Chapter Text
The night promised to be cold. Autumn had only just begun in that little town, and Ume absolutely loved it. It was the perfect time to put together her best outfits, take out those long boots her father had given her last Christmas, and pair them with her favorite skirt. Of course, it was the ideal season for boots and Saturday night movie marathons.
It was a tradition she’d always shared with her older brother, for as long as she could remember. Sometimes their father would join them, though only on rare occasions — the man worked giving motivational talks that paid him a lot. Ume couldn’t really complain; in the end, he gave them more than they could ever ask for. So the blonde girl didn’t care much about her distant relationship with him. She didn’t need him anyway. She had her brother.
She sighed in annoyance as she shook the small pan where the popcorn was cooking. It was supposed to be the “easy” way to make them — according to Gyaturo — which was why she’d been put in charge. Still, she didn’t like it. She wanted to be on the couch, waiting to be treated like a princess. But of course, Gyaturo had to run out to buy dinner before their movie night could start.
The shrill sound of the house phone interrupted her thoughts. Ume turned her head and, noticing the cordless phone sitting on the kitchen island, she didn’t have to walk far to grab it and answer.
“Hello?”
“Excuse me, who am I speaking with?” asked a low, rough voice on the other end.
“Who is this?” Ume frowned.
“Could you tell me where I’m calling?”
The girl rolled her eyes and sighed.
“No, I think you’ve got the wrong number.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the voice replied — metallic, distorted, as if bleeding through static. “Do you want to talk to me?”
“There are special numbers for that, creep. Goodbye.”
Ume hung up and set the phone back on the counter.
She returned to her little popcorn task, but it didn’t take long before the phone rang again. She turned around, reached for it, and picked up.
“Hello?”
“Don’t you want to talk to me?” The same voice again.
“Who is this?” she asked, walking toward the sink to set down a cup.
“Tell me your name first,” the voice said — suddenly playful, losing its earlier shyness.
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Ume turned back to the stove.
She grabbed the handle of the pan and gave it a shake. The man on the other end seemed to hear it, his curiosity showing instantly.
“What’s that sound?”
“Popcorn,” Ume answered simply, setting the pan down.
“Popcorn? I only eat that at the movies.”
“Oh, well, I’m about to watch one.”
“What kind?”
“A horror movie.” Ume leaned against the kitchen island, her posture relaxing.
“You like horror?” The voice sounded genuinely interested.
“Uh-huh. Of course.” There was a trace of a smile in her tone.
“What’s your favorite?”
She hummed softly, thinking for a moment before answering with a grin.
“Oh, Halloween is a really good one,” she said, smiling as she spoke. “The one with the guy in the white mask chasing that girl — it’s one of my favorites.”
“That’s a classic,” the voice said, and it actually sounded sincere.
“And yours?”
“Hmm… guess.”
A quiet laugh escaped Ume’s pink lips as she held the phone close to her ear, thinking.
“Oh, I know...A Nightmare on Elm Street!” she said, walking away from the kitchen and down the hallway toward the main room. “You know, the one with the guy who’s got those razor-sharp hands and won’t let them sleep.”
“Freddy Krueger?”
“Yeah, that one.” Ume glanced toward the windows, noticing how dark the night had gotten.
“Hmm…” the voice seemed to think for a moment, then gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, that one’s my favorite.”
“But only the first one’s good. The rest are garbage,” Ume muttered as she entered the living room and saw the TV still on.
She must’ve left it like that herself.
“So… you got a boyfriend?” The voice turned rougher now, teasing.
Ume smiled — half mocking, half intrigued.
“Why? You wanna ask me out on a date?” she laughed, playing along.
“Maybe....Do you have a boyfriend?”
She hesitated for a second before answering firmly.
“Uhm...No.”
“You never yold me ypur name.”
Ume rolled her eyes, grabbing the remote to try turning off the TV.
“Why do you wanna know my name?” she asked, a bit irritated now — his persistence was starting to wear on her.
“Cause I wanna know who I’m looking at.”
The voice sounded mocking, but Ume froze. Any hint of a smile or playfulness vanished from her face in an instant.
“What did you just say?”
“I said I want to know who I’m talking to,” the voice replied again, low and gentle.
