Chapter 1

　　Fear Strangles

　　"Miss."

　　Muhee didn’t answer. She could feel the taxi driver’s eyes on her in the rearview mirror, so she kept her own tightly shut, pretending to be asleep. The taxi reeked of alcohol; he would probably assume she was passed out drunk.

　　The cab, which had been heading toward her destination, suddenly veered left into a dark alley with few buildings and even less foot traffic. The driver remained silent, only glancing at the rearview mirror occasionally to check on her. Their eyes never met, but a deep, unsettling feeling crept over her.

　　"We’re here, Miss."

　　A blatant lie. She was still far from her destination. There was no way they could have arrived so soon, nor was there any reason for the neighborhood to be this deathly quiet.

　　The driver, his sinister intentions clear, was turning his head with a faint, predatory smile when it happened. A sudden chill filled the backseat, cutting through the heater’s warmth and making the air feel unnervingly cold.

　　A stranger sat beside her, his head bowed low. When had he gotten in? Why had he made no sound? It was astonishing that she hadn’t noticed him sooner; he was enormous.

　　Turning around, the driver caught sight of the man and barely managed to stifle a scream. But when his gaze met the man’s eyes and he saw the tears of blood streaming down his pale face, a raw shriek tore from his throat.

　　"Aaaargh!!!"

　　To abandon his passenger and flee without a second thought… It would be impossible to catch another cab in such a deserted place.

　　As the driver scrambled out and sprinted away, the hulking man turned his gaze toward Muhee. She squeezed her eyes shut, desperately feigning sleep. So this was the source of that persistent, unnerving feeling of being followed.

　　The man’s body flickered, then reappeared in the driver’s seat. He gripped the steering wheel with practiced ease and began to hum. To her horror, the tune was a perfect mimicry of the driver’s terrified scream.

　　In the ensuing silence, the taxi drove safely to its intended destination. She had no idea who had taught him, but he was a better driver than her, whose own license was purely decorative.

　　"Mu. Arrived. You. Know. Right."

　　His voice was a discordant rasp, like static from a broken radio. She had no idea how he knew her name, but he seemed to find it difficult to pronounce, shortening it to "Mu." The nickname was deeply unsettling.

　　Muhee let out a theatrical yawn and stretched as if she were just waking up, careful not to even glance at the driver’s seat.

　　"Thank you, sir. Have a good night!"

　　She had deliberately chosen a taxi with automatic payment, so she swung her legs out of the car without a backward glance. From his words, the man clearly knew she’d been awake the entire time, but she was determined to feign ignorance until the very end. Ghosts, they said, grew more tenacious when they knew you could see them.

　　I have to get home fast, before he follows me into the elevator!, she thought to herself.

　　The building’s security guard will probably throw a fit tomorrow about an abandoned taxi at the entrance. But even if he checked the security footage, the driver’s seat would appear empty throughout.

　　A cold sweat broke out on her skin as she moved to swing her other leg out.

　　Thump.

　　A large hand seized her ankle. The cold was startling, seeping into her bones.

　　"Good. Bye. Mu. Sweet. Dreams."

　　Sweet dreams, from a ghost? Was that his twisted way of wishing her nightmares? She shook her ankle frantically, and to her relief, he let go.

　　Not even bothering to close the taxi door, Muhee scrambled out and ran for the apartment building.

　　The sound of the car door closing echoed behind her. Of course, there was no one there.

* * *

　　She had once witnessed a murder in a dream. It took place somewhere unfamiliar, the victim a stranger, and she had watched her own helpless form from a third-person perspective, a tense, suffocating feeling pressing in on her. It wasn’t the sight of the man, larger than her, collapsing that had frightened her. It was the absolute stillness of his body, limp and lifeless, that was truly terrifying. She woke the moment she realized the fallen man’s lifeless gaze was fixed on her.

　　It had all been a dream, but its reality was suffocatingly vivid.

　　"Please…"

　　She wasn’t naturally weak-spirited, nor did she have any shamanistic lineage. So why did this keep happening? This wasn’t her first encounter with a ghost. She had seen them several times in high school and had even endured a reality far more horrifying than any of her dreams. But a period of peaceful normalcy had followed, and she’d allowed herself to believe it was over.

　　She realized how wrong she was after that dream. Exactly one week ago, she had witnessed a stranger’s murder. Her body had felt paralyzed, forced to hide and watch as the nameless man was struck down. The victim’s final gaze had been locked on her dream-self, and ever since, her life had become a waking nightmare.

　　"Please…"

　　Muhee clamped her mouth shut. She couldn’t tell if it was dawn or early morning. The voice sounded like a woman’s, but also like a child’s. She was alone in the house, which meant the voice wasn’t human.

　　"Please. Hehe."

