On his very first day at work, Harry's boss, the director, collapsed in front of him.
Harry had never imagined something like this could happen.
He quickly calmed himself, recalling the last thing the director had said before collapsing. Instead of rushing to help him up, Harry first reached out to check the director's pulse. Confirming that he was still alive, Harry let out a small breath of relief.
He bent down, hooked his arms under the director's, and began dragging him backward while awkwardly holding his phone between his head and shoulder, making a call.
He'd barely made it two meters when he heard someone call his name.
"Harry."
He glanced back but saw no one.
It was weird at best under normal situation but in the dark hallway, being conscious of dead bodies in the nearby rooms and intermittent crackling of burning fire, made it eerie.
Just as he was about to resume, in the reflection of the two-way mirror at the end of the long hallway, he saw a figure,
" Hmm? What... is that?"
—an entire skeleton, wax-coated and bound, rushed straight towards him.
In the blink of an eye, that skeletal figure—thin as bones and covered in a layer of wax—was already face-to-face with him.
When the corpse lunged at him, Harry's eyes went wide with fear, throat parched, his legs went numb, he felt a wave of cold shoot through his body from head to toe, but then the figure passed through him like a ghostly apparition.
The corpse paused, as if confused, before turning its attention toward the unconscious director.
A faint light shimmered from the director's body, and the ill-fitting suit he was wearing split at the seams, revealing stacks of old banknotes stuffed inside.
Each time the corpse tried to touch the director, Harry could see the faint glow repel it.
He was really scared, but strangely, a feeling of realization mixed with terror washed over him, as if he suddenly understood what was happening.
At the very least, when he saw the money stuffed between the layers of the director's suit, Harry realized this definitely wasn't just some co-incidence, the director kept them there intentionally.
'Now I get it, so that's why the first staff rule says no ghost stories—it's because ghosts are real.'
And apparently, money can repel them.
His mind was a whirl of shock, panic, and adrenaline. His heart pounded like a drum, but as the initial fear began to subside, a part of him felt strangely... excited.
As the wax corpse made another lunge at the director, Harry suddenly remembered his dream.
If this was happening in front of him, then that ability he'd gotten in the dream probably wasn't a lie either, right?
Thinking fast, he pointed at the corpse and shouted:
"I am your daddy!"
The next moment, a message flashed in his mind:
[First inherent ability: 'I am your daddy.' Current progress: 1%.]
At the same time, the wax corpse halted, slowly turning to face Harry.
The previously blurry figure of skeleton began to solidify before his eyes, transforming into a terrifyingly grotesque wax figure.
Its sunken eye sockets suddenly flared with red light, and its stiff, trembling face twisted into a mask of rage.
With a growl, the wax corpse charged at Harry, its speed faster than before.
This time, the cold that swept through Harry was far stronger, but the corpse passed through him again.
When he turned around, the wax figure was thrashing about like a wild beast, its eyes burning red, relentlessly lunging and tearing at the air.
Harry couldn't touch it, and it couldn't touch him.
He stood there, shivering as he watched the frenzied wax corpse continue its rampage.
"I'm not your enemy! Why don't you find the one who killed you, what did I do wrong—!"
At the word "kill", the wax corpse grew even more enraged, the red glow in its eyes intensifying indicating he was determined to kill Harry.
Harry wanted to run, but his body felt frozen, numb, and his face had turned deathly pale.
On the plus side, he had a special ability now.
The downside? It wasn't working quite like he thought it would.
It seemed he had seriously pissed off this wax corpse. It was acting completely irrational, like it wouldn't stop until it had shredded him to pieces.
After a few minutes, the director stirred and slowly opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Harry, face pale as a sheet, shivering uncontrollably as the wax corpse furiously attacked him—yet somehow never managed to actually touch him.
Even though the director had woken up, the wax corpse didn't even glance in his direction.
The director squinted, scanning his surroundings. Seeing the strange scene before him, he sighed.
"Well, isn't this embarrassing."
He glanced down at his torn suit, shrugged it off, and when the wax corpse lunged again, he tossed the suit over it.
The suit spun through the air, wrapping around the corpse. Faint glimmers of light sparked from the suit, and the corpse twitched violently, as if electrocuted.
But despite the convulsions, its glowing eyes stayed locked on Harry, completely ignoring the director.
As the light from the suit began to fade, the director's expression darkened.
"Lead it inside the line, quick."
The moment the director spoke, Harry remembered how the director had collapsed earlier.
