Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Casually Created a Ghost Story
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I became an orphan overnight.
Mom's cause of death was a sudden heart attack. No one to blame, no way to prepare—it was sudden death in every sense of the word.
It happened the day after I got fired from the factory where I'd been holding it together for a year.
Hardly anyone showed up at the funeral home. Not just me—Mom didn't have many friends either, it seemed.
By the time I got home, my back hurt like it was breaking. A herniated disc. That's why I'd gotten fired from the factory, too.
I stumbled in without turning on the light and slumped against the nearest wall.
From between my parted lips, a mumble slipped out unbidden.
"Is this... the end?"
My own voice startled me. It didn't even sound like me.
Honestly, when I was a kid...
I thought I'd amount to something.
No matter how much Mom and Dad said, What are you gonna be when you grow up? How're you gonna make a living?
I figured I'd make it somehow. Of course I did. But my parents passed away without me achieving a damn thing.
So, was I sad?
Eh. Less sad than...
My back hurt. I was exhausted. I'd come home to an empty house. No one nagging, no one I could secretly resent. Just alone. That's all it was.
Twenty-one years old.
I'd become an orphan.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Ever since I was little, I'd lived lost in daydreams.
I drew alone. Not like fine art or comics, though.
I'd build all sorts of worlds and characters. Not writing novels or anything.
To hear my parents tell it, I was just wasting my life on useless crap.
Not studying. Not prepping for arts or sports academies. Not even writing web novels. Just filling notebooks to the brim all by myself.
Sometimes, other people would poke at me too.
"Why not draw people? Drawing creepy creatures like that won't pay the bills."
I never planned to make a living off drawing anyway.
"What's the point of worldbuilding? If you're gonna write web novels, stop tinkering with settings and actually write the story."
I never seriously considered web novels either.
"Then why do it? A diary? Just for your own satisfaction?"
Who knows. Maybe it was like a diary.
Still, I wished someone would see it.
That's when I'd post my creations to the Ghost Story Gallery.
The drawings. The settings.
Stuff I'd made without even knowing what ghost stories were at first—and the Ghost Story Gallery folks loved it, saying that's exactly what they were.
💬 Comments — Anonymous Why'd you take so long to post? ㅜ — Anonymous More plz~ — Anonymous Damn, got chills just from the pic. — Anonymous What happens if you climb to the top floor? — Anonymous This one's legit. — Anonymous Too scary too scary too scary — Anonymous Shadow Office shows up again. What's that place even do? — Anonymous ↳ Reply For real. It's like it's everywhere. While everyone else mocked my stories and drawings, the Ghost Story Gallery folks praised them.
My wild daydreams and settings that others dismissed as nonsense? Here, people were curious.
Reading that made my lips twitch upward.
I tried to hold back—didn't want to look pathetic getting happy over a few comments—but my mouth kept curling into a grin on its own.
'Maybe post about the Shadow Office next?'
I pondered it briefly, but no.
The Shadow Office wasn't gallery bait ghost story material. It was just my pure wishful thinking.
Whenever I want something done but don't know how, a call comes in—no caller ID. Pick up, and a low, gruff voice says, "It's handled." No one knows what it is. Not even me. But it's insanely competent, pulling off anything. No such thing as impossible—a silent fixer just for me.
A wish from elementary school days for a company that handles what I need, no strings attached. That's all it was.
Later, when posting to the gallery, I'd toss in "Shadow Office" casually. Like slipping their ad among others, or leaving their number blank in a list, or mentioning it offhand in rules.
Naturally, people got hooked, but it was empty bait. Just filler when I had nothing else.
I wrapped up my thoughts and hit F5.
The page refreshed.
New comments had piled up in the meantime.
I smiled warmly watching them—until one caught my eye.
— Anonymous Don't post stuff like this. Repeated detailed, polished imaginations like this, plus some special quality? It could manifest for real. What bullshit.
I'd heard plenty of jabs before, but this didn't fit any pattern.
Still, it pissed me off more than anything ever had. Don't post? Telling me not to share on the Ghost Story Gallery? Who the hell are you to boss me around?
Heat rose like I'd been slapped; irritation boiled over.
