair on Song Bunan’s body stand on end as he gripped his flashlight and spun around to look. The table remained in place; however, there were changes in the right corridor.
The beam from his flashlight was obscured by thick black mist, but he clearly saw a hunched figure walking with a cane disappearing as soon as it entered the light's reach. The sight sent shivers down his spine.
Who was that? Song Bunan felt his breathing quicken. That silhouette looked familiar; however, he had never seen anyone hunched over at such an angle while using a cane before. If that sigh had come from him, why? Why did it carry such disappointment?
As his mind raced through these thoughts, Song Bunan turned back to face the corridor ahead only to find an entirely different scene: outlines of faces emerged from beneath white cloths covering paintings on the walls; doors that had been closed were now slightly ajar; and beside one of the staircase's handrails stood that figure he had seen on the first floor.
The shadow approached him in an oddly discordant manner—slow yet filled with an oppressive force. At this moment, Song Bunan disregarded how dark and unclear everything behind him was and dashed forward toward where he had just been standing. As soon as he reached where light met darkness, everything went black for an instant before opening up again.
A dim orange light illuminated above him in the corridor; though weak, it brightened enough for him to see clearly.
Once steady on his feet but too frightened to move further, Song Bunan was taken aback by what lay before him—it felt almost like stepping into an illusion. But before he could ponder too much about it, something pushed against his back while hearing that elderly voice say: "Run."
The command struck him like an order that compelled his body into action involuntarily. All doors remained shut as he sprinted past them; paintings adorned with flowers and landscapes showed no obstructions until he reached the stairway entrance where he finally stopped.
Looking back, that figure with a cane stood where he'd just been moments ago and raised its smoky hand slightly in this direction before lowering it again—the overhead light extinguished instantly. The beam from his flashlight could only illuminate within ten centimeters ahead of him before being engulfed once more by thick black mist.
"Who are you?" Song Bunan felt an overwhelming sense of familiarity towards this person despite also feeling strangely alienated—he trembled as he spoke up but waited long without receiving any response as if everything just moments ago hadn’t happened at all. Cautiously extending a finger toward that misty darkness brought a chilling sensation creeping into his body while its surface felt surprisingly smooth.
Standing at the stairway entrance with pursed lips, Song Bunan began contemplating whether coming here today was right or wrong. He wasn’t an atheist nor did he fully believe in ghosts; since childhood he'd only believed there were creatures in this world he'd never encountered—at most having seen strange yet far less terrifying "good brothers" in dreams within this very house.
Yet today here in this place—he could not deny seeing shadows or even that elderly figure dressed in white nor could he ignore this scientifically inexplicable mist before him. Various posts online contained photos or videos claiming hauntings but mostly they were self-induced scares; so-called horror stemmed merely from old houses devoid of light. Yet now—what he witnessed here surpassed all those supposed "evidence" of hauntings by far.
This house which had appeared in his dreams for over ten years had already shown him so many bizarre things—but compared to reality now what he'd seen seemed like only one percent of its content. Perhaps because these dreams laid down a foundation for him—Song Bunan felt no fear standing inside; instead it evoked nostalgia akin to revisiting familiar grounds.
He ceased pondering over misty shadows or figures both dark and light and turned directly toward ascending to the third floor.
While memories from dreams allowed him some clarity regarding items’ placements and door openings on floors one and two—the third floor remained utterly unfamiliar territory for him. Compared to below where creaky floors groaned underfoot due to age—the deep-colored flooring here felt almost like waxed iron plates: slightly slippery yet silent beneath him.
Hearing no sound from his footsteps as Song Bunan licked his lips nervously while standing at one end of this corridor preparing to walk toward its other side.
The walls of this level were bare, devoid of any paintings or decorations. Apart from a few broken switches, there were only eight wooden doors, four on each side. These doors were so simplistic that they seemed out of place in the house; aside from the natural grain of the wood, there were no artificial patterns, as if they had been cut directly from planks and affixed to the frames. Even the doorknobs were merely U-shaped iron rods glued on, without any locks.
