Warnings in Invisible Ink
As the rampage of the haunted appliances in the Ghost Story Apartment finally ground to a halt, a suffocating silence settled over room 906. We stared at one another, our bodies utterly drained of strength. We knew the appliances wouldn't stir again now that we'd flipped the breaker and cut the power, but stepping into that trashed interior was the last thing we wanted. Still, lingering out in the creepy apartment hallway felt just as wrong. In the end, we slumped down right there in front of the shoe cabinet at 906 to catch our breath.
"Teacher... I really thought we were goners. Why are the appliances in your world so terrifying?"
"No, I keep telling you—they're not like this normally. It's all because of the ghost story."
"What kind of ghost story makes a single room this deadly just from poking around?"
"That's exactly what I want to know. For real."
We spent a good while there, steadying our breaths and recovering our stamina. Sitting on the cold entryway floor, the sweat-soaked chill began to seep into our bodies. As the tension eased, exhaustion crashed down like a weight on our shoulders.
How much time passed? Eventually, we hauled ourselves up. We were still beat, but not on the verge of collapse like before.
"Alright, let's head out again."
I readjusted my grip on the flashlight and opened the door to 906. The students, shaking off their fatigue, followed close behind. This flashlight was going to be essential for investigating the rest of the apartment, that much was clear.
....
Stepping out of 906, the hallway looked completely different from when we'd entered. The 9th-floor corridor itself hadn't changed—it was just our perspective on it that had shifted.
I raised the flashlight from 906, switched it to UV light mode, and shone it down the hall. The purple glow cut through the darkness, revealing messages that had been utterly invisible before, painted boldly on the walls and floor.
THIS HALLWAY IS NOT SAFE
THEY ARE WATCHING
EXIT IS LIE
All written in invisible paint that only showed under UV light. The students froze, turning to me with wide eyes.
"Teacher! Wh-what are all these symbols...?"
Rozalia gaped in horror, her eyes bulging.
"No, they don't look random—there's a pattern. Not symbols... letters? From your world?"
Elaine, staying the calmest, was the first to recognize them as writing.
"Come to think of it, I swear I saw something like this floating up in that room earlier... Is this part of the ghost story too?"
Rone shot me a questioning look, as if a memory had just clicked.
I had no time to answer their questions. I swept the flashlight busily across the hallway.
"Not sure... but probably not the ghost story itself."
...Maybe messages left by a survivor who'd been caught in it before us. I swallowed the rest, giving them only a curt reply. Right now, it was just baseless speculation without proof. And even if it was from another survivor, there were parts that made no sense. No way to say for sure yet.
I shone the UV light on the door we'd just escaped—906. Right in the center, a massive TRAP appeared, topped with a bold X mark.
X
Starting with 906, I checked the other doors lining the hall. 901, 902, 903... Every single door on the 9th floor had a huge X slashed across it. Did X mean unsafe? Or already checked? It felt ominous, but I couldn't decode it.
To test the X's meaning, I picked the nearest door—905, right next to 906. Below the X: MEAT.
X
A fridge stocked with meat? The door had a lock, but like the breaker box, the code was in UV-only paint. (For reference, 906 had one too—made cracking it the hard way feel pointless in hindsight. Though we had to break in somewhere to get the UV light.)
I punched in the code fast and swung open 905. The moment the door cracked, an intense red filled my vision.
"What the...? The whole place painted red?"
Bad vibes. Ominous. A stench, maybe? And the interior looked lumpy—weird bulges everywhere on walls, floor, ceiling. Like the guts of some massive animal.
Then I caught it: the uneven floor writhing roughly.
'Damn it!'
Instinct kicked in—I slammed the door shut.
Bang! The red vanished from sight.
"Teacher! What was that just now!?"
"A room painted red?"
"T-Teacher... that was..."
Some club members seemed to grasp what it was; others didn't. I was in the "grasped it" camp. It wasn't painted red. The entire room was the throat of some colossal creature.
The students froze in shocked horror at my words. Meat meant the room itself was meat. Never opening 905 again.
But now it was clear: X on the doors meant "out." 906 had berserk appliances; 905 was a monster masquerading as a room. Did every unit hide a different ghost story? What kind of insane difficulty was this? We'd burn through resentment energy way too fast. Lucky the warnings were in UV paint, or we'd be dead.
I swept the UV light across the hall again. Doors everywhere, but every one marked with an X. After 905, no desire to test another...
I turned, glancing back. At the hall's end: the elevator we'd ridden up.
...Maybe scout a different floor? With the 9th floor's X's confirmed, we headed to the elevator. Before calling it, I checked the emergency stairs—just in case. Looked like normal stairs, with EXIT IS SAFE scrawled in red letters out front.
Yeah. In regular red letters. Not UV-reactive.
I hit it with the UV light. The purple beam lit the stairwell entrance—and I froze wordlessly. Over the red EXIT IS SAFE, bolder and larger than anything yet: EXIT TO HELL.
A warning that the exit led straight to hell. I wasn't bored enough to test stairs labeled "hell" with a straight face.
"Guess... elevator it is."
I let go of any stairwell hopes and hit the call button. Ding— The elevator hummed to life. While we'd been in 906, it'd moved. Display read: 7182nd floor. What the hell? Highest I'd seen was around 20.
The four-digit number plummeted fast. That bizarre floor number spiked my unease, but no alternatives.
"Let's try the 1st floor first."
The students eyed me, wanting reasons.
"If it links back to the academy's 1st floor, we've got an escape route. Even if not, the apartment lobby might let us scout outside—could reveal something."
"Got it."
They nodded. Not a perfect ghost story solution, but the most logical move now.
We piled in and hit 1. Tension thick as we descended a few floors.
[Ding-dong!]
1st Floor.
The doors slid open—and the sight hit us like a gut punch. Even I gasped. Red flesh tendrils snaked across the lobby like grotesque vines, withered limbs tangled in their coils. No guessing what those limbs were from.
Soon, the countless fleshy vines writhed, slithering toward the elevator.
"Eeeek!"
The students barely managed stifled gasps. I mashed the close button like a maniac. Thankfully, the tentacles weren't lightning-fast—the doors sealed just in time.
"What... what was that, Teacher?!"
"Exactly what you saw."
"Flesh all tangled like tree roots!"
"The ghost stories aren't just in the rooms!?"
Tell me about it. Not just rooms at risk—entire floors could be hazard zones. This damn apartment gave zero breaks. Hitting 9th floor first by accident was a mercy; starting there would've been instant wipe.
No escaping via 1st floor now—that plan was scrapped. Charging through? Just four more nutrients for the meat vines.
Trapped in the elevator, we pondered our next floor. Survival was the issue now, not intel gathering. If only floors were marked like the 9th...
Wait.
"Guys, block the ceiling light as much as you can!"
They shielded the dim overhead lamp with their bodies. In the sudden gloom, I shone the flashlight inside.
Fluorescent glare had hidden them before—now, letters emerged on the walls. Just as I'd guessed. A survivor thorough enough to mark rooms and halls wouldn't skip the elevator, the only way between floors besides the hell stairs.
One wall was crammed with exactly what we needed: dangerous floors, safe ones. And a message for us.