Horror Game Designer

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Seated beneath the focused illumination of the living room light, Gao Ming was meticulously scrutinizing a pair of black-and-white photographs. His intention was to unearth any potential leads hidden within them.

He pondered over the images, considering the details described in the obituary photos. “The family referred to here must be from the same realm as the ethereal entities I’ve come to know as Ghost Dad and Ghost Mom,” he theorized. In his contemplation, he deciphered the symbolism presented in the first photograph. It suggested that he had assumed the role of the ‘patriarch,’ entrusted with a metaphorical ‘key’ to unlock the familial domain. Gao Ming speculated that this ‘key’ wasn’t a tangible item but represented some kind of special capability or power. He connected this thought to the peculiar incident where the video game he had designed had inexplicably manifested into the real world, providing a gateway for Ghost Dad and Ghost Mom to transition into reality. He hypothesized that these parental figures might not be presenting their true forms; instead, they were perhaps adopting a certain guise to interact within the physical world.

With these thoughts swirling in his mind, Gao Ming jotted down the pronouns ‘them’ and ‘it’ in his notebook, indicating his ongoing uncertainty regarding the true nature of the mysterious entities he was dealing with.

Out of nowhere, a sharp pain shot through his head, prompting Gao Ming to instinctively press a hand to his forehead. He drew a connection between the series of peculiar symptoms he was experiencing and a certain traffic tunnel. “I need to explore that tunnel at daybreak,” he resolved, believing that it might hold the key to resolving the enigmas that surrounded him.

As he returned his gaze to the second obituary photograph, he noticed an alarming transformation. Merely minutes had passed, yet the individual in the picture, Qi Yan, looked dramatically different. His body showed fractures, and his face was etched with an intensified expression of terror.

“Could it be that Qi Yan’s mind, or possibly his very soul, has been pulled into Ghost Mom’s world?” Gao Ming speculated. The rapid deterioration in Qi Yan’s condition led him to surmise that this ‘home’ dimension was a place of immense horror.

With a sense of urgency, Gao Ming secured the obituary photographs and hastily called the emergency services, anxious to prevent Qi Yan from meeting a gruesome fate within the walls of his own residence.

“Hello, I’d like to report a crime in progress. The perpetrator of the Rainy Night Murders is in my house.”

After a tense moment of silence, the operator responded with a heightened sense of alertness. “Are you currently being held captive? Stay calm, do not agitate the assailant. Can you tell us if he’s in close proximity to you? We need him to communicate his demands; rest assured, your safety is our utmost concern!”

Glancing towards Qi Yan, who lay bloodied and injured, ingesting some unknown substance, and restrained, Gao Ming weighed his next words carefully before urging, “Please hurry. If you delay, he might not survive.”

In the anxious wait for the police, Gao Ming browsed the news on his phone for any relevant updates.

It seemed illogical that the vanishing of an entire busload of passengers would go unnoticed by the media, yet he found no coverage of such an event he experienced three days ago.

This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation

Upon checking the bus timetables for the night of the Ghost Festival, the official website confirmed that all services had been canceled due to severe rainstorms that evening.

Puzzled, he thought, “If there were no buses running, what exactly was the bus I boarded that day?”

Given his profession as a psychological counselor within the highly secured confines of Henshan High-Security Prison, Gao Ming had encountered numerous disturbed individuals. To maintain his professional integrity and mental clarity, he had always anchored himself to logic and reason. However, in this moment of crisis, he allowed himself to entertain a startling possibility.

“This world… something is profoundly amiss.”

Once the seeds of skepticism took root in his mind, every aspect of his reality began to look suspicious. With this newfound wariness, Gao Ming revisited the recent news stories from the past few days, seeking anomalies and, perhaps, clues to the strange events unfolding around him.

“The esteemed Nine Provincial Hubs, which includes the bustling Jiang City, the forward-thinking Smart City of New Hu, and the globally recognized International Metropolis of Hanhai, are collectively praised for their impeccable public safety, cultural richness, and the high satisfaction and simplicity found in their citizens’ lifestyles. After a thorough and impartial assessment, they have been collectively recognized as this year’s model cities, exemplifying the pinnacle of human civilization! These cities are leading by example, nurturing a culture of philanthropy, and setting a trend for virtuous living! We now welcome Mr. Situ An, the Deputy Chairman of the Hanhai Charity Association, to share his insights…”

“In urgent news this morning, chaos has erupted within the walls of Henshan High-Security Prison! A number of prisoners have sustained injuries during a violent disturbance! Three inmates have vanished without a trace!”

“We have a breaking story! The unique ninth-generation theme park located in Jiang City was engulfed in flames during the early morning hours, casting a fiery glow across the skyline. Thankfully, by sunrise, the blaze was doused without any reported harm to park-goers, although the park itself has incurred significant damage and will be closed until further notice.”

“This just in! Last night, several violent episodes occurred in the historic old district of Hanhai. We urge all residents of the old district to exercise heightened vigilance and caution when venturing outside!”

Gao Ming scanned through each headline with a furrowed brow, “A wave of odd occurrences, clandestine online forums, and independent news outlets are rampant with all sorts of information; it’s challenging to separate fact from fiction.”

The rain pattered relentlessly against the windows, the shrill of police sirens sliced through the storm, and the echo of rapid, heavy footsteps approached from the corridor, culminating in a forceful knock on the living room door.

