"Why did you lock the door?! Did you hear me? Open the door!" Fatty Leng was still shouting from outside.
Zhang Yi froze in the dark. Slowly—very slowly—he rolled out of bed and crouched on the floor, holding his breath.
Fatty Leng was outside. But someone—something—was lying on the bed opposite him.
Scratching. Breathing. Groaning.
Which one was the real Fatty? What exactly was sleeping in the room with him?
Panic crawled up his spine. Am I dreaming?
Zhang Yi dug his fingers into his thigh and pinched. Hard.
"Ow—!"
Sharp pain. No dream. No escape.
"Zhang Yi! Don't play dumb! You hear me?! Fine, then!" Fatty Leng's voice echoed down the hallway—angry, impatient.
At that exact moment, the scratching on the bunk bed stopped. The hand, which was scratching at the bed board, stopped at some point.
Silence smothered the room.
TRING~
The next second, Zhang Yi's phone vibrated violently on the pillow.
TRING—TRING—TRING.
Its cold white glow cut through the darkness, illuminating the cramped rental room. And In the dim light... Zhang Yi saw it clearly.
[136-XXXX-1313]
There was no name on the screen—just the number. The last four digits however, 1313, a pattern too eerie to ignore, made Zhang Yi's eyelids twitch. The last four digits matched the number the hemostatic medicine and bandage order came from
Which mean... The Fatty outside the door... was a fake.
The one calling him—was her. The old lady. That thing.
What did she want? Why wouldn't she leave him alone? Was she blaming him?
Because if that incident hadn't happened…maybe...meybe Li Manman wouldn't have—
Zhang Yi cut off the thought, panic twisting tight inside his chest.
His hands trembled as he answered the call. He wanted to know. No, he had to know what she wanted.
"...Hello?"
A cheerful voice replied—far too bright, far too familiar, "Zhang Yi! Open the door for me!"
Zhang Yi gathered his courage before speaking. "You're not Fatty,' he said, forcing his voice to remain steady. "You're... Li Manman's mother."
"..."
Silence.
"Auntie... please," Zhang Yi's voice cracked. "I'm sorry... I'm really sorry for what happened to Manman... but please—just leave me alone. Don't do this..."
"…"
Stillness. Silence.
Then the voice shifted. A wet, rasping whisper—old, female, rotten.
"Zhang Yi... open the door and come with me. I'm here to save you..."
Save him?
Zhang Yi almost laughed. Almost. He was about to shout back when her voice snapped sharply.
"Don't you know... what's sleeping in your room?"
The smirk on Zhang Yi's lips vanished. A cold surge shot straight down his spine.
Instinctively—and slowly, so slowly—Zhang Yi turned his eyes toward the opposite bunk. When he finally saw it clearly, terror slammed into him so hard he almost peed himself.
It was empty.
The bed that had been creaking… scratching… chewing…Was empty. Utterly, impossibly empty.
The blanket that had been rising and falling with Fatty's "breaths" now lay flat and sunken, as if no one had touched it in months. The pillow was dented in the shape of a head—but the space beneath was hollow, collapsed. There was no way he slept through someone getting up.
None.
"Zhang... Yi..."
He couldn't breathe.
"You finally see it, don't you?" she whispered.
"That thing..."
Zhang Yi didn't dare turn around. His heart hammered so hard it hurt, pounding against his ribs like it wanted to escape his body.
"Child... if you want to live... do not look behind you."
Of course he wouldn't… Or in fact, he couldn't.
Because the only thing Zhang Yi could bring himself to look at was the pale, dead-white hand hanging over the upper bunk of Fatty Leng's bed.
"Rrrhhh... rrhhkk... kk—kk—kk—kk…"
The sound was deeply disturbing—low, gurgling, like a drowning person still trying to breathe.It scraped through the air as if forced through a throat filled with mud, as though something was trying—struggling—to speak.
A faint, rotten smell drifted down. Not just rot—the stench of something that had died days ago, a damp, sour odor like a rat swollen with decay.
What... is that?
At first, he saw only the white, motionless hand, its fingers drooping like wax.
Then—a few strands of long, black, tangled hair slid into view...followed by a patch of chalk-white forehead... and then—the eyes.
Wide. Bulging. Staring straight at him.
Eyes that weren't alive enough to blink... but not dead enough to stop looking.
Zhang Yi wanted to run—but his legs refused to move. He wanted to scream—but his throat locked tight. He wanted to shut his eyes, block out that face—but even his eyelids wouldn't obey.
Cold sweat burst across his skin, trickling down his temples, his back, his palms. His whole body trembled violently, not from the cold... but from pure, crushing terror.
As the thing on the upper bunk began to move again—ever so slowly—ever so deliberately—
TRING~
Zhang Yi's phone rang again.
The sharp sound snapped him back from his frozen terror. His muscles twitched. He managed—barely—to blink. And in that single blink...the figure on the top bunk vanished.
"I—"
Zhang Yi stopped mid-breath.
Because something else replaced the silence. A cold breeze brushed the back of his neck. Not wind. Not imagination.
Breathing.
And then the smell hit him again—Slow... damp... rotten. That same stench of dead rat, of wet decay—but now it was coming from behind him.
"Kkk—kk—kk—kk..."
The same sound but now right at his back.
Zhang Yi's throat tightened. His neck stiffened. He didn't dare turn around. Swallowing hard, suppressing every instinct screaming at him to run, he rolled his eyes slowly—very slowly—trying to peek from the corner of his vision.
He saw it.
First, a smear of corpse-white skin...then strands of long, tangled black hair...and then—those eyes.
Wide. Bulging. Staring straight into him from inches away.
His lips trembled.
"I–I—"
No words came out. Not even a breath. Panic exploded through him—he jerked his head away, turning sharply toward the opposite side, hoping, praying, begging not to see her again—but the moment he looked—SUDDENLY—From the blind spot beside him—a face lunged into view.
Deathly pale. Purpled with lividity. Mouth hanging open in a silent scream.
"Kkk—kk—kk—kk..."
"AAAHH!!"
Zhang Yi screamed—really screamed this time—and stumbled backward, crashing onto the floor before scrambling to his feet. He bolted for the door, half-blind with terror.
The moment he yanked it open—the old woman burning paper money was standing right there.
She faced him from the hallway, her hunched figure illuminated by the eerie glow of the brazier she held. The flames inside weren't red—they were green.
The old woman didn't even look at Zhang Yi. She was staring past him—at whatever was behind him.
Her expression tightened. Without a word, she plunged her hand into the brazier, scooped up a handful of burning ash, and hurled it over Zhang Yi's shoulder.
"Go away... don't bother us!"
SWOOOOSH—
The ashes scattered in the air like glowing green sparks.
"AAAAAARRRGHHHHH!!"
The scream that followed was so sharp, so impossibly shrill, that Zhang Yi felt his bones vibrate. He had never—never—heard a woman's scream that disturbing in his entire life.
The old woman's face twisted with urgency. She grabbed his arm.
"She's too powerful!" she hissed. "Come with me! Hurry! There's someone who can save you!"
Zhang Yi turned instinctively—and what he saw froze his blood.
A thick black mist was pouring into the room behind him like smoke from a burning corpse.Inside the fog—she stood.
The same woman. Pale face. Dead, bulging eyes. Skin mottled with lividity. Her neck craned at an inhuman angle as she stared at him. Stared through him.
That was all Zhang Yi needed.
He didn't think. He didn't breathe.
He ran.
He tore down the hallway after the old woman, legs shaking so badly he almost tripped.
Behind them, the black mist surged forward.
"Hurry!" the old woman shouted, voice trembling. "Hurry—she's catching up!"