Author's Preface
The smell of damp concrete and rotting wood always made his skin crawl, but today the air in the back storage shed felt heavy, like it had been replaced by cold lead.
"I'm telling you, I heard it! It was like... like a wet mop hitting the floor, but with feelings!" Chan’s voice cracked, his small frame trembling as he hovered behind Arkan. The younger boy’s knuckles were white from gripping the back of Arkan’s frayed school jacket.
"Mops don't have feelings, Chan. You're just failing physics so hard it’s affecting your brain," Arkan snapped, though he didn't pull away. He shoved the rusted shed door harder. It groaned, the metal protesting until it gave way with a piercing screech that echoed too long against the school’s perimeter wall.
Bhas leaned against a nearby pillar, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve with practiced indifference. "If it’s a serial killer, I hope he starts with Chan. The screaming is already giving me a migraine."
"Screw you, Bhas!" Chan hissed, but he didn't let go of Arkan.
Arkan stepped into the gloom. The shed was supposed to be empty—just a graveyard for broken desks and outdated textbooks—but the temperature plummeted the moment he crossed the threshold. A thick layer of dust coated everything, except for a single path cleared toward the far corner.
There, tucked behind a stack of moldy gym mats, sat a figure.
It looked like a boy, maybe sixteen, dressed in a pristine white uniform that didn't belong to Novara International. He was curled into a ball, his face buried in his knees. The sound Chan had heard wasn't a mop; it was the rhythmic, hitching sob of someone who had been crying for hours.
"Hey," Arkan said, his voice dropping its sarcastic edge for something sharper, more guarded. "School’s over. The gates lock in ten minutes."
The boy froze. He lifted his head slowly, revealing a face that was pale—not just skin-deep pale, but translucent, like a faded photograph held up to the light. Large, watery eyes fixated on Arkan, then darted to Bhas and Chan.
"You... you can see me?" the boy whispered, his voice sounding like it was coming from the bottom of a well.
"Hard not to. You're taking up perfectly good storage space," Bhas muttered, though his posture had gone rigid.
The boy’s lip trembled. A single tear rolled down his cheek, but it didn't hit the floor. It simply vanished into the air before it could land. "Please... you have to help me. I can't leave. I think... I think I died here."
Chan let out a muffled yelp and tried to climb Arkan’s back. "A ghost! I knew it! Arkan, it’s an actual, literal, dead person!"
"Shut up, Chan," Arkan growled, but his eyes were locked on the boy’s chest. There was no heartbeat visible under that white shirt. No rise and fall of breath.
Suddenly, a searing pain spiked behind Arkan’s eyes. He gasped, clutching his head as the world bled into a distorted monochrome.
[ECHO RESONANCE SYSTEM INITIALIZING...]
A flickering image flashed across his vision: the same shed, but the walls were splattered with something dark and viscous. He saw Chan slumped against the door, his eyes wide and lifeless, and Bhas pinned to the wall by a jagged shard of metal.
[CALAMITY DETECTED: 04:59 UNTIL TRAGEDY]
The vision hit Arkan like a physical blow, a strobe light of gore and static that made his stomach churn. One moment he was looking at a crying boy in a dusty shed; the next, he was staring at Bhas’s throat torn open by a jagged piece of the shed’s corrugated roof. The smell of copper was so thick he could taste it.
Then, just as quickly, the world snapped back to reality.
The blood vanished. The bodies were gone. Bhas was still leaning against the pillar, looking bored, and Chan was still vibrating with terror against Arkan's arm. Only the blue, semi-transparent text floating in Arkan's peripheral vision remained.
[04:42 UNTIL TRAGEDY]
"Arkan? You okay?" Bhas’s voice lost its edge, his eyes narrowing as he took in Arkan’s sudden pallor. "You look like you’re about to barf."
"Fine," Arkan managed, his voice sounding thin even to his own ears. He wiped cold sweat from his forehead, his mind racing. Echo Resonance System? Calamity? It sounded like some garbage mobile game, but the phantom pain in his skull was very real.
