Byrne froze when he saw the invitation on the coffee table. He was certain that when he was eating breakfast earlier, there was nothing on this table. Clearly, the invitation had appeared during the interval after Bryce knocked on the door.
The black cover had a matte texture, and it felt less like paper and more like a type of firm animal hide. The invitation bore no signature or postmark; only a bizarre mask design was embroidered in silver thread in the center of the cover. The mask had hollow eyes and a mouth upturned all the way to the ears in a mocking grin. The silver thread glinted coldly in the morning light, emitting a faint sense of malice.
Byrne broke the seal of the invitation. Inside was a single white page made of the same material as the cover, with several lines of dark red handwriting.
[To the Invitee: Mr. David Byrne.]
[By opening this letter, you have confirmed your attendance. This gathering will be held tonight at 9:00 PM at the Red Maple Theater in the city. Please be sure to arrive on time.]
[Attendance Guidelines:]
[1. You must wear the designated mask to the gathering. The mask will be delivered before 7:00 PM.]
[2. During the gathering, you are not allowed to initiate conversation with others. You may only speak when asked a question, and your response must not exceed one hundred words.]
[3. Under no circumstances should you let others know your true identity.]
[4. The gathering will end at midnight. You are not allowed to leave early. At the end of the gathering, you must leave your mask on your seat; you may not take it with you, nor may you destroy it.]
Red Maple Theater...
Byrne only skimmed the contents of the inner page before his gaze locked onto those four words. He was all too familiar with the location mentioned in the invitation. It was one of the landmark buildings in the old district of the city, which had closed three years ago following a bizarre fire.
He still remembered the news reports at the time. The fire had burned for an entire night, and the flames had turned half the sky over the old district red. The interior of the theater was burned beyond recognition, yet, miraculously, not a single corpse was found.
Even stranger was that when the fire department investigated the scene afterward, they couldn't find a single point of origin. The wooden structures of the theater were charred black, but the exterior walls were completely intact, without even a trace of smoke staining.
The incident had caused a huge stir in the city at the time, with all sorts of rumors flying around. Some said the theater was haunted and the fire was the work of vengeful spirits; others claimed it was a man-made disaster intended to cover up some secret. Regardless, no concrete evidence was ever found, and the fire became a cold case.
Later, an investor took an interest in the land, but strangely, accidents happened one after another once the construction team arrived. First, an excavator mysteriously lost control and crashed into a wall, throwing the driver out and breaking his leg. Then, a worker suddenly fell into a coma while clearing rubble. After several such incidents, no one dared to take on the demolition project anymore. Ultimately, the owner gave up, and the Red Maple Theater had remained derelict until now.
Thinking of that untraceable fire and the string of accidents during construction, and connecting them to the nature of Rule Ghost Stories, Byrne even suspected that the Red Maple Theater itself was under the influence of the phenomena. Tonight's gathering was less an invitation and more a carefully designed hunt.
Byrne rubbed the bridge of his nose. There were still more than ten hours before the gathering began; thinking too much was useless, so he decided to go to work first. He would deal with the evening's events when the time came.
Fifteen minutes later, Byrne was ready and headed out. While taking the Route 307 bus, he sat in his usual spot near the back door. Along the way, he used his phone to search for old news regarding the Red Maple Theater. He checked the forums again but still couldn't find any relevant posts.
Half an hour later, Byrne arrived at his company. As soon as he walked into the office area, his team members surrounded him. They were in the middle of a heated discussion about the project revision plan, their voices full of excitement about securing the partnership. No one noticed the gravity in Byrne's expression.
"Team leader Byrne, regarding the lobby's artistic styling that President Sarah mentioned, we've come up with two new directions. Which one do you think fits the modern aesthetic better?"
A designer named Guss handed over a tablet. The screen displayed two vastly different designs: one with minimalist lines and another incorporating metal hollow-out elements. Byrne pushed aside his thoughts about the Red Maple Theater and took the tablet to review it carefully. Work allowed him to temporarily escape the gloom of the Rule Ghost Stories and keep his mind sharp. After all, tonight's gathering held too many unknowns; only by remaining calm could he respond effectively.
He pointed to the minimalist design and highlighted specific details for optimization: "This direction is good. Adjust the curvature at the bottom a bit more to avoid conflict with the ceiling lighting; the cost will also be more controllable."
After some discussion, the framework for the revisions was essentially settled. Byrne assigned the tasks and entered his office. He had just brewed a cup of coffee and taken a few sips when the internal phone on his desk rang. Before he could speak, he heard Jones' voice.
"Byrne, come to my office. President Sarah's assistant just sent a message saying that President Sarah has new requirements. I need to sync with you."
"Alright, I'm coming."
Byrne hung up and smiled helplessly. Truly a typical client—the moment the revision framework was decided, new ideas arrived. Fortunately, the plan wasn't finalized yet, so adjustments wouldn't be too troublesome.
A moment later, Byrne pushed open the door and saw Jones frowning at his phone, his finger tapping unconsciously on the desk. Seeing him enter, Jones immediately beckoned him over and handed him the phone.
"Look, the message President Sarah's assistant just sent. She says she passed by an art museum last night and suddenly had a new idea to add more artistic styling to the guest room corridors."
Byrne took the phone and looked at the WeChat chat. His gaze fell on the assistant's description of the artistic styling and the attached reference photos. After finishing, he placed the phone back on the desk and smiled.
"President Sarah's idea is certainly novel, but the guest room corridors themselves have limited width. If the dimensions of the artistic styling aren't controlled well, it could easily hinder passage."
Jones sighed and rubbed his temples. "We have to do our best to satisfy the client's requirements. President Sarah emphasized that the artistic styling should be a highlight of the guest room area and said it would be best to present the results in the revised plan three days from now."
He paused, looking at Byrne with an apologetic expression. "Brother, thanks for the extra effort. If it's too much, I'll have a couple of people from the other team help you out."
Byrne shook his head. "It's fine, no need for now. I'll coordinate with Guss to adjust the framework first, settling the dimensions, materials, and lighting effects to ensure the overall progress isn't delayed."
And so, the workday ended before he knew it. At 6:30 PM, Byrne finished work and went home. Just as he opened his door, he saw a black cardboard box sitting on the shoe rack in the entryway.