Chapter 8: The Cursed Game
571 Words
In the old, dimly lit room, silence reigned.
On the floor nearby lay the corpse of a girl, her expression twisted in death, eyes wide open in agony.
A man in an old-fashioned military coat sat at the table, a pencil laid out in front of him. He extended his arm straight and pressed the pencil’s tip against a blank sheet of paper on the table.
Behind him stood a pale, shadowy figure, shrouded in a swirling black mist. Its face remained hidden, obscured from view.
"This should be how it’s done. The wrist and elbow can’t touch the table. I think there was a spell involved, but I’ve forgotten... This will have to do," Merlin muttered to himself.
He remembered that it was best to close one’s eyes while playing this game.
At that moment, he shut his eyes and began to chant, "Pen Spirit, Pen Spirit, are you there?"
He waited.
The room was eerily silent, save for Merlin’s voice.
Just as Merlin thought nothing would happen, he suddenly felt a cold hand grasping his hand holding the pencil without warning.
His fingers went numb from the cold.
Merlin immediately opened his eyes.
On the empty chair opposite him now sat a figure.
It was a girl in tattered school uniform, her head bowed, long hair covering her face. She was filled with malice and hatred.
Blood dripped from the hem of her clothes.
The floor was stained red.
An overwhelming sense of danger struck Merlin. He could feel the malevolence radiating from the vengeful spirit, a murderous intent aimed at all living beings.
Playing the Pen Spirit game was inherently dangerous.
The summoned entity could be a terrifying evil spirit. If it was a reasonable spirit, it might be manageable, but unreasonable ones were a different story.
Clearly, the entity before him was unreasonable.
Even before Merlin could ask any questions, it began to write.
The pencil moved.
The spirit’s power was immense, causing Merlin’s hand to uncontrollably scrawl words on the paper.
Die!
You will die!
Each word dripped with malice.
Merlin realized the danger—what was written with this pencil could become a curse. Just like the poor girl before him, who had died in the exact manner described by the words on the paper.
The grim reality lay beside him; he couldn’t ignore it.
No one could guarantee how the method of death written on the paper would manifest.
What if the written death method had to be realized?
Merlin definitely didn’t want to be cursed without cause.
But his strength was clearly insufficient against the malevolent spirit.
The pencil continued to write slowly on the paper.
You
Will
Be
Hanged
…
Merlin watched in horror as the words took shape. He knew the last word would be "die."
The girl had been strangled, and he was to be hanged.
He had to prevent the last word from being written. Merlin fought with all his might.
While most people would be paralyzed with fear, Merlin was not only struggling with the spirit but had also prepared a backup plan.
He intended to pull the paper off the table with his other hand.
No paper, no writing.
If it came to it, he would even flip the table.
Despite Merlin's best efforts, the word "die" was halfway written.
There was no more time to wait.
Merlin was about to act, when an unexpected event occurred.
- Writer
