The Rules

 Aiden opened the booklet in his hands. *A Newcomer's Guide to Blackpine Town*. The subtitle read: "For your safety and the safety of your family, please read carefully and adhere strictly."

　　It was thin, only a dozen pages, the paper coarse as if produced by an ancient printing press. Stranger still, it gave off the faint, cloying scent of old blood.

　　He got to his feet and surveyed his surroundings. This was definitely a small town, but one that looked like it had been forgotten by time. In the distance, he could see the outlines of a few houses, all in a typical Midwestern American style—peaked roofs, wooden siding, and white picket fences. But an unnatural silence hung over everything.

　　There were no chirping crickets, no whisper of wind. Even the sound of his own breathing seemed jarringly loud.

　　Aiden opened the booklet. The first page read:

　　**Welcome to Blackpine Town!** *To ensure a safe stay, you must abide by the following rules:*

　　**Basic Safety Rules:**

　　1. Do not go out alone after sunset. If you must, ensure you carry a torch of birch wood.

　　2. The town square statue always points north. If it turns to point at your residence, immediately light the birch wood in front of your house and wait indoors until dawn.

　　3. When you hear the church bell, count the tolls. It should ring 12 times. If you hear a 13th toll, cover your ears at once and recite the prayer on page 7.

　　4. Do not speak to anyone who casts no reflection.

　　5. If the postman has no face, do not accept any mail. Burn the mail and the mailbox together.

　　Aiden frowned. The rules sounded like something out of a bizarre role-playing game, but the texture of the paper and the scent of blood told him this was no joke.

　　He turned the page.

　　**Lodging Safety Rules:**

　　1. Room 13 at the inn is to remain perpetually vacant. If the receptionist tells you Room 13 is the only one left, leave the inn immediately.

　　2. When bathing, do not look in the mirror for more than three seconds.

　　3. If the radio in your room turns on by itself, shut it off at once and surround it with a circle of salt.

　　4. Do not use the telephone after midnight. The lines connect to "elsewhere" at that hour.

　　5. If you hear a knock at your door, confirm the person outside has a shadow before opening it.

　　**Forest Safety Rules:**

　　1. The black pine trees cast no shadows. If you see a "black pine" with a shadow, back away slowly. Do not run.

　　2. If you hear someone singing in the forest, do not follow the voice. It is a lure used by "the Famished."

　　3. If you become lost in the forest, find a stone with no moss. Press your palm against it and silently repeat your true name three times.

　　A chill ran down Aiden's spine. The rules were disturbingly specific, as if they were written from the fatal experiences of those who had failed to follow them.

　　He flipped to page 7 and found a strange prayer:

　　*"Warden of the Black Pine, Silent Guide, protect thy servant from the gaze of those who watch from shadow. The pact of blood and bone is sealed; rule and order must be upheld. May thy mercy fall upon the compliant, and thy wrath upon the defiant."*

　　The text was in an archaic font, looking more like an incantation than a conventional prayer.

　　The final page was a crude map marking the town's main buildings: a church, an inn, a police station, a mine, and the statue in the town square. Several "Danger Zones" were marked in red, the largest of which was an abandoned mine to the north.

　　Aiden closed the booklet, looking around to orient himself. He seemed to be on the southern edge of town, about a ten-minute walk from the inn.

　　A strange twilight seemed to hang over the entire town. The sky was a deep, starless blue, but there was no sun, no clouds. The source of the light was impossible to determine.

　　He started toward the town center, his footsteps echoing on the empty flagstone streets. The houses on either side were shuttered and dark, but occasionally he could hear faint sounds from within—the murmur of soft conversation, the indistinct melody of a radio.

　　After about five minutes, Aiden saw the first "resident."

　　It was a postman in a dark blue uniform, pushing a mail cart from house to house. Aiden was about to approach him for information, but when the postman turned, his blood ran cold.

　　The man's face was a smooth, uninterrupted expanse of skin. There were no eyes, no nose, no mouth—just a blank canvas of pale flesh, as if his features had been erased.

　　*"If the postman has no face, do not accept any mail."*

　　The words from the booklet screamed in his mind. Aiden quickly looked down, pretending to study his map as the postman passed.

　　The faceless man's footsteps were nearly silent, but each step was accompanied by a soft, wet sound, like bare feet on a damp floor. As it drew near, the air filled with the stench of decay, a mix of old paper and rotting meat.

