Mysterious Awakening

This is translated and hosted on bcatranslation

After a lingering period of quietude, punctuated only by an unsettling calm, the sudden and unexpected sound of footsteps bore an undeniable significance. This was a significance that Miles, with his intimate knowledge of the supernatural realm, understood all too well.

Miles felt a compulsion to glimpse outside of his hideaway, yearning to determine the nature and identity of the entity lurking beyond his concealed spot. Was it the dreaded ghost he had been so fearful of? Yet, the potential dangers that came with such a move were too great. He found himself paralyzed, torn between his curiosity and his instinct for self-preservation.

It wasn’t that Miles feared any and all apparitions. He wasn’t unnerved by tales of the headless ghost or the spine-chilling ghost slaves rumored to haunt the village. Instead, his dread was reserved for one entity in particular: a notorious ghost known for its relentless vengeance, so fearsome that even those trained to subdue them weren’t safe from its wrath. The true nature of this ghost remained shrouded in mystery. No living person had ever claimed to have seen it, a fact that only intensified its legend. Those unfortunate enough to cross its path likely never lived to tell the tale. Most of what was “known” about this malevolent spirit was deduced from the tragic fates of three ghost tamers.

“As it stands, I am isolated,” Miles thought, his mind racing. “From what I’ve pieced together, my very presence here seems to have upset some delicate balance within the village. And now, that unforgiving spirit is likely hunting ghost tamers. Every single individual that has ever been marked by this spirit has met a cruel end.”

The sound of the approaching footsteps weighed heavily on his mind. “Is it possible? Could these steps be from that very ghost, in search of its next victim?” Anxiety surged through him, sending a cold shudder down his spine.

His chosen hiding spot was a body bag, inconspicuously placed in an overgrown, weed-infested area. To most, it would blend seamlessly into the background, but Miles knew that ghosts might perceive the world differently. What if this notorious entity had abilities beyond the ordinary, a way to detect him? Every second he spent there felt like a risky gamble, with his life hanging in the balance.

Soon, the footsteps grew even louder, drawing perilously close. By his estimation, the entity was now a mere three meters away. Almost right next to him.

“There’s only these footsteps. In that case, it’s either the vengeful spirit or perhaps the headless one that I set free. My gut tells me it’s more likely the former,” Miles silently reasoned, doing his utmost to remain undetectable.

He mentally readied himself to invoke the ghost domain—a last line of defense—if the situation called for it. But as the moments passed, the footsteps proceeded, stopping directly where the bag’s opening faced.

In his need for oxygen, Miles had left a tiny slit in the bag for ventilation.

“Could it have seen me?” he panicked.

Fear intensified, manifesting as sweat on his palms. Every instinct told him to remain utterly still. Discovery at this point could mean certain death. Whether it meant a confrontation with the vengeful ghost or having to employ the ghost domain in a desperate defense, Miles recognized his disadvantage. He lacked the tools and techniques to counter such a formidable spirit.

Minute after agonizing minute ticked by. Miles couldn’t determine how long he’d been in this torturous state. He didn’t dare to even glance at his phone, for even the most minor of sounds could give him away.

The weight of the tense, stifling atmosphere was palpable as Miles lay concealed within the confines of the body bag. Time seemed to stretch endlessly. Though only fifteen minutes had passed, every second felt like an agonizing hour. He keenly attuned his senses to any external stimulus, hoping for a sign that it was safe. To his immense relief, the footsteps that had previously loomed menacingly close began to recede. The distinct sound of steps grew fainter, echoing towards the direction of the village. The malevolent ghost seemed to be departing. It was only when the sounds faded into nothingness that Miles allowed himself a momentary respite, exhaling a sigh of immense relief.

“Success!” Miles thought triumphantly, “This body bag shielded me from its prying eyes. It seems I’ve found a sanctuary where that malevolent spirit can’t detect me. If I’m not safe here, then truly no place is safe.”

Yet, the triumph was fleeting. Miles was fully aware that this was just a temporary reprieve. The lurking danger wasn’t entirely eliminated, merely postponed. As he considered his options, it seemed he was left with only two possible courses of action. The first was to hope that the headless ghost would unleash its chaos and, in doing so, reset the village to its prior state of equilibrium. The alternative was to proactively confront the looming threat.

“Patience is crucial,” Miles resolved, reining in his instincts. He decided to give himself twenty-four hours. If the antics of the headless ghost yielded any significant change in the village dynamics, it should manifest within that timeframe. Otherwise, he risked suffering the same fate as the other ghost tamers who vanished under mysterious circumstances.

Time, though distorted, still trudged forward. Miles’s phone, his sole connection to the flow of time, marked the hours. The world outside the bag remained eerily silent following the footsteps’ departure. But Miles soon made a perturbing discovery. One of his ghost eyes, which he could usually control with ease, remained involuntarily open.

“Is that vengeful spirit amassing more power? Or is another unseen force affecting my ghost eye, much like when I witnessed that apparition in River’s apartment?” he pondered, deeply unsettled.

