75 — The Man Beneath
Moon and Kai glanced at their watches.
According to the rule, the task would begin at 6:00 a.m.
They waited in silence.
The ticking of the second hand suddenly felt louder… sharper… almost like it was cutting the air around them.
…click.
The second hand crossed the mark — and the world changed.
No warning. No transition.
One moment, the station was a cold, colorless husk, shrouded in a lifeless gray.
The next — it burst into blinding daylight, so sudden and intense that both of them flinched.
Shadows vanished in an instant, dissolving like smoke under a torch.
The air felt… too warm, as if the light itself carried weight.
For a few seconds, neither of them moved. Their eyes darted around, blinking rapidly against the brightness.
Moon's thoughts whispered like an unwelcome echo:
This isn't sunlight. It's pretending to be sunlight.
The longer he looked, the more wrong it felt.
There was no sun in the sky — just a flat, pale glow. No clouds. No movement.
Even the light didn't feel alive… it just was.
He forced himself to breathe.
They had faced worse. This was nothing compared to them.
Without speaking, they stepped forward toward the main platform.
---
The sight stopped them.
The station stretched on far beyond what they had seen before — forward and backward, repeating itself in perfect, unnatural symmetry.
Metal beams in flawless intervals. Cracked tiles, but every crack seemed mirrored on the opposite side.
And the lamps…
A long line of them, each identical, standing like sentinels in formation.
Moon counted. Ten per section. His lips moved silently as he calculated, his pulse quickening with each number.
6,660 lamps.
Kai gave a humorless chuckle, but it didn't hide the tension in his face. "That's… not possible."
"Three thousand, three hundred, and thirty each," Moon muttered.
The number sounded absurd in the stillness, as if the station was mocking them.
A prickle ran up the back of his neck.
The silence here wasn't normal. It wasn't empty — it felt aware.
Every click of their watches, every scrape of their shoes, seemed too loud, as if the station was listening.
They exchanged a look.
No words. Just a silent agreement: We should start now.
Click. Click. Click. Click.
The sound of the switches wasn't mechanical anymore.
It was… hollow.
Every echo bounced back slower than it should have, like something was catching the sound before returning it.
With every lamp they lit, the space behind them seemed a little brighter… but the light didn't chase the unease away.
If anything, it made the shadows between the lamps feel heavier.
Their bodies were already sore, their muscles screaming from the constant strain of the past days.
Still… they had no choice.
They exchanged a look. No words, just the same thought in both minds: We start now.
Click. Click. Click.
The sound of switches echoed strangely in the silence. It wasn't a friendly sound. It was sharp, cold — the kind of sound that carries in empty places where no one should be.
After about an hour, Moon had lit roughly four hundred lamps.
His shoulders ached from the repetitive motion, his breath came heavy, and sweat trickled into his eyes, stinging like salt.
The air felt heavier here, almost damp, as though something unseen was leaning over him.
He reached for the next switch.
Click.
The metallic snap echoed unnaturally, stretching longer than it should have.
Moon turned around — and his stomach collapsed into ice.
The old man.
Standing so close, Moon could see every wrinkle etched deep like cracks in old leather.
His pale eyes were fixed on Moon's face, unblinking, with a wet shine that caught the false daylight.
The skin around his lips sagged, twitching faintly, as if he were trying to smile but had forgotten how human mouths worked.
No. No, you're not supposed to be here.
The thought roared through Moon's mind like a siren.
The old man's chest rose slowly… too slowly… then dropped again, his breath faint but audible — a dry, rattling hiss.
Something in his smell — damp earth and old blood — made Moon's stomach lurch.
The man didn't blink.
He just… leaned forward, almost imperceptibly, as though gravity itself was dragging him closer.
Moon's legs exploded into motion before his brain could decide.
He bolted, feet hammering against the cracked tiles, the sharp thud-thud-thud bouncing into the endless station.
Behind him, there was no shout, no footsteps — but somehow, the silence felt like it was following.
Somewhere far behind, Kai's voice split the air.
"Moon! Moon!"
Moon didn't stop.
Every breath burned his throat.
The station warped in his vision, rows of beams blurring together into a tunnel that never ended.
His heart was punching his ribs so hard he thought they might crack.
Then —
"Kai!" The voice come out of his throat instinctively after seeing someone In white shirt.
Moon skidded to a stop, his legs trembling under him, and nearly collapsed into Kai's arms.
"What happened?!" Kai demanded, gripping his shoulders.
Moon couldn't answer. His throat was locked. His eyes darted back over his shoulder, scanning the endless rows — but there was nothing there.
Kai's expression softened when he saw the sheer terror in Moon's face.
