4:30 PM—Chris stood alone in the prop room of his haunted house, staring at the cluttered table. He couldn't decide what to take with him.
"What do I need to survive a night in a haunted apartment?"
"ID, phone, portable charger, lighter, a fruit knife, a multi-tool hammer... Oh, and I should probably bring that doll, too."
Chris stuffed the creepy doll, which had mysteriously appeared in front of his mirror the night before, into his backpack. After double-checking that he hadn't forgotten anything, he zipped it up and left the room.
"Wendy, I'm leaving early today. I need you to lock up later."
"Boss, it's not even 5 PM yet. Are you going on vacation or something?"
"The key's on the table in the prop room. See you tomorrow."
Wendy Xu, his assistant, looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Alright, but don't blame me if I find out on the morning news that something happened to you."
Chris chuckled and waved her off, but beneath his carefree attitude, anxiety churned in his gut. The task from the strange black phone was far from an ordinary job, and his intuition screamed danger.
The black phone had given him a mission—one that felt far riskier than the usual. The eerie nature of the apartment he was about to visit had left him unsettled all day. The "nightmare-level" mission, as the phone described it, seemed designed to test his limits.
By the time the sun began to set, Chris was already pedaling through the city on a shared bike, heading toward the isolated and supposedly haunted location—Quinn Apartments. The mission had only provided a name and vague directions, leaving him to piece together the rest. After asking around for two hours, he finally found someone who vaguely recalled the place.
The old man who pointed him toward the apartments had warned him, saying, "That building? It's cursed. People died there, you know. Even in broad daylight, locals stay far away."
Chris couldn't help but feel a shiver crawl down his spine. The crumbling structure he was approaching certainly didn't help ease his nerves. But he had no choice—he needed to complete the mission, no matter the risk.
"It's almost 6:50 PM. I have until 11 PM to arrive. Plenty of time to figure out what's really going on in this cursed place."
He continued down the uneven dirt path, which led into a densely wooded area. The surroundings grew eerier as the trees thickened, and there were no streetlights in sight. Through the gaps in the branches, Chris finally spotted the building—a decrepit, dark gray structure surrounded by a high wall.
The iron gate at the entrance stood ajar, rusted but still holding together, although it was secured with a brand-new lock. Odd.
"What's this?" Chris muttered as he approached the gate. A weathered paper was taped to the side. At first glance, it looked like an old notice, but when he brought out his phone's flashlight, he realized it was a missing person poster.
"Jane Zhang, female, 27 years old, 5'2", slender, distinctive mole near the nose, often seen wearing red clothing… Please contact Mr. Quinn for information. Reward offered."
The address listed at the bottom was for Quinn Apartments.
Chris's brow furrowed as he snapped a picture of the poster. Something was definitely off. Who would live in such a secluded, cursed place? And who was Jane Zhang?
Pushing his unease aside, Chris entered the courtyard. The building itself was much larger than he had anticipated. The three-story structure stood ominously before him, with an attached warehouse and what looked like a small utility building nearby.
Despite its age, the grounds were surprisingly clean. The weeds had been cleared, and the courtyard was free of debris.
He left his bike by the entrance and walked toward the main building, knocking on the door. "Hello?"
The narrow hallway inside was pitch black, but after a few moments, a door creaked open at the end of the hall. A woman peeked out, her eyes bloodshot, as if she hadn't slept in days.
"Hello," Chris said gently, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible. "How much is it to stay here for a night?"
The woman said nothing. She just gave him a strange, almost mocking smile before closing the door.
"What was that about?" Chris muttered, feeling the hairs on his neck rise.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed from the second floor. A motion-activated light flickered to life at the stairwell, revealing a man limping down the steps. His gait was uneven, and his face bore a deep scowl.
"You're looking to rent a room?" the man asked, his voice gruff. "How long are you planning to stay?"
"Just for the night," Chris replied, approaching him cautiously.
"ID, please. Head up to the second floor to pay," the man gestured before pausing mid-step. His expression shifted, darkening as a loud creak came from the gate outside.
A moment later, another man entered the courtyard. He looked exhausted, with sunken eyes and tattered clothes. In his hands, he held a stack of flyers.
"Ryan Quinn, I told you before—your girlfriend isn't here! If you keep pestering me, I won't be so nice next time," the limping man snapped, stepping between Chris and the newcomer.
Ryan ignored him, his face blank, as he shuffled toward the stairs.
"I'm talking to you!" the limping man shouted, shoving Ryan against the wall. Flyers scattered across the floor, and one landed near Chris's feet.
Chris bent down, picking up the paper. It was another missing person poster—identical to the one outside.
Ryan showed no signs of resistance. He simply picked up the scattered flyers, his movements mechanical, as though he were a puppet on strings.
"He's just a lunatic," the limping man said to Chris, waving him toward the stairs. "Don't mind him."
Chris, however, was beginning to piece together the situation. He remembered the black phone's description of his mission. There had been mention of a mentally unstable resident—someone who might be dangerous.
Could Ryan Quinn be the man the phone warned him about? Was he the killer hiding in the shadows of the cursed apartments?
As Chris followed the limping man up the stairs, he couldn't shake the sense that he had just crossed into a world far more dangerous than he had anticipated. The air was thick with tension, and every creak of the floorboards made his pulse quicken.
Something wasn't right about Quinn Apartments. Something more than just a curse.
On the second floor, the limping man gestured toward a room. "You can stay here. Fifty bucks for the night. Cash only."
Chris handed over the money, feeling the man's cold, calculating gaze on him. The room was small and dimly lit, with little more than a bed and a single window. The air was heavy with the scent of mold and neglect.
As he closed the door, Chris sat on the edge of the bed, his mind racing. His mission wasn't just about surviving the night. He had to uncover the truth about Quinn Apartments—and, more importantly, figure out what role Ryan played in this nightmare.
For now, all he could do was wait for nightfall. That's when the real horrors would begin.
Hours later, as the sky outside turned pitch black, Chris felt the familiar vibration in his pocket. He pulled out the black phone. The screen lit up, displaying a new message:
"Survive until dawn. Be prepared for what lurks in the shadows."
Chris took a deep breath. Whatever was coming, it was time to face it head-on.