Chapter 4
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: Ibi 3
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Just before her hand touched the door handle, she flinched. Call it intuition. An inexplicable chill pierced her nape like a thin needle.
Her wandering hand seemed about to pull away from the door. But in that instant, something pounded on it furiously from outside.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Irritation now overtook her anxiety. Without room for any other thoughts, she grabbed the handle again and yanked the door open.
The moment she saw what stood there, her throat tightened, and she gasped in a huge breath.
Outside the door was a person. A girl who looked much younger than Ibi—maybe a middle schooler or just starting high school. She was even dressed neatly in her school uniform.
Though it wasn't exactly appropriate attire for wandering the streets at this hour, that alone wouldn't have been so shocking. But Ibi's eyes wavered as she instinctively took a step back.
"G-Guest."
The girl kept repeating those words. All the while, her head bobbed back and forth like a pendulum. As if caught and swayed by invisible hands.
"G-Guest."
"Sorry... We're... closed."
Ibi's voice trembled as she spoke. No one could have explained how such a ridiculous response slipped out in this utterly abnormal situation.
Those words might have pulled some trigger. The girl's constantly bobbing head snapped to a halt at its maximum backward tilt.
Then it lurched forward in a rush, snapping down to bow deeply—the complete opposite of before. The motion was so abrupt it almost seemed like her head had been severed clean off.
Soon after, a sharp clack echoed as her teeth snapped together. Followed by a slight pause, then clack again, clack, clack. Clack, clack.
Clack, clack, clack, clack.
Clackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclackclack.
Then, in an instant, the sound stopped. As if by magic.
"Who decided that."
The girl lifted her head, mouth agape. Her forehead was cracked and mangled, sticky blood trickling down. It soaked her nose bridge, lips, and chin.
The dull, thudding knocks. The ceaseless head-bobbing. Only then did Ibi realize those weren't hand knocks—they were the sounds of her head battering the door.
"Aaah!"
Utterly terrified, Ibi screamed and hurriedly retreated inside, slamming the door shut with all her strength. But the girl's voice from outside persisted unchanged.
"Who decided that!"
The door itself wouldn't stop shaking violently. Ibi braced it with her back faster than she thought possible. Moments later, she simply collapsed to the floor right there.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
"G-Guest."
Bang. Bang. Bang.
"G-Guest."
Bang. Bang. Bang.
"G-Guest."
She clamped both hands over her mouth. She tried desperately to steady her ragged breathing, but it was no use.
She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head wildly. Calm down. Stay composed, Kang Ibi. It's just a nightmare. Your nightmare, nothing more. Just one of those countless nightmares.
When she opened her eyes at some point, the door's vibrations had ceased. Ibi dragged her limp legs to stand. She cautiously pressed her ear to the door crack, checking outside, but no trace remained of whatever had rattled it so violently.
No need to be scared. It's just one of those nightmares that's tormented you endlessly before. It can never hurt you.
Gritting her teeth, Ibi slowly pushed the door open. The old door, which she'd thought needed repair soon, creaked open with a plaintive whine.
Screeech...
By the time the door was fully open, no one was there.
"......"
Tension released, and she nearly collapsed again, but she tensed her stomach and held firm.
Cautiously touching the door, she stepped outside.
She ventured a bit farther into the street and looked around. She scanned from one end to the other, but the girl was nowhere to be seen.
There hadn't been much time between the sounds stopping and Ibi stepping out. Not enough for her to walk to the street's end and round the corner.
She ran her palm over the outer side of the door. It was spotless. Not a single scratch. Not a drop of blood.
After slamming her head against it so hard. Ibi recalled the girl's grotesquely torn forehead and the bright red blood gushing over her face.
After something like that, it was impossible for no blood to stain the door.
Ibi pressed a hand to her chest and exhaled shakily. As expected, it had all been an illusion.
She felt utterly drained, like her soul had fled. She trudged back inside and plopped into the chair behind the counter. One hand on her forehead, she let out a sigh.
