Midnight Department Store - 'Black Friday' (8)
Black smoke cleared, revealing a man in a suit woven from golden thread. He had a generally human build, but there was something off. Where his eyes should have been, the red letters [SOLD OUT] glared back.
The man rose gracefully from his spot and bowed elegantly.
"Hello, esteemed customers. I am the branch manager of this department store."
"We sincerely thank you for participating in our 'Black Friday' event until the very end."
"Now it's time to finish your shopping and head home."
Tension drained from the frozen faces at his words.
"C-can we really go home...?"
"Haa... Thank God. It's really over."
Father Johan clutched his cross tightly and let out a sigh of relief. Baek Si-woo, his tension easing, straightened his shirt collar and muttered,
"It ended easier than I thought. I was on edge for the finale."
They exchanged disbelieving glances, letting out hollow laughs. A hellish journey, ending in such a peaceful closing time.
That was when the branch manager snapped his fingers lightly.
Shrrk.
A marble table rose from the floor. Atop it lay four gleaming golden tickets, neatly arranged.
"However, I must apologize."
"Today's closing tickets are limited in quantity."
"We can only serve the first four."
"...What?"
The smiles vanished from their faces.
"F-four? There are six of us!"
"Then the other two..."
"This makes no sense. After all this, first come first served?"
Baek Si-woo protested with a stiff expression. The ghost story was now forcing them to kill and trample each other.
Then, a sticky voice whispered in my ear.
If you can't buy it... you'll be on display here. Forever.
But... stay still...
Now's the time to stay still...
'Stay still?'
I pondered it deeply. The final hurdle couldn't be something as simple as a race. If it was just grab-and-go, it'd be too anticlimactic.
'Wait.'
Replaying the branch manager's words. This was a department store. How do you take something from a department store?
'Purchase.'
You pay, of course. Grabbing those tickets for free? That's theft.
'It's a trap.'
I was certain. Touch those tickets now, and you'd be labeled a 'thief.'
Twitch.
Kang Chae-young tensed beside me, ready to lunge. I grabbed her shoulder hard.
"Ugh, oppa?"
She turned to me with wide eyes. I shook my head silently, my gaze firm: Don't move.
"..."
She read my eyes, swallowed hard, and nodded.
That was when.
"Move! Get out of the way! I'm first!"
Kim Hyun-soo bellowed and charged the table like a madman. Raw survival instinct had crushed his reason.
"Hyun-soo! Wait!"
Baek Si-woo shouted desperately, but it was futile. Kim Hyun-soo snatched the nearest ticket.
"Haha! Got it! I'm first! Number one!"
He grinned maniacally, waving the ticket in the branch manager's face. The manager gazed down at him impassively.
"You wish to purchase the item."
"An excellent choice."
"Then, the ticket price will be automatically charged."
Snap.
The branch manager snapped his fingers.
"Wh-what? Why's my body...?"
Kim Hyun-soo's face hardened. The luster faded from his vibrant skin, replaced by a stiff, pale plastic sheen.
"I-it won't move... my arms..."
Crack.
His joints twisted unnaturally. Not the sound of human bones breaking—the forced turn of plastic joints.
"S-save me! CEO! Suho hyung! Aaaah!"
His scream cut off abruptly. Kim Hyun-soo had become a mannequin. Dressed in flashy luxury clothes, staring blankly at nothing with empty eyes—a plastic doll.
The branch manager lifted the mannequin effortlessly with one hand and set it in the corner.
"Display item added."
"Y-you demon!"
Father Johan roared in fury. He drew his cross and charged the branch manager.
"In the name of the Lord, I judge you! Begone, foul spirit!"
But the manager didn't flinch.
"Causing a disturbance in the store is problematic, sir."
Shooo—!
The manager's arm stretched like rubber, wrapping tightly around Father Johan's neck in an instant.
"G-guhk..."
"Disruption of business detected."
The manager muttered at the struggling priest.
"For troublesome customers, we will add a penalty fee."
"Payment in full."
"K-krgh...!"
Father Johan's body twisted in midair. His prayer-clasped hands stiffened, his rage-contorted face smoothed into glossy plastic.
Thud.
The cross dropped to the floor. As the manager's grip loosened, another mannequin tumbled down—a display item in clerical robes.
