Annihilation in 906 and the Void Beyond
In the closet of the ghost story apartment, we huddled in silence, ears strained toward the sounds from outside. A low hum buzzed, followed by static crackles, and then the panicked voices of the mannequins echoed into the closet.
"Aaaah! Stay away! Why are you coming after us?!"
"Aigoo! I'm dying here!"
"Do you know who I am!? I'm tight with the apartment president—sisters for life!! Aaaah! Sis!!"
Thud!Boom!Screeech! The mannequins' frantic cries filled the air. They shouted about why they were being attacked, but even as the appliances assaulted them, the mannequins couldn't claim to be human. For a ghost story, acting wasn't a choice—it was a chain they were bound to. Mimicking humans was just that for the mannequin ghost stories. Whether the appliances would have believed them anyway was another question.
And so the mutual slaughter between the mannequins and appliances began. All we could do was crouch in the closet, holding our breath, waiting for it all to end.
Sounds of shredding, bursting, shattering. The mannequins' screams and yells went on without end. A stench like burning rubber stung our noses, and flashes of light occasionally leaked through the closet cracks, briefly illuminating the interior.
Then, as if by magic, all the noise fell silent. In the eerie quiet that followed—as if nothing had happened—we cautiously opened the closet door and stepped out.
What we saw was the complete devastation of room 906. The first thing that caught the eye was a computer in the corner, engulfed in flames—specifically, the graphics card blazing away. The fire had spread, leaving scorch marks everywhere. Water poured from the ceiling sprinklers like rain, dousing the blaze, but flames still flickered in spots.
Besides that, unrecognizably smashed and exploded appliances littered the floor, alongside mannequins torn limb from limb, reduced to rubbery lumps of clay. It was utter chaos—a true field of carnage.
The students fell speechless at the gruesome sight. In the midst of the ruins, I blankly recalled the story I'd heard right after regressing. Who was it that said "fire-breathing appliances"? Not the gas stove—it was the computer?
Hm. Come to think of it, a gas stove runs without electricity. It doesn't need power.
As I idly mulled over such foolish thoughts, I realized the outcome in room 906 was the best possible for us. Mutual destruction. Both the appliances and mannequins—wiped out.
I'd thought success meant crippling one side enough for us to finish them off. This? A grand victory.
"Heh. I did say it, didn't I? Mimicking humans is a powerful weapon for a ghost story, but also its greatest weakness."
When facing the mannequin imitating Shin Jong-min, it had twisted its head 180 degrees to grab Rone. Meaning even mannequin ghost stories relied on sight. So in the dark, they might turn on lights seeking a source.
As I spoke casually, Elaine shot me a baffled look.
"When did you ever say that?"
"...Huh. Did I not?"
Did I just think it? I scratched my head awkwardly and turned away. But a satisfied smile played on my lips.
"Alright. With the immediate threat handled, now we find the room with the real password..."
[Ghost Story: Appliances Are Slaughter Machines — Resolved]
[However, since the ghost story's true origin wasn't addressed, the resentment could not be purified.]
My smile froze solid.
A ghost story resolved message? Sure, this was unexpected. From my manual ghost story experience, clearing room 906 was just a tiny part of the overall apartment ghost story.
Destroying the appliances here wouldn't matter without tackling the core concept of the ghost story apartment. But mocking my expectations, the resolution message appeared.
What truly rattled me wasn't the message itself, but its content.
"...Teacher? Why the sudden freeze?"
"Experience tells me whenever you react like this, nothing good follows..."
"Don't jinx it!"
The students chattered beside me, but their words didn't register. A ghost story resolved, yet no resentment purified? A true origin elsewhere? This was a first in all my ghost story encounters.
And the name—Appliances Are Slaughter Machines. Perfect for room 906, but no mention of the apartment or elevator. Strictly limited to that room.
Meaning it was a separate ghost story, not part of the apartment's. So it should resolve fully. It did. Yet no purification?
Why?
"...."
A chilling thought struck. Just considering it sent shivers down my spine.
What if... a ghost story that creates ghost stories? Not a cog linked to the main body, but a mother entity spawning entirely independent ones, unconnected to itself...
Hold on. Could my mere imagination birth such a monstrous apartment? No. Maybe this apartment—this world...