"Was this place abandoned before it was finished?" Song Bunan muttered to himself, trying to stave off boredom. He wandered over to the nearest door and pushed against it with all his might, but it wouldn't budge. He leaned his entire weight against it, feeling his body heat up and his face flush, yet the wooden door remained stubbornly closed. After wiping the sweat from his forehead, he thought that perhaps he should start working out.
Just as he was about to give up and turn away, he didn’t notice that the buckle on his backpack had caught on the doorknob. A sudden tug on his backpack made him realize someone—or something—was pulling him back with much greater strength than he possessed. Startled, he quickly considered how to free himself while glancing back at what had ensnared him.
The door that had resisted him moments ago was now wide open behind him, as if greeting him face-to-face, while the buckle was about to be twisted out of shape by the doorknob and his own movements. "I guess this is fate," Song Bunan thought helplessly, dismissing his earlier intention to work out and instead adding a goal of increasing his intelligence.
However, an open door was a good sign. After adjusting his backpack, he cheerfully approached the doorway and shone light inside to clear a path for himself. "I’m coming in!"
The interior space was vast, adorned with European floral wallpaper. The glass outside was darkened by the angle of the moonlight, leaving everything shrouded in shadows. There were no unnecessary furnishings inside; only a round table next to a rocking chair.
Initially intending to exit and move on to another room, Song Bunan paused when the light swept across the table's surface and revealed something resting there. It was too far away for him to see clearly, and he hesitated to disturb anything inside. After a moment of internal conflict, he took a few steps closer to the round table, silently apologizing for intruding before illuminating it fully.
It was a piece of paper.
The edges of the slightly curled yellowed paper bore unique patterns that made Song Bunan’s heart leap with joy. In dreams where he had explored similar rooms, he often found items marked with this design—sometimes stamps, sometimes cards, and even a steel pen. Now seeing it in reality made him feel certain that this was something meant for him.
【Turn left in the corridor for the balcony; that's your way out.
Now, run!】
"Run?" The brief message left Song Bunan puzzled; why did he need to run again?
As he pondered this, the paper remained still on the table, and with no wind blowing through closed windows, it began to flutter unexpectedly. The rocking chair beside it also started swaying back and forth as if someone were sitting in it. Terrified by this strange occurrence, he didn't think twice before turning and sprinting towards the door. Just as he stepped outside the room, a low, hoarse roar echoed behind him.
Once in the middle of the corridor, Song Bunan dared to look back and was met with a creature that nearly made him wet his pants.
It resembled a muscular figure dipped in blue dye—its physique was impressive but moved like an animal on all fours. Its bald head had a gaping hole where eyes and nose should have been; instead, it sported a long mouth filled with sharp teeth that opened wide in a terrifying roar.
As this creature lunged toward him, Song Bunan felt his breath catch in his throat and ran faster than ever before down the corridor. Unable to hold back his fear any longer, he shouted: "Don’t come any closer!!!"
Reaching the end of the corridor where two passageways diverged, he remembered what was written on that piece of paper and dashed left without hesitation. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the monster trip awkwardly as it turned a corner. This momentary stumble gave him just enough time to reach the balcony.
"And then I ended up on the balcony!" Song Bunan exclaimed as he took a deep breath and gulped down some water in front of him. The boy across from him had been silent throughout his story; initially wearing an expression of skepticism that gradually turned serious as he listened intently. Only after Song Bunan finished drinking did he shift his posture against the sofa backrest as if deep in thought.
"I’ve been here for three years now," said the boy. "I patrol these rooms twice daily—once during the day and once at night—and I've never seen anything like what you described."
Upon hearing this, Song Bunan straightened up and replied earnestly: "If I’ve told even one lie, may lightning strike me when I step outside!"
"You don’t need to curse yourself," said the boy with an incredulous look. "I’m just wondering why you’re able to."
"Huh?" What did he mean by… just I can? Song Bunan looked at the boy who seemed lost in thought, feeling just as confused as ever.
Comment 0 Comment Count