Chap 7: Nowhere to Run

The Entire Old Street Trembles in Fear...Never before had the entire Old Street lived in such extreme fear and tension. Households were warned about a serial killer lurking somewhere. Adults no longer dared to come home late from work, and children no longer dared to play outside after dark.

People only felt safe inside their own homes, where doors were locked and lights were blazing. Even the local police no longer dared to patrol the streets in broad daylight as they usually did. They no longer harassed street vendors, sidewalk tea stalls, or confiscated vehicles parked haphazardly—afraid that they might become the next target of the killer.

If even those unrelated were terrified, how much more so for Ngọc, Dũng, and Hoa? Now, only the three of them remained, anxiously awaiting the upcoming moonless night…

Hoa, however, was the least worried. She had suddenly come down with the flu. Though it was mild, she insisted on being hospitalized for a few days. Her parents, after some calculation, realized that with student health insurance, the cost wouldn't be too high. So they agreed.

To ensure their peace of mind, free from interruptions for a few days, they even gave her a mobile phone to keep in touch. She happily called Dũng or Ngọc frequently to check in:

"Listen, Ngọc just told me that—"

"Not to leave places with light, right? I know already."

For the past month, Hoa, Ngọc, and Dũng had stuck together wherever they went. Ngọc, despite acting like she was ready to accept whatever would happen, worried deeply about Hoa and Dũng. After all, people often prepare themselves to face their own deaths as quickly and painlessly as possible—but watching their loved ones die, one by one, was an entirely different terror.

"But that was with Ma Lon. Minh isn't Ma Lon." Hoa said.

"He's even scarier. Just look at what happened to Bảo, Thắng, and Chiến. Do you really think there's any other way?"

"But what if it's not Minh? There's no such thing as a vengeful spirit… Besides, he was our friend."

Dũng's words made both Hoa and Ngọc turn to stare at him. Their eyes landed on his hair, which had started turning gray in just a few months. Their gaze seemed to say: "Everything is already as clear as day."

"If only it were Ma Lon... at least then, we'd know how to stop it."

Even before night fell, Hoa was already fast asleep. She had to catch up on all the nights she had spent tossing and turning in fear at home. But her peaceful rest was shattered by the sudden ringing of her phone.

"Weird... I don't remember setting this ringtone."

It was Beethoven's Symphony No. 5, composed during the years he could no longer hear anything except the beating of his own heart. The rhythm, which sounded like death knocking on the door, now eerily matched the pounding in Hoa's chest.

Then, amidst the ringing, she heard a whisper—accompanied by the eerie clinking of metal:

"Let's play. Anyone who doesn't play is a little puppy."

The thud of her phone hitting the floor was drowned out by the metallic screeching of something being dragged across the ground.

Hoa cursed herself for being so stupid. In her moment of fear, she had bolted out of the brightly lit hospital room—her safest place. Instead of staying put, she had run straight into a dimly lit, deserted corridor.

Where was she now? She didn't know.

How could she find her way back to her old room? She didn't know.

How could she make the horrible sound stop? She didn't know.

She sank to the ground, clutching her head tightly to block out the deafening thudding in her chest, the grating metallic screeches, and the haunting melody still playing from her mobile—even though she was sure she had turned it off and thrown it far away.

Frantically, she scanned her surroundings, hoping to find someone—anyone—who could help.

But there was no one.

Odd. A hospital during business hours shouldn't be this empty—like a morgue.

The once-spotless white walls had vanished, replaced by blotchy, dark gray patches. And those gray patches… were moving. They shifted, leaving just enough gaps for Hoa to see that she had somehow stumbled into a dimly lit, enclosed room—with large, square compartments lining the walls.

Each compartment was just the right size to fit a coffin.

A shiver ran down her spine as she read the bold sign above her:

"MORGUE."

She wanted to scream. But she couldn't.

A thick, putrid dust—reeking of decay—filled her nostrils, choking her.

Her breath came in ragged gasps as she watched the swirling dust twist and coil, taking the shape of a shadowy figure. And with it came that dreadful sound—the screech of a cursed tin can being dragged across the cold, tiled floor.

The shadow drew closer.

And the sound...

The sound was getting closer too.