"Teacher! Teacher!"
The students' urgent voices snapped me from my reverie. Irritated at the interruption, I also wondered what fresh disaster warranted such desperation.
"What? What now?"
"Look out the window! Hurry!"
Elaine's voice carried uncharacteristic anxiety. I turned to the balcony beyond room 906, gazing at the apartment's exterior.
The moment the perpetually cloud-shrouded view came into sight, my thoughts halted.
Nothingness. Beyond the apartment grounds stretched endless void—pure darkness. No sky, no earth. The building's edge was ragged, as if torn by some colossal force, irregularly abutting the void.
This ghost story apartment drifted through empty space.
"What... what the hell is this...!"
"Oh god... oh god!"
"Where... where are we right now?"
Elaine, Rone, and Rozalia stared in horror, unable to look away. I was equally speechless, just staring blankly.
If I'd seen this upon first entering, I might not have cared. I'd have assumed the ghost story, based on my imagination, only manifested the apartment, leaving the beyond blank.
But after exploring and gathering info, I couldn't dismiss it anymore. Dozens, hundreds of distinct ghost stories filling this place? No way my imagination or a single ghost story conjured it.
So this world probably wasn't a ghost story creation. It was real. The elevator just a bridge between it and Hypnia.
Then...
Then...
I faced the possibility I'd ignored. This world existed—and had already been destroyed by ghost stories...?
No. Just my wild hypothesis. No evidence...
[Successfully made the correct judgment from the fragments of given information.]
[Ghost Story: Understanding of the Apartment That Generates Disasters increases.]
......
How much time passed? Coming to, I saw the students watching me with concern.
"Teacher, you okay?"
"You just went totally silent..."
"Your face is pale as a ghost, sir."
Their voices brought me back. Losing it here wasn't just my problem. If I broke, they died too. Shocking truths piled up, muddling my mind, but wallowing could wait until we escaped to the academy.
Steeling myself, another realization hit. The wall-mounted TV I'd smashed first in room 906—its anchor had called this "an apartment in Chungju Special City."
Odd. In my previous life, Chungju was a mundane provincial town, famous maybe for one civil servant. No special city status, not even metropolitan.
I'd brushed it off initially, assuming the world was my imagination's product—apartment manifested, surroundings not.
But if real... I frantically searched room 906. If true, evidence would exist.
It did. Items everywhere labeled "Chungju Special City." And the Disaster Countermeasures Headquarters—a public agency I'd never heard of in my old life.
"Ha..."
Strength drained from my body. This world was real. But not mine. A parallel one—eerily similar, yet distinct.
"Teacher...?"
The worried voices pulled me back.
"No. Nothing. Just got dizzy for a sec."
I led them out of 906. We were back in the 8th-floor hallway, before the nameless room.
"This apartment ghost story's stronger than I thought. We need a new plan."
As we walked the corridor, I started briefing changes.
Bang!
A familiar boom—the emergency stairs opening. Trembling, we looked. Beyond: hellish horror. And from its depths, countless mannequins charged eerily.
"Run wherever! No floor's safe!"
"Our residents are already spreading to other floors!"
"We'll avenge the other tenants!"
"Did you kill our little sister!?"
They were furious.
"Crazy! I didn't! The appliances did!"
"Shut up!!"
Panicking, we dove into the nearby elevator, slamming the doors just as the horde closed in.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Mannequins pounded the doors.
"I'll drag you to hell! Heh heh heh!"
"No floor saves you! We're everywhere!"
"Youth rental housing awaits! Honeymoon suites too!"
"Young buck like you should walk stairs! Too old for elevators already? Come out!!"
"Take the stairs!!!!"
Death wasn't the issue—regression fixed that. But mental torment? Dying hurt the psyche; endless torture without death? Worse if they dragged us to hell instead of killing. Aurora would eventually rewind from the clubroom, but the suffering until then... Suicide in here?
"Teacher! Which floor?!"
"Teacher!"
"...Teacher. Wherever, we trust you."
I plunged into anguish. Some way to break this...
Remember. If you'd seen a hint... observed it...!
You could recall it! Surely!
And then, a number flashed in my mind. Not just a number—a sequence.