ICGS 03

Chapter 3

Rrring,

Rrring…

I didn’t pick up the ominous phone call. In this ghost-infested mansion, I didn’t have the guts to answer some sudden call out of nowhere. One wrong call could very well be the cause of my death.

Click.

The phone cut off. Instinctively, I let out a sigh of relief. But that relief lasted only a moment—

—The black coachman and the black carriage are circling the mansion’s yard.

“…W-what the…”

The phone…

I was sure I hadn’t answered it. Checking again, the phone was still off, and yet a chill ran down my spine.

Even without picking it up, a voice spilled out.

—Huh? Nobody here.

The carefree voice, as if searching for something, echoed from the phone, and I slapped a hand over my mouth.

My fingers trembled. Wasn’t this the urban legend about the black carriage? The old one that used to trend back in Korea?! Of all things, what kind of twisted reincarnation was this? Was I really being haunted even by short-lived internet horror stories?

My whole body shook—

With rage.

I bowed my head and muttered under my breath.

“Why. Why me…?”

Fear, anger, and countless indescribable emotions blended together into a sticky mess. It was just one confusion after another.

Why on earth did I end up possessed in this place?

I would’ve rather woken up inside a game, or a romance fantasy novel, or any other story. Main character, side character, villain—didn’t matter. Anything was better than being stuck in “First Victim of a Ghost Story” position. I felt dizzy, as if my vision were spinning.

I’d already had enough of this nerve-wracking pen pal life with Charlie Charlie and Bloody Mary. But now? Now I was about to be chased by something I couldn’t even tell was the black carriage or the red carriage.

—The black coachman and the black carriage are at the front gate.

As if giving a warning—

Bzzzt.

—Oh. Not here either.

The phone hung up on its own after dropping those creepy words. It wasn’t just fear—it was infuriating.

That must be why. That must be why, when this black-carriage-whatever finally came, stage by stage—

—Ah. Here you are.

…When it finally said that—

Grab.

—Huh? How is a human…

I grabbed the so-called coachman by the collar.

“Come on, you bastard. Let’s go, one-on-one.”

The fact that I could say something so outrageously bold—

“…Hhh—aaah!!”

I woke up screaming.

The grotesque face of the black carriage driver had leaned right into mine, vivid enough to feel real even though it was only a dream.

“…A dream?”

I looked around. It was my room—no, the room belonging to this body’s original owner, “Ellie.”

“Even my dreams are crap like this…”

I swallowed down the string of curses about to burst out. Think. What was going on?

And then, a shiver ran all the way down my spine.

“…Wait. I collapsed, didn’t I?”

Why was I in bed?

Nobody could’ve carried me. I’d figured that out on the very first day. This mansion’s rooms were occupied only by the body’s owner—Ellie. Even her family didn’t come visit. And yet, it couldn’t be that me passing out from seeing Bloody Mary in real-time was also just a dream. It was too real.

[To Ellie,

Hello, it’s Mary.

I hadn’t realized it until Charlie mentioned it. I’m sorry—I didn’t know your health was that poor. That was my fault.

I thought you were only pretending, that you were exaggerating to avoid Charlie’s nagging, but… it seems your health really isn’t so good. I feel awful for assuming things.

Do you know since when you’ve been unwell? I truly hope you recover quickly, and if there’s anything I can do to help, I’d like to.

Sincerely worried for your health,
Mary.]

“Haa…”

So she thought me fainting from sheer terror was because of bad health. I pressed my fingers hard into my brow. Judging by the tone of her letter, Bloody Mary herself must’ve kindly carried me back to bed.

But wait. Since when did horror-story ghosts kindly carry unconscious people back to bed—and even tuck a stuffed animal into their arms? Then again, these beings could torment people with all sorts of supernatural nonsense, so I guess nothing was impossible.

I quickly realized there was no point overthinking this. Rubbing my tired eyes, I picked up my pen to reply to Mary. But how? Yesterday, it was my first letter so I just wrote whatever. But now…

What if I wrote the wrong way, and she decided I was “too arrogant” and snap—that was the end of me?

To avoid that kind of grisly outcome, I figured it was safest to follow her style as closely as possible.

