Chapter 4: I Gave Sadako A Ponytail
3129 Words
I knew that sound all too well.
It was the ringtone of an old rotary phone, long abandoned in the orphanage.
But right now, it carried an indescribable eeriness, like the tongue of a venomous snake, licking through the dead silence of the building.
A chill crawled down my spine—sharper than the orphanage’s cold, colder than the Weeping Bride’s presence.
Outside the window, the night was impenetrably dark—not a single ray of moonlight seeped through.
By my count, this was the third night since we broke into the orphanage.
It was the early hours of the third day, still before dawn.
It was the exact hour the rules had marked—when vengeful spirits walked at full strength.
This night was far from over.
The static from the TV in the next room hadn’t stopped.
Beneath the faint crackling, I could just make out someone’s breathing—soft, trembling, almost imperceptible.
There was another player hiding next door.
Zzzzt—shhh— Static mixed with the sharp, unrelenting ringing of the phone wove into a death melody, stabbing painfully at my eardrums.
I held my breath and pressed tightly against the icy wall, clearly hearing the suppressed gasps of the player next door.
He was probably praying, just like me, that he would survive this.
The tracking bell in my hand didn’t ring or vibrate.
That meant the ghost wasn’t targeting me—not yet.
But this temporary luck only made my fear worse.
Some ghosts could kill without ever showing themselves.
Others hunted by following fear, picking off their prey one by one.
Especially at this hour, on the third morning, the spirits grew more reckless by the second.
The few of us remaining players were already on our last legs.
The phone kept ringing.
Ring… ring… ring…
Each tone hammered against my heart.
I could almost picture the panic of the player next door.
He was probably being driven to the edge of collapse by the sudden ringing, just like I was.
I leaned against the door, my legs still weak from my close encounter with the Weeping Bride.
My “Melancholic Muse” facade was rapidly unraveling.
My lower lip trembled uncontrollably, and my eyes were filled with unmaskable terror.
I forced myself to steady my mind, digging my fingernails deep into my palm, using pain to stay alert.
Don’t panic.
Not now.
At that moment, a soft click came from the next room.
He answered the phone.
My heart clenched instantly.
A terrible premonition flooded over me.
He had clearly never seen anything like this before.
He had no idea that this seemingly ordinary ringtone was never a call for help—it was a death sentence.
[Live Chat] Wait, is he crazy?! He actually answered that phone?! Does this feel familiar to anyone? The Ring! Sadako’s coming out! Help! The TV static changed! Look at the corner of the screen! No way! There’s a well on the TV! It’s Sadako! It’s really Sadako!
He’s dead.
He doesn’t get it.
Answer that ghostly call, and the TV spirit comes for you.
Only death waits.
The TV static in the next room suddenly turned sharp.
Immediately after came the player’s terrified, distorted pleas, broken and desperate, piercing through the wall, hurting my ears.
“No… don’t… don’t come near!”
“Please… spare me… I won’t do it again…”
The pleading stopped abruptly.
In its place, an ear-splitting scream, then complete silence.
Only the TV continued to buzz, like the ghost’s triumphant whisper.
I gritted my teeth so hard I barely noticed my tongue being bitten, barely holding back a scream that threatened to burst from my throat.
Every hair on my body stood on end.
Cold sweat slid down my forehead, soaking my bangs.
Even my fingertips trembled uncontrollably.
He was dead.
Just because he answered a phone.
I prayed frantically inside my head: The ghost just killed him.
It won’t come for me now, right?
It achieved its target.
Maybe it will leave for now…
I held my breath, not daring to make a sound.
I pressed my body against the wall, trying to make myself as small as possible.
My fingers squeezed the tracking bell so tight my knuckles whitened.
Only one thought repeated in my mind: Hide.
Just survive.
But in the next second, icy electricity shot through my entire body, freezing me stiff, stopping my breath entirely.
In the pitch-black corner of my room, an old black-and-white TV flickered to life without warning.
[Live Chat] !!! Why is Laila’s TV turning on?! Look! It’s not even plugged in! No power at all! Stupid! Do ghosts need electricity to kill? Sadako comes through screens! It’s her turn next! She hugged a ghost earlier, but can she survive this?