“No… that’s not what you said.” She stammered a little, turning toward the big window facing the pool. Ume flipped the switch, flooding the yard with light.
“What did I say?”
But she ignored him. Her eyes swept across the backyard — the glimmering pool under the light, the table beside her father’s grill, and the small shed at the far end of the property.
“Hello?” the voice pulled her out of her trance.
“I have to hang up,” Ume murmured quickly.
“Wait, I thought we were going out,” the voice said, sounding disappointed as Ume shut the glass doors that led to the garden.
“I don’t think so,” she muttered flatly.
“Don’t hang up!”
But Ume didn’t hear the shout — she’d already pulled the phone away from her ear. Hanging up, she stared out at the darkness that wrapped around her house. Her wide blue eyes lingered on the night as she tried to walk back toward the kitchen. Then the phone in her hand rang again, startling her. She answered on the second ring.
“Yes?”
“I told you not to hang up.” The voice sounded wounded now, but Ume just sighed in frustration.
“What do you want?”
“To talk.”
“Then call someone else.” Ume’s tone was sharp, final — and she hung up again.
She stepped into the kitchen just in time to see the popcorn about to overflow. She reached for the stove to turn it off when, again, the phone rang, dragging her attention away. The girl was fed up — she needed to end this stupid little game the stranger was playing.
“Listen, idiot!” Ume raised her voice, but the man’s voice cut her off immediately.
“No, you listen! Hang up one more time and I’ll gut you from head to toe!”
The man’s voice grew deeper, more guttural — there was no flirtation anymore, only exhaustion and rage.
This game wasn’t fun anymore. Ume’s body froze, the aggression in his tone rooting her to the spot. It was like he was controlling her from somewhere unseen. She pressed the phone tighter against her ear, as if it could somehow steady her.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Ume asked, turning toward one of the kitchen windows, feeling her lip tremble.
“More like a game,” the voice said again — playful, almost cheerful now. “Wanna play?”
Ume said nothing, slowly stepping back from the window as his voice filled her ear.
“By the way,” he added, his tone almost amused, “those boots you’re wearing are really nice.”
That made her move. She ran to the back door, locking it in a panic, then bolted to the front and secured it too. Peeking through the small decorative glass on the door, she saw only darkness — an empty, silent night surrounding her home. Panic flooded her body, and she didn’t even realize she was still clutching the phone, her hands trembling around it.
“Can you see me?” the voice asked, amused.
“In two seconds, I’m calling the police.” Her voice trembled, and she cursed herself for it.
“Aw, that’s too bad,” the voice mocked. “They never make it in time. We’re way too far.”
And that was true. Her house was one of the farthest from town—too far from the center, too far from any other homes. Ume stepped back from the door, a shiver running through her as tears welled in her eyes. Her stomach felt heavy; her palms were slick with sweat.
“What do you want?” she whispered, her breath shaking, on the verge of breaking down.
“I want to see you from the inside.”
The malice in those words shattered her. Ume started crying, trapped in pure panic. She hung up, her fear rising from her gut to her throat, tears spilling down her cheeks. She tried to move toward the living room, but a loud bang on the door made her scream and spin around.
“Who’s there?!” she cried, wrapping her arms around herself.
The phone rang again, making her jump and scream once more through her tears. Out of instinct, she answered.
“You never ask who’s there,” the voice murmured, amused. “Haven’t you seen horror movies? You never ask that. It’s like calling for death. Why don’t you go see what’s outside?”
“Leave me alone!” Ume screamed, hysterical. “I—I’m gonna call my boyfriend!”
“Boyfriend?” The voice sounded curious, almost confused. “But you said you didn’t have one.”
“I—I lied,” Ume stammered, sniffling through her sobs. “But he’s big, and… and he knows how to fight—he trains in martial arts and—”
“And he’ll be useless, like all of them,” the voice interrupted, calm and cruel. “Or maybe he’ll make it… just in time to see you from the inside. We should find out.”
Ume shook her head violently, tears streaming as she sobbed, though part of her clung to one thought—Gyutaro. Her brother could come home any second. Maybe there was still a chance.
“M-my brother’s coming home any minute,” she said, her voice cracked but desperate to sound firm. “And he’ll kick your ass! He’s strong—so get out!”