Without another word, he sat Moon down on the nearest bench, the cold metal biting through his clothes.
The false daylight above buzzed faintly, like an insect trapped in glass.
Five minutes passed before Moon's voice clawed its way out — low, hoarse, trembling.
"That old man… the one who invited us to his house… I saw him. Right behind me."
Kai's jaw tightened, a shadow passing over his eyes.
He didn't argue.
He didn't tell Moon it was impossible.
Instead, he stood, scanning the rows of lamps with a slow, deliberate gaze, and said in a voice that was almost a whisper:
"We stick together," Kai said quietly, his voice firm but low, as if he didn't want the station itself to hear. "Lamps on the left side of the stairs are yours. The right side is mine."
The silence after that settled in thick, like dust in still air.
Moon had the distinct, unnerving feeling that the station had heard — and was now listening.
And so they worked.
Switch by switch, lamp by lamp, they moved in a slow rhythm.
Click. Step forward. Click. Step forward.
The sound of the metal toggles echoed faintly down the endless corridors, disappearing into the false daylight.
No more strange figures.
No more sudden appearances.
Just the mechanical clicking and the sound of their own breathing — ragged, uneven, too loud in the empty expanse.
Every so often, Moon caught himself glancing over his shoulder, scanning the perfectly straight rows, half-expecting to see the old man's pale eyes peering from behind a lamp post.
By the time the last bulb flared to life, the sky outside had shifted.
The pale light through the cracked windows had taken on a strange orange tint, as though sunset had been poured too thick over the horizon.
The station looked almost warm in that glow — but it was the kind of warmth that made Moon's skin crawl instead of relax.
It was 5:00 p.m.
They were at the farthest section from the station office — nearly four kilometers away.
Walking would waste precious time, and the thought of being caught in the wrong place when the task ended made Moon's stomach twist.
They ran.
The tiled floor rattled faintly beneath their pounding footsteps. The rows of lamps streamed past on either side, the light flickering occasionally as if some of them were holding their breath.
Kai's breath came in quick, controlled bursts. Moon's was louder, more desperate, his lungs clawing for air.
At 5:23, they stumbled onto the first platform, boots scuffing against the worn floor.
They dropped onto the benches like marionettes with their strings cut.
Moon exhaled long and slow, feeling the tension leak from his muscles.
"Good thing we started early," he muttered between breaths. "Would've been hell if we'd rushed this."
Kai managed the ghost of a smile. "Yeah. Even got to rest a bit."
They leaned back.
The benches were cold, hard metal — yet right now, they felt like the softest beds in the world.
The humming of the overhead lights became a low lullaby, blending with the faint rattle of the distant rails.
Exhaustion wasn't just creeping in — it was swallowing them whole.
Their limbs grew heavy, their thoughts dulled to nothing, and they didn't even feel the moment when their eyes slid shut.
They fell asleep.
Deep, heavy, dreamless sleep.
And somewhere, just beyond the walls , the station kept listening.
"Son… son… hey, son… give me a hand, will you?"
Moon's eyes snapped open — no drifting, no groggy blink — just open.
His heart was already racing before his thoughts could catch up.
Beside him, Kai jerked awake like someone had pulled a string in his spine. His first reflex wasn't to look around — it was to check his watch.
5:51 p.m.
Relief swelled in his chest. They still had time.
Then his gaze rose.
Relief died so fast it felt like it had been ripped from his lungs.
The very same old man was standing in front of them.
Not walking in. Not approaching. Just standing there as if the air had formed him.
Close enough for Moon to see the fine white hairs on his chin.
Close enough for Kai to smell the faint rot of something that should have been buried.
And he was smiling.
The kind of smile that didn't reach the eyes — the kind that watched.
"When's the next train?" the man asked casually, his voice warm, almost grandfatherly… but under the warmth, something thin and sharp coiled.
Kai's throat clicked as he swallowed. "P–Platform six-six-six," he stammered, voice cracking.
The old man didn't blink.
Kai grabbed Moon's arm hard enough to bruise. In one motion, they were on their feet, stumbling into the office, slamming the door behind them.
Lock it.
The metal clicked shut.
They ducked behind the heavy desk which completely blocked any vision from the window exactly as the rule had told them to.
The air was stale here, thick with the smell of old paper and oil from the desk's hinges.
The ticking of the clock was too loud.
Every second felt like a thin blade dragging along their skin.
Then — 6:00 p.m.
The first bang rattled the door.
BANG.
Then another.
BANG.
The frame shivered in its hinges.
And then a woman's voice.
High. Frantic. Shredded with desperation.
"Help! Please! They're going to kill me! Open the door!"
The sound went through Moon's skull like splintered glass.
