Chapter 6: Back to Hell
The weeks passed in a haze. Sometimes, Myeong felt like everything had been just a nightmare; other times, the weight of reality crushed her so hard she could barely breathe.
Winter had arrived, covering the city in an icy blanket. From her window, she could see the silent street, the bare trees swaying in the biting wind. Inside her room, however, the air was warm, heavy with the faint fragrance of tea that had cooled on her desk.
She sat on her bed, wrapped in a thick blanket, staring up at the ceiling. Her mind was a whirlwind of jumbled thoughts, fragmented memories of the explosion, the memorial, and the words of that strange man who had warned her with a haunting smile.
A knock on the door broke her out of her trance.
At first, she thought about ignoring it. She didn't want to see anyone, didn't want to talk, didn't want to face the outside world yet. But the knocking came again, more insistent this time.
With a sigh, she stood up and walked slowly to the door. When she opened it, she found Ethan standing there.
He stood there, his cheeks flushed from the cold, a small, hesitant smile on his lips. In his hands, he held a bouquet of flowers.
"Hi," he greeted softly.
Myeong blinked, surprised. She hadn't expected to see him, much less with such a... sweet gesture.
"Ethan..."
"I didn't know which ones you liked, so I picked the ones I thought looked prettiest," she said quickly, handing him the bouquet. "I guess flowers don't fix everything, but... I thought maybe they'd make you feel a little better."
Myeong looked down at the bouquet. There were white lilies, daisies, and small purple flowers interspersed. A lump formed in her throat.
"They're beautiful," she whispered, taking the flowers carefully. "Thank you."
Ethan tilted his head, looking at her carefully.
"Can I come in?"
Myeong hesitated for a moment before stepping back, allowing him to enter.
The atmosphere inside the room was calm, but charged with unspoken emotions. Ethan looked around, taking in the walls decorated with photographs, the books stacked on the desk, the rumpled blankets on the bed.
"Your room is cozy," she commented, trying to lighten the mood.
Myeong placed the flowers on her desk and gave a faint smile.
"Yeah... I guess."
Ethan sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands together to warm them. She watched him for a moment before sitting down beside him.
There was a long silence before Ethan spoke.
"I've wanted to talk to you since... well, since that..." he began carefully. "About you going to Seoul."
Myeong didn't answer immediately. Instead, she looked down, playing with the hem of her sweater.
"Yeah," she said finally. "I'll be leaving next summer."
Ethan nodded slowly, as if processing her words.
"I see..."
He licked his lips before looking at her intently.
"Are you sure?"
Myeong sighed, feeling a pang of tiredness.
"I'm not sure about a lot of things right now," she confessed. "But going to Seoul isn't one of them."
Ethan studied her for a moment before leaning in slightly.
"And what are those things you're not sure about?"
Myeong avoided his gaze.
Ethan swallowed and asked quietly,
"Am I one of them?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
Myeong felt her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't look at him. She couldn't answer.
Ethan exhaled slowly and, without another word, pulled her into a hug.
At first, she stiffened. She couldn't remember the last time someone had hugged her like that, with such warmth, with such care.
And then, unable to help it, she sank into his arms.
Ethan rested his chin on her hair, gently stroking her back.
"You don't have to tell me anything," he whispered. "Not now. Not until you're ready."
Myeong closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, feeling a mix of emotions in her chest.
"Thank you..." she murmured.
Ethan smiled slightly, not letting go.
"I'll be here for you. No matter how much time you need to think, to heal... I'll give you that time."
Myeong felt her throat close.
Ethan wasn't pushing her. He wasn't demanding answers. He was just offering his unconditional support.
She held onto him a little tighter.
"That means a lot to me..."
"I know," he replied tenderly.
Silence enveloped them again, but this time it wasn't awkward or painful. It was a silence where they could breathe, where they could share a moment without words.
Myeong didn't know what the future held.
But in that moment, with Ethan holding her so gently, she felt that maybe she didn't have to face it alone.
That night, Myeong tried to sleep, but as soon as she closed her eyes, darkness dragged her back to hell.
The gymnasium was burning.
The fire roared, devouring everything in its path. The smoke was thick and black, filling her lungs with a poison that made her cough and gasp. Around her, the floor creaked, the walls collapsed, and the screams... oh, the screams...
She ran through the flames, stumbling over charred bodies, their faces frozen in expressions of horror. Flesh melted, eyes exploded from their sockets, bones broke with grotesque clicks under the weight of the fire.
"HELP!" someone was shouting. "PLEASE!"
Myeong turned, seeing a girl trapped beneath a burning beam. Her skin bubbled, peeling off in bloody strips.
"DON'T STAY THERE!" the girl shrieked. "GET ME OUT OF HERE!"
Myeong tried to move, but her feet were glued to the ground, as if something was holding her down.
Then she saw him.
The man from the funeral.
He was standing in the flames, unharmed, with the same haunting smile on his face.
"This is just the beginning," he whispered.
And in the blink of an eye, his body crumbled to ash, leaving in its place the black-clad figure she saw on Halloween. Death.
The creature raised a bony hand and pointed directly at her.
—Myeong.
The flames engulfed her.
She woke up gasping, her heart hammering against her chest. She gasped for air, her skin was covered in a thin layer of cold sweat, and her hands were shaking uncontrollably.
She put a hand to her forehead, trying to calm herself, but her labored breathing refused to return to normal. The echo of the screams from the nightmare still resonated in her ears, and the image of the man dressed in black was still seared into her mind.
She couldn't stay in bed.
With a desperate impulse, she got up and staggered out of her room. Her steps were quick and clumsy to the bathroom. She leaned over the sink, turning the faucet with trembling hands, and let the icy water run.
Without hesitation, she splashed the water on her face again and again, trying to put out the invisible fire she still felt burning her skin.
"It's not real," she murmured, squeezing her eyes shut. "It's not real."
But she had felt it. She'd felt the scorching heat, the pain, the smoke filling her lungs. And worst of all... she'd seen Death again.
She gripped the edge of the sink tightly, forcing herself to breathe deeply. Little by little, the panic began to subside, leaving in its place an overwhelming exhaustion.
After a long minute, she straightened, dried her face with a towel, and left the bathroom.
But the feeling of suffocation wouldn't go away.
She returned to her room and flung open the window, letting the cold night air in. The breeze prickled her skin, but she didn't care. She still felt as if she were on fire.
She turned on the fan near her desk, searching for anything that would help dissipate the heat in her body.
She hugged herself, trying to calm the trembling.
That's when she saw it.
A shadow, barely a black silhouette in the dimness of the room.
It was there, in the corner, motionless, watching her.
Fear hit her like an electric shock.
Without thinking, she grabbed the first thing she found: a magazine on her desk.
"Go!" she shouted, throwing it with all her might.
But the shadow disappeared in a blink.
The magazine, however, hit the running fan.
The paper was instantly shredded, pieces flying in all directions.
Myeong froze.
Her eyes quickly scanned the room, searching for the shadow, but there was nothing.
Nothing.
Cold air blew in through the window, gently rustling the curtains.
There's nothing there, Myeong. Nothing.
Her breathing was still labored when she noticed a piece of the magazine had fallen onto her bed.
She hesitated before reaching over and picking it up.
When she read the words printed on the paper, her stomach sank.
"Dylan"
"Emma"
Her pulse raced.
She dropped the piece of paper as if it were burning.
Her hands began to shake again, and this time, she couldn't stop them.