Snow immediately covered the TV screen.
The static was louder and more piercing than next door, like thousands of tiny needles stabbing my ears.
The static twisted and distorted, flashing with an eerie white light that painted the whole room in a ghastly pale glow.
At the same time, a familiar ringtone exploded in my ears.
Not from the next room.
From inside my own room.
I turned stiffly.
Somehow, an old rotary phone had appeared on the desk in the corner—exactly like the discarded ones in the orphanage hallway.
It was ringing violently, sharp and urgent, much louder than the one next door.
A fixed-volume landline, yet it was being controlled by a ghost, growing louder and louder, splitting my head with pain.
Ring… ring… ring…
Ring… ring… ring…
I stood there, my feet heavy as lead, unable to move.
On the surface, I maintained a fragile calm.
Inside, I was terrified out of my wits, my legs weak, my breathing difficult.
An indescribable fear seized me, so intense I almost lost control of my body.
This time, the despair was even worse than when I faced the Weeping Bride.
The Weeping Bride could be reached with empathy.
But this was Sadako, the unkillable legend.
A spirit that only took lives, with no room for mercy or understanding.
The static on the screen gradually faded.
In its place appeared a pitch-black well, covered in cobwebs, darkness so deep it seemed bottomless.
Like a giant black hole, ready to swallow me whole.
The phone continued to ring violently, growing louder, almost shattering my eardrums.
Ring… ring… ring…
Ring… ring… ring…
Then, from within the screen, a woman in white slowly emerged.
Her hair hung loose, completely covering her face, hiding all features.
Only her pale, slender hands were visible, gripping the edge of the well tightly, pulling herself slowly toward the screen.
Her movements were stiff and unnatural.
With every crawl, the screen flickered once.
The static sharpened.
The temperature in the room dropped another degree.
Icy air wrapped around me, freezing me to the bone, making my teeth chatter.
[Live Chat] She’s here! Sadako’s crawling out! Laila run! Can’t run. Sadako comes through screens. Nowhere to hide! She’s done for… The empathy trick with the bride won’t work on Sadako!
I stared at the white figure drawing closer, the breath of death growing thicker.
My mind went blank.
Then I suddenly saw the tracking bell in my hand—the item left behind by the Weeping Bride, glowing faintly white, bright against the darkness.
I slowly clenched it and stuffed it into my pocket.
My fingers brushed the cold metal, but my eyes showed no intention of using it.
[Live Chat] ?? What’s Laila doing? She has an item and isn’t using it? Is she crazy? The bell was glowing! It can fight Sadako! Why hide it? Hurry! Sadako’s hand is on the TV edge! What is she doing? She’s scared stupid?! Leaving a powerful item unused just to get killed?
The chat exploded with doubt, but I ignored it completely.
I watched Sadako’s pale, thin hand grip the TV frame tightly, her knuckles white, black hair swaying with her movements.
I took a deep breath and did something that shocked millions in the live stream.
I slowly raised both hands, palms up, and gently reached for the hand about to break through the screen—not like facing a murderous ghost, but like welcoming an old friend.
My fingertips lightly touched Sadako’s hand.
It was piercingly cold, like holding eternal ice, stiff and completely without warmth.
But I did not pull back.
Instead, I held on gently, carefully, and helped her step out of the television.
Sadako froze instantly, confused by my action.
The icy aura around her seemed to stall.
Our eyes met.
The camera zoomed in for a close-up.
Beneath the black hair covering her face, one pitch-black pupil was faintly visible—no whites, no light, like a hole that swallowed all brightness.
Even viewers commented they couldn’t look directly, chills running down their spines, their fingers going cold.
But I did not look away.
My gaze was calm, gentle, even pitying.
While Sadako was still disoriented, I softly supported her arm and whispered, breaking the silence: “You’re so beautiful, but your clothes are much too big. They make you look even thinner. Let me adjust them for you, so they fit properly.”
With that, I helped Sadako walk slowly to the desk in the corner.
I bent down, pulled open the bottom drawer, and among the clutter, I found a pair of silver scissors and a spool of black thread.