　　The voice mimicked her earlier plea, its mocking tone whispering directly into her ear. Was it beside her bed? Or was it clinging to the ceiling, looking down? Either possibility was horrifying.

　　She wished she could faint, but the human mind rarely grants such an easy escape.

　　A cool sensation brushed against her forearm. It wasn’t skin. It was hair. From the feel of the few strands, she deduced it was a female ghost, hanging from the ceiling with her hair dangling down. If the sound was this close, its face was probably right in front of hers.

　　Why don’t ghosts ever tie up their hair? It’s hanging down so perfectly, not even a hint of static in this dry winter air. Fucking great, she wondered, frustrated.

　　Too terrified to speak, she ground her teeth, the bravado a silent snarl in her mind. If she answered, if she reacted, it would only take more pleasure in tormenting her. They said the most dangerous ghosts were the ones that laughed and the ones that danced. This one was laughing.

　　So it was dangerous.

　　Suddenly, a knock echoed through the silent room. The one who always waited outside her front door… what was it doing? She had hoped it would disappear with the taxi, but it seemed to have followed her all the way home.

　　At the sound of the knock, a sharp click of a tongue echoed in the room, and the female ghost’s voice and the tickle of her hair vanished.

　　One thing she’d learned over the past week was that this polite, knocking ghost seemed to be strangely protective of her. Like earlier tonight, when the taxi driver had tried to take her to a deserted place, and again just now.

　　This ghost, the one who called her by the absurd nickname "Mu," was a complete mystery. She had no idea why it lingered or why it insisted on communicating with her. The only thing she knew for certain was that he was an excellent driver.

　　"Mu. Sweet. Dreams."

　　Damn it. Without so much as an invitation, his voice was suddenly right beside her. She hadn’t even heard the door open! That bastard didn’t even try to hide that he was a ghost! And what the hell was so important about these "sweet dreams" anyway?

　　Why was he inside today instead of outside? This was breaking and entering!

　　But the Muhee of this moment was a demure, sleeping woman. She said nothing, forcing her expression to remain as peaceful as possible, even twitching her lips into the semblance of a pleasant smile. Perhaps seeing the tremor in her lips, the hulking ghost’s voice fell silent.

　　Is he gone? But ghosts always seemed to linger just when you thought they’d left. This was not the time to open her eyes. Cautious as ever, Muhee forced herself to sleep, fervently singing hymns in her head. She was an atheist, so of course, no god was going to save her in this moment.

　　"There, there. Sleep now?"

　　She desperately choked back a laugh. That son of a bitch. He’s definitely testing me. Having survived another one of his cunning ploys, a small, satisfied smile touched her lips. She remained blissfully unaware that, beside her bed, the man was leaning low over her, staring intently down at her face.

　　The morning sun was dazzling. The mysterious ghosts that haunted her only appeared between nightfall and dawn, so her mornings were relatively safe. She had never once encountered them in the daylight.

　　She slowly rose, washed her face, and picked at her breakfast with a heavy sigh. Her shoulders slumped with such exhaustion that her fatigue was almost contagious. She stared at the veranda window.

　　It was covered in countless red handprints, as if a crowd had been desperately trying to force open the sealed glass.

　　"I just cleaned this yesterday," she mumbled to herself.

　　It was the exact spot where the upside-down ghost frequently appeared. Thankfully, it wasn’t there now. She dampened a cloth, opened the window, and stepped out onto the narrow balcony. The dark red palm prints varied in size. Some were as small as a child’s, while others seemed to belong to an adult with slender fingers.

　　To anyone else, the sight would have been terrifying, but Muhee was now numb to it. As long as they didn’t cause her direct harm, she was willing to consider this a minor annoyance.

　　I haven’t had a single night of peaceful sleep all week, she sighed as she pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. How much longer could she endure this? With no one to confide in, she had suffered in silence.

　　Today, she finally resolved to leave, just until her parents returned from their trip abroad.

　　She crammed her essentials into a suitcase, pressing them down firmly. She had to be gone before sunset. Since she’d never left the apartment before, she didn’t know if they would follow her, but anything was better than staying here and slowly losing her mind.

　　I just hope they lose interest and piss off somewhere else.

　　She didn’t believe in shamanic exorcist rituals, nor did she plan on relying on them. She would handle this on her own for as long as she could. She’d cried until her tears ran dry; now it was time to get a grip. Muhee was timid and quick to tears, but she was also someone who could face reality and fight back.

　　As she opened the front door, the sound of her suitcase wheels rattled behind her. A single strand of black hair peeked out from under the case before being swiftly sucked back inside. No one, not even Muhee, noticed.

　　Stepping outside, she took a deep breath, frowning as the cool air—a stark contrast to the bright sun—filled her lungs. The chill was unwelcome.