If this were a scene from a soap opera after the news, the rich heroine who discovered a secret that shouldn't be revealed would be being kidnapped to be killed. But since we're just hotel employees, that's definitely not happening. I believe this must be a personal vendetta by a hotel employee, so it's hard to predict where we're being taken. But surely they wouldn't take us to be killed just because they've been locked in their rooms in the morning, right?
"Turn it up, I like listening to that program!"
And then the radio in the van grew louder. The program the driver had put on was about ghosts, with a soundtrack that made it sound like we were walking through a cemetery. I felt the pressure of the body next to me, which is Arun BekFah, and I ended up smiling at the realization.
"It's just a radio program, it's not a cemetery."
"I don't like ghost stories."
"You have a lovely side, don't you think?"
Perhaps because our voices were loud enough for the driver to hear, the radio volume was turned up even louder, to the point where it almost burst our eardrums. I already understood that it was a program about ghosts, so there was no need to emphasize it so much. But anyway, let's see what these people who dragged us into this van really want.
As the car drove along, I listened to the program to pass the time. Actually, I'm not really afraid of ghosts, because I firmly believe that these supernatural beings can only scare, but they can't take my life. The only fear would be if they appeared in a disgusting and grotesque way. To me, ghosts are like cockroaches—without any meaning. A coup d'état is much scarier.
During the program, someone called from home to say that in the province where they lived, there was a house that was famous for being haunted ever since the tsunami happened ten years ago. A mother and her son were watching television without knowing that the water was flooding the house and they died. Ever since then, people who passed by would see the indistinct shadows of a woman and a boy crying desperately. The woman just cried, while the boy kept repeating:
"I'm very hungry."
Told like that, it sounds like a pretty common story. But the person next to me, Arun BekFah, didn't think the same way. Now her hands were shaking and she was gripping my wrist tightly, clearly terrified, probably imagining things in her head.
"Do you want a technique to stop being afraid of ghosts?"
"How?"
"Imagine the mother's face as Shizuka and the son as Doraemon, with the dubbed voices of channel 9. The fear will disappear by about seventy percent."
This was the special technique my parents taught me when they forced me to sleep alone when I was a child, and it worked very well. No matter what ghost story it was, none of them could scare me, because they were all blue and had round hands. Even if they died, they would still have Shizuka's face.
"I don't remember Shizuka's face."😁
"You really are pitiful. In that case, I don't know how to help you."
Right after I said that, the van stopped abruptly, accompanied by the rude voice of the driver.
"Get out now!"
"Where did you bring us?"
I shouted, but only heard laughter in response.
"To the scariest place ever."
"Brother... I'm not going in, no!"
One of the men spoke in a visibly frightened voice, while the one who was called "brother" made an impatient sound.