"Closing... time."
Even so, getting up felt sluggish, like her body was soaked through. She forced herself to rally and resumed cleaning the half-done machine.
Even then, the ominous noise clung stickily to her ears, refusing to fade. At first, she stubbornly dismissed it as lingering nightmare haze. Gradually, the sound quieted. But it didn't vanish.
Before long, it morphed into a new noise. Like something small slithering across the floor on its belly. Had a rat gotten in?
Scritch... scritch...
Finally finished closing up, Ibi walked home through the night streets. Her small but tidy room was dark. The nagging unease from earlier lingered, so she flicked on every fluorescent light the moment she arrived.
She poured a glass of water and sat at the kitchen table. She stayed there for quite a while. Then it hit her—she was hungry. Still seated, she craned her neck toward the living room.
"Mom. I'm hungr—"
Suddenly, her throat clogged like she'd swallowed lead. She'd just remembered an obvious fact.
She often forgot absurd things like this when overthinking. It was an old habit of hers. But still, how could she forget this?
"Mom's gone now."
She died last year.
"......"
Something occurred to her, and she pulled out her phone. She reread a text from weeks ago. The content hadn't changed, of course.
Dear Kang Ibi, thank you for auditioning. Unfortunately, we won't be working together this time. We're sorry to deliver this sad news despite your outstanding talent and skills. We hope for a chance in the future.
It was a rejection from a musical audition. Despite her all-out effort, she couldn't land even a decent minor role.
Her mother, who had staunchly supported those dreams, passed away last winter. After the funeral, with survival itself growing precarious, she'd taken this audition.
She'd pinned faint hopes on it as her "final shot," wondering if some dramatic movie-like turn might happen. But the result was as expected.
"......"
Ibi stood up.
Any appetite was gone. She just wanted to wash up and sleep. She filled the bathtub. When it was half full, she stripped off her clothes haphazardly and sank in.
The fatigue pooled inside her body fizzled out with a prickling sensation, dissolving into the warm water. Ibi tilted her head back fully and closed her eyes.
Against the black backdrop, a swirling Milky Way of vivid colors danced before her.
Soon, nightmares emerged one by one from the darkness. Ghosts, monsters with blade-like claws, fangs glinting from shadows, the Hollow Man.
Strange things had often happened around Ibi since childhood. But she didn't know exactly what made her special. The nightmares were the only certainty.
Ibi had suffered frequent nightmares for as long as she could remember. Sleepless nights were commonplace. Many she couldn't recall, but the ones she did were plenty—no comfort there.
That alone was torment enough, but the absurdity came next. Her nightmares manifested in reality. Like the girl with the cracked forehead today.
They appeared, then vanished like mirages. They never harmed her directly. But just seeing them was chilling enough.
They seemed invisible to others. To Ibi, they were starkly real. Her claims of sudden outbursts, tears, and horrific visions made her a kid everyone avoided.
Adults struggled to handle her too. Some openly scorned her. Others insisted she had a shaman's constitution or needed a divine spirit descent. Too young then, she barely understood.
Things tapered off once she matured. As an adult, incidents were rare enough to count on one hand. She'd chalked it up to some old quirk.
She never imagined it returning like this. In the form of that eerie girl.
For a long while, only the sloshing water sounded. Then Ibi's lips murmured a word.
"Hollow Man."
A name that surfaced vividly amid the hazy whirl of memories. Less a true name, more her nickname for him.
The man who appeared most often—and most terrifyingly—in her nightmares. She didn't know his identity or desires. Was it natural for dream figures?
Yet he felt too vivid, alive even.
A gaunt, skull-like face with exposed cheekbones. Eyes burning in contrast. A skinny silhouette always draped in ragged clothes, glaring...
In that instant, Ibi's eyes snapped open. Her lungs burned, breath on the verge of giving out.
Through blurred vision, she realized she'd fallen asleep and fully submerged her head in the tub water. She thrashed in panic, but only bubbles erupted.