Kai's hand found his arm in the dark, fingers clamping down.
"Please! Please, I'm begging you! I don't want to die!"
Her fists — or maybe her whole body — slammed against the metal.
The desk vibrated faintly with each blow.
Moon shut his eyes tight.
Don't move. Don't speak. Don't breathe.
For ten minutes — though it stretched like hours — her screams clawed at the walls.
Sometimes she sobbed so hard the words dissolved into broken sounds.
Sometimes she went quiet for a few seconds… only to explode again into fresh, jagged pleading.
Then, suddenly, the noise stopped.
Shuffling.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps.
A man's voice outside — low and cold: "There she is."
A shout. Boots on concrete. The pounding rhythm of a chase.
Then nothing.
Moon realized only then that his whole body was trembling. His shirt clung to his back like it had been glued there; Kai's was so soaked it had gone nearly transparent.
They stayed hidden until the clock read 10:00 p.m.
When they finally moved, it was like pulling themselves up through molasses.
Too tired to think, too scared to speak, they staggered to the bed.
The sheets were cold. The darkness pressed close.
Somewhere, far down the station, a single lamp flickered once… and went out.
Sometime after midnight…
The lock clicked.
A sound so small — yet it felt like it cracked the air open.
Moon's eyes flew open.
He didn't breathe. He didn't even shift his weight.
The door eased inward.
The old man stepped inside.
If he saw them, he gave no sign. His movements were calm — too calm — each step placed with the care of someone who knew exactly how much noise they weren't making.
In his hands was a long canvas bag, the kind hunters might carry. He walked to the bed, leaned forward, and laid it down right between them.
The mattress sank slightly under its weight.
Without looking left or right, he turned and left.
The door shut. The lock slid back into place from the outside.
Moon's pulse filled his ears until he thought it might spill out of them.
Don't move. Don't look. Don't breathe.
Then — from under the bed — came the sound.
A zipper.
Opening.
Slow.
So unbearably slow.
Ziiip…
Then — scratch… scratch… scratch.
The sound was wrong.
Not the soft slide of cloth.
Not the clink of metal teeth on a zipper.
Wood.
And against it… nails.
Long nails.
Dragging.
Scratch… scratch… scratch.
Each pull stretched too far, like whatever was making it was savoring the motion. The rhythm was steady, patient — almost comfortably slow — as if the thing beneath them had no reason to hurry.
Moon could feel it through the mattress.
A faint vibration in the wood of the frame, seeping into his bones.
Between each set of scratches, something spoke.
Not loud enough to be conversational. Not quiet enough to be mistaken for wind.
A whisper.
Low. Breathless.
The words wavered, trembling on the edge of sobs — but never breaking into them:
"Why me…? Why only me…? What did I do wrong…?"
The words bled into the dark.
Then the scratching returned.
Then the words again.
"Why me…? Why only me…? What did I do wrong…?"
The voice didn't change pitch.
Didn't crack. Didn't fade.
It just was, filling the air like a festering smell — impossible to ignore, impossible to stop hearing.
Moon's and Kai's mind screamed.
Run.
Throw the blanket. Kick the bed. Tear the door open.
Do something.
But his body was frozen in the way a mouse freezes when the snake is inches away — every nerve burning but locked in place.
His fingers twitched once, involuntary, then curled into fists so tight his nails dug into the soft flesh of his palms.
He felt the sting. He welcomed it. It reminded him he was still alive.
Time melted into something meaningless.
The scratching never hurried.
The voice never stopped.
It could have been ten minutes. It could have been ten hours.
The weight of it pressed against his skull until he thought the sound might burrow into him forever.
Then — 6:00 a.m.
Silence.
Complete.
Immediate.
Not a slow fade. Not a gentle stop.
As if someone had taken a knife and cut the world's sound in half.
Moon's breath came fast now — too fast.
He didn't remember deciding to move, but when the clock hand clicked again, both brothers were already on their feet.
No words.
No glances.
One minute.
They knew the rule.
They ran.
Their feet thudded against the floorboards. No other footsteps followed.
No doors slammed. No voices called out.
For a moment, it almost felt like the nightmare had been left in that room.
But when they stepped outside…
The world was wrong.
The sky above was black — not night-black, but thick and wet, like oil swirling across glass.
No sun.
No hint of dawn.
The air clung to their skin, damp and heavy, making every breath feel stolen from a place where air shouldn't exist.
The rows of houses they'd passed before now stood gutted.
Windows were hollow sockets, staring at nothing.
Doors hung loose, swaying in a wind that didn't touch the trees.
And the boards with the rules?
Gone.
Not torn down.
Not broken.
Simply… erased.
As though they had never been there at all.
To be continued…