The muffled shriek from Rebecca's apartment clawed at Seed's nerves. His heart pounded as he gripped the strange, skin-bound ledger, its leathery cover pulsing faintly under his fingers. The clock on his wall reads 9:06 p.m., four minutes until the ledger's prophecy: Rebecca Hayes, Apartment 3B. Strangled by her own hair. 9:10 p.m. He bolts from his apartment, the hallway's dim lights flickering like a warning. The air feels thick, charged with the Hollow Season's unnatural hum.
He hammers on Rebecca's door, shouting, "Rebecca! HEY! Open the door!" No answer, just another choked scream, weaker now, and that wet slithering sound, like ropes dragging across damp stone. Panic surges. Seed rams his shoulder against the door, wood splintering under his weight. On the third hit, the lock gives, and he stumbles into her apartment.
The sight stops his breath. Rebecca dangles a foot off the ground, her long black hair writhing like living vines, coiling around her throat. The strands have tangled into the blades of a ceiling fan, spinning slowly, pulling tighter with each rotation. Her face is purple, eyes bulging, bloodied nails clawing at the hair as she gasps for air. The room smells of sweat and something acrid, like burning thread. Her easel lies toppled, paint cans spilled across the floor, their colors pooling like blood.
The ledger slips from Seed's hands, thudding onto the ground. He lunges for a paper cutter on a cluttered desk, its blade glinting in the dim light. "Hold on, Rebecca!" he yells, voice cracking. He grabs a fistful of her hair, the strands unnaturally strong, squirming against his grip like serpents. He hacks at them, the cutter's edge dull but cutting nonetheless. The hair resists, each slice revealing more strands beneath, as if it's infinite, regenerating. A strand lashes out, grazing his wrist, leaving a stinging welt. Seed grits his teeth, cutting faster, sweat stinging his eyes.
Rebecca's gasps grow fainter, her struggles weaker. The fan creaks, its motor straining. Seed's arms burn, but he keeps cutting, strands falling in clumps, writhing briefly before going limp, like seaweed washed ashore. With a final, frantic slice, the last coil snaps. Rebecca collapses, hitting the floor with a sickening thud, coughing and clutching her throat. The hair lies scattered around her, lifeless now, a dark halo pooling in the spilled paint.
Seed stumbles back, his legs giving out. He crashes against the wall, chest heaving, the paper cutter clattering from his hand. He crawls to Rebecca, pressing trembling fingers to her neck. Her pulse is faint but there, fluttering like a trapped bird. Relief floods him, sharp and fleeting. "You're okay," he whispers, more to himself than her. She's alive. He did it.
Fumbling for Rebecca's phone on the coffee table, he dials 911, his voice shaking as he reports the emergency. "Apartment 3B, Crescent Street. She was choking, please hurry." He stays by her side, her breathing ragged but steadying, until sirens wail outside. The paramedics burst in, their boots tracking paint across the floor. They check Rebecca's vitals, strap her to a stretcher, and rush her out, her eyes half-open, unseeing.
Officer Delgado arrives with the police, his grizzled face etched with suspicion. The apartment is now a crime scene, cordoned off with yellow tape. Seed, still shaky, stands in the hallway as Delgado approaches, notepad in hand. "Wallace, what in tarnation happened here?" His voice is low, but his eyes are sharp, scanning Seed's disheveled jacket and the welt on his wrist.
Seed's mind races. He can't mention the ledger, its human-skin cover, or its prediction of Rebecca's death. It's too insane, and he's not sure he believes it himself. "I… came to borrow a book," he lies, the words clumsy. "Heard her screaming through the wall. Broke in and found her tangled in her hair, caught in the fan. I cut her free."
Delgado's brow furrows, his pen pausing. "Her hair? Caught how?" He glances at the apartment, where officers are photographing the scattered strands. "You're saying it just… wrapped around her neck?"
"Yeah," Seed says, forcing his voice steady. "Freak accident, maybe the fan pulled it." The lie tastes bitter, but the truth is not quite believable. Delgado studies him, his watch ticking loudly in the silence. Seed feels the weight of that gaze, like the cop knows he's hiding something.
"Alright," Delgado says finally, snapping his notepad shut. "Come to the station tomorrow morning, 8 a.m. sharp. We need an official statement." He hesitates, then adds, "Hollow Season's got a way of making things weird, Wallace. Watch yourself."
Seed nods, his throat tight. As the police and ambulance crew clear out, he lingers in the hallway, staring at Rebecca's door, now sealed with tape. The air feels heavier, the static hum of the Hollow Season prickling his skin. He turns back to his apartment, his steps slow, dread pooling in his gut. The ledger!, he'd dropped it in Rebecca's apartment. If the police found it, marked with her name, he's screwed.
Inside his apartment, the clutter feels oppressive, newspapers, takeout boxes, Lila's photo staring from the coffee table. His eyes dart to the desk, and his stomach lurches. The ledger sits there, untouched, its leathery cover gleaming faintly under the lamp. He hadn't brought it back. It shouldn't be here. A chill crawls up his spine...
He approaches cautiously, as if it might bite. His fingers tremble as he opens it, the pages crackling like dry bones. The first entry catches his eye: Rebecca Hayes, Apartment 3B. Strangled by her own hair. 9:10 p.m. A thick black line slashes through her name, the ink fresh, almost wet. She's safe, for now. But the relief dies as he turns the page.
A new entry, written in that same jagged script, stares back: Seed Wallace, Apartment 4A. Strangled by Kuchisake-onna, the Slit-Mouthed Ghost. 12:00 a.m.
His breath catches. The clock on the wall reads 10:45 p.m., just over one hour away. His name, his death, predicted in the same chilling detail. Kuchisake-onna. The name stirs a memory, a whispered urban legend from his childhood: a vengeful spirit with a mutilated mouth, haunting the night, asking victims if she's beautiful before slashing them apart.
Seed's hands shake, the ledger's pulse syncing with his own. This can't be real. But Rebecca's screams still echo in his mind, her hair writhing like a living thing. He glances at the window, half-expecting to see a figure outside, but there's only darkness, thick and pressing against the glass. The Hollow Season's hum grows louder, a low buzz in his bones.
He slams the ledger shut, his heart racing. One hour. He has one hour to figure out what this book is, what it wants, and how to survive. Lila's photo watches him, her smile a silent plea. He'd failed her once, lost her to this cursed season. He won't let it take him too, not without answers.
Stopping Rebecca 's death had now marked him as officially part of the hollow season and the ledger's game has just begun.