CLANG... CLANG...
The metallic echo bounced off the old stone walls like a bad drum solo in an abandoned concert hall. The hallway stretched on forever, dimly lit.
That figure?
Our unlucky, unwilling, and unquestionably unprepared hero: Stan.
He moved slowly, every step a calculated effort to not make a sound. Of course, that plan was as doomed as his sense of personal safety.
CLANGGGGGGHHH...
A door on the far right let out a long, rusty wail as it creaked open. Not quickly. No, that would be too kind. This one opened like it enjoyed tormenting people.
Stan froze mid-step, looking at the door.
"Curse you, ghost-feared holy maiden," he muttered under his breath, eyes twitching. "You and your stupid idea of 'splitting up the party.'
---
Earlier, a few hours and several bad decisions ago...
Stan had pulled Sunfield into a shadowy corner. [Under the shadow of a building]
"What are you doing?" he hissed. "We can't just add anyone to the party. Especially not that suspicious-looking group." He gestured aggressively toward a trio of strangers that radiated.
Sunfield followed his gaze, blinking innocently. "They don't look suspicious..."
[THEY OBVIOUSLY LOOK SUSPICIOUS. JUST ADMIT YOU ARE AFRAID OF GHOSTS, SUNFIELD.]
She crossed her arms. "Besides, the more people we have, the faster we can search."
Stan clenched his jaw. There was no point in arguing with her—Sunfield, the fearless leader, wielder of sunshine smiles and bad ideas in equal measure.
"Fine. But stay alert. They're probably hiding something spooky. So... what's the plan?" he asked, reluctantly caving in.
"I'll assign the search areas. Everyone splits up and checks their section."
"Alright," Stan nodded. "Names, please. If I have to call them, I should know who I'm yelling for."
"The guy's name is Justin," Nito offered helpfully. "And the girl is Rashi."
Stan scratched his head. "So should I yell 'Justin' or 'Rashi' or what? Are they together or—"
"Yell?!" Sunfield nearly exploded. "Absolutely not! Are you trying to invite ghosts over for snacks?!"
Stan blinked. "So... how are we supposed to find them?"
Sunfield just smiled.
That smile. The one that always said: You're going to hate what comes next.
---
Present — Somewhere Awful, Some Time Past Sanity
Which brings us back to Stan. Alone. In a hallway designed by someone who clearly hated humans.
"Curse you, ghost-feared maiden..." he grumbled again. "And WHY is that door still opening like it's auditioning for a horror film?"
Stan took a cautious step back.
"I've seen the movies. Door opens slowly, creepy sound plays, protagonist investigates—BOOM—ghost hug. Not me. I don't do ghost hugs."
CLANGGG
Before he could retreat fully, the door to his right began to open. And not just open. No, it peeled itself like, dragging its hinges like nails across his mental chalkboard.
Stan's eyes widened. "Don't look. Don't you dare look—"
CREAK...
He winced. His head turned on its own like it was possessed by every bad decision he'd ever made. But before he could even commit to the regret—
CLAAAAAANGGGHHH
The door on the left began to open. Now he was boxed in. A door on each side, both opening with the speed and enthusiasm of sloths in a death metal band.
Stan stood frozen between them, arms slightly raised like he was trying to balance on reality itself.
"This isn't suspense anymore—this is just bullying!" he whispered.
Then, as if the universe had tuned in specifically to mess with him—
A breeze slithered past him. Cold. Unnatural. Judgy.
And from inside the left room... a whisper.
"Staaaan..."
He didn't even blink. "Nope. Nope. Nope-nope-nope. Not happening. I'm not here. I'm a broom. A figment. A very terrified shadow."
Then he tripped backward over a suspiciously placed bucket—because of course there's a bucket.
THUNK
---------
Stan fell with a loud thud, his legs awkwardly tangled in a rusted bucket that had no business being there.
"Ouch, ouch, ouch!!" he cried out, clutching his side.
He winced, struggling to free his leg, when an eerie stillness fell over the hallway. The temperature dropped—not drastically, but enough for the hairs on his arms to rise.
Someone was here.
He wasn't alone.
A shadow stretched beside him, long and silent. It wasn't from a lantern, nor the flicker of firelight. It moved too independently, too deliberately. Stan's eyes darted up—and froze.
A figure…
Black as pitch.
The shadow swallowed the space around him. Stan's heart pounded in his ears, his instincts screamed to move—but his limbs wouldn't respond. His mind raced. Is this it? The end? A cursed soul? A demon? Some unholy specter?
Then it came.
"Thhhhrrreeeee daaaayyyyssssss…"
A voice, deep and drawn out like an omen whispered through a grave.
Stan's body jolted. His pupils shrank.
But wait—
That voice—
It wasn't terrifying.
It was… adorable?
Stan blinked. "Huh?"
He glanced up, puzzled. The figure leaned closer, the atmosphere tightened.
"Thhhrrreeeeee daaaaayyyyssss~" the figure said again, dramatically crouching beside him. Then, suddenly—she raised both hands like paws and—
"Boooo!"
The 'boo' was followed by the tiniest puff of air, more like a pouty kitten than a ghost from the netherworld.
Stan sat there, stunned. Not from fear. But from the sheer absurdity of it.
He blinked slowly. His expression morphed from horror… to confusion… to disbelief.
As his vision adjusted, the dark silhouette revealed its true form—a tiny girl, translucent, floating just an inch off the ground. Pale-blue hair, and glowing eyes too big for her round face. A loli ghost.
"Ahhh, if you didn't do that 'boo' thing, it might have actually been scary," Stan muttered.
The ghost puffed her cheeks. "It's not comedy!" she snapped, floating upright and turning her back on him. She flung the nearest door open dramatically—
SLAMMMM!
"IDIOT!" she screamed through the wood.
Stan blinked again, now sitting upright, still tangled in the bucket. "What just happened?" he muttered to himself. "Was that supposed to be... scary?"
SLAMMMM!
Another door flew open at the far end of the hallway. The real danger stepped through.
Boots hit the floor like thunder. A presence colder than the ghost. More terrifying than the unknown.
'Miss Sunfield.'
She stood there, arms crossed, unimpressed.
"Really, Stan?" she said dryly. "Sleeping on the floor now? Just how lazy are you?"
Stan didn't even flinch. His face was blank, devoid of any resistance. "What do you want now?" he muttered.
"The dusk is falling, and the dusk is rising," Sunfield said in that cryptic, poetic way of hers. "We're assembling the tents. Are you coming?"
Stan finally stood up, brushing off dust from his coat. "Coming," he replied flatly.
-----------
No one really knows what transpired in that hallway.
Was it a haunting?
Was it tragic?
Or was it just—
"Bhooooo~"