Of course, I also had to finally write the reply to Charlie that I hadn’t managed yesterday, thanks to fainting.

“But seriously… how long do I have to stay trapped inside this mansion?”

It wasn’t like I wanted to leave immediately, but the thought was natural. Just a complaint, really—not that I had any intention of actually wandering around this terrifying house.

Yet right as I muttered that—

[Hello, Ellie.

It’s Charlie.

If you’d like, I could guide you on a tour of the mansion. It’s dangerous inside, but… it doesn’t seem all that dangerous to you. Still, if you ever feel uneasy, just call for me.

At the very least, I’m far more useful than that stuffed toy in your arms.

Forever admiring you,
Charlie.]

He was listening in real-time! I thought. But then I froze at the last part of the letter.

“…Admiring me?”

Wait.

Who?

You admire… me?

My brain locked up. I rubbed my eyes, reread it again and again, but the words didn’t change. Charlie Charlie admired me?

Why??

What did I ever do to earn a ghost’s admiration?

My head throbbed as I tried to sort out my thoughts.

…Fine. Whatever. I could let that slide. But what about that other line? “It’s dangerous inside, but not that dangerous to you.” What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Dangerous or not—pick one! Don’t confuse me!

And why specifically mention the stuffed toy in my arms, comparing himself to it? That really stuck with me.

I glanced down at the plush animal I’d been holding.

“…It’s a snake plushie.”

The shape was a bit unusual. I knew enough horror lore to be wary of dolls inside haunted houses. But that was just knowledge—I hadn’t applied it.

“It doesn’t even move.”

I poked its glassy eyes. No reaction. No fancy patterns either, just a plain black snake plush.

Its unusual look made me wonder—was it a cursed doll?

But no. The plush didn’t feel disgusting at all, just… soft.

Black.

Thick.

Cuddly.

And, most importantly—completely motionless. That alone made it more trustworthy. In this room, I’d had objects move around on their own against my will. The fact that this plush had never moved made it a treasure by comparison.

I knew, because I’d lived it.

Life really was rough.

Among all the “objects” in this room, the only thing that didn’t move—was this black snake plush.

I had other dolls too, but they were all ball-jointed dolls. Even when I turned their heads away, their gazes would always end up back on me…

“Kind of hard to cuddle with those.”

Living alone in such a huge mansion, I’d started talking to myself a lot. Anyway, because of that, I’d once tried putting those creepy dolls outside the room. That night, there’d been endless knocking at my door.

Whenever I opened it—no one there. Just the dolls’ glassy eyes staring up at me, pleading to be let back in.

Like they wanted to come inside.

Thinking back to that, I set down the black snake plush I’d still been holding.

Even if it had never moved, even if nothing strange had happened with it, I realized thanks to Charlie’s words that it was hard to call it a “normal” toy.

I kept glancing at it—

But, sure enough, nothing happened!

“Knew it.”

There was nothing wrong with the doll.

Still, I didn’t pick it back up again. And no, that wasn’t because Charlie had said “I’m more useful than the toy in your arms.” Definitely not.

[Hello, nice to meet you.

I always enjoy receiving Charlie’s letters.]

I’d gotten that far into my reply when I stopped, reality hitting me.

Because honestly, hadn’t it already been proven? Yesterday—or was it the day before? Right before I fainted, Bloody Mary had reacted in real-time to me. Which meant both Charlie Charlie and Bloody Mary weren’t just exchanging letters with me—they were watching me constantly.

If that was the case, wasn’t writing letters just a way to maximize the horror factor?

“…Um…”

Even saying this out loud made me nervous.

Maybe I’d gone insane from fear. Maybe this was necromancy. Maybe this choice would damn me forever. But still—

I couldn’t live the rest of my life in this mansion having only written conversations with ghosts.

“…Hello?”

Is anyone there?

I spoke—but the room stayed silent.

Not even the usual eerie noises, the shuffling, or the occasional sound of something moving. Just silence so deep I might’ve heard an ant crawl by.

That calmed me.

“See? Thinking ghosts are watching me in real time was just…”

Clatter.