This scared the hell out of Éamonn. How could there be a person hanging from the internet cable? What was going on?
"You... who are you?" Éamonn asked, trembling. A person had suddenly appeared in the room, and Éamonn was so frightened he could barely speak. Something was off—how had this person gotten in?
The doors and windows were locked securely. Even if a thief had broken in, Éamonn should have noticed while he was in the room. Not to mention, this man was bizarre—why would anyone climb in and just hang from the internet cable?
The man saw Éamonn approaching and immediately shouted furiously, "Dog thief, still talking trash about me? I'm coming over to you through the internet now, you garbage!"
With that, he slapped Éamonn to the ground. The man's hand was ice-cold, and the blow felt like being struck by hail.
"Who... who are you? Why are you hitting me? I—I'm calling the police!" Éamonn stammered, acting meek—completely unlike his bold online persona.
If it were me, and someone broke into my house in the middle of the night to attack me? Hmph, I'd immediately grab a kitchen knife and chop them to pieces.
"What's wrong with hitting you? Wasn't it you who told me to come through the internet and beat you up? I've never seen anyone make such a ridiculous request in my life. I'll beat you to death, you cowardly keyboard warrior—daring to curse at me!" The man grew angrier and slapped Éamonn again.
This time, the force was even greater. Éamonn was frail and was sent flying, crashing into the computer. With a loud boom, the computer toppled to the floor, the power cut off, and the screen instantly went black.
When Éamonn fearfully stood up again, he realized the man had vanished. He didn't even notice when he'd left—it was truly bizarre.
Éamonn felt this was a little too creepy and didn't dare turn the computer back on. Instead, he wrapped himself in his blanket and hid until morning.
The next day, Éamonn checked the computer. Fortunately, it was undamaged and still worked normally.
He opened it and looked up the person who had argued with him online the day before. Checking the profile, he noticed the account hadn't been updated in years—the last post was from three years ago. Among the old photos was a man who looked exactly like the one who had climbed through his internet cable the night before.
Just then, the user sent Éamonn a message: "I already came through the internet to beat you last night. When are you going to keep your promise?"
Éamonn had once taunted that if the other man could "come through the internet" and hit him, he'd eat ten tons of shit.
Remembering last night's events, Éamonn felt a chill of dread. Trembling, he finally wimped out—too terrified to reply.
But that person seemed to be able to see him and quickly replied, "What? Trying to back out? Not a chance. Weren't you so arrogant before? 'Unbeatable at cursing,' 'with my keyboard in hand, the world is at my fingertips'? Well, tonight I'll personally feed you shit, stinky brother."
Éamonn panicked and blocked the user immediately. Strangely, though, the messages kept coming through. With no other choice, Éamonn logged out of his account and shut off his computer.
That night, Éamonn went straight to bed to avoid a repeat of the previous night's horror. He even unplugged his computer entirely.
But in the middle of the night, Éamonn woke up again—this time to an eerie green glow coming from his phone screen.
Then he remembered: That platform has a mobile app. And Éamonn had it installed on his phone. He scrambled to grab his phone, desperate to delete the app, but… it was too late.
Suddenly, a man appeared behind him—the same man from last night. His face was deathly pale, his lips tinged blue, and he stared at Éamonn with a twisted grin.
"Wh-what do you want?" Éamonn shrank under the covers, but it was useless. The man was unnaturally strong, dragging Éamonn out of bed in two quick motions and hauling him into the bathroom.
The stench hit Éamonn immediately. There, in the toilet, was a pile of shit—but he distinctly remembered flushing earlier. How could there suddenly be more? He frantically pressed the flush, but nothing happened. The toilet wouldn't drain.
The man let out a sickening chuckle, then picked up Éamonn's phone and started recording. Before Éamonn could react, the man force-fed him the shit.
Éamonn blacked out multiple times from sheer disgust. When he finally woke up the next morning, he spent the entire day vomiting.
Later, when he checked his phone, he discovered the video of him eating shit had been uploaded online—and it already had tens of millions of views. Overnight, Éamonn went viral, but in the worst way possible. Humiliated, he quit his job, too afraid to show his face in public ever again.
"Who the hell are you? Man or ghost?" Éamonn finally messaged the man.
"What do you think, stinky brother? Can't handle it now, huh? Pathetic keyboard warrior—all tough online but a coward in real life," the man shot back.
Fury burned through Éamonn. Whether this was a man or a ghost, he had been humiliated beyond endurance. He wanted revenge.
The moment his fingers touched the keyboard, his confidence returned. He launched into another online battle with the man—and this time, Éamonn won, out-cursing his tormentor in the digital realm.
Furious, the man sent one last message: "Tonight, I'm coming for you again. Let's see how arrogant you are then."
Éamonn panicked again. The man was coming back, which meant he would be humiliated once more. He had to think of something.
After calming down, he concluded the man must be a ghost—how else could he do such bizarre things? The computer lit up, and he appeared. He hung from the network cable like it was nothing. Then the phone lit up, and he showed up again. If that wasn't a ghost, what was?
Éamonn checked his windows and doors—no signs of forced entry. If this were a living person, how could he have gotten in?
Once convinced the man was a ghost, Éamonn decided he needed to hire a Daoist priest or monk to deal with him. But there were many frauds in this field. If he hired some incompetent fool, not only would Éamonn suffer, but he'd also lose face.
Then Éamonn remembered a group he had joined—Stein's Divine and Ghost Tattoos group. He'd heard these tattoos were powerful, even capable of warding off evil spirits. After some consideration, Éamonn resolved to get one. He had done his research: though niche, Divine and Ghost Tattoos had a solid reputation. Everyone in the group who had gotten one praised their effectiveness.
As for those who claimed to have gotten the tattoos... To be honest, even I couldn't verify if they were telling the truth. I hadn't been in the group long and didn't have much status or connections yet.
Later, I asked Stein about it. He explained those were old patrons from before—they had received their tattoos from his grandfather in the past. After stuffing red envelopes, they helped promote the business in the group.
When Éamonn finished explaining his situation, I frowned. "You've got a serious problem here," I said. "We don't even know what that man truly is. If he's just a ghost, fine—I can give you a proper ghost-warding tattoo. But if he's something else? A ghost-repelling tattoo might not work at all."
"And if he's human? Then it's completely unnecessary. Even a basic yang-themed tattoo would cost tens of thousands. Wasting that much money wouldn't be wise. I run an honest business—what if you get a tattoo meant for spirits, only to find out it's just some guy messing with you?"