Perhaps left behind by someone who once lived in the orphanage.
Right now, they became my tools of gentleness.
I picked up the scissors.
My hands remained steady, not shaking at all.
Under the stunned, breathless gaze of millions, I began cutting the loose white gown on Sadako’s body.
Snip, snip.
Small pieces of fabric fell to the floor.
My movements were skilled and graceful.
Before long, the shapeless, baggy white dress was transformed into a beautiful, wide-shouldered, waist-cinched gown with a side slit.
It perfectly outlined her slender, elegant figure.
The eeriness faded, replaced by a cold, fragile beauty.
The side slit was just right.
When she moved slightly, it revealed a long, slender leg.
Her skin was transparently pale, but not terrifying—only delicate and broken.
The smooth line of her leg was stunning.
Even the most critical person would gasp at the breathtaking beauty.
I set down the scissors, gently smoothed the wrinkles on the skirt, and looked up at Sadako with a faint, soft smile.
My voice was still gentle.
“See? It looks much better now. You have a lovely figure. You’re truly beautiful.”
I took her hand and led her to a dusty mirror in the room, wiping away the dust to make the surface clear.
I picked up a comb and began gently brushing her long, black hair from the ends upward.
My movements were soft, like handling a priceless treasure, avoiding knots so I wouldn’t hurt her.
The comb slid through her hair with a faint sound, clear in the dead room.
Sadako remained stiff the entire time.
But the eyes hidden behind her hair were no longer completely empty—they moved slightly, confused.
She was supposed to be a ghost here to kill.
Instead, I was dressing her and combing her hair.
This absurd kindness completely shattered her plan.
Her eyes were filled with bewilderment and loss.
She even lowered her head unconsciously, touching the folds of the skirt with pale fingertips, a faint hint of wonder in her eyes, as if truly admiring the adjusted dress.
She had long forgotten her original purpose.
Once her hair was smooth, I gathered it forward and carefully tied a low ponytail with a black hair tie.
I did not push her hair away from her face.
I only tucked the loose strands near her ears behind them.
I spoke softly: “I know you don’t want to show your face yet. So I kept your style and tied a ponytail that still lets you hide.”
At that moment, the viewers and the live chat fell into shocked silence.
Not a single sound.
It was as if the whole world had stopped.
The earlier doubts and worries vanished completely.
Everyone held their breath, staring at the screen, minds blank at the bizarre yet tender scene.
They even forgot to breathe until their chests ached, then exhaled quietly, still afraid to disturb the fragile gentleness.
I continued combing her ponytail softly, my voice trembling slightly but still gentle.
“I should be afraid of you, like everyone else. I should run when I see you. But I can’t.”
“I know you must have suffered so much. Trapped here, day after day, year after year, enduring endless loneliness and pain. That’s why you became cold and hurt people.”
“If there is an afterlife, I want to be your sister. I’ll stay with you. I won’t let you be alone anymore.”
My fingertips gently stroked the end of her hair, without a trace of fear.
Sadako’s body began to shake violently.
Her stiff shoulders slumped slightly.
Her hand, hanging by her side, slowly lifted.
Pale fingertips carefully touched my wrist, soft as if touching fragile light.
No malice.
Only uncontrollable sorrow and attachment.
She did not speak.
But from the eye hidden beneath her hair, tears of blood fell thick and fast, staining her white dress, blooming into gorgeous, hopeless red plums.
She stepped back slowly, bowed slightly, and nodded to me.
Her movement was clumsy but sincere—gratitude, and farewell.
Then she stepped backward again, her form fading, turning transparent, until she vanished completely, leaving no trace behind.
Only a faint, lingering sorrow hung in the air.
The TV in the room turned black instantly.
The static and the violent ringing stopped at the same time.
Silence fell over the room again.
Only my soft breathing and the faint sound of the comb being set on the desk remained.
Three long seconds passed.
Then the live chat erupted.
