Chapter 5 – the headless woman
The sound grew clearer.
Wet. Dragging. Closer.
Lumian's grip tightened around the knife until his knuckles ached. His eyes fixed on the bathroom door, where shadows bled outward like black ink seeping across the floorboards.
Every instinct screamed at him to run—yet there was nowhere to go.
Then the sound stopped.
Silence pressed against his ears, broken only by the slow, steady drip. Lumian's heart thrashed against his ribs as he watched a dark liquid ooze from under the bathroom door.
Blood.
It spread across the tiles in sluggish rivulets, trailing outward until the bathroom door itself seemed to pulse with it. Inch by inch, the wood turned crimson, soaking, writhing—until it was no longer a door at all, but a solid slab of congealed blood.
Lumian's throat went dry. He scrambled backward, dragging himself into a corner, shoving the desk in front of him, and frantically covering it with clothes to hide. Deep down, he knew it was pointless.
Peering through a gap in the fabric, he stared at the blood door.
It opened. Just slightly.
A muffled thud… thud… echoed from inside. Then something rolled out—slowly, deliberately.
A round, red ball.
It bumped against the far wall, leaving a smear of gore. Lumian squinted, his breath catching—then froze.
It wasn't a ball.
It was a woman's head.
Blood poured from her eyes, nose, and mouth, trailing like liquid threads as the head twitched unnaturally on the floor. Then, impossibly, the head turned.
Her gaze met his hiding place.
Lumian's heart nearly stopped.
The face—pale, slick with blood—smiled. Rows of crimson-stained teeth gleamed through torn lips.
Lumian stumbled backward, hand clamped over his mouth, afraid even the sound of his breath would betray him.
The system's cold voice cut through the suffocating air:
> [Warning: Host detected abnormal entity – Tier II Specter.]
[Class: Wraith.]
[Ability: Manifested Grievance – Active.]
[Danger Level: Medium to High.]
Lumian's body shook. This wasn't a Shade. This wasn't something he could hide from. This was a Wraith.
A sound followed—the creak of bare, wet footsteps.
The bathroom bled further open, and a figure stepped out.
It was headless.
A woman's body in a soaked, blood-red housewife's dress, the fabric dripping with gore as if woven from veins themselves. Her fingers were long and sharpened, each tipped with blackened nails like knives. The blood dripping from her clothes pooled in heavy droplets, hissing faintly as they struck the floor.
She bent down slowly, tenderly, and lifted the severed head into her arms, cradling it against her chest.
The room turned ice-cold. The walls wept condensation. Lumian hugged himself in silence, pressing deeper into the corner, wishing he could vanish into the floorboards.
But then—her headless body shifted. Slowly, it turned toward his hiding place.
Lumian's vision blurred with terror. He blinked—and in that instant, his hand felt wrong.
The knife was gone.
His fingers clutched something wet. Heavy.
He looked down.
The severed head.
Blood smeared across his skin, warm and sticky. The woman's head smiled wider in his palm, her empty eyes staring straight through him.
Lumian's scream tore in his throat as instincts surged. He flung the head away with all his strength and bolted for the front door.
He had no choice. He couldn't fight this thing. The Wraith was stronger—too strong. Stronger even than the Shade outside.
But when he reached for the handle—he blinked.
And found himself back at the desk.
He tried again. Ran for the door. Reached. Pulled.
Blink.
He was back by the desk.
Again and again. The cycle repeated. No matter how he moved, his body returned to the same cursed spot, as if the room itself refused to let him leave.
And then—he appeared beside her.
The headless woman.
She clutched the severed head tightly to her chest, rocking it like a child. Then her long, sharp fingers wrapped around Lumian's throat.
He was lifted effortlessly and slammed into the wall. Pain exploded across his back as if iron pressed against him, unrelenting. His body convulsed under the crushing pressure, lungs straining for air.
And then—her head spoke.
Its bloody lips parted. Its voice echoed, layered, trembling with resentment:
> "Where is my boy?"
Lumian's mind reeled. Boy? What boy?!
"I—I don't know! I haven't seen him!" he choked, gasping against the grip.
The Wraith's fingers dug deeper, the walls trembling with her fury. Her empty sockets bled fresh streams of crimson.
Lumian's bones creaked under the force.
"No… wait!" he shouted, desperation breaking through his fear. "I'll find him! I swear! I'll find your child!"
The crushing stopped. The Wraith lowered him gently, almost tenderly, before turning away. She clutched her head closer, retreating toward the bathroom.
The blood door pulsed, then closed shut behind her.
The system flared once more, cold and merciless:
> [Sub-Mission Generated.]
[Objective: Find the lost boy and return him to his mother.]
[Mission Rewards:
1. Favorability from Wraith-class Specter.
2. Memory World Fragment.]
[Failure Condition: Host's soul will be permanently bound to this apartment.]
[Accept Mission: Yes / No]
Lumian collapsed to his knees, clutching his bruised ribs, his vision swimming with pain and horror.
A bitter laugh tore from his throat. "This is hell… damn you, system… damn you…"
The mission timer ticked mercilessly on.
4 hours, 19 minutes remaining.