This time last night, a weird young girl had knocked on the door, asking for Li Xiumei.
And right on the dot tonight, someone was knocking again.
Meng Yifan and I exchanged a glance, then both strode over to the door, pressing our eyes to the peephole one after another.
Sure enough, it was that same girl—the one who'd seemed totally out of her mind.
She was actually back again!
The girl kept rapping on the door, but she didn't say a word, not like she had last night.
I nudged Meng Yifan, whispering, "That's her. The one who was looking for Li Xiumei last night."
Meng Yifan was just as cranky from being woken up as I'd been the night before. His voice dripped with irritation. "Didn't you tell her clearly last night? There's no Li Xiumei here! What's her problem?"
Before I could stop him, Meng Yifan twisted the doorknob and yanked the door open.
My heart leaped into my throat the second the door creaked ajar. A cold, uneasy feeling washed over me, like something terrible was about to happen the moment we opened this door.
But nothing scary happened. Not right away, anyway.
The girl stood there in the hallway, her long black hair cascading down her back, her face looking innocent and pure, her figure tall and slender.
She was dressed exactly the same as last night—a long black dress, paired with those bright red high heels that seemed to glow in the dim hallway light.
Even though no horror movie jump scare popped up, a chill still ran down my spine.
I'd told her straight up last night—so why was she back here again tonight?
Meng Yifan didn't waste any time overthinking it. He crossed his arms over his chest and snapped, "Who are you looking for?"
The girl's face was completely expressionless, her eyes staring off into space like she couldn't focus on anything in front of her. She spoke in the same flat, icy tone as before, "I'm looking for Li Xiumei. Is Li Xiumei home?"
Word for word, exactly the same as last night.
It was like she was stuck in a loop, replaying the same scene over and over again.
Meng Yifan planted his hands on his hips, his patience wearing thin. "Look, lady, you asked the same question last night. I'm telling you—there's no one named Li Xiumei living here. What are you doing back?"
Just like the night before, the girl fell silent, her lips clamping shut tight.
Meng Yifan had a shorter fuse than me, and he was dying to get back to bed. He let out a frustrated sigh. "Quit coming around here, alright? There's no one you're looking for here. Stop disturbing people's sleep!"
With that, he reached for the door, ready to slam it shut.
But out of nowhere, the girl shot her right hand out, her fingers clamping around the edge of the door with a vice-like grip, stopping him from closing it.
That sudden, aggressive move made me jump back, my heart pounding against my ribs.
Meng Yifan's eyebrows shot up, confusion mixing with annoyance on his face. He scowled, "What the hell do you want? Are you out of your mind? If you keep harassing us, I swear I'll call the cops!"
The girl still didn't say a word. Her right hand stayed locked on the door, and slowly, ever so slowly, she lifted her left hand.
I couldn't help but stare at her skin—it was pale. Unnaturally pale, whiter than a corpse that'd been lying in a morgue for days.
Her left hand rose higher, then pointed—directly toward the master bedroom.
I froze, my eyes widening. I turned my head instinctively, glancing back at the master bedroom door down the hall.
By the time I snapped my gaze back to the doorway, Meng Yifan was already growling, yanking the door out of her grip and slamming it shut with a loud bang. He leaned against the door, panting a little, and muttered, "That chick's definitely got a few screws loose."
"Anyway, we're only staying one more night. Let's go back to bed," he added, turning toward the master bedroom.
I quickly grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. "Wait—what if we sleep in another room instead?"
Why had that girl pointed at the master bedroom?
And those cement footprints I'd seen—they'd vanished right at the master bedroom door.
The couple who'd bought the house had complained about the master bedroom too, hadn't they? That's why they'd come to our store making a scene in the first place.
I wasn't a superstitious person, but all these little weird things piling up were starting to make my skin crawl.
That's why I wanted to switch rooms.
"Come on, man," Meng Yifan groaned, giving me a look like I was being ridiculous. "That couple is convinced the master bedroom's cursed or whatever. If we don't sleep in there, what was the point of us coming here?"
He shook his head, his voice turning serious. "If we can't prove the master bedroom's fine, we're not just gonna lose the commission on this house—we'll ruin our store's reputation. And you'll be out nearly $1,400, Second Boss. Remember that?"
Before I could argue, he dragged me into the master bedroom, kicking the door shut behind us.
The guy was such a carefree soul—his sleep quality was just as good as mine. He flopped down onto the bed and was out like a light in seconds.
I was still too on edge to fall asleep right away. I climbed out of bed, double-locked the bedroom door, then climbed back under the covers, hoping that would ease my nerves.
If I'd been alone here tonight, there's no way I would've dared to sleep in this room.
But with a six-foot-tall brute lying next to me, I felt a little bit safer.
Between the beer I'd drunk earlier and the exhaustion from the past two days, it wasn't long before my eyes grew heavy and I drifted off to sleep.
There's this weird thing that happens when you're asleep—sometimes you get woken up by the urge to pee, but you're so out of it that you dream you get up and go to the bathroom. You even have a whole mental image of the process, but in reality, you never moved an inch, and you're still bursting to go.
That's exactly the state I was in right now.
I couldn't tell if I was still dreaming or if I was actually awake. All I knew was that I heard a sound—a soft, rhythmic click-clack, click-clack.
It sounded exactly like someone walking around in high heels.
But I couldn't tell if it was just a dream, or if there was actually someone moving around in the room with us.
My mind was stuck in this hazy, half-awake limbo.
And then I heard another sound—even stranger than the heels.
It was a faint, scraping noise, like a construction worker was plastering a wall, right there beside my ear.
Gradually, my consciousness started to clear, and I picked up on a third sound—one that made my blood run cold.
It was the TV.
The TV was on again!
I jolted upright in an instant, my eyes flying open, just like I had last night—wide awake and terrified.
And just like last night, I wasn't in the master bedroom. I was on the living room sofa.
The TV was flickering in front of me, playing some random late-night show. And the cement footprints—the ones that had vanished without a trace this morning—were back, clear as day, right where I'd seen them before.
A wave of cold dread washed over me, so intense it felt like a winter wind had frozen me solid on the sofa.
But this time, I didn't have time to dwell on my fear. My first thought was to wake Meng Yifan up—to show him the footprints, to prove that I hadn't been hallucinating, that I wasn't crazy.
But then I saw him. And what I saw made my blood turn to ice in my veins.
Meng Yifan was sitting on the other end of the sofa.
Me on one side, him on the other.
He was sitting up straight, his eyes closed tight, and in his hand—he was holding the TV remote.
He was "watching" TV with his eyes shut.