'Was there something inside that knocked the director down? And will it work on this wax corpse too?'
Harry wanted to run, but his body was too cold and numb to move properly. His limbs felt heavy, and he could barely shuffle his feet.
"I-I-I'm freezing..."
Shivering, Harry tried to take a few steps, but the corpse—still twitching like it had been electrocuted—chased after him with the same crazed determination, like it was hunting its sworn enemy.
The director stepped up behind the corpse, smacked his suit, and sent the bundled-up wax corpse flying toward Harry.
Gritting his teeth, Harry opened his arms and caught the suit-wrapped corpse.
The director rushed forward and, with a swift kick, sent Harry rolling toward the inner room.
But as soon as he rolled two meters, the berserk wax corpse vanished into a wisp of smoke, leaving nothing but the suit on the ground.
Just then, Harry noticed a slight distortion in his surroundings, and a line on the ground shifted two meters closer to him from the end of the hallway.
The suit had fallen behind that line.
"Harry, bring the coat back with you?"
"Uh... sure."
Harry picked up the director's suit.
The director glanced at the ground, watching Harry step over the line without any trouble. A small smile tugged at his lips.
Taking the suit back, the director didn't put it on, instead folding it to hide the exposed banknotes.
Before Harry could ask any of the questions swirling in his mind, the director stepped up to the line.
"Well, this is embarrassing. I had no idea something had slipped in here and used illusion magic to trick me into crossing the line."
He sighed. "I was planning to explain all this to you eventually—it's part of the job, after all."
The director pointed at the line. "Past this line is the old morgue. No one is allowed in there except for Old Wayne, the night watchman. Anyone who crosses it will pass out immediately."
He turned to Harry. "You young folks are quick learners. You are with me?"
"Got it," Harry nodded.
After everything that had happened, if the director told Harry he was a hidden master, a disciple of Mount Hua, or the heir of some taoist family, Harry wouldn't be the least bit surprised.
In fact, he decided it was probably best to memorize the staff rules until he could recite them backward, and mumble them in his sleep.
"You're probably wondering why you didn't pass out, right?"
"Yeah."
"Well, to put it in old terms, you're someone without a soul, but still alive. According to old legends, that means your soul is fused with your body and can't be separated. It's like you don't have a seat for a soul, so there's nothing for anyone to steal. Make sense?"
"Yeah, I get it."
Harry felt a little disappointed. He had a vague idea now of why they'd hired him so quickly after just a brief interview and a few questions.
It wasn't because his resume was impressive or that they were so short-staffed they'd take anyone.
The director continued giving a few more instructions, noticing Harry was still shivering.
"Alright, we can talk more about this later. Why don't you go outside and warm up in the sun? There's not much work for you right now anyway, so get familiar with the place. Consider today's incident a workplace injury—you'll get compensation."
Harry shivered as he left the old building. The sun was already fully up by then, and he sat on a bench in the courtyard, basking in the warmth until he finally started to feel some heat returning to his body.
As he soaked in the sun, his mind kept replaying the events of the past few days. The world, it seemed, wasn't quite what he'd always thought.
Ghosts and strange things were real, after all.
Was the high salary, great benefits, and yearly recruitment because this job was much more dangerous than it seemed?
———
Back inside the old building.
The director walked up to the mirror at the entrance and gave the glass a firm tap with his finger.
The reflection of the director in the mirror immediately changed.
"Easy, easy, Old Keith! You'll break me if you keep hitting that hard."
"When did this thing sneak in? It even used illusion magic to trick me across the line. Wayne, you're slipping. If it weren't for young Harry's luck, I might have ended up dead and rotting here, becoming a joke for decades."
"I swear I don't know. I can guarantee you, in the entire year I've been here, nothing has ever crossed into this place."
The director gave a small nod, his expression thoughtful.
"Yeah, this past year no one's come near the old morgue. Maybe it slipped in over a year ago and was just waiting for the right moment."
Shaking his head, the director stopped thinking aloud. He looked down at his suit and muttered to himself as he walked away.
"Damn, I screwed up... And this suit was expensive, too… Ugh…"
———
Meanwhile, outside in the courtyard, Harry sat in the sunlight, still processing everything that had happened. Surprisingly, he found that he was adjusting quickly. In fact, it seemed that this strange and eerie side of the world felt more natural than he expected.
As he thought about the director's mention of being "soul-less," his thoughts drifted back to the dream he'd had.
'Am I really someone without a soul? Has my soul really been devoured by that Soul Devouring Beast?'