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This is reality.
Well, Kim Soleum is still inside the <Dark Exploration Records> so the lines are rather blurry but it’s about as real as it gets. There’s no reason why a ghost story should follow him into reality. None apart from Braun, anyway.
And yet.
And yet he’s staring at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror which doesn’t quite match and asks himself, How?
His mirror-image follows his movements but only in a perfunctory manner. It looks more put-together than Kim Soleum has felt in a very long time, with its hair parted neatly and dressed in a sleek, well-fitted suit that screams Daydream Inc. with every fibre of its being.
How has the entity from the Elevator Darkness followed him here? He isn’t matching the entry requirements—he isn’t even in an elevator.
Inside the mirror, his reflection tilts its head, raises its arm, and points at the mirror. An eerie, too wide grin threatens to split its face in half. Then, as if in slow motion, letters begin to form on the mirror. It hadn’t even been clouded over and still condensation clings to that side of the glass.
HELP
his mirror-image spells out. Kim Soleum’s hands tighten around the edge of the sink where he’s braced himself, and he stops breathing for a moment.
A second passes; then, another word appears, slightly shakier, a bit more lopsided, as if it’s taking the entity a lot of effort:
YOU
Kim Soleum doesn’t frown, doesn’t run, just studies the words with careful eyes, trying to arrange them in an order that makes sense. He had helped the ghost in the mirror, that much is true—had left open the elevator doors on the first floor of the dilapidated office building because…
Why? Why had he done that? Because he’d felt sorry for it?
(Contamination, maybe. He’s getting too close. Judgement’s clouded. Fusing with ghost story after ghost story after—)
Ignoring the bead of cold sweat slipping down the nape of his neck, Kim Soleum swallows around the lump in his throat.
His mirror-image watches him closely but doesn’t do the same. It’s smiling at him, grotesque in its attempt to appear human.
This isn’t—isn’t good. Fuck. He can’t stay here, not if this thing has followed him. It shouldn’t have followed him, and anyway…
Why has it only appeared now? Why now of all times?
His heart threatens to burst out of his ribcage as he slowly shakes his head. “I can’t help you,” he whispers, hears his voice crack at the last syllable.
In the mirror, the ghost shakes its head. There are… ripples. Like waves lapping against the shore. Maggots beneath the skin, squirming and writhing. He can’t look away.
NO
it spells out.
He almost passes out but the ghost isn’t quite done yet.
NOT ME. YOU
Its teeth aren’t sharp when it pulls its lips back but Kim Soleum feels like they should be. Absentmindedly, he licks over his own incisors before he wets his lips, sucking in a sharp breath, trying to loosen his cramping hands.
Right. He can deal with this. It’s unusual but surely not unheard of—if he just manages to…
Walking backwards, still watching his reflection—who knows what will happen if he lets it out of his sight?—Kim Soleum heads towards the bathroom door. He’s careful not to bump into anything but manages to hit the shower door with his shoulder anyway. It rattles, and he almost expects the ghost to lunge out at him, drag him into the mirror, but it continues to retreat as well, back into the shadowy darkness that had appeared alongside it. As soon as Kim Soleum is out of its sight, he bolts through the sparse motel room he’s staying at, down the creaky stairs, and out into the night.
Without thinking, he races straight for the metal payphone nearby, ripping the handset from its mount. With shaky hands, he inserts a few coins and dials a number. The ring of the phone echoes in the empty space, only interrupted by his harsh breathing. It’s such a small sound in a world of distortion.
He doesn’t know who he’s calling. Wants to be anywhere but here. Anywhere.
Calling…
He presses the receiver to his ear, hard enough for it to hurt.
Calling…
It’s the saddest sound in the whole, wide world.
Calling still…
Then, with a burst of electricity, the line crackles to life.
“Hello?” Agent Choi’s tired voice replaces the ringing sound. Doesn’t sound like he slept at all. A moment of silence, just the slow breathing on the other end of the line. They are worlds apart, and yet Kim Soleum continues to find a smidge of comfort in it. “Who is this?”
“Agent,” Kim Soleum chokes out, a little high, a little breathy. Feels like he can’t get enough air into his lungs. He should be used to it by now.
Immediately, Agent Choi’s tone changes. “Grapes-ie?” he asks though it sounds like he’s already certain who’s speaking. “What’s wrong?”
Well, Kim Soleum supposes he’s nothing if not perceptive.
Kim Soleum’s throat is dry when he looks up and out into the darkness. Lone streetlights and shops illuminate the night but they’re few and far between, neon, nearly incandescent pinpoints of light in the dark. Then, his eyes catch on something—his reflection in the glass pane. Staring at him with wide eyes. Okay, fair, that’s not unusual.
What is unusual is the way his lips form the shapes of letters.
Kim Soleum isn't speaking.
