The First Ghost Story: Announcement Broadcast

It was the morning of my first day at high school. Sitting blankly in the classroom, waiting for the entrance ceremony, a sudden pop sounded, and a message appeared before my eyes.

"......?"

A message window straight out of a game. Startled, I glanced around, but none of the other students paid me any mind. They were just sitting there, fiddling with their phones or chatting idly.

Wondering what the hell this was, I stared blankly at the text. Then, the speaker on the classroom wall crackled to life with an announcement about the entrance ceremony.

The students in the classroom grumbled and stood up. I got to my feet in a daze and followed the crowd.

Even as I walked down the hallway, swept along by the throng, I couldn't tear my eyes from the message. I swiped at the air, but the text passed right through my hand without a ripple.

A hologram...? It reminded me of something from a movie.

I glanced around again, confirming no one was watching me. It seemed like this message was visible only to me. Blending into the crowd, I headed to the playground.

Teachers milled about on the playground, adjusting the lines. I joined the grumbling students, falling into place.

These days, schools usually handled everything via indoor broadcasts without dragging kids to the playground. The freshmen muttered complaints everywhere, but silence fell instantly when a man who looked like the principal stepped onto the stage.

"Ahem, dear freshmen of Nakseong High School, welcome. We sincerely congratulate you on your admission. I am the principal of this school..."

As he began his stern lecture from the podium, the principal's head suddenly exploded.

Blood sprayed in a fountain, chunks splattering everywhere. The crowd went dead silent, save for the wet squelch.

The principal's headless body staggered, painting the stage red, then toppled with a thud.

"Kyaaah— Aaaack!"

"Ugh, uwaaaah..."

Finally, screams erupted. Students collapsed in shock or pointed at the stage, faces pale as ghosts. The teachers, facing the freshmen, hadn't seen it happen until the chaos drew their attention.

"P-Prin... Principal...?"

"Teacher Kim! Call 119 now!"

"Is he okay? Shit...!"

Some teachers approaching the stage retched and turned away, stomachs weak. Girls among the freshmen sobbed or clung to strangers for support; boys gawked in horror or tilted their heads in stunned confusion.

Then, something even more horrifying unfolded.

Splat— A stern-looking middle-aged woman's head exploded mid-instructions, blood gushing. Then, one by one, heads burst starting from those nearest the stage, showering scarlet mist.

"Uwaaaah!"

"Kyaaaa!"

Now everyone—boys and girls alike—screamed and fled. Even those who'd peered curiously at the principal's death now bolted in terror, swept up in the panic.

Thud-thud—

I scrambled with the crowd, sprinting wildly from the stage. My goal: the school gate.

Even as I ran, I heard more explosions and rolling thuds behind me. Freshmen's heads detonated; momentum sent tumbling ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bodies rolling across the playground dirt.

Huff, huff, huff...

What the fuck is this madness...?

I didn't know what was happening, but escape came first. Nearing the gate, I heard the security guard yelling from afar.

"Hey, you punks! What the hell? Entrance ceremony's on—where do you think you're going, you little shits?"

He hadn't grasped the situation, face red as he bellowed at us.

"Stop, I said! You think I'm joking? Get back to your spots, you fuckin' bastards!"

From the gate guard booth to the stage was the full length of the playground. Dust from 300 charging freshmen obscured the carnage; the guard was clueless.

This fuckin' idiot—doesn't it strike him as weird that dozens are sprinting over...?

Athletic-looking kids overtook me like pros. The frontrunners slammed the guard's shoulder aside and reached the gate.

"Oof..."

The guard rolled in the dirt. Some athletes found the gate locked, rattled it, cursed, then scaled the bars to freedom.

"Hey! You fuckin' stop! Hey!"

The guard scrambled up, roaring. Soon, the gate became chaos: shouting guard versus students climbing over.

Girls with poor athleticism wailed at him.

"Mister, we're all gonna die! Heads are exploding up front! Open the gate, please!"

"What bullshit! Go get your teachers! Where are they?"

Duty-bound, he refused without teacher orders, even yanking climbing students down by the butt.

Splat—

Meanwhile, far off on the playground, latecomers' heads burst in crimson sprays. Panic peaked.

"You fuckin' guard bastard! Open the gate, you dogshit prick!"

"What? Fuckin' bastard? Come here, you punk!"

The guard grabbed a cusser by the collar and slapped him silly.

Smack-smack—

Fueled by his sole identity as gatekeeper, he couldn't hold back.

"Aaaah! Fuck, open the gate, you guard dogshit!"

Exhaustion from sprinting or the insane situation weakened legs; failed climbers piled on the guard.

"Open the fuckin' gate! Gimme the keys!"

Overwhelmed, the guard backpedaled.

"Ugh, what? What the— you little shits...!"

"Open it, you fucker! Open the gate!"

"Keys! Give us the keys!"

Blood mist closed in. As students lunged for his pockets, he curled up protectively. Girls clawed his head wildly; boys punched shoulders and kicked.

Pound-pound-pound-pound—

"Keurgh! Aaaah!"

The guard screamed in agony. Students rifled his pockets violently. The school gate devolved into utter pandemonium.

"Urgh, uwaaah..."

"Hand 'em over! Give 'em up!"

Bleeding from scratches, he clutched his pockets desperately. A gruesome, suffocating scene—but perfect for me. The commotion cleared a spot by the gate's edge.

Huff, huff... I dashed to the gate, claimed the space, and started climbing. The iron bars offered poor footing, slippery; anti-climber spikes jutted at the top. Tricky, but survival instinct unleashed primal strength. Somehow, I crested the top.

Pausing atop the stabbing spikes for a breather. Just turn and jump to the sidewalk outside.

"Hup!"

As I pivoted to leap, explosions neared my nose. Below, the bloodied guard thrashed under assault. Students, fixated on destroying him rather than grabbing keys, had devolved into frenzied violence—desperation twisted by blocked escape.

Terror-stricken ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠faces smashed down on him.

"Die! Die! Why block usss! Die, fuck...!"

"Ugh, keurgh, gack, guwaaah..."

Soon, the guard and surrounding students' heads burst too. And right below me—students scaling the gate swelled grotesquely.

Fuck!

I jumped the opposite way, landing with a thud.

Success! Out of the school!

As I gasped and prepared to bolt—my head began to balloon too.

...Getting out of school doesn't save you?

Swept in the flight instinct, I'd assumed outside was safe. But it was just blind panic toward any seeming exit. Not salvation.

My head inflated like a balloon, an eerie sensation. Then, a massive shockwave—and blackout.

Flash—

When I came to, I was back in the classroom. Students fiddled with phones or chatted quietly, awaiting the ceremony. Lights out from the outage, but morning sun filtered through ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the windows, keeping it from total dark. Peaceful, even.

What the hell? I'd just been caught in that freak show, head exploding mid-escape attempt.

Why was I alive? The stench of sweat from 300 panicking students, the madness, the blood founts—still vivid.

A precognitive dream? Or... time rewound?

What the fuck... how...?

Staring around in a daze, my eyes caught the message's final line I'd overlooked before.

＞Click to continue to the next page.

I didn't get it, but this thing seemed tied to whatever was happening.

Click? How...? Treating it like a touchscreen, I tapped the blinking line.

Flash—

The screen shifted, new text appearing.

A startled "Huh" escaped me. What to make of this? Quest, tutorial—like a game.

Poring over the floating text, sorting my thoughts—then static crackled from the classroom speaker.

Ghost Story Club