"Guh... hack, hek..."
Flailing free, Ibi leaned out of the tub, coughing and spewing water while making strangled noises. Nearly drowning asleep in the bath. She'd have no defense if it made idiot-death news.
Finally calm, exhaustion sapped her strength; even a fingertip felt too heavy. Upper body draped over the tub edge like wet laundry, she zoned out blankly for ages.
How long could a body stay in water? If till morning, she'd puff up like a soaked kelp pack. Silly thoughts.
The next day. August 2nd.
After that fiasco late last night, oversleeping without alarm was inevitable.
Thus, Ibi was shocked to wake past noon. Realizing work time was tight doubled the shock.
Shit. The boss flips out over three minutes late. Technically, I was early before... But prepping and leaving now? Unless the bus times perfectly—no way I'll make it!
True to her unlucky life, the bus didn't come on time. Nor did tripping over untied laces while running. By the time she reached the shop, work hours had long passed.
In short, no dodging the thunderbolt now. On the cafe street, Ibi pondered seriously.
Just bail? Why walk on eggshells for a cafe gig like it's a lifetime job? Text for last month's pay and...
But she couldn't follow through. True to form, facing it head-on felt better. So she headed to work, planning to clock in today at least.
She reached the cafe, but... something was off.
The window blinds were down, unchanged from Ibi's closing last night. Lights off. It didn't look open for business.
"Huh?"
No matter how wide she stared, nothing changed. Day off? No, this place never closed. Other part-timers existed too. So what was this?
Might as well go in since she was there. Suppressing inexplicable unease, Ibi pulled the door. It wasn't locked.
"B-Boss? You here?"
She entered and shut the door. Naturally, no customers inside. No people at all.
"Boss... Eek!"
Her cautious call turned to a startled yelp.
Someone crouched behind the counter—unnoticed till now—suddenly jerked their head up.
She nearly toppled backward in shock, but thankfully, it was the boss.
Steadying her pounding heart with a sigh, Ibi spoke again.
"B-Boss. You scared me. What's going on? No business today? I didn't hear about that..."
But the boss didn't answer. Everything was wrong—too much to process first.
A few more seconds, and she'd have bolted out the door. Instead, what happened next froze her in terror.
The boss's neck twisted at an impossible angle, mechanically facing Ibi. His eyes were lifeless, like a corpse's. Only his mouth moved.
"G-Guest."
Ibi collapsed on the spot. No. Impossible. It was just my nightmare.
"G-Guest."
"Stop joking... Why are you doing this to me?"
But the boss kept spewing it. Guest, guest. His mouth moved like a ventriloquist's dummy.
"G-G-G... Gues... t......"
His throat convulsed mid-repetition, like vomiting a massive worm.
Then his mouth gaped impossibly wide—not humanly possible. And inside...
A single severed pale hand.
Ibi screamed.
The hand was small, like a little girl's. But that didn't lessen the horror. It writhed on its own, escaping the boss's mouth. His body deflated like a punctured balloon, skin collapsing to the floor.
"D-Don't come! Stay away!"
No use—hands have no ears.
It simply dropped to the floor and scurried toward Ibi like a rat. Emitting that familiar sound.
Scritch... scritch...
As it neared her face, she saw it clutched something.
A wooden cube, perfectly sized for its grip. A wind-up music box.
Ibi flailed her arms wildly to fend it off. But the box suddenly sprang open, thrusting its maw at her.
Yes, a mouth. The interior split four ways like a monster's gullet, lined with jagged fangs. It promptly bit one of Ibi's fingers and chewed viciously.
"Get away! Go away!"
The box devoured all five fingers in seconds. Then her palm, crawling up her arm to swallow her head whole.
Head gone, her body remained. Despite the severed neck, it thrashed like a freshly caught fish.
The box didn't stop, crunching through chest, waist, legs. Not even a bone shard left.
Crunch! Crunch! Crunch!