Ume stumbled backward, crying as she moved away from the door and the glass wall that looked out onto the backyard. Her back nearly hit the window.
“Strong, huh?” the voice chuckled softly. “I’m shaking in my boots.” A short pause. “By the way, your brother’s name wouldn’t happen to be Gyutaro, would it?”
Ume froze. Fear spread through her body like fire. Her stomach twisted, and she gripped the phone tightly before it could slip from her sweaty hands.
“Go on,” the voice ordered, playful again. “Turn on the backyard light.” Ume whimpered. “Do it!”
Trembling, she walked toward the window and the door that faced the pool and the backyard. She flicked the switch—and screamed.
There, tied to a chair and gagged, was her older brother, Gyutaro.
His eyes widened when he saw her, panic filling them as he struggled against the ropes holding him down, but it was useless. Ume screamed through her tears, fumbling to unlock the door—
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the voice warned.
“Please, stop,” she begged, watching her brother thrash. “What do you want from us? Money?”
“I want to play,” the voice said, sounding delighted. “We’ll play a game. Lucky for you, if you answer right, I’ll leave you both alone.”
“A… a game?” Ume tried to wipe her tears with her free hand.
“Yeah, a trivia game,” the voice replied, soft—almost fatherly. “I’ll ask you three questions about horror movies. Ready?” Ume whimpered. “Do it for Gyutaro.”
She nodded quickly, terrified of what might happen if she didn’t.
“Good girl… but now, you have to turn the lights off again.”
“No, please—” she cried, her voice breaking. “Please don’t make me—”
“Do it, or he dies!” the voice roared, suddenly harsh and threatening.
Ume rushed to the switch and turned off the lights. The last thing she saw was Gyutaro, trying to scream her name. The blonde girl backed away, refusing to look toward the garden again.
“Please don’t do this,” she begged.
“Answer me, and I’ll leave you alone,” the voice said after a long silence. “First question: who’s the killer in Halloween?”
“I—I don’t know…” Ume sank onto the couch, hugging herself with her free arm.
“Come on, sure you do… It’s your favorite movie.”
“Michael Myers…” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“Correct! See? I knew you’d get it, Ume. I always believed in you.”
But all she could do was sob, unable to think through the terror.
“Next question,” the voice continued cheerfully. “Who’s the killer in Friday the 13th?”
Ume jerked upright. She knew that one—it was her father’s favorite movie, she’d seen it countless times.
“Jason! It’s Jason!” she screamed desperately.
Silence followed. A silence that killed whatever hope she had left.
“Sorry,” the voice said, disappointed. “That’s incorrect.”
“No! It’s Jason! I’ve seen the movie so many times!”
“Then you should know that the first killer in that franchise is actually Jason’s mother,” the voice replied calmly. “Jason doesn’t appear until the second movie.”
Ume’s face twisted in a mix of anger and despair.
“You tricked me! That was a trap question, you bastard!”
“That’s your problem. Now… let’s continue.” Ume broke into sobs. “But I’m afraid I must tell you that Gyutaro is out of the game.”
The mention of her brother froze her. She turned toward the window, terror twisting her chest anew. She flicked on the backyard light and saw the worst image of her life: her brother was still tied to the chair, his gaze empty, eyes hollow. Most of his body was torn open, organs hanging and dripping.
A scream of terror and pain echoed through the house. Ume collapsed to her knees, crying at the horrific sight. But the voice returned, unbothered.
“We’ll continue. You can’t leave the game now.”
Ume didn’t answer; she closed her eyes, pressing herself between the wall and the couch, refusing to look again.
“Which door are you at?” the voice asked.
“What?” Ume lifted her face, breathing hard.
“There are two doors: one in the front, one in the back. Answer correctly, and I’ll leave you alone.”
The girl squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could wake from this nightmare.
“I… I can’t,” she whispered.
“The choice is yours.”
A loud crash of breaking glass made her scream. The backyard door had been smashed; a chair flew against it. Ume jumped to her feet, running toward the kitchen, now filled with smoke—the popcorn she had left on the stove was burning.
