Static crackles through the recorder
"Would you mind going over that again, Mrs. Hu?"
More static interference
The tape hisses softly "...Of course, but please... I beg you to keep this between us. My husband and daughter can never know!"
"You have my word. Shall we proceed?"
"It began with a phone call. Three nights ago, my sister called me. Something was off about her - her teeth were chattering, words barely crawling out of her throat. I asked if she was feeling ill, but instead of answering, she kept rambling about this recurring dream."
"Tell me about this dream."
"It was always the same. Night after night, she'd dream of waking up in the dark, leaving her bed in the attic, descending the stairs, until she found herself standing before a basement door. The details were vivid - frighteningly so. Too vivid to be just a dream."
"Yet she insisted on calling it one. Why?"
"Because..." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Her house has never had a basement. And the most terrifying part? When she stood before that impossible door, something deep inside her yearned to open it."
"What happened next?"
"She vanished. The very night she called me."
"And you've come to me because..."
"Dr. Jiang!"
"Yes?"
"Last night... I saw the door too."
Silence fell over the office as Dr. Jiang switched off the recording device. His spacious yet austere consultation room seemed to hold its breath, weighted with the lingering echoes of Mrs. Hu's disturbing tale.
Seated at his desk, Jiang's gaze fell on the evening edition of the Rong City Herald. The missing person notice seemed to leap off the page:
MISSING PERSON ALERT Subject: HU YAN Age: 47 Height: 160cm Distinguishing Features: Rectangular face, fair complexion Last Seen: Night of the 13th, wearing pink silk pajamas Mental State: Distressed Any information, please contact...
His eyes lingered on the photograph accompanying the notice. The same woman who'd sat in his office just yesterday, her eyes haunted by terrors she couldn't fully articulate.
Jiang hadn't developed a habit of reading newspapers - this one had been hand-delivered by the police roughly an hour ago. Their investigation had led them to his door after discovering Hu Yan's final known movements included a visit to his office.
With clinical precision, he'd detailed her mental state and recounted her narrative. The recording, made with her explicit consent, was now in police custody.
The two detectives - one male, one female - had departed with the evidence in hand. But not before the female detective, her sleek ponytail swaying, cast several backward glances at Jiang. Something about his unnaturally calm demeanor while recounting such an unsettling story had clearly caught her attention.
The familiar click-clack of his keyboard provided a rhythmic counterpoint to the deepening shadows outside. As neon signs began their nightly dance across the cityscape, Jiang methodically secured his workspace - first the glass outer door, then the inner door, each lock engaging with a decisive click.
After brewing himself a cup of coffee, he settled into the client couch. This was where they'd all sat - Mrs. Hu yesterday, the two detectives today. The once-lustrous leather had dulled with age, creases marking the armrests.
Reaching into the gap between the armrest and cushion, Jiang retrieved another recorder with practiced ease. The indicator light glowed steadily. A few clicks of his finger, and the detectives' voices filled the room. Then his own voice followed.
He sipped his coffee as the recording played. By the time he'd finished his drink, the interview had ended. His expression remained unchanged throughout.
After washing his cup and hanging it to dry, he headed back to his desk, picking up the recorder as he passed the couch.
Business had been slow lately. Mrs. Hu's session was his last recording before today. She'd left quite an impression.
While her story seemed fantastical, as someone who'd treated numerous patients with mild to moderate delusions, what intrigued him most was the story's unusual coherence. Typically, patients would exaggerate certain elements for attention, their narratives becoming vague or inconsistent with details. But Mrs. Hu's account was remarkably complete, rich with precise details. She even remembered stepping on her daughter's plush slippers while descending the stairs in her dream.
The police visit had brought new insights. They'd subtly hinted at suspecting a family connection to her disappearance - and in Mrs. Hu's story, her sister had vanished first. Cross-referencing these details, the sister's disappearance seemed credible.
Then there was the matter of her leaving home in just silk pajamas. In this autumn chill, based on what he knew of her, Jiang doubted she'd make such an irrational choice. Combined with both disappearances, he sensed something far more sinister at work.
So...
So...
To conserve energy for tomorrow's potential clients - and his precious collagen - Jiang applied a face mask and retired for the night.
His studio was split between two floors - the consultation room below, and his living quarters in the attic above. He'd managed to partition the roughly 30-square-meter attic space into two rooms. Beyond the narrow staircase lay his living room, with the bedroom tucked further inside. No proper bed graced the bedroom - just a thin mattress laid directly on the floor.
Now Jiang lay centered on that mattress, blanket pulled precisely to his chin, sleeping with characteristic orderliness.
Until his eyes suddenly snapped open.
His gaze fixed on the ceiling, pupils dilating before sharply constricting. His upper body rose from the mattress with mechanical precision.
Something was wrong...
His mind remained crystal clear, aware of every sensation from his limbs, yet he had absolutely no control over them. An alien sensation of heart-pounding dread welled up from deep within, as if... something forbidden had been unsealed.
First his left leg moved, then his right. He stood, movements stiff and unnatural. While his mind raced frantically, his body continued its puppet-like motion.
Forward. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. One step. Two steps... Like a reanimated corpse, he marched inexorably toward the bedroom door. Through the living room. Down the wooden stairs, step by methodical step.
The aged stairs that should have creaked beneath his weight remained eerily silent. Not just the stairs - since awakening, Jiang hadn't heard a single sound. The night hung dead and still around him.
His eyes darted within their confined range of motion. Everything about this situation screamed danger. Through the darkness, even his familiar workspace had transformed into something alien and threatening. As his foot touched the bottom step, he saw it. A door. Pure black. Embedded impossibly in his office wall.