[Live Chat] What…… the…… NO WAY IN HELL! DID LAILA JUST HELP SADAKO OUT OF THE TV, FIX HER DRESS, AND COMB HER HAIR?! THIS IS INSANE! I’M SHAKING! IS THIS EVEN REAL?! Goddess, take my knees! I’m bowing to you! 6666666! Her empathy is off the charts! SHE ACTUALLY REACHED SADAKO?! I’m… crying. Why am I crying? Same here! She’s a ghost, but I’m broken over Sadako’s tears! Me too! Laila’s gentleness is just too touching! Oh my god! Sadako bowed! And she cried! I’m devastated! As expected of our Melancholic Goddess. SEND GIFTS! ROCKETS! SPACESHIPS! CARNIVALS! I can watch this scene a hundred times! Laila’s kindness is so powerful!
In an instant, the stream’s viewership skyrocketed to an all-time high, breaking 10 million.
Gifts from international platforms flooded the screen—rockets, spaceships, carnivals, diamond showers.
The chat was completely taken over by “666,” “INSANE,” and “QUEEN.”
Even the platform’s official account pushed a trending recommendation.
The whole internet was talking about this bizarre, tender moment.
I still clutched the tracking bell in my pocket.
My clothes were soaked with cold sweat.
My heart pounded wildly, unable to calm down.
Tears burned in my eyes, but I bit my lip hard, forcing them back, not letting the audience see a single crack.
A dull, tight ache gnawed at my lower belly.
Only then did I realize the extreme terror had almost made me lose control.
My body was already collapsing.
But I forced myself to maintain elegance and calm on the surface.
I survived.
Not with an item.
Not with Ethan’s protection.
But with kindness and empathy, I touched a ghost feared by the whole world, wrapped in loneliness.
With sincerity, I bought a chance to live.
I slowly slid down the wall and sat, moving carefully to hide how exhausted and weak I was.
My heart still beat rapidly.
Thankfully, the camera angle hid my panic and physical discomfort.
The audience could not see how battered I really was.
The ghosts every night had drained me, body and soul.
Even when the sun rose and the ghosts disappeared, I still had to face the ruthless, greedy veteran players watching my every move.
I couldn’t hold on much longer.
I needed to find a hidden place to rest immediately.
But just as I relaxed slightly, familiar heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway, along with the furious, unwilling roar of the veteran players’ leader.
“Dammit! She’s still alive?!”
More than one voice came from outside the door.
The same players who had been watching me, wanting to steal the bell and sacrifice me to the ghosts were now gathered outside, filled with rage and frustration.
“Let’s go in and kill her! Her protection is gone! That bell must be powerful. With it, we can live a few more days!”
The leader’s roar sounded again, accompanied by violent banging.
The door shook violently, as if it would break open at any second.
But right before they could burst in, heavy, dragging footsteps came from the end of the hallway, along with a low growl.
One veteran player paled instantly, his voice shaking as he screamed: “No! It’s Jason! Jason is here!”
Jason—the legendary killer in the hockey mask, wielding a machete, relentless and unstoppable.
Just his name terrified all the players.
“Where’s our invisibility mirror? Hurry!”
The leader sweated profusely, snapping at his teammates.
Another player trembled, patting his pockets, his face even uglier as he cried: “O-only one use left… and it’s only enough for one person!”
“Get lost!”
The leader’s eyes turned cold, filled with cruelty and selfishness.
A dull thud followed—he kicked his teammate away.
Then he ran for his life, footsteps hurrying down the other end of the hallway.
The kicked teammate screamed, trying to get up.
But the noise alerted Jason.
The low growl grew closer.
Within three seconds, a horrific scream came from outside, then silence.
Only Jason’s heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Strangely, he did not break down the door.
His footsteps gradually faded away.
Either he didn’t notice me in the room, or he had gone after the fleeing leader.
Only the coldness of the hallway remained, and me, still shaken inside the room.
I slowly squatted against the wall, exhausted, straightening my messy clothes.
The fear in my eyes faded, leaving only lingering melancholy.
I struggled to maintain my usual elegant composure.
I slowly closed my eyes.
On the surface, I was resting peacefully.
In truth, my eyelids were too heavy to lift.
My consciousness blurred.
And I completely, finally, fell into a deep sleep……
- Writer