He looked back at the boy on the floor. The "ghost."
"You," Arkan said, pointing a trembling finger at the kid in the white uniform. "What’s your name?"
The boy flinched, pulling his knees tighter to his chest. "I... I don't know. I think... maybe Ela? That’s what the voice in my head keeps saying." He looked up, his eyes wide and shimmering with fresh tears. "Am I really dead? I don't feel dead. I just feel cold. So cold."
"He’s definitely a ghost, Arkan! Look at his shoes!" Chan shrieked, pointing at the boy's feet.
Arkan looked. The boy’s shoes weren't touching the floor. They hovered a fraction of an inch above the dust, leaving no footprints.
"Great," Bhas sighed, rubbing his temples. "We found a crying, amnesiac ghost in a school shed. Can we go now? I have a shift at the net cafe and I’d like to keep my job."
"We can't leave," Arkan said sharply.
Bhas blinked. "Since when did you become a paranormal investigator? Leave the spook to the janitors."
"I said we're not leaving!" Arkan’s voice rose, fueled by the ticking clock in his vision. He grabbed Bhas’s collar, dragging him closer to the entrance of the shed. "Something is coming. Something bad."
"Arkan, you're freaking me out," Chan whimpered, his eyes darting toward the darkening school courtyard. "What's coming?"
Arkan didn't answer. He couldnt. How was he supposed to explain that he’d just seen their corpses? He looked at the ceiling of the shed. It was rusted, just like in the vision. Outside, the wind began to howl, picking up speed with an unnatural, screeching intensity.
A heavy thud sounded from the roof of the shed, followed by the sound of metal screaming against metal.
"What was that?" Ela asked, his voice trembling as he stood up, floating slightly higher off the ground. "It sounds like... claws." The sound scraped down Arkan’s spine like rusted nails.
Arkan looked at the timer.
The rusted bolts in the ceiling began to groan, vibrating under the weight of something heavy and shifting above them.
"Everyone, get away from the door!" Arkan yelled, shoving Chan and Bhas toward the back corner where Ela stood. "Now!"
Bhas didn’t move fast enough. He never did when Arkan gave orders—it was a matter of pride. But the look on Arkan’s face, a mask of genuine, sharp-edged panic, finally forced his legs into motion. He grabbed Chan by the scruff of his shirt and hauled him toward the back of the shed just as the first bolt snapped.
The sound was like a gunshot.
"What is that? Arkan, what is that thing?!" Chan wailed, burying his face in his hands.
The corrugated metal roof buckled inward. A massive, pale shape pressed against the exterior, its weight causing the support beams to groan and splinter. Arkan didn't wait to see what was making the sound. He lunged toward the corner, nearly tripping over a stack of old textbooks.
[01:12 UNTIL TRAGEDY]
The blue timer was pulsing now, bleeding into a deep, warning red.
"The mats!" Arkan shouted, pointing to the heavy, vinyl-covered gym mats leaning against the wall near Ela. "Get behind them! Bhas, help me move the lockers!"
"You're acting like there's a damn earthquake," Bhas grunted, but he threw his shoulder against a row of rusted lockers, sliding them across the concrete floor to create a makeshift barrier.
Ela—the boy in the white uniform—was hyperventilating. He wasn't breathing, but his shoulders shook with the phantom rhythm of it. "It’s the dark," he whimpered, his translucent hands clawing at his chest. "It’s coming back for me. It doesn't like that you're here."
"Shut up and stay low," Arkan snapped, his eyes darting to the ceiling.
A jagged, pale limb—too long to be human and covered in a sickly, translucent film—slammed through the metal roof. It didn't look like a claw; it looked like a cluster of fused finger bones sharpened to needle points. It missed Bhas’s shoulder by inches, punching a hole straight through a wooden desk.
"Holy—!" Bhas scrambled back, his cool exterior finally shattering. "That’s not a ghost. That’s a monster!"
"No kidding!" Arkan grabbed a stray metal chair, his knuckles white.