　　Aiden held his breath until the sound receded. When he looked up, the postman had vanished down the street, as if he had never been there at all.

　　He quickened his pace toward the inn, a terrible realization dawning on him. The rules of this place were not a game. They were a necessity for survival. Breaking them would lead to a fate far worse than death.

　　Soon, he saw a two-story wooden building with a creaking sign that read: "Welcome to the Pine Needle Inn." Though old, the building looked sound. Warm, yellow light spilled from the ground-floor windows, making it feel like the only safe harbor in the entire town.

　　Aiden pushed open the heavy wooden door, a small bell chiming his arrival. The lobby was small and cozy, with a fire crackling in the hearth and the scent of pinewood in the air. Behind the front desk stood a woman in her fifties, her graying hair in a bun, wearing a simple gray sweater.

　　"Good evening," the woman said, looking up with a gentle smile. "You must be new. I'm Martha, the owner of this inn."

　　Aiden let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Finally, someone who looked normal.

　　"Hello. My name is Aiden Krause. I'd like a room."

　　Martha nodded, pulling a thick ledger from under the counter. "Of course, we have vacancies. Let's see..." She flipped through the pages. "We have rooms 3, 7, 9, and 13 available."

　　Aiden's heart hammered against his ribs. The booklet was clear: *"If the receptionist tells you Room 13 is the only one left, leave the inn immediately."*

　　But it wasn't the only one left. There were other choices. What did that mean? The rule was still in play, just with a different trigger?

　　"I'll take room 7," Aiden said.

　　"Very good." Martha wrote his name in the ledger. "Please remember the inn's rules—no loud noises in the hallway after ten, don't use the phone in your room after midnight, and..." She paused, her expression turning serious. "No matter what you hear, don't open your door unless you are certain the person on the other side has a shadow."

　　She handed Aiden an old-fashioned brass key with the number "7" stamped on it.

　　"One more thing," Martha added, her voice dropping to a low whisper. "If the radio in your room turns on by itself, don't try to turn it off. Just... don't listen to what it's saying."

　　Aiden took the key, the metal cold against his skin. "Why?"

　　Martha shook her head. "A rule is a rule, sir. Here, rules don't need reasons. They only need to be followed. The longer you're here, the more you'll understand."

　　She gestured toward the stairs. "Room 7 is on the second floor, to the left. If you need anything, use the service bell in your room, but please note, I'm only on duty from six in the morning until ten at night. Any other time... I can't guarantee it'll be me who answers your door."

　　Aiden climbed the creaking wooden stairs. The hallway was lit by a few dim, flickering lamps, its walls covered in faded floral wallpaper. He found Room 7 and the key turned easily in the lock.

　　The room was simple: a single bed, a small writing desk, a wardrobe, and an old radio on the nightstand. The most striking feature was an oval mirror hanging on the wall, its frame carved with intricate patterns.

　　Aiden placed the booklet on the desk and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to process his situation. He was clearly no longer in the real world, but had been brought to this place, Blackpine Town, by some unknown force. Everyone here knew the rules, and everyone followed them, as if it was the only way to exist.

　　But why? Who made these rules? And were the consequences for breaking them truly so terrible?

　　At some point, exhaustion washed over him like a tide, and Aiden sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.

　　At midnight, the old radio on the nightstand suddenly emitted a soft but distinct *click*, like the sharp crack of a bone.

　　Aiden's eyes snapped open.

　　The radio's indicator light began to glow, a faint red pulse in the darkness. Then, music started to play—a jazz tune from the 1940s, its melody beautiful but laced with a strange, distorted quality.

　　The words from the booklet flashed in his mind: *"If the radio in your room turns on by itself, shut it off at once and surround it with a circle of salt."*

　　But then, Martha's warning echoed in his ears: *"If the radio in your room turns on by itself, don't try to turn it off."*

　　The rules were in direct conflict.

　　Aiden realized this was his first true test. Choosing the wrong rule could mean death, but should he trust the official guide, or the innkeeper's warning?

　　The music continued, the melody growing deeper, more melancholic. Aiden listened closely and realized another sound was mixed in with the tune—a soft, sung whisper, the words unintelligible.

　　His gaze drifted to the mirror. His reflection caught his eye. He could see himself sitting on the bed, but the radio... in the mirror, the radio was off. Its indicator light was dark. It was silent.

　　Aiden's hand began to tremble. If the radio in the mirror was off, then what was this thing playing music beside his bed?