Unveiling the Secrets of Blackwood Shrine

The idea of venturing to Blackwood Shrine had been brewing in my mind for days, and I couldn't resist dragging Ethan Blackwood along for the ride. I convinced him to investigate the place with me, agreeing to meet at the office the following morning. After all, if the shrine was a legitimate institution, we'd need to maintain a professional rapport, not to mention the importance of avoiding any awkward future encounters from sneaking around like spies.

The next morning, Ethan arrived at the office earlier than expected. I led him straight to the makeup department, eager to begin our covert transformation. As we entered, the head makeup artist, Helen, greeted us with a warm smile.

"Liam, you're up early today!" she teased.

Helen, a charming woman in her late twenties, had earned her reputation as the company's top makeup artist. She had done my makeup for a previous show, and we had become quite friendly. I laughed awkwardly, "Helen, don't make fun of me. How did I suddenly become 'Liam the boss'?"

She grinned, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "Well, you're the producer, director, and host of The Friday Phantom. Seems only fitting! By the way, the show's great—except for Daniel's ghost stories; they're more like jokes. But overall, you've got me hooked. I might just become your biggest fan…"

Flattered, I responded with a chuckle, "And I've been your fan since the first time I saw you. In fact, I had a dream about you last night."

As we exchanged playful banter, I noticed that Helen's gaze kept drifting toward Ethan. My ego deflated slightly as I cleared my throat and introduced him. "This is Ethan, one of our photographers. He's working with me on The Friday Phantom."

Ethan nodded curtly in response to Helen, his cool demeanor unwavering as he turned to me. "Can we get on with it? You talk too much," he said flatly, cutting through the light-hearted atmosphere.

I winced, muttering under my breath, "Come on, I'm the boss here. Can't you show a little respect?"

"Boss or not, we need to stay focused," Ethan replied, his voice dead serious.

Embarrassed, I let out a couple of nervous laughs before turning back to Helen. "So, here's the deal. We need some disguises. Just enough makeup to make us unrecognizable. We're going undercover today."

Helen agreed quickly. I half-expected her to start on my face first, but instead, she went straight to Ethan. He, of course, exuded that effortless coolness that always seemed to attract women's attention. Meanwhile, I couldn't help but wonder why someone like him—who always seemed to have a stick up his—was so magnetic. I was starting to feel a little envious.

After a blur of powder, brushes, and some impressive contouring, I examined myself in the mirror. I was now a thirty-something-year-old man, complete with crow's feet and graying temples. Ethan, too, looked different—gone were his sharp features, replaced by a more rugged and approachable look. The makeup made him seem far less intense, which was probably a good thing for the task ahead.

With our disguises in place, we prepared to head out. Ethan wisely decided against taking his usual hearse—it would be far too conspicuous for a secret investigation. Instead, we opted for one of the older company cars. When I saw the vehicle—a battered old minibus that looked like it could barely hold itself together—I nearly lost it.

"Seriously?" I groaned, staring at the rusty, dilapidated van tucked away in the far corner of the parking lot.

"Relax. It'll get us there," Ethan said, already climbing into the driver's seat.

Grumbling under my breath, I followed him in. We were headed to the outskirts of town, where the Blackwood Shrine lay nestled at the foot of Mount Nyssa. The journey was long and bumpy, leaving me with sore legs and an aching back by the time we arrived.

As soon as I stepped off the bus and stretched, I was nudged from behind by a middle-aged couple. The woman was talking animatedly to her husband. "Blackwood Shrine is truly blessed by the heavens! We couldn't have children for years, but after coming here, we finally have a baby! We must show our gratitude with incense."

Eavesdropping on their conversation, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The shrine, it seemed, had quite the devoted following.

"Stop staring. Let's move," Ethan said, tugging at my sleeve and snapping me out of my thoughts.

Before we could get far, a woman in her fifties hurried toward us. Her face lit up with relief when she saw us. "Excuse me, young men, do you know where the shrine is?" she asked breathlessly.

Eager to be helpful, I pointed her in the right direction. "Just follow this path up the hill. We're headed there too. You can walk with us if you'd like."

She beamed. "Thank you so much! I've been wandering around for ages. It's hard to keep my bearings at my age. You two are kind souls. The goddess at Blackwood Shrine will surely bless you."

As we walked, the woman rambled on about how the shrine had cured her son's illness after she offered incense. I found it hard to believe, but I nodded along politely. Ethan, ever the skeptic, interrupted her suddenly, "If you've been here before, how come you don't remember the way?"

The woman faltered for a moment before laughing nervously. "Last time, my neighbor drove me here. This time I didn't want to trouble anyone."

I raised an eyebrow at Ethan. Something about this whole situation felt off, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

Just then, two teenagers walked past, one of them chattering excitedly to the other. "I'm telling you, praying to the goddess here works! My grades were at the bottom of the class, but now I'm one of the top students!"

More testimonies of the shrine's miraculous powers. I was starting to feel suspicious. It seemed too convenient that everyone we encountered had nothing but praise for the shrine's supernatural abilities. Ethan and I exchanged a glance, both of us on the same wavelength now.

As we continued walking, more passersby told similar stories. One woman claimed the shrine had helped her business thrive, while another man—who looked like a government official—boasted about his sudden promotion after paying respects to the goddess.

The further we walked, the more I was convinced that these weren't just random encounters. This was a setup. An elaborate scam, carefully orchestrated to lure in believers.

When we finally reached the entrance of Blackwood Shrine, the older woman who had asked for directions excused herself, muttering something about needing to use the restroom. I watched her disappear and turned my attention to the massive wooden gate in front of us.

The gate was grand—almost too grand for a place like this. Long, stretching nearly three hundred meters, it was made of redwood with intricate bronze studs. Flanking either side were stone statues that looked like lions from a distance, but upon closer inspection, I realized they were pixiu, mythical creatures said to bring wealth and prosperity.

I couldn't help but feel skeptical. Pixiu statues in front of a shrine? Wasn't that more of a bank thing? I turned to ask Ethan what he thought, but he was already at the ticket booth, buying our way in. The ticket price was steep—seventy-eight dollars, more than some famous national parks charged.

"Three-A tourist destination," I muttered as I read the sign nearby. The commercialization of the place was becoming painfully obvious.

Once inside, my suspicions only deepened. There was no traditional mountain gate, no guardian statues. Instead, we were ushered straight into the main hall. Ethan purchased incense from the vendor near the entrance, where a rotund monk sat, watching us with beady eyes.

"You feel that?" Ethan whispered, his voice low and tense.

"Yeah," I replied. "Something's definitely not right here."

We were in the middle of a carefully crafted illusion, a spiritual trap designed to exploit the hopes and dreams of vulnerable people. As we prepared to dig deeper, it became clear that the shrine was far more sinister than it appeared.