When Chen Mo carried the last crate of fake antiques into the warehouse, his back felt like it was about to snap.
Leaning against a shelf, he caught his breath and shouted toward the front of the shop, "Old Man Lin, can we hire a mover or something? I'm only twenty-seven. I don't want a herniated disc this early in life."
Old Man Lin lay on a rocking chair by the doorway, lazily fanning himself with a palm-leaf fan. He didn't even open his eyes.
"I already feel cheated paying you. Hire someone else? Get back to work. Finish up and close the shop."
Chen Mo curled his lip but resigned himself to it and kept moving boxes.
At eleven forty, he finally locked the door and started walking home.
Night fell over him like a basin of cold water was dumped straight onto his head. Once darkness settled, this old street became eerily quiet—so quiet it made the back of his neck feel cold.
His shoes stepped on the uneven concrete road.
One step.
Two steps.
Then he suddenly stopped.
There was no echo beneath his feet.
It was as if this street didn't allow any sound to exist.
Three of the streetlights above were broken, leaving only two still flickering. Their light flashed weakly, like someone breathing softly in the darkness.
Chen Mo kept his head down and hurried forward, not daring to glance into the pitch-black alleys on either side.
His mind was a mess right now—not because he was afraid of ghosts.
Tomorrow was rent day.
And these days, something scarier than ghosts was bills.
Three thousand five hundred yuan salary.
Rent: eighteen hundred.
Utilities: one hundred.
Food: twelve hundred.
Four hundred left.
Last month he attended a wedding and gave two hundred as a gift.
Two hundred left.
Clutching his bank card, the small sense of security he had built up over three years suddenly collapsed.
Twenty-three thousand.
A dry, lifeless number.
It sat in his stomach like a stone.
What could that money even do?
After calculating again and again, he realized it was barely enough to bury someone—cheaply.
Not even enough to pick a decent urn.
The thought was almost ironic.
Spend a lifetime saving money, and in the end, you can't even afford a proper box for your ashes.
He gave a bitter smile.
Then suddenly—
He froze.
A strange sound burst out from the alley.
Chen Mo jumped.
The noise didn't sound right. It wasn't the rustling footsteps of a person. It sounded more like something being violently torn apart.
At first, he thought maybe a plastic sheet was being ripped by the wind.
But when he listened carefully, the sound was wet… sticky… like something damp being slowly shredded.
The moment that thought appeared, the hair on the back of his neck shot upright.
He only wanted to get away from this cursed place as fast as possible.
Chen Mo knew he shouldn't look back.
Only idiots in horror movies looked back.
But the icy sensation of being watched crawled up his spine and into the back of his skull.
His neck turned stiffly.
In the alley stood a woman in a red dress.
She had her back to him.
Under the flickering streetlight, her shadow stretched across the wall, twisted and distorted.
Both her hands were raised beside her face, moving stiffly as if adjusting a mask.
Then—
The skin on her face lifted.
A corner peeled up.
Slowly.
Like old wallpaper being stripped from a wall.
Chen Mo's breathing stopped.
Beneath the mask—
There were no facial features.
Only a smooth dark-red surface.
It gave off a faint, deathly glow.
The surface twitched slightly.
As if some unknown creature were breathing beneath it.
Then something wet and spherical bulged outward from the red surface.
It slowly rotated—
And stared straight at Chen Mo.
Every drop of blood in his body seemed to freeze.
He didn't even dare breathe.
He wanted to run.
Every instinct in his brain screamed at him to run.
But his legs felt like they were filled with lead, nailed to the ground.
He looked down.
His knees were trembling uncontrollably, knocking together like overcooked noodles.
Then he looked up again.
The thing had already drifted closer.
It hadn't even walked.
It simply floated forward like a piece of rag caught in the air.
Ten meters.
Eight.
Five.
The distance collapsed in an instant.
Only one meter remained.
Chen Mo could feel the air tightening around every breath he took.
It stopped in front of him.
Those two cloudy spheres locked onto him, coldly evaluating their prey.
"...You can see me?"
The voice didn't come from a mouth.
There was no mouth.
The sound pushed up from deep inside its abdomen—low, wet, as if transmitted through a thick layer of water.
Chen Mo opened his mouth.
But his throat felt stuffed with wet cotton.
No sound came out.
"You really can see me."
It laughed.
There was no mouth, but Chen Mo could still feel its strange pleasure.
