As the last vestiges of fatigue slipped from our bones, the warmth of the living room faded into the background, replaced by something colder, heavier.
A tension had returned.
The kind that crawled up your spine.
We stood up, our bodies renewed, minds locked on the path ahead. But even renewed resolve wasn't enough to chase the fear from Ronald's face.
"W-We can d-do t-t-this..." he stammered, each word trembling like leaves in a storm.
I raised an eyebrow.
"Still afraid, pal?" I teased, only half-mocking. Beneath the grin, I was watching him closely.
Ronald nodded. No bravado. No mask. Just honesty.
I sighed and tapped my chin, theatrically deep in thought.
"Hmm... Okay! Let's do this! Let's kill that old ghost!"
Ronald blinked.
"Do what? Aren't you going to comfort me?"
"Nah! Being afraid is good too!" I replied, throwing him a mischievous thumbs-up. My smile cut through the tension like a knife through fog.
"How is it good?" he asked, his frown deepening.
"Umm... Cuz when you're afraid, sometimes you can come up with brilliant ideas!"
"And stupid ones too!" Ronald shot back, managing a nervous chuckle.
"Since when were you so pessimistic? That's my role!" I gasped with mock offense.
"Sorry. I just panicked," he sniffed, scratching his nose.
I gave him a soft nudge.
"Come on, crybaby. Just keep being yourself, and everything will be fine. When have I ever been wrong?"
His eyes narrowed.
And then he started listing.
"The time you nearly burnt down this place, the number of times you went the wrong way, the enemies—"
"Okay! Okay!" I cut him off, waving my hands. "I may have been wrong a few times, but this time, I'm certain that I'm right!"
Ronald eyed me, skeptical.
"If... you say so..."
I spun on my heel, cloak fluttering behind me like some low-budget hero.
"Let's go, Ronald. Follow me!"
"Where?"
"To where the old ghost might be, duh." I gave him a smug grin.
"Do you know where the old ghost might be?"
"The underground, where we first met it," I replied, confident. Whether it was true or not didn't matter.
It felt right.
I stopped at the door and touched the knob. The cold metal numbed my fingers. I paused.
Something brushed against the edge of my thoughts.
A faint whisper.
A feeling I couldn't name—too thin to grasp, too sharp to ignore.
'Good sign? Bad sign?' My instincts didn't say.
For a moment, the tunnel faded. My mind drifted, chasing the thread—
"Llyne?" Ronald's voice cut through, snapping me back.
I blinked, jolted. '…What was I just thinking?'
My eyes dropped to the cold metal in my hand.
I shook my head. "Oh. Nothing."
With a steady breath, I turned the knob.
Click—
The hinges screamed in protest, the sound scraping down the tunnel.
"Someone should've oiled this thing," I muttered under my breath.
"Llyne… look," Ronald whispered, pointing ahead.
I lifted my gaze.
Before us stretched a tunnel carved from pure ink, the kind of black that swallowed light whole. Even the torch's glow seemed hesitant to step inside.
A corridor of silence.
"Wow. That's dark. I can't see a thing," I said, narrowing my eyes at the abyss.
Behind me, Ronald's hand tightened on my shoulder.
"Are we going in there?"
I glanced around.
"Well, you don't see any other doors here, right?"
He shook his head.
I grinned and pointed forward.
"Then I guess we don't have a choice. Onwards we go!"
I pulled out my torchlight and flicked it on. A weak cone of light pierced the gloom. We stepped forward.
The warmth of the living room vanished behind us, like waking from a dream you never wanted to leave.
Only the tunnel remained. And the sound of our breath.
'No... not just our breath.'
Grrr~
A low growl drifted through the shadows. One. Then another.
Soft at first, almost distant.
But each step made it louder.
More distinct.
Ronald leaned in close, his voice barely audible.
"Do you hear that, Llyne?"
"Yup. Loud and clear."
"Do you know what's that?"
"No idea. Let's just hope it isn't a zombie or something."
"B-but it s-sounds like one," Ronald whispered, gripping my arm tighter.
The growls echoed off the tunnel walls. Every flicker of the light cast monstrous shapes that vanished before I could see them.
My knuckles turned white around the torch.
The air shifted. Grew heavier.
As if something unseen was breathing with us. Watching.
Waiting.
Step. Step. Step.
The tunnel stretched on like a snake coiled through the mountain. And something was crawling just ahead in the dark. I could feel it.
Badump. Badump.
My heart pounded.
And then—silence.
The growls stopped.
"I don't hear the growling sound anymore, Llyne."
"Me neither but we got to keep our eyes peeled. No matter what."
He nodded.
We pressed forward. Past every instinct telling us to turn back.
Then we saw it.
A massive metal door, embedded into the wall like the mouth of some sleeping monster.
Cold. Imposing. Silent.
"We're here," Ronald said, a flicker of relief in his voice.
"Finally."
I scanned the shadows. Nothing. No movement. No sign of what had growled at us.
But we weren't safe.
Ronald moved first, approaching the door. But something caught his eye on the ground.
He crouched, picked it up.
"What did you find, Ronald?"
"A recorder," he answered, puzzled. "What's a recorder doing here?"
"Beats me."
His fingers hovered over the play button.
Click.
The growl erupted again—louder, clearer, echoing in every direction.
"Wow!" Ronald yelped, dropping the recorder as if it bit him. It clattered across the floor.
The same growl we'd been hearing... 'it was this.'
"Why did the recorder record a zombie's growling sound?"
"This is getting weirder and weirder! But at least we know there's no zombie here," I replied with a long exhale.
"Yup!" Ronald grinned sheepishly.
Our eyes turned toward the metal door.
I met Ronald's gaze.
"This is it, partner. The old ghost awaits us beyond this door. Are you ready?"
His voice trembled, but there was steel behind it.
"As ready as I'll ever be."
I placed my hand on the cold iron.
Creak.
The door groaned like it hadn't been opened in centuries.
Creak.
And then, it parted.
Beyond the frame—darkness deeper than shadow.
'But we weren't turning back.'