Aftermath

For a while, I couldn't do anything at all.

I sat slumped against the door, staring blankly at the floor. Not a single drop of blood had actually gotten on me, but even with my nose pinched shut, that metallic reek wouldn't go away.

...If I closed my eyes, all I could see were those fingers scraping at the glass, and the chunks of flesh spilled across the floor.

Ah.

Ah.

Ah.

"Urgh—!"

I clapped a hand over my mouth and bolted for the bathroom.

The second I lifted the toilet lid, I emptied everything I had. The ramyeon I'd eaten for dinner clawed its way back up my throat. I hung there dry-heaving for a long time before I finally managed to push myself to my feet.

The girl in the mirror was white as a sheet. Tears clung to the corners of her eyes, and her lips were trembling in tiny, helpless fits.

"They actually died..."

Those people had been alive just a little while ago. Talking among themselves. Laughing. Laughing at me.

Then midnight hit, and in an instant they were meat.

So this is what a ghost story is.

If I break the rules, is that what happens to me too?

Wrists severed. Belly split open. Body carved into dozens of pieces while I was still alive—

"...Stop thinking about it."

I splashed cold water on my face. It took several handfuls before I could even begin to settle down.

I went back to the room and climbed onto the bed, winding the blanket around myself, and opened the Ghost Story Gallery. Right now, listening to the people in there felt like a better idea than sitting alone with my own thoughts.

Every time I refreshed, the comments multiplied.

I didn't reply. I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠closed the gallery.

...Not like I was falling asleep anytime soon anyway.

If I turned the lights off, the Skybridge would keep rising up behind my eyelids, so I left them on and lay down.

The hum of the ventilation fan. A crying sound drifting in from somewhere down the hall. Voices of people trying to soothe each other. I lay there listening to all of it, and I couldn't have said how long.

...Did I fall asleep?

I closed my eyes and opened them, and at some point the world beyond the door had gone quiet. My phone read 8:12 AM. It wasn't a wall clock, so it wouldn't be exact — but a few hours had clearly passed.

I'd only meant to close my eyes for a second, and time had just... vanished. I probably would've had a nightmare anyway, so maybe that was a win?

I tried to go back to sleep, but it wasn't long before a knock came at the door.

Knock, knock.

My whole body flinched.

"It's me. The one who was counting people yesterday."

A familiar woman's voice.

"Everyone's gathered in the lounge. If you're all right, could you come out?"

I didn't answer right away.

...What if an anomaly was mimicking her voice? But there was no way to check. And if something like that had already made it to my door, survival was probably a lost cause anyway.

"Could you step back from the door a little?"

"Sorry?"

"Just... give me a second."

I got down from the bed and approached the door with care. There was a small peephole set beside it. I pressed my face close, and the woman standing in the hallway came into view. It was her — the one who'd been counting people on her phone yesterday.

At least, that's what she looked like.

I cracked the door with the safety latch still hooked.

"What is it?"

"The Skybridge door opened again."

Sleep fled in a single breath.

"When?"

"They said the red light went out the moment the wall clock hit 5 AM. The people who'd stayed in the lounge saw it."

Exactly as the notice said.

"And... the bodies are all gone."

I followed her out to the lounge.

Along the hallway, other people were cracking their doors and poking their heads out. Not a single one of them looked like they'd actually slept.

The first thing I saw when I stepped into the lounge was a spotless Skybridge.

...Where did last night even go?

There was nothing. The blood that had coated the glass doors, the limbs strewn across the floor, the finely minced scraps of flesh — all of it had been wiped clean. Under the bright white lights, the Skybridge looked exactly as it had the first time I'd seen it. Clean enough that three people dying there felt like a lie.

"Nobody cleaned it. Not a person, anyway."

The woman who'd been counting people spoke up.

"When the lights changed at five and the door opened, it was already like that."

Allow this day-zero gallery grunt to take a wild guess: the building took care of it.

Then a rule flickered through my head. Marks left by occupants may be removed without prior notice — don't tell me corpses counted as marks left by occupants...

No...

The whiteboard off to one side of the lounge had changed, too.

Two black lines had been drawn through the 24, and a new number written underneath.

Looking at that whiteboard put a strange taste in my mouth.

The moment I stepped into the lounge, people's eyes gathered on me one by one. It was a completely different look from yesterday. Nobody thought I was seeing things anymore. Nobody thought I was lying.

The man in the suit pushed his way out from among them. The shadows under his eyes said he hadn't slept a wink, and his rumpled shirt and loosened tie were a long way from yesterday's clean-cut look.

"I misjudged the situation yesterday."

He dipped his waist in a slight bow and met my eyes straight on.

"From now on, we will act according to the occupancy rules you share with us."

"Ah — okay..."

Him folding this fast is actually throwing me off. I'd figured he was picking fights because he hated me. Turns out he was just the suspicious type.

"Has anything in the notice changed?"

Every gaze in the room pinned itself to me again. I opened the Personal Notice and checked it from top to bottom, but nothing was different. I wasn't sure whether to call that a relief.

"It's the same for now."

"Then are we allowed to use the Skybridge?"