I hammered the keyboard for a reply, then snapped out of it and refreshed instead.
"Hm?"
Someone had replied below it.
⭐ Top Comment — Anonymous What? Some know-it-all? Didn't know we had those here lol. But total exaggeration. Talking like manifestation qualities are a dime a dozen lololol. Globally, only a handful cases ever found—and those guys are legends around here. Even then, ruled as freak coincidences stacked up. lolol What, some rando post in the gal manifests? Yeah right. — Anonymous ↳ Reply Maybe not solo, but posted here for everyone to see? Who knows what happens. — Anonymous Oh god, worrywart much? You posting this is way riskier. How do you even eat? Not scared you'll choke to death? The weird thread fizzled out there.
"What a bizarre troll."
It left a bad taste, but I shrugged it off.
Galleries are vast, trolls abound.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Suddenly, a wave of urgency hit me.
"Gotta start making money soon..."
It'd been a year since Mom died. All I'd done was get disc treatment and lounge at home scrolling the gallery, daydreaming, scribbling.
My bank account was nearly dry.
"No heavy lifting... back won't take it."
Once a disc herniates, it doesn't heal easy.
"Convenience store or cafe gig okay?"
That'd cover solo living fine.
Assuming I find work, closer to home the better... wonder if any spots open.
I mulled it over, then flopped back.
"Tomorrow. Think tomorrow."
Dark room.
Lying still with eyes shut, daydreams swam under my eyelids again.
Daydreams that made no money.
But a vivid, chilling world I couldn't ignore, not even alone.
Today, too, I fished something out from that dream haze.
The moment my eyes landed on the battered bear doll propped in the corner.
A gift from my parents when I was tiny. Fur worn thin, one eye missing, stuffing leaking—ugly now. But after Mom died, I dug it out and left it there. No real reason.
Staring at it sparked an idea.
"You're the Responding Bear Doll."
I mumbled on.
In the darkness, I laid out the concept.
"If someone hates you, you hate back. If they cherish you, you cherish them."
>
You crave love, but
you're so worn and torn,
you think it's impossible.
>
So you always want to fix yourself up.
Stuff the empty spots.
Something soft like cotton, but tougher maybe.
Replace the missing eye.
One people like.
Grow back the lost fur.
Somehow.
>
But your fixes might make people hate you more.
The more that happens, the more you adore those who cherish you.
You seek them out.
To comfort them.
You wander,
searching for someone who'll love you to the end.
>
After mumbling that far,
I let out an empty laugh.
Saying it out loud, it hit too close to home.
All my lifelong scribbles.
Some love them, most ignore. Can't make money that way. If it was any good, you'd profit off it.
Craving love, but not webtoons or novels—just my selfish tinkering. Never truly loved.
Bitterness welled up; I rolled over.
「Yes.」
?
A reply from behind me.
"What."
I bolted upright, scanning where the voice came from.
Lights off, but streetlight through the window let me make out shapes.
I squinted.
Nothing that could've made noise.
"Misheard?"
As I said it, realization dawned.
"Huh?"
Gone.
The bear doll.
"What."
I jumped up, flicked the light.
Gone.
Searched the room top to bottom.
Gone.
The bear doll I'd been staring at, spouting settings for, just moments ago.
Nowhere.
Gone.
"Urk!"
Sudden stabbing pain in my head.
Clutching my forehead, curling up—my vision split, room fading as something else appeared.
"What... is this..."
Head splitting.
Like a third eye sprouting. Pain made me twitch; new view shook wildly. But it felt controllable.
Like piloting a drone.
"What the..."
Gripping my throbbing, dizzy head, I focused on what I was seeing.
Shaky at first, like a new game, but the view steadied under my control. And I saw.
"Huh?"
In a pitch-black alley, the thing I'd named the Responding Bear Doll slumped against the wall.
"Why's it... there?"
And,
"Kyaa! Kyaack! H-Help! Please, save me!"
A woman burst into the alley, screaming—hair wild, clothes disheveled.
"Fucking bitch! Stop running!"
"Gag her first and toss in the car!"
Two men chased her in. Chinese accents.
Twitch.
I saw it.
Slumped against the wall.
My little bear.
Slowly lifted its head.