Chapter 20: A Super Scary Ghost Story!

Chapter 20: The Ultra-Terrifying Ghost Story!

Although Boulder believed such a comparison was meaningless and difficult to declare a winner, at Charles's insistence, he agreed to suggest to Elena that her story be submitted to one of the two newspapers.

The *Luneton Gazette* and the *Strand Gazette* were both weekly publications. The *Luneton Gazette*, officially titled *The Luneton Literary Bulletin*, was published every Friday and mostly featured serialized short stories, original poetry, and announcements of theatrical works. The *Strand Gazette*, on the other hand, preferred to report eye-catching headlines, such as verdicts in certain murder trials, as well as unverified scoops and popular literary works.

Elena initially wanted to submit her work to penny magazines, but they only accepted long-form fiction, preferably serialized for a year or two. Her urban legends couldn’t run that long. After comparing various publications on the market, she had to admit that the *Strand Gazette* might be the best fit for her.

"Then let’s submit it there," Elena decided to use a pen name to avoid being linked to the author of *Helen*. Since she wanted to sell it as "real events," it was best not to reveal herself as a fiction writer.

Boulder naturally informed her about Charles's bet. He even showed Elena Charles’s *The Invisible Man*—after all, Charles had already read Elena’s work. Admittedly, *The Invisible Man* was indeed a significant breakthrough.

The protagonist was a wanted criminal who accidentally gained the ability to turn invisible. However, when he attempted to use this power, he was shocked to discover that the invisible world was crawling with ghosts. These spirits could not only sense his presence but also seemed hungry to devour him.

To evade bounty hunters, the protagonist had to cleverly utilize his invisibility. Yet, as time passed, he found it increasingly difficult to escape the ghosts’ notice. Faced with a life-or-death dilemma, he made a difficult choice—to abandon his invisibility and surrender.

Come on, officer—this needed a moral lesson?

The chase scenes with the bounty hunters were thrilling, and the ghosts were genuinely frightening. It was a nail-biter, though not particularly terrifying.

"I think it’s quite good," Elena diplomatically praised. "But it’s not the same genre as my work. I don’t think there’s much basis for comparison."

Oh, he’s asking for it? Just wait till I write a ghost story that’ll scare him to death.

"That’s what I said too," Boulder replied.

Despite this, after both works were submitted to the *Strand Gazette* and the *Luneton Gazette*, the Mystical Society privately set up a secret betting pool on whether Elena’s submission would be accepted.

"How could you come up with such a bet?" her staunch supporter Reginald snapped. "Even under a new pen name, someone of her skill wouldn’t get rejected!"

Especially since, influenced by those stories, he now checked his wardrobe every night before bed, stuffed cotton in his ears to prevent insects from crawling in, and even switched his nightly whiskey for tea. Even someone as brave as him was still spooked by those stories—surely the editors had good judgment!

"Well, Charles *is* a member of our Society," the bet’s organizer said awkwardly. "We have to show some support."

"Oh?" Reginald coolly raised an eyebrow and suddenly asked, "Then who’s your money on?"

"Huh?" The man forced a laugh. "Of course... Elena. Her past achievements are astounding. I suppose our eyes just can’t appreciate the uniqueness of these little stories, right?"

Just as he spoke, Charles happened to walk by, shooting them a sidelong look.

The two immediately squirmed.

Fortunately, Elena’s new pen name and her new story passed the *Strand Gazette*’s review. The editor’s letter brought her the good news and also expressed curiosity about whether the narrated events were true or not. They even sparked debate about what kind of insect could crawl into the ear canal and lay eggs in the brain.

Most believed it was a tiny flier, like a fruit fly, while others suggested centipedes or cockroaches. Regardless, these stories had certainly captured their attention.

Upon learning that Elena’s submission had been accepted, the entire Society quietly awaited the newspaper’s publication.

Meanwhile, Elena had already begun writing her second piece. This time, she decided to write a story so scary that it would make her peers in the Mystical Society learn the meaning of real fear.

Perhaps in terms of immersion, text couldn’t match the immediacy of film or television, but it had its own advantage: the reader’s imagination.

