Chapter 11 – The Boy
[Warning: Host detected abnormal entity]
[Tier 1 specter]
[Class:Special Shade]
[Sub-mission remaining: Take the boy to his mother]
The bulb above buzzed faintly, its light stuttering like a dying heartbeat. With every flicker, the boy's small figure was thrown in and out of shadow—sometimes a fragile child, sometimes a hollow silhouette.
Lumian stood frozen. His knife felt heavier than stone, his breath shallow. The boy's presence was wrong—everything in this building was wrong—but this child was not grotesque, not twisted, not drenched in blood like the others. He looked… untouched. Innocent. Too innocent for this cursed place.
"Uncle Lumian…" The boy's voice was soft, airy, carrying a faint echo that seemed to ripple against the walls. "Did God send you?"
Lumian's throat closed. The words clung to him like chains. Finally, he forced his voice out, hoarse.
"…No. I came here on my own."
The boy's lips curved down. A faint, disappointed whisper slipped out:
"Oh. I thought… you were sent by God. To help Mama and me."
Something in Lumian twisted. He bit down on his tongue before answering.
"…Why do you need God's help?"
The boy lowered his head. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out his tiny hand. Lumian understood and placed the toy phone he had taken back into the child's palm. The boy clutched it close, his small fingers trembling.
"Mama said… if I get sad… or if I'm in pain…" His voice quivered. "…I should talk into this phone. And God will hear me. God will send someone to help."
The smile that followed was weak, fragile, a shard of hope that didn't belong in this suffocating place.
Lumian's chest tightened until his ribs ached. He swallowed hard. The words clawed out of him, low and unsteady.
"…Can you tell me about your dad?"
The moment the question left his lips, the boy stiffened. His eyes went glassy, his grip on the toy phone tightened so hard his knuckles paled. For several heartbeats, silence hung heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the bulb. Then, with a voice as thin as cracked glass, the boy began to speak.
"Dad… always locked me and Mama in a room."
Each word was heavy, sinking into Lumian's skin like needles.
"Sometimes he took Mama away. To another room. I… I could hear her scream." The boy's lips trembled. His eyes drifted downward, staring into the dark floorboards. "When she came back… she… she didn't have any clothes. Her body… was bleeding. Bruised. She cried. She always cried."
The air seemed to choke Lumian. His pulse thundered in his ears, hot and suffocating.
The boy continued, voice smaller and smaller:
"She hugged me after. Always hugged me. Even when she hurt. She said… 'Don't cry, it's okay.' But I knew it wasn't okay."
The bulb flickered, shadows twitching across the walls like claws.
"Dad gave us… medicine. Needles. He said it would stop the pain. But it only made us sleep. So heavy… so heavy. Mama always held me while we slept. She whispered… 'Your dad is a monster. God will punish him. If you're hurt, call the phone. God will listen.'"
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Lumian's jaw clenched so tight he thought his teeth would shatter. His fists curled, nails biting into his palm until blood pricked his skin. He wanted to scream, but the sound caught in his throat, boiling inside him like acid.
He forced the question out, his voice shaking.
"…Do you hate your dad?"
The boy blinked. His eyes shimmered with confusion, with something that tore deeper into Lumian than hate ever could. After a pause, he whispered:
"No… Mama hates him. I don't. I just… don't understand. Why did he do that? I never did anything bad. Mama didn't either."
Lumian felt something inside him split apart. His rage wasn't only anger—it was grief, despair, and something primal. This child—this innocent—still couldn't hate the man who destroyed him.
"You're… too kind," Lumian rasped, his voice raw. "Too kind for this world. For what happened."
The boy tilted his head, small hand brushing Lumian's sleeve, like he was trying to comfort him.
Lumian couldn't bear it anymore. Slowly, hesitantly, he bent down and lifted the child into his arms. To his shock, the boy's weight settled against him—light, impossibly light. His body was ice-cold, like snow shaped into flesh. The chill seeped into Lumian's bones, but he didn't let go.
The boy's head rested against his chest, and Lumian whispered, almost to himself:
"…Your dad needs punishment."
The boy's eyes widened, staring up at him.
Lumian's grip tightened, veins straining in his hand, his breath ragged. His voice trembled with fury, each word a knife.
"You remember I told you I wasn't sent here by God? That was true." His bloodshot eyes bored into the boy's. "…But I never said I wouldn't help you."
The bulb above spat sparks, shadows lashing across the walls. Lumian leaned closer, his words spilling like venom.
"For what he did to you…" His teeth ground together. "…For what he did to your mother. For every innocent life he twisted and carved into this place…" His voice broke into a growl. "…I will not forgive him. I will not spare him."
The boy's lips parted, trembling.
Lumian's whisper grew darker, deeper, until it felt like the shadows themselves leaned forward to listen.
"I swear it. Carl will pay."
The bulb above cracked, plunging the room into half-darkness. The boy stared at him, not with fear, but with something unreadable—hope, awe, and sorrow braided together.
The silence after Lumian's vow was heavy, oppressive. And in that silence, it felt as if the apartment itself shifted, the air tightening, the walls holding their breath.
As if even the ghosts themselves had heard his oath.