Miles was in the midst of a mental turmoil, his mind operating at breakneck speed as he attempted to devise a strategy. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in his heart that the mysterious knocks he had noticed during previous phone calls were bound to attract the attention of the elderly man eventually. When that moment arrived, he was certain the outcome would be unavoidable.
Inside the depths of his mind, an array of elements – the online forum, the puzzling narratives, the unsettling audio recording of the knocks, the list of dialed phone numbers – clashed together, giving birth to a cyclone of bewilderment. Although he had identified a certain pattern amidst the chaos, he had hit a dead end, failing to extract any further insights.
This was the first time Miles was facing an apparition of this kind. In contrast to Jing, who boasted an unusual prescience for future events, Miles was navigating through uncharted waters. Yet, considering his novice status in dealing with the supernatural, he was managing to maintain his composure remarkably well.
“Hold on, Jing’s prophecy…” His facial expression morphed as a sudden realization struck him. “The parchment!”
Without wasting a second, he drew out the dark brown parchment from his pocket.
“Miles, Miles, look, look there,” William stuttered, his finger trembling as he pointed in the direction of the school.
Following William’s cue, Miles looked up, and what he saw sent a bone-chilling shiver down his spine. Several hundred meters away, an ominous, impenetrable darkness was steadily creeping towards them, consuming everything in its path. Wherever it spread, the earth rotted, trees withered, concrete structures turned to mold, and streetlights rusted, teetering on the brink of falling.
A decrepit elderly man, clad in a long black robe, his skin scarred with wounds resembling post-mortem spots, was making his way towards them.
“Damn it, he’s here?” Fear caused Miles’s heart to pound erratically in his chest.
“Are we trapped?” Coral, pale as a ghost from fright, clutched his arm.
Paralyzed by the advancing darkness, Peter, another one of their classmates, made a feeble attempt to run away, only to be greeted by a similar inky blackness looming menacingly at the other end. They were completely encircled, with no visible means of escape.
Amidst the escalating crisis, Miles ignored their pleas. He hurriedly unraveled the parchment in his hands, his eyes scanning the text for any clues that might hold the key to their survival.
The parchment unfolded to reveal a sentence written in a bold, distinct handwriting: “At 5 a.m. on June 22, we encountered the ghost domain once more, and the ghost returned. At 5:30 a.m. on the same day, we all met our tragic end. There were no survivors. I am Miles. By the time you read this, I would have already transformed into a ghost myself.”
“You’ve already consigned us to doom? No, there must be a viable escape route. The elderly man didn’t trail me into the restroom earlier. I have to unravel the reason behind this. If you don’t reveal it to me this instant, I’ll ensure that you’re laid to rest in a place where sunlight can never find you,” Miles threatened, his voice simmering with a deadly undertone.
As if responding to his threatening tone, the parchment he held in his hand began to behave peculiarly. The text that previously adorned it started to smudge, subsequently disappearing, to be replaced by a fresh message: “At 9 p.m. on June 21, a ghostly dragged me into the confines of the restroom. I was spared due to the presence of another ghoul, far more menacing, inhabiting that space. That was another ghost domain. I was exposed to unimaginable horrors, but I was unable to grasp their significance at that moment.”
“By 9:30 p.m., I found myself utterly disoriented within the restroom. The old man prowled near the entrance, rapping on the door in an attempt to locate me, but his efforts went unheard. Perhaps, this inadvertent ignorance was my saving grace from a certain fatality.”
A cold shiver coursed down Miles’s spine as he pondered over the implications of the parchment’s revelations. Had the elderly man been tapping on the door when he was disoriented in the restroom earlier?
Suddenly, additional text started materializing on the parchment.
“After the incident, I hypothesized that this ghost domain might hold the key to survival. If I could learn to manipulate this power, I might stand a fighting chance against the ghost. Given that I had transformed into one myself, it seemed plausible – only a ghost could go toe-to-toe with another, and the sole escape route from a ghost domain was through another of its kind.”
“At 5:15 a.m. on June 22, the old man made his dreaded reappearance. I tried to harness my own ghost domain, but my attempts ended in failure. My power was simply inadequate.”
“At 5:30 a.m., our collective lives came to a tragic end.”
Miles’s eyes narrowed as he digested these grim disclosures.
Despite the bleak conclusion of their collective demise at 5:30, a glimmer of hope ignited within him.
The manifestation of the old man had resulted in the creation of a ghost domain, and he, Miles, was now a ghost tamer.
Why then, was he unable to command the ghost domain?
If Right were here, he would probably scoff at Miles’s thoughts. After all, not every ghost had the capacity to conjure a ghost domain. Those who did were not only scarce but also profoundly terrifying.
“I must give it a shot, I’ve run out of alternatives,” Miles gripped the parchment more firmly, determination resonating in his voice, “Tell me how to initiate the ghost domain.”
As if obeying his command, new words started forming on the parchment in quick succession.
“Miles, who are you communicating with? Look around, this situation is far from normal. What’s our next move?” Fear seeping through his tears, William clung onto Miles for salvation, dreading the worst possible response.
“Quiet, I’m in the process of formulating a plan. I need some time,” Miles replied with an urgency that matched the gravity of their situation, his gaze flickering nervously.
The elderly ghost was steadily closing in, now a mere hundred meters separating him from them.
A palpable fear and rising tension seized them all, Miles included.
After all, none of them desired to confront their untimely demise.
The parchment unfurled additional insights: “At 5:20 a.m. on June 20, I deduced that my initial failure was attributed to the incomplete reawakening of the ghostly entity within me. It occurred to me that triggering more ‘eyes’ might prove advantageous.”
Miles could ill afford the luxury of contemplation. A scant ten minutes remained until the dreaded 5:30, and he was steadfastly resolved not to let the parchment’s dire prophecy of their collective end come to fruition.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he tensed his arm, and in synchronization, five eerie, blood-red eyes blinked open, each emanating a soft, yet sinister, glow.
“5:22 a.m., I decided to augment the number of eyes.” The parchment updated this new development.
“I require the technique,” Miles insisted, his tone verging on intimidation as he addressed the parchment, “If I succumb, you’ll be left to fend for yourself. You recoiled at the prospect of me discarding you earlier. Imagine my demise; do you truly believe someone else would accord you any regard?”
The text on the parchment began to blur again, slowly unveiling another message: “At 5:24 a.m., following my exertions, I ingested one of the eyes on my arm, successfully engendering an additional eye. With six eyes, I was capable of manifesting my personal ghost domain. My transformation into a ghostly being was progressing.
“At 5:30 a.m., my attempt to activate the ghost domain ended in failure, leading to our collective doom.” Follow current novels on novel-fire.net
Miles cast a glance at the chilling, blood-red eyes adorning his arm and found himself momentarily paralyzed.
However, the ominous prophecy, “At 5:30 a.m., we all met our end,” served as a harsh reminder that he was running a race against time.
In their immediate surroundings, the shadows were swiftly advancing, and the ambient light was progressively dimming. The ghostly elder was now less than twenty meters away.
With a spine-chilling creak, the door of a nearby security room began to inch open, a deathly pale hand reaching out from within.
From beyond the railing at their backs, a nebulous silhouette gradually emerged from the shadow-laden road.
A scattering of cellphone lights punctured the engulfing darkness, an ominous hint of their dispersed classmates approaching with trepidation, mobile phones brandished as makeshift torches.
Miles, William, Peter, Coral, Grace, Qian Wanhao – they were all ensnared in a deadly ghostly ambush.