Chapter 4

　　And in that exact moment, she woke up.

　　"Hah…!"

　　Muhee shot awake from where she’d been dozing in the corner, her hand flying to her neck slick with cold sweat. A breeze seeped in from the window, yet she was burning up. Dark circles bruised the skin under her eyes as she staggered to her feet. The bright sunlight streaming into the room was hardly conducive to sleep, but Muhee was grateful for the brief, fleeting respite.

　　He must have left.

　　She opened the bedroom door to a silent apartment. After a quick scan of the empty living room, Muhee made a beeline for the refrigerator. The moment she opened it, she was met by a pair of vivid red eyes. She tore her gaze away.

　　Don’t acknowledge it. Just don’t.

　　As she reached for a bottle of water in the door, the ghost of a small boy that had been huddled inside the fridge crawled out. His brown hair was as fluffy as a cloud. The child, who barely reached her thigh, stared up at her, his gaze unnervingly intense. She held the refrigerator door open, a silent command for him to get back inside, but he showed no sign of complying. Instead, a small body latched onto her leg with a deathly grip. An unnatural chill seeped through her jeans.

　　"Sa-ve… me…"

　　From what? Was this some evil spirit trying to lure her into a trap with a pity play? She ignored his words and took a step, but her leg felt impossibly heavy. Still, she nonchalantly did a lap around the living room as if exercising, but he only clung tighter, like a sloth to a branch. This feels familiar. She pressed her throbbing temples, trying to dismiss the thought. Against her will, the leg the ghost was clinging to began to move toward the window.

　　"Save… me."

　　It was a small window; no one could fall out of it. So why did a knot of dread tighten in her stomach as her body shuffled closer? Only her reflection stared back from the opaque glass.

　　A loud bang erupted from the other side, as if someone had slammed their fist against the pane. A perfect, clear handprint materialized on the glass. Muhyeok’s studio was on the sixth floor.

　　"Don’t ignore me."

　　The complete sentence, clear and cold in her mind, sent a wave of pure terror through her. She risked a glance at the window and saw a fine crack spiderwebbing across the glass. Damn it. For the first time, Muhee willingly looked down at the child ghost—the first spirit besides the hunky one who called her Mu, that she had ever faced by choice.

　　Red eyes. They were the same eyes that had stared down at her from her family’s window, the ghost hanging upside down.

　　She let out a low sigh, her face a mask of exhaustion as she pinched the bridge of her nose. Dark circles hung like weights beneath her eyes. She stood frozen for a long moment, the ghost’s persistent gaze boring into her. Finally, she surrendered. At this point, exhaustion had eclipsed fear.

　　"What am I supposed to do? How the hell can I save you? You’re already dead."

　　"Save me."

　　"And what? You’ll come back to life if I die in your place? Is that why you’re trying to throw me out the window?"

　　"No. Don’t die."

　　The answer caught her off guard. Don’t die? After terrorizing her, after watching her from the shadows?

　　"Then what the hell do you want from me?!"

　　"Let me stay by your side."

　　"You already are! You watch me, you follow me, even when I don’t want you to."

　　"That’s not enough. Muhee has to accept us."

　　"What in the world does that even mean?"

　　She wasn’t a shaman. She didn’t have any special powers. Muhee leaned against the wall, her legs giving out as she slid to the floor. The moment she was sitting, a fresh wave of fatigue washed over her, her eyelids drooping. If only she could have one good night’s sleep. Just one.

　　"Muhee. Are you sleepy?"

　　Muhee, who had been blinking slowly, her face etched with fatigue, stopped responding. She had been running on sheer willpower, but she had finally hit her limit. Her body, already on the verge of collapse, had been pushed past its breaking point.

　　As her head slumped to the side, two small hands gently caught it. The child ghost carefully lowered her head to the floor as if handling a sacred relic, then climbed onto her gently rising and falling stomach. Muhee groaned in her sleep, a deep frown creasing her brow, but she remained oblivious.

　　"I’ll protect Muhee while she sleeps." The child ghost began to clap its hands in a steady rhythm, glaring at the blank wall. Long, black strands of hair, which had been slithering down from the ceiling, froze at the sound.

　　Clap. Clap. Clap.

　　Under the relentless clapping and the child ghost’s fierce gaze, the hair hastily retreated, vanishing back into the ceiling. Once the threat was gone, the child lowered its hands and glanced toward the window. The burly man was peering in from outside the six-story building.

　　"Go away. She’s mine." The child ghost shooed him away with a wave of its hand. While the child glared, its red eyes burning with vigilance, the man just stared at the sleeping Muhee, his expression unreadable. A moment later, he passed through the wall and into the room, approaching her. The child ghost trembled with a protective fury, the vibrations causing Muhee’s frown to deepen.

　　"Mu… sweet… dreams."

　　"You. Go away. I said, Muhee is mine. I won’t give her to you."

