Chapter 6 – The Man Behind the Door
Lumian sat slumped against the wall, chest heaving. His ribs burned, his throat was raw, and his hands still shook with the memory of that severed head's smile.
The system's command pulsed in his skull like a curse:
> [Objective: Find the lost boy and return him to his mother.]
[Failure: Soul bound to this apartment.]
A bitter laugh escaped his lips, cracking under strain. "A boy? In this nightmare? Damn it… damn it all."
But he wasn't stupid.
Pieces clicked together in his mind. He remembered. Three years ago—he had read about it in the papers. A cold case. A mother and her young son, brutally murdered inside this very building. The prime suspect: the husband, Carl.
And yet, Carl still lived here. Across the corridor. Alive. Breathing.
At least, as far as Lumian knew.
That meant only one thing: the boy he was being forced to "find" wasn't alive at all. He was searching for a ghost.
But if he wanted answers, the only lead he had was Carl.
Lumian pushed himself upright, knife still clutched in his hand. He glanced at his own door, dread gnawing at him. Was the Shade—the thing that had called out to him earlier—still waiting outside?
He stood in silence, listening. Nothing. The corridor was quiet, heavy with a silence that pressed against his ears.
"…No choice," Lumian muttered. "If I stay here, I'll rot."
He peeked through the keyhole first. No movement. With slow, deliberate care, he unlocked the door and stepped into the corridor.
The silence welcomed him like a grave.
His shoes creaked against the floorboards, echoing too loudly in the empty hallway. His eyes swept the doors as he passed. The apartment where he had once heard a young man yelling during a livestream was quiet now, dead quiet. Either the man was asleep—or something else had silenced him. Lumian didn't want to imagine which.
He walked on until he stopped before a door marked: 047.
Carl's apartment.
Lumian raised his fist and knocked. Once. Twice. His patience bled away with every second.
Then—movement. A shadow flickered at the end of the corridor. Long. Feminine. Approaching.
Lumian's stomach dropped. The woman's ghost? Here?
Panic surged. He pounded hard on the door. "Open up! Damn it, open!"
The knob turned. A tall figure appeared in the doorway.
Lumian didn't wait—he shoved the man back, slipped inside, and slammed the door shut.
The tall man staggered, catching himself against the wall. His sharp features twisted with irritation. "Are you insane? What the hell are you doing, barging in like this at midnight?"
Lumian's knife was already raised, gleaming faintly under the dim light. His eyes locked onto the man. "You're Carl, right? Then shut up and listen. There are ghosts here. Your wife's ghost. And your son's. I need answers. Tell me everything about what happened that night."
The man's composure faltered instantly. His face drained of color. He stammered, "W-What? Who the hell are you? Why are you dragging me into this? I… I don't know anything!"
Lumian's patience shattered. He shoved the man hard against the wall, pressing the blade to his throat. His voice was low, sharp, trembling with fury and desperation. "Don't waste my time. You think I came here for fun? I've seen them. Your wife. Your son. You know what happened. Now talk."
The man's breath quickened, his body shaking under Lumian's grip. His lips quivered. "O-Okay… okay, I'll tell you. Please, just don't—don't kill me."
Lumian's eyes narrowed. He eased the pressure slightly but kept the knife firm. "Then start talking. Everything. Now."
The man swallowed hard, his eyes darting as though searching for escape. "Listen. The truth is… I'm not Carl."
Lumian's grip tightened instantly, rage flashing across his face. "Don't play games with me!"
"I swear it!" the man blurted, eyes wide with terror. "I'm not Carl! My name is Simon. Carl is—he's my brother. My twin."
Lumian froze. The words hit him like a cold knife.
"…Twin?" he whispered. His mind reeled.
The man nodded frantically, fear plain in his eyes. "Yes. Carl and I… we're twins. He was the one married. He was the one accused. Not me."
Lumian's chest tightened. His knife trembled slightly in his grip.
Twins.
Another layer of shadows had just fallen over this cursed building.