She circled the kitchen island, peeking down the living room hallway. She had to be brave. Her life depended on it. She grabbed one of the knives from the counter, gripping it tightly… but a chill ran down her spine as she saw a shadow move along the hallway.
The killer was already inside.
She backed up slowly, never taking her eyes off the hallway. She reached the dining room and carefully opened the glass door, slipping outside silently.
Her heart pounded; adrenaline kept her moving. She held the knife in her right hand and the phone in her left. She hid by the sliding door, in a blind spot: she could see inside, but from within, no one could see her.
Peeking out, she saw him: the killer moving through the smoke in the kitchen, searching for her. Dressed in a black robe from head to toe, he was almost spectral. Ume inhaled sharply, crouching low to crawl away unseen. She turned toward the darkness of the garden, then raised her eyes slightly…
Her luck had run out.
The killer stood right in front of her, back turned. Then, he spun around, revealing a white mask, frozen in a silent scream, with hollow eyes.
Ume screamed in sheer terror. The killer lunged, shattering the glass door. She reacted instinctively, swinging the knife handle at him. He staggered, giving Ume the chance to run into the garden, circling the house in search of an escape.
She regretted wearing those boots—they made running difficult. She looked toward the front yard and spotted her father’s car approaching the driveway. A flicker of hope ignited in her chest, but she hesitated for a moment, glancing toward the backyard where Gyutaro still lay. That split second was enough. The killer lunged at her from the right, hitting her hard and knocking her down.
The struggle began instantly: he tried to pin her while Ume fought desperately to break free. In a burst of instinct, she kicked him in the groin. He recoiled with a grunt.
Her chance. Ume scrambled to her feet and ran toward her father’s car, nearly stopping in front of the house.
“Da—” she tried to scream.
But she couldn’t finish. A hand clamped over her mouth from behind, yanking her violently to the ground.
The killer fell on top of her, pinning her harder. Ume watched in horror as he raised both hands, gripping the knife, and in seconds, drove it into her chest. A stabbing pain shot through her, stealing her breath. She tried to resist, to struggle, but her movements became clumsy as he continued stabbing relentlessly.
Her mouth was stained red; blood and saliva mingling as her breathing grew weak. Still, she lifted a trembling hand toward his face, desperate to tear off the mask. She wanted to see him. She wanted to know who was taking her life.
She coughed up blood, feeling the world fade around her. She caught sight of the killer’s empty eyes one last time before he raised the knife again, aiming straight for her chest.
🗡
Douma had left work early. He wanted to surprise his two children; it had been too long since he’d spent any quality time with them. He decided to get home ahead of schedule—maybe he could join their movie night, that little tradition they loved so much.
He drove down the familiar path to his home and parked in his usual spot. As he stepped out, the night felt damp, a thin mist curling among the trees surrounding the house. He walked up to the front door and frowned when he saw it locked. Strange—his kids never locked the door, despite his constant warnings.
“Kids, I’m home,” he called, entering.
The lights were on, and a thick, acrid smell of smoke and burnt popcorn hit him immediately.
Alarm surged through him. The silence in the house was so dense it felt unnatural. He hurried toward the kitchen and found the stove on; a pan of popcorn was burning. Douma turned it off instantly, dumping the charred contents into the sink.
The silence persisted, and a cold knot formed in his chest.
“Kids?” His voice trembled.
He left the kitchen and ran up the stairs, checking the bedrooms—empty. He bolted downstairs, and in the living room, a chair lay on the floor, as if someone had thrown it with force. Panic tightened its grip around him. With shaking hands, he grabbed the landline from the entryway, ready to call the police.
But when he lifted the receiver, he heard a ragged, uneven breath.
“Ume?” His voice broke. “Ume, where are you? Don’t hang up, Daddy’s coming!”
Douma’s grip on the phone hardened. He set it down on the table, grabbed his keys, and rushed for the door, determined to find his children—wherever they were.
But as he stepped onto the porch, he froze. Horror widened his eyes; the air left his lungs.
There, in the old garden tree—the one where he’d hung the swing he’d made for Ume as a little girl—his daughter’s body hung. Blood covered her, organs exposed; her own intestines held her suspended from the branch. The lifeless body swayed slowly in the wind, rocking in front of him as if she were still playing on her swing.