I checked rule one of the notice again. The Skybridge cannot be used from 00:00 to 05:00. The lounge wall clock was ticking toward 9 AM. The restricted hours were already over.

"The notice only says it can't be used until 5 AM."

When I answered, the woman ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠who'd been counting people stepped up to the whiteboard and drew a thick underline in marker beneath the Skybridge hours.

"So we can cross it now?"

"It means the Skybridge is usable, yes. ...It doesn't mean the West Tower is safe."

Eyes drifted back to the Skybridge. The door stood open, and the glass floor was clean as if nothing had ever happened — but of the people who'd watched what unfolded there last night, not one of them was eager to step toward it.

"I think we shouldn't cross it. At least not today."

I said it out loud.

"Nobody's had a proper rest, and we have no idea what's on the other side. If we go, we should get ready first, and go as a group."

"Then we should stay off the elevators and the stairs for a while, too."

The woman who'd been counting people put in.

"At least for today, I'd like us to rest here and figure out what we're doing next."

"We'll need to recount the food supplies."

"Wouldn't it be better to start by gathering whatever's in the guest rooms?"

"Nobody moves alone. At least in pairs."

Opinions poured out. But before anyone decided anything, they all glanced my way at least once. They were waiting for me to say it was all right.

What a weird feeling...

Yesterday these same people hadn't believed a word I said. Now a single sentence from me was enough to keep them off the Skybridge, enough to make them give up the elevators. The whole situation had flipped in a blink, and I was still catching up.

Not that I had any confidence I could actually control these people. I was barely managing to keep myself alive.

"I'll write whatever this person tells me from the notice up on the whiteboard. If anyone finds something new, tell us here first. Don't try to verify it on your own."

People were nodding when—

Ding-dong—

A chime spilled from the speaker in the ceiling.

Everyone who'd been talking fell silent at once.

Most of them hadn't rested properly all night. They split a simple breakfast among themselves and drifted back to their ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rooms.

I headed for Room 1924. The second I was inside I locked the door and hooked the safety latch. I sat on the bed and opened the Ghost Story Gallery.

I left the comments like nothing was wrong. Seniors, I delivered the notice contents properly! Mission complete!

If you only read the posts, it looked like I was thrilled to have earned everyone's trust—

But after I closed the gallery window, the tips of my fingers were trembling.

People believing me was not an uncomplicatedly good thing. If someone broke a rule and died again, every pair of eyes in that lounge would turn to me. Looking at me like you were the reason that person was dead.

"Haaah..."

I sprawled out on the bed. My body was exhausted down to the bone, but sleep, weirdly, wouldn't come.

Three people had died on my first day in a ghost story, and I was still here. Lying on a bed in one piece, breathing, heart beating, fingers and toes moving however I wanted them to.

A body that had been crushed under terror for hours — the second the tension let go, it was like a rebound had hit, and all I wanted was to feel, viscerally, that I was alive. I was hungry, I was sleepy, I was afraid, and I needed something sharp enough to punch through all of it. A sensation vivid enough to shove the memory of dying even a little way off.

I rolled onto my side, and my chest pressed into the blanket. The unfamiliar sensation came through with startling clarity.

"Nn..."

No. What the hell am I even thinking about right now.

I could die the same way they did at any moment.

...Or maybe that's exactly why.

The thought that by tomorrow this body might be nothing but scraps of meat on the Skybridge made the case for holding back even weaker. I wanted to feel whatever I could feel while I was still alive.

Call it survival instinct if you want it to sound respectable. But also, yeah — I've always been a pervert.

"Crazy bastard. Crazy bastard..."

I muttered it, and I still didn't get up. I pulled the blanket all the way to my chin.

The door was locked. The safety latch was hooked. Nobody could come into this room now.

I stared at the ceiling for a moment, then slowly slid a hand under the blanket.

I pushed the shorts that had been in the way down my hips, and just the release from the pressure of the fabric sent a strange, shivering freedom crawling up my spine. Nothing left to get in the way.

I hooked both thumbs into my panties and stripped them all the way off, then shoved my top up and off too. The inside of the panties was already soaked. When I pressed a fingertip to the wet patch and pulled away, a sticky thread of fluid stretched out in a thin line.

I hadn't even been a woman for a full day, so I hadn't really known — but in this body, just lying completely naked under a blanket was enough.

"...That feels good."

I cupped my chest slowly in both hands. Soft, yielding flesh filled my palms. I stroked up and down, squeezed gently, let go, and did it again. At my own pace. However I wanted.

...That's all? Not enough. A little more. If I want to actually feel it—

I touched a nipple with my fingertip. The first time I'd really handled one, and it was strangely ticklish. I drew slow circles, pinched lightly, rubbed it against my palm — and what came through still wasn't quite pleasure, not yet, but it was definitely a heat starting to catch.

If I want to feel it for real, I guess I have to go for the main event.

The air under the blanket had already gone humid and warm anyway. I kicked the blanket off.

With it gone, everything from the swell of my chest down to the pale plane of my stomach was laid bare at once. I looked down. Where my Johnson was supposed to be, what sat in its place was—

My pussy.