"Only three out of four will survive."
A chill crept through
"Go sit over there. You haven't earned the right to sit with us." The fifth person from the right side of the table spoke up. He was the closest to Chen Ge, his gaze sharp and sinister. "I rather like your mask."
Chen Ge ignored him and stood next to the three newcomers.
"Number One, continue your story. No one will interrupt you this time." The man sitting at the head of the left side appeared to be a core member of the Association — no one dared contradict him.
The newcomer called Number One looked quite old. He wore a black mask that covered his entire face, though it left his graying hair exposed. His limbs were thin, his frame frail-looking. His skin was loose and utterly devoid of elasticity, and age spots were visible on his exposed arms.
"Then I'll go on."
Number One coughed several times. He had a small habit of gesturing as he spoke, which gave him a somewhat comical air.
"This story took place at the Municipal People's Hospital. I witnessed it myself — it's absolutely true."
"I was suffering from a lung disease and had been receiving treatment at the hospital, staying in a special care ward."
"Another old man shared my room. I don't know what illness he had — I only knew he was in constant agony, teetering on the edge of life and death every single day."
"The story begins one night about a week ago."
"He was a very light sleeper — the slightest noise would wake him. That night, at some ungodly hour, I suddenly noticed the old man wasn't asleep. His eyes were wide open, staring at some spot in the room."
"I looked toward the same spot. There was nothing there."
"I turned on the light and asked what he was looking at."
"He said there was a person standing there."
"When I tried to press him on what the person looked like, what they were wearing, the old man stammered and couldn't give a clear answer."
"The next night, I noticed the room felt chilly. When I woke up, I saw the old man in the next bed staring at me with wide-open eyes."
"I was startled. After I turned on the light, the old man turned his head away. No matter what I asked him, he refused to say a word."
"On the third night, I didn't dare turn off the bedside lamp. Under the faint glow, I slept peacefully and didn't wake until morning."
"But when I got up, I found dusty footprints on the sheets and blanket — as if someone had stood on my bed during the night."
"I grew even more uneasy. I couldn't bring myself to fall asleep the entire night, feeling that something terrible would happen the moment I closed my eyes."
"I could only sleep during the day, staying awake through the night."
"Nothing happened on the fourth day. But on the fifth night, I witnessed something truly horrifying."
"That old man got out of bed after midnight. He stood on his tiptoes, just like this…"
Number One, wearing the black mask, let both arms hang at his sides and imitated the old man's mannerisms — tiptoeing along, his body jerking stiffly as he shuffled around the room. The effect was deeply unsettling.
"The old man circled my bed several times. I don't know what he was doing. His face was sunken inward, his eyes bulging out, his skin crumpled together."