As midnight approached, the Haunted House's toilet plunged into an oppressive darkness, the silence so thick that Chen Ge's heartbeat thrummed in his ears, a steady rhythm against the stillness. He stood before the freshly cleaned mirror, its surface gleaming under the faint glow of his phone, his reflection sharp but haunted by the chill in his eyes—Zhang Ya's mark, a constant reminder of her crimson grip on his fate. When the clock struck twelve, the mirror shimmered, its clarity dissolving into a misty blur, as if fog had seeped into the glass. A single digit materialized at its center: 0. The number jolted Chen Ge, shattering his assumption that it was tied to the mirror monster, which Zhang Ya had devoured in a blood-red frenzy. If the monster's gone, why's the number still here? he wondered, his pulse quickening. He raised his phone to snap a photo, but froze mid-motion as the mirror's reflection warped. The door of the middle cubicle—the one with the squatting toilet—turned a vivid, unmistakable red, as if drenched in fresh blood, seeping from the edges and pooling in the cracks. The sight was visceral, a scarlet wound in the mirror's world, stark against the mundane reality of the toilet around him. His breath caught, the black phone heavy in his hand, its secrets tugging at him like a spectral leash.
Chen Ge's mind raced as he recorded the phenomenon, the phone's camera capturing the eerie shift. Why this cubicle? Why red? The squatting toilet, rarely used by visitors, was an odd focal point for such a vivid anomaly. He turned slowly, his hand trembling as he pushed open the cubicle's door in the real world. As he did, the mirror's red door swung open in sync, revealing a chilling contrast: the real cubicle was empty, its tiles and fixtures untouched, but in the mirror, everything— toilet paper holder, flush valve, even the faded ads plastered on the wall—was saturated in blood-red, glowing with an unnatural intensity. The darkened toilet made the crimson cubicle stand out like a beacon, its hue both mesmerizing and repulsive. Chen Ge's instincts screamed caution, but curiosity, honed by countless brushes with the supernatural, pulled him closer. He stepped halfway into the cubicle, his upper body crossing the threshold, and a sudden, suffocating sensation enveloped him. It was as if invisible tendrils, sticky and cold, clung to his skin, compressing his chest, tugging him toward something vast and unseen. Panic surged, and he lurched back, heart pounding. Exactly one minute later, the mirror's cubicle faded to normal, the red dissolving as if it had never been. He tested the space again, stepping inside, but the oppressive feeling was gone, leaving only the sterile scent of cleaner and his own unease.
The fleeting vision gnawed at him as he switched on the toilet's light, leaning against the window to process what he'd seen. A blood-red world behind the mirror? Is that where the monster came from? The number 0 and the crimson cubicle felt like pieces of a larger puzzle, one tied to the black phone's cryptic missions and his parents' disappearance. To test his theory, he scrolled through the phone's logs, pulling up details of his first Nightmare Mission: "It requires plenty of courage, incredible luck, and a bit of luck to see the hidden world." The words hit like a revelation. The hidden world—that's the blood-red realm in the cubicle. His memory flickered to that night, the creak of the cubicle door he'd dismissed as wind. Now, it seemed clear: the sound marked the mirror monster's escape from that scarlet dimension, only to be trapped by Xiaoxiao's interference. The mirror's a buffer, a gateway between worlds, he realized, his gaze shifting to the wooden cubicle door in reality. A reckless thought sparked: What if I step inside when the mirror turns red? Would I cross into that world? The idea was madness, a one-way ticket to a realm Zhang Ya herself might fear, yet it lingered, tempting him with answers to the phone's secrets and his parents' fate.
Chen Ge shook off the thought, his survival instinct overriding curiosity, and returned to the mirror, now clear and unremarkable. The number 0 and the red cubicle's brief appearance suggested a deeper truth. I was wrong about the number—it's not about killings. It's a countdown.
Perhaps it marked the mirror monster's time in the real world, or the window for its return to the blood-red realm. Though the monster was gone, consumed by Zhang Ya's predatory hunger, the mirror's nightly ritual might persist, a portal waiting to unleash something new. He pocketed the phone, its weight a reminder of the School of the Afterlife looming ahead, its missions entwined with Zhang Ya's desires. Her crimson touch—both savior and torment—pulsed in his memory, her "Yours forever" vow a chain he couldn't escape. As he locked the toilet and headed to the breakroom, the chill in his eyes flared, a warning that the mirror's secrets, and the horrors beyond, were far from done with him.