His hand grips the handset tighter, knuckles white around the cheap, worn-down plastic. “I-” he starts; then, the rest of the sentence catches in his throat.
On the other side of the glass, the Elevator Darkness becomes frantic, shaking its head.
NO
it starts slow, then, like an avalanche, suddenly picks up speed.
NO NO NO NO NO NO
A high-pitched sound, like glass breaking, nails on chalk. Then, the ghost brings its fist down onto the glass pane, again and again and again and—
Kim Soleum winces, making a jerking motion as if to cover his ears. Then, he remembers the phone still in his hand.
His eyes flit between the glass and the phone as he brings it away from his ear. The ear-piercing screech abates, mellows out but doesn’t disappear completely. From the glass pane, the Elevator Darkness watches him expectantly. Its eyes are inscrutable, dark inkwells that don’t reflect the light at all.
It shouldn’t be here; it shouldn’t be possible. The Elevator Darkness is constrained to mirrors, isn’t it? Elevator mirrors. It’s even in the name. Had he missed something? Skipped over a detail that’s now coming back to haunt him?
Exercise caution every time you ride an elevator from this point forward. The entity in the mirror will seek you out and attempt to meet you.
That’s what the <Dark Exploration Records> had said, no? Then how…?
Silence descends upon the tiny space, just the crackling of the telephone. Then, Agent Choi’s voice rings out again, a little tinny now that the phone is farther away. “Did my adorable junior need something? Did you perhaps just want to hear this senior’s voice?” His voice is just this side of teasing but there’s something lurking beneath the surface, something that Kim Soleum, despite all that he knows, can’t quite grasp yet. It’s one thing to read about someone. It’s a completely different thing to know them personally, all the little details that weren’t important enough to write into the story. Chekhov’s gun and all that. “Or why’re you calling so late into the night?”
Kim Soleum’s eyes flit to the glass again.
DANGER
It’s a split-second decision, one that he couldn’t justify even if he wanted to. You should never trust ghost story inhabitants, no matter how benign they may seem—shouldn’t his experience with Braun have made that clear to him already? But it’s as if something has curled its long, cold fingers around his throat, making it hard to choke out the words. He clears his throat. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Sorry to bother. Have a good night, Agent.”
He can’t even believe what he’s saying.
There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. A rustling sound follows as if Agent Choi is pushing the papers scattered across his desk even further away. Kim Soleum can almost envision it. “Wait, Sol-”
But he’s already disconnected the call and slotted the receiver back into its mount.
Then, he looks up.
In the glass, his reflection nods as if satisfied.
HELP YOU
it writes again.
It doesn’t matter what he does. The entity in the mirror will always catch up to him eventually. Fuck, he shouldn’t have hung up. Should’ve stalled, should’ve…
The mirror-image changes, flickers, dark smoke pouring out, a yellow, pulsing glow coming from its ribcage—then it’s over again and Kim Soleum’s own face stares back at him as if expecting him to pick up on something.
But Kim Soleum’s mind is on constant overdrive and fraying at the seams. He doesn’t know how much longer he can do this. How much longer he can live with this kind of fear. He just wants it to be over.
Kim Soleum is tired.
The ghost in the mirror reflects that, shows the dark purple bruises beneath his eyes, the sunken cheeks. His cheekbones had never been that pronounced. Not in a long time.
WISH
it continues when it receives no answer from Kim Soleum, and he perks up at that, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. The Elevator Darkness had already confirmed the feasibility of his wish. What is it getting at now?
Then, the most chilling combination of messages he’s received from the ghost thus far, making the hair on his arms stand on end:
DANGER
This time, Kim Soleum frowns. His wish is in danger…? He follows the ghost’s gaze to the phone, almost expecting it to start ringing. Could it be that Agent Choi poses a threat to his wish? Is that what the ghost is trying to say? How does it even know?
Despite the horrible feeling of wrongness, he locks eyes with the ghost again, only to jerk back when a bloody handprint appears on the glass. The ghost leans forward until its forehead almost touches the glass.
DANGER
it repeats.
No. Has he… been found out?
A cold shiver runs down his spine, this time unrelated to the ghost still watching him closely. He suppresses it, opens his mouth to ask it, confirm it, maybe, when—
—someone wrenches the door to the phone booth open, startling him enough that he almost screams.
He yelps instead, pressing himself against the closest wall of the phone booth until the payphone painfully digs into his back. His heart beats a staccato rhythm against his ribcage like it’s trying to break free.
“Grapes-ie?” Agent Choi asks. He looks about as tired as he’d sounded over the phone, though his eyes seem awake. He’s wearing his usual bureau jacket, though it’s merely draped over a loose-fitted shirt and a pair of shorts. “You called?”
He had but… no, he’d called from a public phone, how had Agent Choi even known where he was?