The roof groaned again, and then the entire center section was ripped away. Rain began to pour into the shed, but it wasn't normal rain. It was thick, black, and smelled of ozone and rot.
Through the gaping hole in the ceiling, a face peered down. It had no eyes, only a wide, lipless mouth filled with rows of needle-like teeth that vibrated with a hum that made Arkan’s teeth ache.
[00:24 UNTIL TRAGEDY]
The creature shifted its weight, preparing to drop into the cramped space. Arkan looked at his friends—Chan crying, Bhas reaching for a piece of broken wood, and the ghost boy flickering like a dying lightbulb.
In his vision, this was where the roof collapsed fully, pinning them down before the thing began its feeding.
Not today, Arkan thought, a cold, calculated rage bubbling up beneath his fear. I’m not dying in a shed.
"Ela!" Arkan yelled over the roar of the wind. "Can you touch things? Can you move the air?"
"I... I don't know!"
"Try!" Arkan screamed.
The creature leaped.
Arkan swung the chair, not at the monster, but at the main support beam holding up the remaining half of the roof. If they were going to be buried, they were going to be buried on his terms.
The metal chair collided with the support beam with a bone-jarring crack. Arkan’s arms vibrated from the impact, but he didn't stop. He swung again, fueled by the red countdown burning in his retinas.
"Arkan, stop! The whole roof is going to—" Bhas’s warning was cut short as the creature lunged.
It didn't drop like a heavy stone. It glided, its movements oily and disjointed, defying gravity for a split second before its skeletal weight brought it down. The needle-teeth gnashed, inches away from the spot where Chan had been standing seconds ago.
The support beam finally buckled.
With a roar of tortured metal, the remaining section of the roof collapsed. Sheets of heavy, rusted iron slammed down, creating a chaotic barricade of debris between the boys and the monster. Dust exploded into the air, thick, tasting of old copper and burnt circuits.
"Everyone... alive?" Arkan coughed, pushing a piece of plywood off his chest. His vision was swimming, the red timer finally vanishing, replaced by a new, flickering notification.
[CALAMITY AVERTED. CALIBRATING DESTINY...]
"I think... I think I’m actually dead this time," Chan groaned from under a pile of gym mats. Bhas hauled him out, looking like he'd been dragged through a scrapyard, his school tie torn and his face smeared with soot.
"I’m going to kill you, Arkan," Bhas wheezed, leaning against the lockers they’d moved earlier. "You almost flattened us."
"But I didn't," Arkan snapped, though his hands were shaking so hard he had to shove them into his pockets. He looked toward the center of the shed.
The creature was pinned. One of the heavy industrial beams had fallen directly across its midsection, crushing its translucent skin and leaking a foul, neon-blue fluid onto the concrete. It hissed, a sound like a failing radio signal, its many-fingered limbs scratching uselessly at the floor.
"It's... it's leaking," Ela whispered. The ghost boy was hovering near the ceiling, his face pale with terror. He looked down at the blue fluid, and for a second, his translucent form flickered violently, turning almost solid before fading back. "I know that smell. Why do I know that smell?"
"Stay back, Ela," Arkan ordered, stepping toward the trapped monster.
The thing’s lipless mouth twitched. It wasn't just hissing anymore. Amidst the static-like noise, Arkan heard a distinct, mechanical click. From the creature's throat, a distorted, human-like voice vibrated—flat and devoid of emotion.
"Subject... 07... detected. Beginning... retrieval..."
Arkan froze. Subject 07? Before he could process the words, the creature’s body began to dissolve. It didn't rot or bleed out; it broke apart into thousands of tiny, glowing particles that looked more like digital code than biological matter. Within seconds, the shed was empty of the monster, leaving only the crushed metal and the lingering scent of ozone.
"What the hell was that?" Bhas walked over to where the creature had been. There was nothing left. No body, no blood. Just a scorched mark on the concrete. "That wasn't a ghost. Ghosts don't talk about 'retrieval' and turn into light shows."
