I angrily yanked open the door. The hallway was empty—no one in sight. The person who slipped the note in just now had to be Simon Wang. The thought of him made my blood boil. Fuming, I stormed back into my apartment, headed for the kitchen, and opened the fridge.
Usually, I ate at the cafeteria in the office building. Sometimes on weekends, I’d cook a meal myself. Right now, the fridge was completely empty—nothing at all. I shut it, feeling the pang of hunger. I hadn’t eaten much this afternoon, my mood was foul, and now it was nearly eleven o’clock. My stomach growled. I decided to go out and grab something to eat, drink a little more, and wait for midnight—just like that cursed book said.
Out on the street, everything was cold and deserted. Occasionally, a few people passed by in twos and threes. I was sick of this stagnant life—endless repetition. Every day was just work and home, nothing else.
It started more than three years ago. Each night, I’d come home searching for a thrill—reading horror stories, listening to eerie music, watching scary movies. But over time, all those manufactured scares dulled me. Lately, I’d lost all energy. Especially after that incident when I tried to spook a colleague and things went wrong—my mood hit rock bottom.
I wandered aimlessly down the street, swaying as I walked. At the intersection, I flagged down a cab and asked the driver to take me to the nearby night market for some barbecue. Inside, I was almost giddy. Ever since I got that book, 'Horror Stories,' the thrill was back.
"Ethan Zhang, my friend, long time no see. Ha ha."
Suddenly, the driver up front spoke. I glanced at him, puzzled.
"Who are you?"
The driver slowed down, left hand on the wheel, right hand taking off his cap. His profile was pale, almost handsome. I wondered—someone this good-looking, with that kind of presence, why was he driving a cab? He didn’t look like a taxi driver at all.
The driver wore a sky-blue uniform, white gloves—a stylish look, strikingly handsome, with a charming smile. I scratched my head, racking my brain, but couldn’t remember who he was or where I’d seen him before. Then, out of nowhere, a name popped into my mind: Ray Lin. But beyond that, I couldn’t recall anything.
"Well, Ethan Zhang, you’re not really yourself right now, are you? Can’t remember? Try harder, Ethan Zhang, really think—why are you here? Your heart won’t lie to you. There isn’t much time left. I can only talk to you like this for now."
The driver—Ray Lin—kept slowing the car, moving at a snail’s pace. I checked the time: 11:13. Annoyed, I shouted.
"Driver, sorry, I really can’t remember where I’ve met you. Could you speed up? I need to get back soon!"
Even though the driver hadn’t told me his name, Ray Lin’s name was clear in my mind. But soon, that strange feeling faded, and I was sure I’d never met him.
"Heh, Ethan Zhang, my name is Ray Lin. You should remember that. And, you know, I’m not human."
Ray Lin’s lips curled into a cold, sinister smile. Uneasy, I stared at him, not sure what he was getting at. I didn’t know him at all. But in an instant, I was stunned—eyes wide, staring at Ray Lin.
"What did you say?"
I muttered. Suddenly, Ray Lin’s face turned ashen, the car plunged into darkness, and an eerie green glow shimmered across his face.
I swallowed. The temperature in the car seemed to drop the moment Ray Lin said he wasn’t human.
"You... what do you mean? Not human—then what are you?"