The Deadly Breaking News from Room 906
The interior of the Ghost Story Apartment elevator was styled just like those common in 2000s apartments. The notices and flyers on the bulletin board were familiar too—urging residents to pay their maintenance fees, guides for separated recycling, even pizza delivery flyers. It was all straight out of any ordinary apartment. And just as I remembered, everything was written in Korean.
The time to admire the elevator didn't last long.
With the announcement, the elevator doors slid open smoothly. Above them, a bright orange "9F" glowed sharply against the cold metal wall. We were back in the Ghost Story Apartment.
Second attempt at resolving this ghost story. And the point we'd chosen to restart from was the same ninth floor as last time.
The reason for picking this floor again was clear. Even though our party had wiped out last attempt without any real strategy, at least we'd gathered some info on how we died here. It was better than a completely unknown floor.
The moment the doors opened, a nauseatingly lukewarm breeze wafted in from the hallway. I could feel the students flinching at the sight beyond. A subtle tension flickered in their eyes.
"...We're back again."
"Ugh. In Teacher's previous life, did people really live in places like this?"
"This feels so creepy..."
"...It's just the ghost story messing with the atmosphere."
The hallway exuded the same worn, gloomy vibe as before. Part of it came from the thick clouds outside casting dim light, but mostly it was the peeling concrete, rusted pipes, and overall ruined feel that made the apartment interior even more eerie.
But seeing it again on this second run, I realized: that ruined atmosphere was blatantly unnatural. A potted plant with fresh green leaves sat against one moldy wall, and the bicycle in the hall looked clean and lived-in, clashing with the decay. Even the door lock on 906 was still functional.
Items left to erode with time, abandoned and weathered. Others frozen as if from the era when people still lived here, untouched by the passage of years. The jarring mismatch between these opposites created an unsettling dissonance.
Since it was a ghost story, questioning the logic was pointless from the start. Still, this contradictory scenery grated on the nerves.
I scanned the hallway briefly before heading straight to 906. For this second run, our first target was that room. We needed to verify if the students' accounts were true or just a misunderstanding from unfamiliarity with modern tech.
Beep beep beep beep—ring!
The electronic lock whirred, and the door to 906 swung open. Inside was the picture of an ordinary home. Yes, "ordinary" by my past life's standards.
I nearly got sentimental over the nostalgic sight but quickly pulled myself together to avoid repeating last round's mistakes.
Before thoroughly searching the place, I stood at the shoe cabinet and coldly surveyed the house. The students, meanwhile, huddled tensely, haunted by memories of their gruesome deaths here last time.
"...."
"What if we die again, Teacher...?"
"This time, we won't touch anything recklessly."
I nodded reassuringly, then began methodically scanning the house from the shoe cabinet onward.
A few pairs of adult men's and women's shoes inside, plus what looked like kids' sneakers for an elementary-schooler. Assuming real people lived here, the household was probably 3-4 members. The epitome of a normal family home.
A narrow hallway stretched from the back of the cabinet, opening into the living room at the end. From here, I glimpsed a plush-looking sofa in the center.
Which meant, layout-wise, the opposite wall probably had that wall-mounted TV—the one that terrified the girls last time—hanging like a black shadow.
A couple of closed doors flanked the living room, and faint shadows cloaked the kitchen at the hall's end. Gas stove and water purifier over there, I guessed. Nothing seemed off at first glance. It even had that lived-in feel, like a family had been here just hours ago.
"We'll check the details once we're inside."
Before stepping fully in, I spotted a spare flashlight tucked in the shoe cabinet corner.
Click!
Mindful of the darkness, I flicked it on cautiously. The beam pierced the gloom, flooding the hallway with light.
"Kyaa!"
Short screams erupted from Rone and Rozalia behind me. Even Elaine flinched at the sudden brightness.
Had I startled them too much? I waved it off reassuringly.
"Calm down. It's just a type of lamp. Now, let's properly explore the interior."
The group sheepishly shut their mouths at my words. Flashlight in hand, I cautiously advanced toward the living room. The students followed, unable to hide their unease.
And the instant we entered the living room—
ZZZzt—
The wall-mounted TV flickered on with a chilling noise, all on its own. The screen warped, then sharp footage began playing.
...What?
"Kyaaah!! Teacher! That's the frame that sucks in people's souls, like I said!"
Rozalia screamed beside me, but my focus was locked on the news content. The students' stories hadn't mentioned this.
Suddenly, the anchor on screen grinned savagely and thrust a hand out from the TV.
Damn! Not the time to dwell!
His arm stretched like rubber, bursting through the screen toward us. Straight for Rozalia!
Among us, only she matched "student R"!
"Rozalia! Duck!"
Startled, Rozalia froze, but Rone reacted. She yanked Rozalia down fast. The anchor's protruding arm sliced empty air.
Crack!
I lunged, swinging the hefty flashlight like a club into the anchor's head—now half his upper body had emerged. Built sturdy as emergency gear, it made a perfect bludgeon.
The anchor grunted "Krrgh!" in some grotesque noise and toppled.
"D-Did we get it?"
Rozalia stammered from Rone's arms—despite Rone being smaller.
Damn. With her foreshadowing like that, no chance. Sure enough, the anchor lifted his head and cackled.
This damn thing! Targeting me next!
His arm elongated grotesquely, whipping toward me like a lash. I dodged as it coiled around my neck, shouting to the students.
"Watch out! The anchor's 'breaking news' predicts the next attack!"
They stared back in confusion.
"Huh? What do you mean, Teacher?"
"What is that monster even saying!?"
Then it hit me. The anchor spoke Korean. They couldn't understand.
That was one reason we'd been caught off-guard last time. Only I spoke Korean.
I kept eyes on his next words, relaying warnings nonstop.
"Careful! The anchor's saying now..."
The anchor announced his moves in advance; I translated on the fly. Exploiting the ghost story's gimmick let us barely hold our own.
But we couldn't drop him. Rubber body shrugged off flashlight blows to the head. Like any ghost story entity, he wasn't normal.
This wouldn't cut it. Then I spotted a remote on the side table by the sofa.
That's it!
I dove for the sofa remote.
My reckless grab shattered our fragile standoff. His whip-like tongue snapped around my throat.
"Ghk, krrk...!"
"Teacher Allen!"
"You monster!!"
"Let go of Teacher!!"
Unbelievable strength crushed my neck. Bloodflow to my brain cut off; vision darkened.
But my thumb hit the remote's power button first.
Beep—
The TV shut off abruptly. Severed from it, the anchor's rubbery body flopped. Half-emerged, he crumpled like a guillotined waist—splat—to the floor.
The vanished lower half wailed "Kraaaah!" then went still, utterly inert.