The fake shaman chuckled with glee, licking her thumb as she counted the bills from her last client.
"He didn't even try to bargain," she giggled, pulling more bills from a pocket inside her long black dress and adding them to her haul. "Ahh… today is a good day. I should close early."
Satisfied with the day's earnings, she placed a hand on her back and stretched before rising from her seat.
The ghost watching her was not pleased, glaring at the fake shaman with a deep, lingering grudge. "This bitch…"
Just then, as the old woman was about to close shop, a figure suddenly appeared at the entrance.
"Ah!" Startled, the fake shaman clutched her chest, her heart nearly leaping out of her ribs. "Oh my—! That scared me."
Standing just outside was a man in a suit. His complexion was pale, and the dark bags under his eyes were pronounced. When he finally looked up, his eyes appeared dimmer than most—hollow, almost lifeless. His gaze, however, still didn't meet hers.
"Mister, I'm already closing," the shaman frowned. "You can come back tomorrow. I've exhausted my clairvoyance and can't push myself further."
But the man didn't move. He didn't speak. He didn't even stare at her — just eyes downcast, silent and still.
"Mister, just come back tomorrow, alright?" she stressed, furrowing her thick brows as the man continued to stare at her feet.
For a moment, she gazed down. A sliver of unease began to creep into her chest. He didn't look frightened like most clients. If anything, he looked… dead. Not just on the inside.
"Fine," she finally relented. "But just so you know, I've used up most of my spiritual energy—I might not be accurate in the reading."
She stepped aside to let him in. Still silent, the man walked in and sat down. Shaking her head, the shaman closed the door behind, clearing her throat and readying herself for another award-winning performance.
Money was money, after all.
Once seated across from him, the fake shaman studied his pale face, shook her head again, and slipped into her act.
"He's evil. Feeding off your energy and fear, which explains your exhaustion—" But just before she could roll her eyes back for her signature white-eyed trick, the man stood up.
He still hadn't met her eyes—not once. From the beginning until now, his gaze remained downcast. Then, he pulled out some folded bills wrapped in a small bracelet, acting like a rubber band. Without a word, he placed it on the table and quietly walked out the same way he came in.
"Hey! Mister, I haven't—" the shaman started, frowning as her eyes fell on the bills and the bracelet.
Clicking her tongue, she shrugged and picked up the money.
A grin quickly replaced her irritation. "He's strange, but more generous than the rest. Heh."
After counting the money again and adding it to her stack, she glanced at the bracelet left behind. A bubble of hesitation crept into her heart, which she quickly squashed down.
"This looks expensive," she muttered, picking it up and examining it. It looked custom-made, with a charming little trinket dangling from it. "Might sell for quite a bit."
Unbeknownst to her, the ghost haunting her was frozen in the corner of the shop. Slumped on the floor, dread dominated his face.
The shaman didn't see it—but he, as a ghost, did. That black, malevolent being rising from the man's back like a genie from a bottle. And as a powerless ghost, he could do nothing—only fall back in fear, knowing he couldn't afford to anger such a force.
Just as the ghost tried to collect himself after being graced by such malevolence, something glinting caught his eye. Slowly, he turned toward the source of the glint: the bracelet the shaman was tucking away.
And… it was calling him.
---
The walk home was long—long enough for the sun to set by the time Mikel arrived. But instead of going inside, he lingered just outside the low concrete fence of a small, weathered two-story house.
Sitting on the quiet street with his back against the fence, Mikel fiddled with one of the talismans he bought from the fake shaman.
"This thing costs more than my whole day's meals." He frowned at the thought, though part of him wanted to believe it might—just might—work. She might be fake, but maybe the talismans weren't.
[They will work.]
Mikel's brows twitched at the text hovering in front of him. "Really?"
[…as toilet paper.]
"Shut up, Doom." He clicked his tongue, twirling the talisman between his fingers.
[On a serious note, they are surprisingly effective. However, not as effective as the one you already had. You've already earned effective talismans from your last quests. They were free—and they actually work.]
"They weren't free. I earned them."
[At least they didn't cost you a two-hour walk.]
This time, Mikel didn't respond. That was his way of ending a pointless argument with the screen that somehow always knew how to get under his skin.
Doom went silent—for a moment. Then, another message appeared.
[Do you not want to go home, Master? Are you scared?]
The answer was something Doom likely already knew. Mikel had been living alone since his grandmother passed—the only one who'd raised him after his parents died in a car accident when he was two.
"Say, Doom…" Mikel's voice kept its usual sharpness, but there was a tinge of wonder in it. Or maybe… longing. "Do you think I'll ever see her again?"
[Your grandmother?]
He didn't answer.
[If she's still wandering, then yes, you might. But if she's already crossed over, then no.]
Mikel pressed his lips into a thin line, his gaze lowering. "Is that… a good thing?"
[It means she found peace.]
"Is that the truth?"
Doom didn't answer. Well, not like he wanted to know the truth.
"I see." His eyes softened, and for a fleeting moment, a smile touched his lips. But it didn't last long. He pushed himself to his feet and smacked his lips.
Then, I guess it's time to go home.
"Home sweet home," he muttered, looking at the house that had been empty since his accident.
As Mikel stepped inside, he paused at the entrance. He felt it again—that sense of being watched. He'd been feeling it since he left the hospital that morning, but had chosen not to dwell on it. He looked back, but saw nothing.
He briefly scanned the area: no lingering spirit watching from the corner or any malevolent being waiting to strike. Hence, Mikel shrugged.
Whatever it is, I'd just deal with it and hope it won't kill me.
The next spirit boss might kill him, but then again, Mikel wasn't sure how long he'd last in this new world merging with the one he once knew.
---
As night deepened, silence stretched out like a void, making even the smallest sounds echo louder.
"Come here…"
The ghost—still haunting the fake shaman—tiptoed around the old scammer asleep on the floor. He didn't need to be quiet—no one could hear him. But as a newly dead, he still held onto old habits.
The ghost followed the faint voice, which led him to a drawer. The bracelet from the fake shaman's last creepy customer lay inside an open box with other accessories, easy to spot.
"Clo… ser… I'm… here…"
One of the bracelet's charms—a tiny shard—glowed faintly. The ghost looked at it with intrigue, then —
"I'm here."
This time, the voice wasn't just an echo. He felt it—behind him—as though something leaned in close and whispered into his ear.
Before he could react, one of the charms on the bracelet cracked. A shard flew up and floated before him, before it abruptly struck him square in the forehead.