The Ghost Game Chapter 8

I don't say anything. Going up the stairs, Sarah shows me her phone.

Turns out she sometimes comes to this hotel to shoot outfit changes and posts them on TikTok.

I check it out. Nothing too risqué—just showing off her long legs.

Makes sense. Beautiful women should capitalize on trends and do side hustles, or it's a waste of their looks.

The receptionist has good instincts—she actually gave us the honeymoon suite.

I close the door, reach out, pull Sarah's slender waist toward me, and pin her against the wall.

A deep French kiss, long and passionate.

She melts in my arms, moaning playfully.

"Don't rush... Let me shower first. I've been up all night without rest. I feel like I stink."

Women like to smell nice.

I get it. Especially for the first time.

Some sense of ceremony is necessary.

I give her waist a little squeeze.

"Alright, I'll wait."

After Sarah goes into the bathroom, I call the front desk and have them send up rose petals and candles. I arrange them simply.

The right atmosphere makes the connection between two souls even better.

After preparing everything, I lie on the big round red bed, browsing my phone and drinking water.

Huh, this hotel's bottled water is pretty sweet.

But then, just browsing web pages, that game pop-up ad appears again!

I just shut off my phone, but it's too late.

The screen goes black. Holding down the power button does nothing.

The screen flickers with a string of eerie green letters!

Ghost Game!

Goddammit, this thing again.

Which poor bastard is being targeted by the serial killer this time?

The interface finishes loading. The game screen shows a hotel room identical to the one I'm in!

The person lying on the bed looking at their phone has a face identical to mine!

Instant chills down my spine.

This is bad!

It's not a serial killer—it's a supernatural event!

Otherwise, why would people keep dying one after another, and the police keep everything suppressed without solving the case?

I stare suspiciously at the frosted glass bathroom door.

That tantalizing silhouette—who the hell has the life to enjoy it?

Why does the female ghost in every scene have Sarah's face?

Is she human or ghost?

I frantically shove my feet into my shoes and bolt out of the hotel room.

Don't say running away like this isn't manly.

Screw that—at a time like this, staying alive is what matters. Who cares about that other stuff!

I quickly hail a cab, planning to go home, pack up, and find somewhere to hide. I have enough savings to last me a while anyway.

But when I try to get a cab, a man in a black suit stops me.

"Excuse me, are you Jake Harrison? Is your mother..."

My mom died when I was twelve. I barely have any relatives, and I never knew my dad.

So I just yell.

"Whatever you're selling, take it somewhere else. Don't block my way, and don't steal my cab."

I quickly get in the car and hear the man chasing after, shouting something.

The wind's too loud—I can't hear everything, but it sounds like someone left me an inheritance.

Whatever. My mom never married. Where would an inheritance come from?

Even if I am some illegitimate kid, I don't want a dime from that deadbeat sperm donor I've never met.