"Let’s start with a rule," Elena thought, her pen scratching across the paper.

Ghosts usually had their own rules—Sadako haunted through videotapes, Kayako through entering her house. As long as you weren’t unlucky, they generally wouldn’t endanger others.

Most rules began with stepping into a haunted house, but Elena felt this setup was too simplistic and lacked relatability. After racking her brain, she decided to use something everyone could easily encounter: letters.

Similar to Sadako, this was a small trick to pull others in. The protagonist would receive an anonymous letter containing a bizarre story—about a girl who hanged herself for some reason. Anyone who read it would die within seven days unless they passed it on to someone else within that time.

However, in reality, even if the letter is passed on to someone else, destiny remains unchanged.

At first, the protagonist didn’t take it seriously and considered burning the letter. However, his wife stopped him, insisting on keeping it.

The recipient of the letter was a writer who worked from home. That day, as usual, he sat at his desk in the study, deep in thought. But unlike usual, he felt a persistent ache in the back of his neck.

Soon, strange incidents began occurring in his and his wife’s home. The lit oil lamp swayed despite no draft, and as night fell, he could hear the sound of a baby crying—yet when he went outside to check, there was no one around. The door groaned unnaturally, and in the silence, he could even hear the faint sound of high heels clicking upstairs, as if an invisible presence was wandering through the rooms—though the upper floor was completely empty.

As time passed, the situation grew worse. When he looked in the mirror, his reflection moved half a beat slower than he did, even twisting into a sinister grin. At night, knocking sounds came from the door, and when he cautiously cracked it open to peek outside, a blood-red eye stared back at him from the other side of the gap.

His three-year-old child, left unattended, would suddenly giggle uncontrollably, hands moving as if playing with an invisible companion. The rag doll beside the child had its stitched mouth curl upward briefly before returning to normal.

Unable to endure these hallucinations any longer, he decided to get to the bottom of it. He hired a detective, hoping to unravel the mystery. But one night, he woke in horror to find a long-haired woman, her face obscured, sitting at his bedside, blood dripping from her hands.

Elena threw herself into this section, employing every chilling technique she could think of. After finishing this part, she lay in bed, unable to sleep, staring blankly at the oil lamp.

"Then let’s make it afraid of light," she thought, unable to sleep. She got out of bed, shrugged into her coat, and continued writing.

There wasn’t yet any folklore about ghosts fearing daylight—no big deal. She could add it herself. "Hehe, this way, no one will dare turn off the lights at night."

As the detective delved further, he traced the letter back to one of the protagonist’s fellow writers. However, this friend had been missing for exactly four days—the same day the protagonist had received the letter.

Furious, the protagonist urged the detective to keep investigating. Then he discovered that when he lit a lamp, the anomalies vanished under its light. He began sleeping with the lights on.

Seemingly provoked by the light, the unknown ghost grew angrier. His child started muttering the names of unseen friends in a low, chilling voice.

The room’s lights would suddenly go out for no reason, and in the darkness, the child’s eerie laughter echoed. His wife began hearing strange murmurs, as if voices oozed from the walls, their words indistinct but unsettling.

In this environment, his wife gradually lost her sanity. She screamed in empty rooms, her voice filled with raw terror. She refused to enter certain rooms, as if they held unspeakable threats. By day, she grew gaunt; by night, she tossed in night terrors, waking frequently in terror.

After this unending nightmare, the writer decided to end his own life, hoping his death would break the curse and save his wife and child.

The one who wrote this story was the detective himself. He claimed to have returned three days later, only to find the writer dead. On the desk where he worked lay a diary, from which the detective learned the full story.

After the writer’s death, his deranged wife disappeared into thin air, and their child was sent to an orphanage. The detective never found the letter in the wife’s room, though the postman recalled her mailing one—but couldn’t remember where it had been sent.

In the end, the detective issued a warning, urging readers to be cautious with unknown letters to avoid similar tragedies.

By the time Elena finished the story, dawn had broken. Too exhausted to tidy up her papers and ink, she dropped into bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.