Chen Ge stood before the toilet's mirror, its surface now still, the number 0 and the blood-red cubicle faded into memory. The thought of the crimson portal reappearing tomorrow night sent a shiver through him, the chill in his eyes—Zhang Ya's mark—pulsing as if in warning. If that red door shows up again, I'll have to remove the mirror. It's the only way to be safe. The idea of dismantling the glass felt like severing a tie to the blood-red world, but safety trumped curiosity for now. He rummaged through the storage closet, finding a heavy black cloth, its weight reassuring as he draped it over the mirror, cloaking its secrets in darkness. With the toilet secured, he returned to the staff breakroom, the familiar creak of the floorboards grounding him after the night's eerie events. Settling onto the cot, he pulled out the black phone, its screen glowing faintly in the dim light.
The Daily Missions had refreshed, presenting three new challenges:
Easy Mission: A normal Haunted House shouldn't leave lasting trauma. Improve security by inspecting hidden threats.
Normal Mission: A single hand cannot clap. Build a strong management team to support your Haunted House.
Nightmare Mission: A second occupant shares your room—don't you want to meet them? Each mission carried its own weight, but the Nightmare Mission's cryptic lure—hinting at Zhang Ya or another spectral presence—stirred unease.
After the mirror monster's terror, the memory of its escape from the blood-red world still fresh, Chen Ge hesitated. Nightmare Missions promise big rewards, but they're a gamble with my life. Exhaustion won out; he muttered, "I'll decide tomorrow. I need sleep." Tucking the phone away, he pulled the sheet over himself, the weight of Zhang Ya's "Yours forever" vow lingering as he drifted into a restless slumber.
Sleep had been a rare luxury since the black phone entered his life, each night plagued by missions, specters, and the shadow of his parents' disappearance. The constant strain was wearing him down, his body protesting with aches that no amount of adrenaline could mask.
As he slept, dreams flickered—crimson dresses, creaking cubicle doors, and the black phone's hum weaving through it all. By 8:00 a.m., sunlight pierced the breakroom's curtains, pulling Chen Ge from his uneasy rest. He felt refreshed, his mind sharper than it had been in weeks, the brief respite a small victory. Driven by anticipation, he bolted from the cot, the black phone in hand, and made a beeline for the Night of the Living Dead scenario's entrance on the first floor. The chalk outline he'd drawn last night was still there, but the space had transformed overnight.
A new path had appeared, a set of concrete stairs descending into darkness, leading to the underground parking lot. The black phone doesn't mess around, he thought, a mix of awe and apprehension washing over him. He descended the steps, each one echoing in the cavernous silence of the abandoned lot below. The space was vast but desolate, its cracked concrete floor stretching into shadows, illuminated only by flickering, half-dead lights. This is it? Just stairs? Disappointment tugged at him, but the sheer potential of the lot—a third of the park's size, his to mold—reignited his ambition. Three months until Eastern Jiujiang's Virtual Reality Futuristic Carnival opens. I'll unlock every scenario the black phone offers, build a horror theme park to rival theirs, and keep New Century alive.
The vision of screaming crowds and spectral allies fueled him, even as Zhang Ya's presence loomed, her touch a reminder that every step forward was a deal with darkness.
Returning to the first floor, Chen Ge approached the Haunted House's front entrance, eager to inspect the Midnight Ticket Counter (Broken) the black phone had granted. Between the creaking gates and the entrance corridor stood a new structure, a crude, semi-transparent wooden construct painted black, looking like two mismatched dressers clumsily fused together. Its rough edges and uneven planks screamed makeshift, a far cry from the polished ticket booths at larger attractions. This is the Midnight Ticket Counter?
Chen Ge circled it, frowning. It's a mess. The phone's description echoed in his mind: a one-in-a-thousand chance to attract "special visitors" who might lend aid. Ghosts? Spirits like Xiaoxiao? Or something worse? The counter's dilapidated state didn't inspire confidence, but its presence marked a tangible step toward his horror empire.
He ran his hand over the wood, its splinters catching his skin, and felt the black phone vibrate faintly in his pocket. The School of the Afterlife missions awaited, each one a key to his parents' fate, but Zhang Ya's crimson shadow clung to him, her desires entwining with his own.
As he stood before the crude counter, the chill in his eyes flared, a silent warning that the blood-red world, the phone's rewards, and Zhang Ya's sadistic whims were weaving a path where every triumph came at a cost, and every visitor—living or otherwise—might be more than they seemed.