　　"Lu-lla-by… lu-lla-by…"

　　A monotone lullaby echoed in Muhee’s ears. The child ghost seethed at the man’s dismissive attitude, but it knew a tantrum would be useless. He can’t even speak properly because Muhee keeps rejecting him. A smirk touched the child’s lips as it looked at the man, who was clearly in a worse position than himself. The man paid it no mind, continuing his disjointed lullaby while lightly, rhythmically tapping Muhee’s cheek, careful not to hurt her. It was unnervingly on beat.

* * *

　　It was a bizarre dream. This time, Muhee was fully aware she was dreaming as she stood before her old high school, dark and silent. She was alone in the alley, the lone streetlight casting long, dancing shadows around her as she stared intently at the building. A dream. She was certain of it for one simple reason: unless she had completely lost her mind, she would never, ever come back here by her own accord.

　　The only sound was the ragged rasp of her breathing. She refused to recall what happened in high school. The memories from that time—when she couldn’t tell dreams from reality, when she’d disgraced her family and endured the scornful whispers of others—were her own personal hell.

　　As expected, the Muhee in the dream began walking toward the school, moving against her will. The building was unlocked, empty of guards or students. It felt as though unseen eyes were watching her from the darkened windows, their uncertain gazes crawling over her skin. A cold sweat trickled down her back. She couldn’t tell if the sensation belonged to the Muhee in the dream or the Muhee watching it unfold.

　　Her dream self moved diligently, her feet carrying her up the stairs. She was about two floors up, still ascending toward the roof, when she suddenly heard footsteps behind her.

　　It was a sickening sound. Not the steady rhythm of someone walking, but the heavy, singular impact of someone jumping up the stairs, two feet at a time. Dream-Muhee’s face went deathly pale, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the railing. The horrifying, dreadful truth dawned on the real Muhee, the observer. This wasn’t just a dream. It was a memory. A moment she’d desperately tried to excise from her mind.

　　Senior year of high school. She had been so frustrated, so tired of being called a crazy bitch for being unable to distinguish dream from reality, that she’d become obsessed with proving it was all true. And where had that gotten her?

　　She was on the rooftop, camera in hand, standing on the narrow ledge of the railing. She had no idea how the rooftop door, always locked, had been open that day.

　　"Sh-show yourself!" her past self cried out. "You said you’d let me take a picture if I came!"

　　All that had mattered then was proving to her friends that her fear was real, not a plea for attention. The ghost that had haunted her back then had whispered to her, night after night, as she suffered in silence.

　　"Come to the school rooftop. Take a picture there, and I’ll help you prove it."

　　She couldn’t remember if the voice had been male or female. She leaned against the railing, turning the camera to face her as instructed. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she watched the screen, but only her own terrified face looked back.

　　"Where are you? You promised!" she yelled.

　　"A promise?"

　　The voice whispered right in her ear, and a wave of goosebumps washed over her. She looked up. A figure was bent over the railing, smiling down at her. Its face was obscured by a curtain of hair, and its form shifted with every blink—an old man, then a child, a woman, then a man.

　　"Right. I promised. I’ll help you prove I exist."

　　"R-right. So let me get you on camera…!"

　　"I’ll prove it when you die." The deal had changed. The railing beneath her feet splintered and broke. Her body tilted backward, the world turning slowly upside down. Her eyes flew open in shock, and she lunged, her fingers desperately catching the edge.

　　The broken section of fence crashed to the ground below with a deafening clatter. The grotesque creature stood on her hands, its single foot pressing down. It giggled, the pressure increasing, urging her to let go.

　　The real Muhee, watching the scene replay, squeezed her eyes shut, the memory of that terror flooding back. But she knew a greater horror was yet to come. From the rooftop door, she heard the frantic sound of someone running up the stairs. A moment later, a figure burst through—a face the real Muhee hadn’t seen in a very long time.

　　"Muhee!!" her father cried out.

　　His face was ashen, his shoes half-off as if he’d thrown them on in his haste. He couldn’t see the ghost; he just saw his daughter. He rushed forward, struggling to pull her up, his hands straining. But it was no use. The ghost stared at him, and the real Muhee reached out, a useless, desperate gesture.

　　No!

　　Her hand passed through empty air. The ghost watched the wailing father and daughter, its mouth stretching into a sickening, inhuman grin. It skittered down the wall and whispered in her ear.

　　"Scared to die? Want me to kill someone for you? No one will ever know."

　　She had no time to answer. Her father’s body pitched forward, falling into the open air. Even as he fell, his last, worried gaze was locked on his daughter, still clinging to the ledge. And what had she done? The Muhee from the past, now somehow safely back on the rooftop, could only stare blankly at her father’s fallen form below.

　　Rain began to fall, a sudden, violent downpour that mirrored the tears she couldn’t shed. That day became the anniversary of his death.

　　"You’re next."

　　Even over the drumming of the rain, the voice was unnervingly clear, a chilling echo in her ears.