Staying stagnant wasn’t an option anymore. Miles needed to make a move.

By noon of the subsequent day, taking a calculated risk, Miles slowly unzipped the body bag, attempting to discreetly survey the surroundings. What greeted him was an inky blackness. The overwhelming dread that had blanketed the village was visually palpable.

“I can use my ghost eye,” he whispered with determination, unveiling his hand. On its back sat a radiant, blood-red eye. Through this otherworldly lens, Miles took in the panorama. His surroundings were bathed in a deep crimson, the ghostly hue revealing details otherwise obscured. The village was relatively untouched, save for the hall that previously housed the red coffin—it had completely vanished.

To his growing alarm, he noted the villagers standing eerily static outside their homes, appearing more like lifeless statues than living beings.

However, what transpired next was bone-chilling. Almost in perfect synchronization, the villagers pivoted their heads to focus intently on the hand that Miles had unwarily exposed from his hideaway.

The eyes that stared back lacked a pupil, replaced by an all-consuming darkness. It was as though they had been emptied of all life and light, replaced by an abyss that emanated an unnerving and palpable aura of fear.

“Damn it!” Miles couldn’t contain his exclamation, his voice a hushed whisper as he quickly pulled his hand back into the confines of the body bag.

Curiosity, it seemed, was not always rewarded.

Yellow Hill Village was shaping up to be more nightmarish than Miles had initially perceived. He was now certain that stepping out from his concealed position would be akin to walking into the arms of death. The villagers, who once appeared mundane, now seemed like the very epitome of horror. With the balance of the village disrupted, its once peaceful inhabitants had transformed into these eerie apparitions. Clearly, mere waiting wouldn’t extricate him from this dire situation. Extreme circumstances required equally extreme responses.

Delving into his pocket, Miles extracted a piece of skin paper – a mysterious artifact he had hoped wouldn’t be necessary. Using the soft glow of his phone’s screen, he shed light on the parchment.

Upon it were inscriptions:

“Merely three days have passed since I set foot in Yellow Hill Village, and I’m on the brink of despair. In my desperate search for answers, I’ve turned to this ancient skin parchment, hoping it might offer a solution.”

“Yet, to my irritation, it remains silent on the answers I so desperately seek.”

“Perhaps my destiny is to perish in this forsaken place.”

“The entity here is beyond terrifying.”

Reading these, Miles’s eyes reflected a steely resolve. “Should I emerge from this ordeal alive, I promise you a ghost in trade.”

To his astonishment, the inscriptions on the skin paper morphed, dissolving with a fresh set of words:

“Given the circumstances, I’ve chosen to finalize the incomplete transaction with the skin parchment. In reciprocation, I could potentially wield control over a second ghost. This might be my silver lining in the unfolding horror of Yellow Hill Village.”

“Command another ghost? This isn’t what the prior message alluded to days before. The first inscription hinted at a method, but this speaks of directly controlling another ghost.” Miles’s train of thought raced.

The parchment, it seemed, held more mysteries than he initially believed.

Could it really grant him the power to control an additional ghost?

Cursing inwardly, Miles wondered why this knowledge wasn’t divulged sooner. Would he have willingly entered this accursed village had he known?

Then, a realization struck him.

The ominous note in the initial message: “It is beyond terrifying.”

Did the “it” allude to his own mounting fear, or was it a reflection of the skin parchment’s own dread of the ghost that plagued Yellow Hill Village? If the artifact, ancient and powerful, itself feared this entity, the implications were dire.

“You seem to harbor secrets until the bitter end. But if I’m to escape this malevolent place, mastering the power of a second ghost is imperative. My singular ghost eye won’t suffice against the malevolence here,” Miles thought, determination etched across his face.

His earlier intuitions had, unfortunately, been spot-on.

The entity he now faced was unlike any he had previously encountered. Its power and malevolence were far beyond his capacity to confront or contain. It came as no surprise then that numerous ghost tamers who had ventured into this village met their untimely end. To even have a fighting chance of survival, wielding control over a second ghost was indispensable. To put it bluntly, his current capabilities were inadequate. In this ruthless, supernatural world, those lacking in strength were inevitably consumed by greater forces.

Was the skin parchment now adjusting its stance to aid him? Initially, it had proffered a technique to gain control; now, it seemed to promise an even more direct way to commandeer a secondary spirit.

Yet, what would be the toll for such aid? If he permitted the skin parchment to seize control of another ghost, what unforeseen consequences might he be setting in motion? Would he, in his desperation, release an even greater terror upon the unsuspecting world?

Pushing aside his trepidation, Miles’s resolve solidified. “No matter the risk,” he thought, steel evident in his gaze, “even if it necessitates forming a pact with a sinister force, I must escape this hellish trap. So be it. I consent to the transaction.”

The inscriptions on the ancient skin paper started to blur and shift.

In the end, a few distinct, bold letters took form, proclaiming: “The deal with the skin parchment is now in motion.”