“They’ve arrived!”

Upon opening the door, Gao Ming was met by a team of heavily armed officers storming into the space, their attention quickly captured by the sight of Qi Yan, who was restrained with expertise that hinted at professional training.

“Have you apprehended the suspect?” Officer Li Lin signaled for his colleagues to survey the premises, his gaze carrying a mix of surprise and perplexity. With many years on the force, he had never stumbled upon a scenario quite like this.

“The true horror of a psychotic killer lurks in the unknown when anyone could potentially be the predator. However, once their identity is revealed, they become no more than a psychologically disturbed animal,” Gao Ming remarked as he poured himself a cup of hot water. “I am Gao Ming, formerly a psychological consultant at Henshan High-Security Prison.”

“You’ve shown courage, but I must advise against taking such risks. It’s best not to open your door to strangers before daylight,” Li Lin cautioned, maintaining a grave demeanor despite the apprehension of the infamous Rainy Night Murderer—a reaction that did not escape Gao Ming’s notice.

“Could it be that the Rainy Night Murderer isn’t working alone? But that seems unlikely; from a psychological standpoint, such psychopaths typically work in isolation,” Gao Ming contemplated internally.

“The old quarter has been plagued by a spate of disturbances over the last three days. What the public sees on the television is merely the surface of what’s permitted to be shown,” Li Lin remarked, trailing off. He didn’t reveal the full extent of the situation, which was far more grave than the public was led to believe. For three days straight, the old district had been suffocating under a cloak of fear, with unrelenting violent crimes and crime scenes so grotesque and vicious they hardly seemed to be the work of humans.

“Have all these murders taken place in the last three days?” Gao Ming pondered, noting that the timeline matched precisely with the day he had taken a bus through the tunnel—a day that also marked the beginning of the peculiar occurrences.

“Ensure you stay indoors at night and avoid any unnecessary dangers. Look after yourself and your loved ones well,” Li Lin advised, his tone indicating a concern that went beyond formalities. He seemed on the verge of adding more when the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway once more, and a man with a scarred face, donning a black, ring-shaped communicator on his left arm, burst into the room.

Li Lin’s expression turned to one of concern as he observed the man, but he did not stop him; evidently, the man with the scarred face was operating under a different jurisdiction.

Without acknowledging Li Lin or the others, the scarred man surveyed the room and made his way to the bedroom. As he entered, however, his black ring communicator began to emit a sizzling electrical noise, suggesting a malfunction.

After a fruitless attempt to fix the device, the scarred man left in haste.

“That man isn’t part of your unit, is he? How is it that he has clearance to be involved in a police matter?” Gao Ming queried, feeling an instinctual suspicion. The man with the scarred face seemed more like a criminal than a law enforcement officer.

Li Lin, with a subtle shake of his head, whispered, “He’s a special investigator from New Hu City, although what he’s specifically investigating, I can’t say.”

“Special investigator?” This term was new to Gao Ming, despite his experience within the prison service.

Li Lin refrained from further discussion. They were there with a purpose, and given Qi Yan’s critical state and their lack of medical equipment, he quickly debriefed Gao Ming and then directed his team to leave.

Once the living room door closed again, Gao Ming settled back onto the sofa. The flurry of recent events had left him too unsettled to consider sleep.

“When will this incessant rain let up?” he wondered aloud.

The monotonous ticking of the wall clock accompanied him as he pulled out the two obituary photos once more. The number of fissures in the black and white photo of Qi Yan had multiplied, suggesting that the murderer’s time was rapidly running out.

“These black and white photos seem akin to playing cards, only that in this fiendish game, the cards are real people, and the players are entities beyond our normal understanding.”

Gazing at his own vibrant obituary photograph, Gao Ming sought to lighten his mood, “Judging by the striking design, my photo would likely be considered a rare card, wouldn’t it? Although, someone with as complex a family background as mine doesn’t typically end up being the hero in stories.”

…..

Walking out from the entrance of Building Number 4 at Li Jing Apartments, Li Lin stood in the rain, his figure wrapped in a waterproof coat. He gazed at the building, which seemed dark and unwelcoming in the storm, except for the single light beaming from Gao Ming’s window.

“Xiao Liu, I need you to dig into the history of that psych counselor right away. Something about how unfazed he is just doesn’t sit right with me,” Li Lin instructed.

Another officer by the name of Xiao Liu looked down at his phone, shielding it from the rain as he replied, “Well, it turns out he wasn’t spinning tales. He is indeed the most freshly appointed psych counselor over at Henshan High-Security Prison, graduated from a legit medical school, and yes, he’s even got the credentials to write prescriptions as a neurologist. There’s a ‘but,’ though…” He had to wipe away raindrops smudging his screen: “You see, psych counselors working in places as intense as high-security prisons have to pass a mental health check every single month to make sure they’re in the right headspace to handle the job. And, according to what I’ve found, there was something fishy about his latest mental health check-up results. It looks like some sort of glitch in the system.”

Li Lin’s eyebrows raised in concern, “A glitch? What kind?”

Xiao Liu scrolled through the information, “His danger score, the one that’s supposed to flag any potential risks he might pose, well, it shot right past the highest mark the testing equipment is supposed to measure.”

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