Kim Soleum forces a wispy smile, tilting his head. “Ah, no. I thought I’d forgotten my keys at the bureau but they were in my pocket, actually.” He lies easily enough nowadays.
As if to back his story up, he fishes the motel key out of his pocket and dangles it in front of Agent Choi for a moment. Then, as imperceptibly as possible, he glances at the glass pane the ghost had inhabited until a few moments ago—it’s empty now, which doesn’t come as a surprise.
In its stead is one last message, the writing smaller, more hurried:
FOUND AND LOST
Kim Soleum takes great care not to whip around when Agent Choi starts speaking again.
“So instead of telling me that you just hung up on me?” Agent Choi asks. He doesn’t look convinced, scrutinizing Kim Soleum with a critical eye. “You wanna give your poor old senior a heart attack, Grapes-ie? Is that it?” With a sigh, he leans against the metal frame of the door, crossing his arms. “Is misplacing your keys usually enough to make you sound as if you’ve seen a ghost?”
There’s that teasing lilt to his voice again, the one Kim Soleum can’t quite place. Playful in a calculative way.
“It is when it happens late at night, sir,” Kim Soleum deadpans. “What were you doing at the bureau anyway?” he tries to divert the attention. The best defence is a good offence after all.
But Agent Choi only looks at him strangely. His gaze is piercing. “Soleum-ah,” he starts, slowly, “I was at home. You called my number, not the bureau.”
Ah.
Hm.
Yes, that makes sense, he supposes.
“Oh,” Kim Soleum says, a little dumbly. “Sorry. I must’ve panicked. I hadn’t meant to wake you up.” He scratches the back of his head in what he hopes comes across as a sheepish gesture.
Agent Choi’s expression brightens considerably at that and he steps back, offering his hand to Kim Soleum to pull him out of the phone booth. “Anything for my adorable juniors. Though I wish you’d call during the daytime hours instead.” He doesn’t correct Kim Soleum’s assumption that he’d been sleeping—maybe Agent Choi doesn’t want him to know.
Carefully, Kim Soleum accepts the proffered hand, stumbling slightly when he steps out. The night air is cool yet Agent Choi doesn’t seem to be cold. “I’ll keep it in mind, sir.” He has no intention of taking the man’s offer up, anyway, but if Agent Choi is already suspicious of him, it won’t do to give him any more ammunition.
With a noncommittal hum, Agent Choi surveys the scene once more before he pats Kim Soleum on the shoulder. “Well, as you said, it’s late already. How about I walk you home?”
“No need,” Kim Soleum cuts in, perhaps not quite as deferential as he should be. “It’s not far from here. I wouldn’t want to keep you.”
Agent Choi laughs and the sound echoes uncomfortably in the empty street. “It’s not a bother when it’s my adorable junior,” he says with a wink. Perceptive and incredibly hard to shake off, it seems.
Kim Soleum is tempted to roll his eyes in semi-annoyance. Instead, he dons an embarrassed smile and draws his shoulders up. “I already feel bad for waking you up, sir. I really don’t want to keep you.”
“Ahhh, Soleum-ah.” Agent Choi sighs, dragging a hand through his hair and tousling it a little. “You’re too kind for your own good.”
No, not at all. If only they knew.
“Well, if you insist, I can’t force you. Stay safe, alright?” He gives Kim Soleum one last once-over, taking in the probably dishevelled hair and dark under-eye circles. “If you need something—anything—be sure to call, yeah? Or if something’s bothering you. Don’t keep it to yourself.”
“I will,” Kim Soleum promises, like a liar.
If Agent Choi knows it’s a lie, he doesn’t call him out on it. Kim Soleum has to remind himself that this man is dangerous. That this man could probably uncover his deepest secrets if he truly wanted to.
Agent Choi leaves him behind with a simple wave and a promise of being allowed to see Kim Soleum’s apartment sometime soon—another promise he won’t keep. Kim Soleum watches him go, waiting until he can’t see the other man anymore and then another quarter of an hour, just for good measure.
The Elevator Darkness doesn’t show itself again, not in the glass pane of the now deserted phone booth, nor in the bathroom mirror in his motel room when he returns.
Kim Soleum isn’t sure whether he should be grateful for that or not.
Barely any time has passed at all. Too little time, and yet so much has changed already.
Kim Soleum watches his own reflection in the glass orb; it lasts for just a second before it envelops him, dragging him inside.
It’s enough time, though.
Just enough time to see the ghost staring back at him with incomprehensibly dark eyes, just this side of sad.
The glass orb clouds over for a moment.
Snatches of words, misspelled and scrawled as if in a hurry, there for one second, then gone in the next as the orb expands in size.
NOT SAFE ANYWHERE
RATHER THE DEEP BLUE SEA
Kim Soleum really should’ve known better than to trust a ghost story.