The whisper in the dark—"Jaaake…"—sent my heart into overdrive, like a hamster on a Red Bull-fueled wheel. My back was glued to the hospital corridor wall, the flickering lights making the place feel like a haunted house at a county fair. When the lights snapped back on, I spun around, and my blood froze. Ethan Caldwell was there, dangling from the ceiling, his bloodshot eyes locked on me, tongue lolling like a grotesque party favor. The rope snapped, and he crashed to the floor with a sickening thud.
I hit the deck, my legs folding like a cheap lawn chair. "Next… it's you… you…" Ethan hissed, his voice a raspy nightmare. He crawled toward me, blood dripping, his grin all teeth and malice. I tried to scream, to call for Ryan, but my voice was AWOL, my body paralyzed like I'd been zapped by a taser.
Scrambling backward, I bolted for the bathroom where Ryan was, but the corridor ahead was a black void, like the power had crapped out. Ethan's bloody hands clawed closer, his whispers chasing me. I sprinted into the darkness, my lungs burning, no end in sight—just an endless tunnel of nope. Every glance back showed Ethan gaining, his hollow eyes promising a one-way ticket to Deadsville.
A blinding white light flared, and I skidded to a stop, shielding my eyes. I braced for Ethan to pounce, but a strong hand yanked me sideways. The icy dread vanished, and Ethan was gone. In his place? The temple guy, Tim, swinging a sword like he was auditioning for Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. He wasn't in his hoodie now—full Taoist gear, robes and all, looking like he'd just stepped out of a wuxia flick.
"Tim? What the—how are you here?" I gasped, my brain struggling to catch up.
He sheathed his sword with a flourish, smirking. "Name's Tim Nguyen, not 'Master.' After you left the temple, I did some cosmic math—your aura's screaming 'ghost bait.' Figured you'd get jumped tonight. Good thing I'm quick on the draw."
I blinked, realizing I was in the hospital's outdoor garden, not the corridor. Flowers swayed in the moonlight, and the air smelled like grass, not antiseptic. "Wait, I was inside! How'd I end up out here?"
Tim chuckled, dusting off his robes. "Ghost trick, my friend. That spirit had you in a loop—blinded you, made you run in circles. It's got some serious grudge juice. Granny wasn't kidding about your bad juju."
My phone buzzed—Ryan. I told him where I was, and he jogged over, looking like I'd just pulled a Houdini. "Dude, you ditched me! I said wait in the hall, not go for a midnight stroll!"
I forced a laugh, still shaky. "Thought I was heading to you, but… long story. Ghost stuff." I recapped the Ethan chase, pointing at Tim. Ryan's skepticism hit peak levels, his eyes narrowing at Tim like he was a conman selling haunted timeshares.
"Ghosts? Really?" Ryan scoffed, crossing his arms. "What's next, a werewolf barista? I'm here for evidence, not campfire tales."
Tim shrugged, unfazed. "Believe what you want, cop. You're too grumpy for ghosts to bother with—too much bad vibes. But this one? It's a heavy hitter. Jake's got a target on his back."
Ryan's phone pinged with a case update, cutting the argument short. We piled into his car and headed to my apartment, the game's shadow looming over us like a bad Netflix sequel. Tim stepped inside and immediately wrinkled his nose. "Whoa, this place is gloomier than a goth kid's diary. Major bad mojo."
I pointed to my bed. "Granny gave me a charm. It's under my pillow. Kept things quiet… mostly."
Tim nodded, impressed. "That talisman's the only reason you're not a ghost's chew toy right now. Granny was sharp."
Ryan, still Team Science, lit a cigarette, his patience thinner than a dollar-store paper towel. "Enough with the hocus-pocus. You're saying ghosts are behind these murders? That's the lamest excuse since 'my dog ate my homework.' What's the deal?"
Tim's smirk faded, his tone serious. "Not just any ghosts. This one's got rage for days—probably tied to that game. It's not code; it's a conduit. Something's using it to pick off players."
I fired up my laptop, the game's blood-red text glaring: "Ready to Descend into Hell?" Ryan leaned in, muttering, "This better not crash my case." I clicked to start, expecting another Cheat Pass, but… nada. I logged out, logged back in, rebooted—still nothing. No treasure chest, no creepy imp. Just the same hellish menu.
"What gives?" Ryan asked, tapping the desk like an impatient DMV clerk. "Game's busted?"
I stared at the screen, a theory forming. "Maybe… it's done. Emily, Mike, Max, Ethan, Claire—all dead. If the game's out of targets, maybe it's over." But doubt gnawed at me. "No, that's too easy. There's no 'You Win' screen. It's not finished."
As if on cue, a new message crawled across the bottom of the screen: "Want to See the Real Hell, Jake? Come Find It." My stomach dropped like I'd just missed a step on a staircase. Tim reacted faster, slamming the monitor's power button. "Too much bad energy," he said, his face tight. "That thing's a beacon for trouble. Granny knew this was big—why she sent you to me."
Ryan threw up his hands, smoke curling from his cigarette. "Great. So how do we catch a ghost? Call Ghostbusters? I need a perp, not a priest!"
Tim's eyes gleamed, his voice low. "If the killer's not human, your handcuffs are useless. This game's a trap, and Jake's the bait. We need to shut it down—permanently."
I swallowed hard, the message's words burning in my mind. The game wasn't just playing me—it was inviting me to Hell. And with Tim's warning and Ethan's ghost still fresh, I had a feeling the next level was about to get personal.