Chapter 2: The Basement & The First Clue
The attic stairs creaked under Kael's weight, each step a protest against the damp, mildewed air that grew thicker as he descended. His sneakers, already caked with attic dust, stuck slightly to the worn wood, and he grimaced, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. The faint hum of his spirit-sense pulsed in his skull, like a cheap earbud buzzing with static. It wasn't much, but it was something—a signal leading him downward, toward the basement.
Ghost detector for dummies. Great. I'm one step above a kid with a toy walkie-talkie. He smirked, but the humor was thin, masking the ache in his chest from his first death. The System had mocked him, and the memory of that spectral choke still lingered, a phantom tightness in his throat. He reached the landing, the corridor stretching into shadow, lit only by a flickering wall sconce. His spirit-sense spiked, the hum growing louder, pointing to a spot where the ghostly outline had vanished.
He moved forward, his hand trailing along the cold plaster wall, dust clinging to his fingers like a second skin. His phone, inexplicably in his pocket, buzzed against his thigh. He ignored it, too focused on the trail. Then his foot caught on something—a child's sneaker, small and tattered, lying in the middle of the hall. He stumbled, heart lurching, and caught himself against the wall, the sneaker clattering loudly. A whisper, soft and chilling, brushed his ear: "Not yet…"
Kael froze, his pulse hammering. A trap. Classic ghost move. His spirit-sense flared, the hum now a sharp vibration. The System's text appeared, cold and biting:
[SYSTEM: SENSE UPGRADED. DON'T TRIP OVER YOUR EGO.]
"Real classy," Kael muttered, brushing his dark hair from his eyes. "Passive-aggressive AI, just what I needed." Like my old project manager, but with more cosmic sass. He crouched, examining the sneaker. It was old, the laces frayed, but it felt… wrong, heavy with intent. He left it, focusing on the wall where the ghost had vanished. His fingers traced a faint seam in the plaster, and with a soft click, a hidden door swung open, revealing a narrow staircase plunging into darkness. The air that rushed out smelled of damp stone and old paper, heavy and oppressive.
Okay, Kael. You're not screwing this up again. He descended, the stairs groaning, his spirit-sense screaming in his head. The basement was a maze of forgotten relics—boxes draped in dusty sheets, a rusted bicycle, a cracked mirror reflecting nothing but shadows. The hum led him to a small wooden box tucked in a corner. His fingers brushed its surface, and a porcelain doll tumbled out, its glassy eyes glinting in the dim light. Kael's breath hitched. The doll's face was too perfect, its smile too wide.
Before he could react, a crash echoed across the room. A lamp hurtled off a table, shattering against the wall. Kael ducked, his spirit-sense buzzing a split-second warning. "Not cool!" he shouted, heart racing. The doll's eyes seemed to follow him, unblinking. "You're getting pushy, ghost."
A cold pressure slammed into his mind, sharp and invasive, like fingers prying into his thoughts. Possession? His body resisted, a faint silver light pulsing from his chest—some kind of ward, instinctive and weak. The pressure faded, leaving him gasping. Okay, new feature. My body's fighting back. That's… progress? He grabbed the doll, its cold surface burning his palm. A vision hit him like a freight train: a little girl, her mother sewing the doll, a car crash, grief twisting into something dark. The images seared his mind, leaving a throbbing headache.
The System's text returned, cryptic and unhelpful:
[SYSTEM: SEAL IT. OR DON'T. CHOOSE WISELY.]
Kael stared at the doll, his hands shaking. Seal it? With what, positive vibes? He was no exorcist, just a guy who'd tanked a startup and now faced a cursed doll. I'm in over my head. Again. Voices from upstairs broke his panic—calm, measured, professional. "Ed, the energy's stronger in the attic," a woman said. "We need to check it."
People. Actual people. Kael's relief was tinged with dread. Allies or threats? He clutched the doll, its weight a reminder of his failure, and crept toward the stairs, the hum of his spirit-sense guiding him toward answers—or more trouble.
Love [ I Can Transmigrate to Movies Worlds ]? Unlock More Chapters and Support the Story!
Dive deeper into the world of [ I Can Transmigrate to Movies Worlds ] with exclusive access to 35+ chapters on my Patreon, plus new fanfic every week! Your support starting at just $5/month helps me keep crafting the stories you love across epic universes like [Grimm, Teen Wolf ,blacklist,Game Of Throne ,MCU and Arrowverse].
By joining, you're not just getting more chapters—you're helping me bring new worlds, twists, and adventures to life. Every pledge makes a huge difference!
👉 Join now at patreon.com/TheFinex5 and start reading today!