Those two spherical eyes curved slightly, like crescent moons of ice.
It slowly stretched out a hand.
The hand had rotted down to bone.
Dark-red strands of flesh dangled from it.
The fingernails were long—black, sharp, nearly three inches long, gleaming faintly in the darkness.
The nail moved toward him.
Chen Mo tried to dodge.
But his legs wouldn't move.
The nail touched his eyelid.
Cold.
A bone-piercing cold.
His eyeball trembled inside the socket.
"Let me see," the creature said playfully, "what your eyes are made of… that they can see me."
The nail pressed downward.
Slowly.
Chen Mo could clearly feel the tip breaking the surface of his eyelid.
A warm drop of blood slid down his cheek.
It didn't hurt much.
But the anticipation of the puncture was far more terrifying than the pain itself.
It was going to stab through.
It was going to dig out his eyes.
Will I die from the pain?
Or just pass out?
What will it do after pulling them out?
Eat them? Raw? Cook them?
I don't even have salt at home…
What the hell am I thinking?!
Chen Mo felt like he was going insane.
"Meow—!"
A shrill cry tore through the night.
A white cat leapt down from the wall like a bolt of lightning and slammed straight into the creature's face.
Claws slashed down.
The creature screamed.
The sound was indescribable—
Like rusty nails scraping a blackboard.
Like shattered glass grinding against bone.
Like hundreds of rats screaming inside a wall.
Chen Mo clutched his ears and crouched down in agony.
When he looked up again, the creature had retreated to the depths of the alley.
The white cat stood in front of him.
Its fur bristled, body arched like an angry hedgehog.
A low growl vibrated in its throat.
"Meddling creature," the thing hissed coldly. "A half-crippled demon like you dares interfere?"
The white cat didn't move.
The creature stared at it for three seconds, then gave Chen Mo one last long look.
"Fine."
"I'll remember you."
Its body began melting—
Like a candle burning down.
Black smoke flowed onto the ground.
The last thing to disappear was the two spherical eyes.
They stared at Chen Mo.
Stared.
Until the final wisp of smoke vanished.
The alley was empty.
Chen Mo's legs gave out and he collapsed onto the ground.
His heart slammed violently against his ribs.
Is it gone?
It left?
Am I alive?
He looked up at the sky.
Tonight's moon—
Was red.
Not the red of photography filters.
But real red.
Dark, rotten red.
Like a slab of decaying flesh hanging in the sky.
Chen Mo had lived twenty-seven years.
He had never seen a red moon.
He staggered upstairs.
Five floors.
His apartment was on the fifth floor.
Every step made him look back in terror.
Finally, he reached his door.
His shaking hands fumbled with the key.
Click.
He rushed inside and slammed the door shut.
The lights came on.
He finally felt alive again.
But when he passed the bathroom—
He glanced at the mirror.
And froze.
The person in the mirror smiled.
Slowly.
But Chen Mo hadn't moved his mouth.
That wasn't his smile.
His left canine tooth was missing.
But the one in the mirror had none.
It raised a hand and waved.
Its lips moved silently.
Chen Mo could read the words clearly.
"Wait for me."
Chen Mo turned and ran straight into the bedroom.
With a loud **bang**, he slammed the door shut and locked it immediately. Still not satisfied, he dragged a chair over and wedged it tightly against the door, as if that could block out every unknown terror waiting outside.
He scrambled onto the bed and pulled the blanket over himself, wrapping his entire body inside it.
The darkness beneath the blanket felt strangely comforting. Even though it was pitch black, it gave him a faint sense of safety.
His body trembled uncontrollably as he tried to shield himself from the overwhelming fear.
It was a dream.
It had to be a dream.
As long as I wake up, everything will be fine.
Wake up.
Wake up now—
He kept repeating those words in his mind, trying desperately to convince himself that everything was only an illusion, nothing more than a nightmare.
But no matter how hard he tried, the deep, suffocating fear refused to fade.
Inside the blanket it was dark.
Dark—and safe.
But he didn't dare close his eyes.
Because the moment he did, he could see those two spherical things again, silently staring at him from the darkness.
Each heartbeat pounded like the drumbeat of fear.
Every breath carried tension and unease.
He tried to calm himself, taking deep breaths and forcing his tense nerves to relax. But the horrifying images in his mind clung to him like shadows, impossible to drive away.