Arkan didn't answer. He was staring at his palm. A small, black mark—like a barcode—had appeared just below his thumb, pulsing with a faint, rhythmic heat.
[SYNC RATIO: 1.2%]
[WELCOME TO THE ECHO CHAMBER, ARKAN VIDYASARA.]
"We need to get out of here," Arkan said, his voice cold and final. "Now. Before whatever sent that thing realizes it failed. And before the janitors find us with a dead... whatever that was."
Rain licked against the broken roof, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap on metal sounding like frantic fingers trying to get back in. Arkan didn't wait for his heart rate to settle. He grabbed his bag, ignoring the way the new mark on his hand throbbed in time with the pulsing red "1.2%" in his vision.
"Wait, we're just leaving him?" Chan pointed a trembling finger at the ghost boy. Ela was still hovering in the corner, looking small and fragile against the backdrop of the wreckage.
"He’s coming with us," Arkan said. It wasn't an invitation; it was a command. "He’s the reason that thing showed up. Leaving him here is just giving them a second chance to finish the job."
"Coming with us? Arkan, he's a ghost," Bhas hissed, wiping a streak of black grime from his forehead. "How are we supposed to explain a floating Victorian doll in a school uniform to the security guard?"
Arkan looked at Ela. "Can you... stop doing that?"
"Doing what?" Ela sniffled.
"The floating. The glowing. Try to walk. Use your legs. Act like you have weight."
Ela looked down at his feet, his expression one of intense concentration. Slowly, his shoes touched the dusty concrete. The translucent shimmer of his skin seemed to settle, becoming more opaque, though he still looked unnaturally pale—like he was suffering from a permanent case of anemia.
"I think... I can do it," Ela whispered, taking a tentative, shaky step. He looked like a toddler learning to walk, but he stayed grounded.
"Great. Put this on." Arkan stripped off his oversized black hoodie, revealing a thin t-shirt underneath, and tossed it at the boy.
The hoodie didn't fall through Ela. It landed on his shoulders, the fabric draping over his small frame. Ela fumbled with the zipper, his fingers still slightly unsteady. Once the hood was up, covering his silver-white hair, he looked like any other exhausted student—provided no one looked too closely at his eyes.
"Hood up. Head down. Don't speak unless I tell you to," Arkan directed. He turned to Bhas and Chan. "If anyone asks, he’s a cousin from out of town. He’s sick. Very sick."
"Understatement of the century," Bhas muttered, but he stepped up to Ela’s other side, forming a protective flank.
They moved out of the shed, slipping into the shadows of the school’s corridor. The halls were dead empty, the late-afternoon sun swallowed by the storm clouds. As they passed the faculty room, Arkan saw a flicker of movement behind the glass. Mr. Jati, the science teacher, was standing by the window, a cup of coffee in his hand. He wasn't looking at the rain. He was looking directly at them—or more specifically, at the space between Arkan and Bhas where Ela walked.
Arkan didn't break his stride. He felt the weight of the Echo System pressing against his mind, a cold, digital presence that made the world feel like a fragile simulation.
They reached the school gate just as the security guard was beginning his rounds.
"Late night, Vidyasara?" the guard called out, squinting through the rain.
"Project ran late," Arkan shouted back, his voice steady despite the adrenaline still screaming in his veins. "Taking the kid home. He caught a fever."
The guard waved them through with a bored grunt. They didn't stop until they were two blocks away, standing under the flickering neon sign of a 24-hour net cafe.
Arkan finally let out the breath he’d been holding. He looked at the black mark on his hand, then at the three boys surrounding him. The "Tragedy" had been avoided, but the air still felt wrong. The "1.2%" had stopped flickering. It was solid now.
"Arkan," Chan whispered, looking at the glowing sign of the net cafe. "What happens now?"
Arkan looked at Ela, who was staring at a display of snacks in the window with a look of profound, heartbreaking longing.
"Now," Arkan said, his voice cold and sharp as broken glass, "we find out why a dead boy is being hunted by something that isn't supposed to exist."