With two "payments" made, only me, Kang Chae-young, Han Jun-hyun, and Baek Si-woo remained.
"...Now the numbers match perfectly."
Han Jun-hyun muttered bitterly. Baek Si-woo wiped sweat from his brow and glanced at me.
"I held back seeing you stay put... Thank goodness."
Was that something to say? This was live on air to tens of thousands. Calling it a relief after colleagues died—something pre-terror Baek Si-woo would never slip up on. Extreme fear must paralyze rational judgment, image be damned.
Then, the branch manager clapped slowly.
"Excellent. Exactly four remain."
"They covered the cost."
"Take the remaining four at your leisure. No additional charges."
No one stepped forward eagerly. The fresh horror was too vivid. As they eyed each other warily, the sticky voice returned in my ear.
Now... it's over...
Take it...
I took a deep breath and walked to the table.
Grab.
I picked up a ticket. Nothing happened. Relief spread across their faces.
"...It's really over."
The others cautiously took theirs. All four tickets claimed.
"To close, simply tear your ticket in half. You'll be teleported to the main entrance."
"Thank you for shopping with us. Goodbye."
The manager bowed 90 degrees. No reason to linger—they gripped their tickets hastily.
"See you outside, everyone. Drinks on me after."
"Yeah, outside! I'll text you!"
"Suho, great job. See you out there."
Rip—!
Han Jun-hyun, Baek Si-woo, and Kang Chae-young tore theirs in turn. Brilliant light enveloped them.
But.
"..."
I didn't tear mine. Instead, I pressed the power button on the action cam pinned to my chest.
Recording off.
'Finally, the camera's off.'
From the ghost story's grasp to now, it had never once stopped. I yanked out the in-ear piece and pin mic roughly, powered them down, stuffed them in my pocket, and stared at the branch manager.
Clap, clap, clap.
The manager clapped slowly.
"Bravo!"
"Truly impressive. Even knowing all the rules from the boss, you didn't blink—ruthlessly driving your comrades to their doom."
"A masterpiece."
'...Didn't expect praise from a ghost story.'
I don't normally discard people callously. But survival demands it. Even lying to them pricked my conscience. They call this method acting—diving too deep into the villain role made it natural.
Rationalizing it like that isn't bad either.
'Rationalizing? I was on the verge of tears from guilt the whole act.'
I wanted to argue, but the manager awaited. Snapping out of it, I overlaid my imagined 'merchant' persona again.
"No time—let's negotiate. Where's this boss you mentioned?"
"Apologies, but the boss is currently away."
The manager bowed politely.
"I have full authority and will negotiate on his behalf."
The manager bowed again. I nodded, flashing a relaxed smile.
"Then, let's see the quote."
I crossed my arms, gesturing around.
"The lineup's different. Feels like a rushed special edition."
I played coy. To haggle cheap, start by picking flaws—that's basics.
"Can't pay full price."
"This is custom service for you."
The manager replied smoothly, unflustered.
"At full difficulty, you'd have wiped on the fourth floor menswear. This was just a teaser. The real event hasn't started."
"Exactly. Downgraded difficulty makes it a service item."
I pressed the opening.
"Charging full price for service ain't ethical. Needs a fair discount. Plus, I'm no stranger to the boss—you should take good care of me."
Bluntly, all bullshit. Service item? Just my ploy to shave price. Did the manager not see through it?
But I had backing. Conviction that the department store ghost story's owner, the 'boss,' favored me greatly. Banking on that solid support, I pushed hard.
"Hmm..."
As expected, the manager tapped the table awkwardly, looking troubled—like an employee minding the boss's mood.
"...A valid point."
Reluctant agreement.
"Then... 1,500 hours."
"Nah, too pricey for a service. 800 hours."
"1,300 hours. Can't go lower."
"1,000 hours. Clean deal here. I'm done haggling, and you need the quota."
I nailed it down. A tense stare-down followed.
Soon, the manager shrugged helplessly.
"...Fine. 1,000 hours."
He extended his hand, adding,
"We never take losses on principle."
"But the boss nagged not to keep his VIP waiting. Can't refuse."
"Just note this:"
"What you've enjoyed so far was a safetied demo."
"This one's the full version."
The manager's mouth split into a grotesque grin.
"No safety nets from here on. Bear that in mind."