The net café was a haze of stale pizza and desperation, the kind of place where dreams go to sulk. We flashed Ryan's badge to commandeer the PC Max used before his gruesome exit, but the machine was cleaner than a monk's conscience—no trace of the death game, not even a stray pixel. Ryan crossed his arms, his cop brain in overdrive. "Someone's playing hacker ninja," he said. "They slipped the game onto this rig for Max's session, then poof—erased it without a trace."
I scoured the hard drive one last time, my fingers itching for a clue. "If it's gone, how'd your precinct buddy know Max played it?" I asked, the question hitting me like a rogue dodgeball.
Ryan's eyes narrowed, his face going from puzzled to oh-crap in a nanosecond. He yanked out his phone, scrolling through call logs. "Son of a— it's a precinct number, alright, but I don't know the voice. I assumed it was forensics. Damn it, I got played!" He slammed his fist on the desk, startling a nearby gamer who nearly choked on his energy drink.
We bolted outside, the night air sharp against my skin. "Ryan, no human could pull this off," I said, my voice low. "This web's too big—fake calls, vanishing games, ghosts only I see. It's like I'm starring in a paranormal prank show, and you're just the audience."
Ryan shot me a look, his skepticism thicker than a triple-decker burger. "Ghosts again? Jake, I'm standing right here, and I haven't seen a single spook. Why's it always you getting the hauntings? You got a 'ghosts welcome' sign on your forehead?"
I rubbed my chin, the puzzle pieces mocking me. Ethan, Max, Emily—all appeared to me, grinning like demonic game show hosts. Ryan? Nada. "Maybe the ghost's picky," I muttered. "Likes my charming personality. But seriously, man, something wants me dead, and I'm not exactly a shady mob boss with enemies. I'm just a coder who pays his taxes!"
Before we could dive deeper into my haunted VIP status, Ryan's phone buzzed. It was Tim, his voice frantic. "Lila's gone! I stepped out for a bathroom break, and she vanished. She was stable, I swear!"
Ryan cursed, spinning the car toward the hospital. "Here we go again," he growled. "This case is like herding cats in a thunderstorm."
We screeched into the hospital lot and stormed Lila's empty room. Tim was pacing, his Taoist robes swishing like he was about to summon a dragon. "I don't get it," he said, slapping his hands together. "She was fine post-soul-calling. No weird vibes, then—bam, she's Houdini."
Ryan's eyes glinted with suspicion. "You're the ghost expert. Can't you, I dunno, wave your magic sword and track her?"
I grabbed Ryan's arm before Tim could snap back. "Chill, man. Let's split up and find her. Tim, check the roof—she's got a thing for high places. Ryan, you take the ground floor. I'll sweep the building."
Tim nodded and darted off. Ryan grumbled but headed downstairs, leaving me alone in the silent hospital. Great, I thought, my heart doing a jittery tap dance. Solo mission in a haunted hospital. I'm basically the guy who dies in the first ten minutes of a slasher flick.
The upper floors were eerily quiet, the fluorescent lights buzzing like a swarm of annoyed bees. I checked every room, every stairwell, my nerves fraying with each empty corner. On the fourth floor, a blast of cold air hit me like I'd stepped into a meat locker. The lights dimmed, casting the hallway in a sickly glow. No patient rooms here—just a long corridor ending in a double door.
I squinted, my vision blurring as I approached. The sign above the door came into focus: MORGUE. My stomach lurched. "Oh, hell no," I whispered, backing up. Lila wouldn't be here—she's alive, not a corpse. But the air grew colder, a foggy haze clouding my eyes. I turned to bolt, but the hallway warped, and there was the morgue door again, looming like a bad omen.
"Not this ghost-trick crap again!" I groaned, my breath visible in the icy air. Tim's words echoed: Your eyes get blinded. Okay, no looking. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling my way forward, one hand on the wall. "Just keep moving, Jake. You're not trapped. It's all in your head."
But the cold deepened, my teeth chattering like castanets. I must've walked far enough to hit the stairwell, right? I peeked one eye open—and screamed. I was inside the morgue, the door shut behind me, rows of body drawers gleaming under flickering lights. "How the—?!" I spun, yanking the handle, but it wouldn't budge, locked tighter than Fort Knox.
"Hey! Anyone out there? Let me out!" I pounded the door, my voice echoing in the sterile tomb. No answer, just my own panic bouncing back. The drawers loomed, each one a potential ghost party waiting to pop off. I slid to the floor, hugging my knees, my heart hammering like a techno beat.
Then, drip… drip… A sound, like water hitting tile, came from the back of the room. Not outside—inside. My blood ran colder than the morgue's AC. "Nope, nope, nope," I muttered, pressing against the door. "I'm not on the menu, ghost! Pick someone else!"
The dripping grew louder, and a shadow flickered at the room's edge. Whatever was in here with me, it wasn't bringing coffee and donuts. The game's taunt from the net café flashed in my mind: "Play again, Jake." This wasn't just a trap—it was the next level, and I was out of cheat passes.