Chen Ge's gaze darted between the wall of mirrors and the half-open door of the girls' dressing room, his heart gripped by a creeping dread as the reflections revealed a nightmarish scene. Three girls, their bodies unnaturally contorted, materialized in the mirrors, their dirtied school uniforms clinging to pale, ghostly flesh. Their faces were frozen in expressions of abject terror, mouths moving silently as if struggling to convey a desperate message. Most chillingly, their forms seemed to emerge from the wooden chairs themselves, as if the furniture were an extension of their spectral essence. The sight sent a shiver through Chen Ge, his mind flashing back to his earlier inspection of the chairs. He had tipped them over, examined their undersides, and read the names scrawled beneath. "Was that… my first close encounter with them?" he thought, a wry, humorless chuckle escaping his lips despite the fear coursing through him. The notion that his casual handling of the chairs might have stirred these restless spirits was both absurd and terrifying.
His footsteps quickened toward the exit, driven by an instinct to flee, but the three chairs at the door shuffled forward incrementally, their movement deliberate and menacing. Behind him, the steel lockers in the dressing room began to rattle faintly, their creaking growing louder, as if something trapped within was straining to break free. The air in the studio had shifted palpably since he uttered Zhang Ya's name, the syllables seeming to awaken a dormant force. The name was a taboo, a trigger that had set the haunted space into motion. "The mirrors reflect what's in the studio," Chen Ge reasoned, his voice a tense whisper. "But if the dressing room is worse, I need to get out—now." The lockers' creaking intensified, a cacophony of metallic groans that confirmed his fears. Gripping the mallet tightly, he sprinted toward the door, determination overriding his terror. With a powerful leap, he kicked at the chairs blocking his path, their wooden frames shuddering under the impact. But as he lunged forward, a cold, unnatural weight seized his shoulders, halting his escape.
He glanced at the mirrors, and his blood ran cold. Reflected there were two slender, pale arms draped over his shoulders, their ghostly fingers digging into his flesh. Without hesitation, Chen Ge spun, swinging the mallet with all his strength. Bang! The weapon connected with the back of one chair, splintering the wood and eliciting a piercing, otherworldly scream that echoed in his ears. In the mirror, the spectral figure of a female student materialized fully, her face twisted from fear to venomous rage. Her arms tightened around him, as if trying to force him down onto the chair's seat. "What's her game?" Chen Ge thought, his mind racing despite the panic. "Some kind of cursed musical chairs? If I sit, will my soul be trapped forever?" The idea was chilling, reminiscent of the spectral bindings he'd encountered before, like Xiaoxiao's family tethered to their ragdolls.
The pressure on his shoulders grew heavier, more pale arms joining the first, their cold grasp pulling him back toward the dressing room. To make matters worse, a faint shuffling sound reached him from the corridor beyond the studio. Seconds later, another wooden chair appeared at the studio's entrance, its presence a mocking addition to his predicament. "Of course, my luck picks now to make me the center of attention," Chen Ge muttered, his gallows humor masking the terror threatening to overwhelm him. His patience snapped, and he abandoned his instinct to flee, shifting to an aggressive stance. "Enough of this," he growled, gripping the back of one chair with one hand while swinging the mallet with the other. The weapon crashed into the chairs, splintering wood and sending fragments flying. Each strike drew a scream from the spectral figures in the mirrors, their expressions shifting from pleading to seething resentment.
As the first chair cracked under his assault, Chen Ge noticed a pattern. The female student's face in the mirror changed, her initial desperation giving way to a venomous glare that mirrored the damage to the chair. "These chairs are their anchors," he realized, his mind connecting the dots to past encounters. "Just like Xiaoxiao's family with the ragdolls, these spirits are bound to the chairs." The insight fueled his resolve, but the multiplying arms and the encroaching chair at the studio's entrance heightened the stakes. The dressing room's lockers continued to rattle, their doors now shaking violently, as if whatever was inside was moments from breaking free. With no other exit and the mirrors reflecting a growing horde of spectral hands, Chen Ge knew he was running out of time. He swung the mallet again, aiming to clear a path, determined to escape the dressing room before Zhang Ya—or something worse—claimed him in her haunted domain.
The spectral force bearing down on Chen Ge grew relentless, a suffocating pressure that would have broken a less seasoned soul. Pale hands clutched at him, their icy grip tightening with malevolent intent, urging him toward an unseen fate. A novice might have succumbed, ensnared by the ghostly girls' desperate pull, but Chen Ge was no ordinary prey. As the proprietor of a Haunted House, he had faced terrors that tested the limits of human endurance—most recently, a harrowing night in a haunted apartment alongside a serial killer. Fear was no stranger to him, but through repeated trials, he had forged an ironclad resilience. Even as his heart raced and adrenaline surged, his mind remained sharp, his decisions precise. His grip on the mallet never faltered, a lifeline in the chaos unfolding around him.
Bang! The mallet crashed into the first wooden chair, splintering its frame with a resounding crack. Chen Ge seized the shattered remnants, wielding them like a club to smash the second chair against the wall. The mirrors reflected a surreal tableau—his frenzied assault juxtaposed against the ghostly figures writhing in agony, their forms tethered to the chairs. He had no time to dwell on the grotesque imagery; survival demanded his full focus. Within ten seconds, the first chair was reduced to debris, but as he turned to target the next, a new sensation gripped him—a cold, constricting force around his neck. Glancing at the mirror, he saw a pale hand choking him, its fingers tightening with lethal intent. The spectral girl had abandoned her attempt to force him onto the chair, now intent on ending his life outright.
The escalation only fueled Chen Ge's ferocity. "You picked the wrong fight," he growled, his voice laced with defiance. He redoubled his efforts, smashing the remaining chairs with savage precision. Each blow weakened the chokehold, the spectral hand's grip loosening as the chairs crumbled. When the final chair was reduced to splinters, the pressure on his neck vanished, leaving angry red marks as a grim reminder. "These things do no one any good," Chen Ge panted, leaning against the mirror to catch his breath. "I'll burn what's left later—set you free." His words were both a promise and a warning, a vow to grant the spirits closure once his mission was complete.
The commotion from his battle echoed through the dance studio, a cacophony of splintering wood and spectral screams that would surely draw attention. "The person following me will hear this," he thought, his urgency spiking. "And the red dancing shoes aren't here. Time to go." The studio was undeniably haunted, its air thick with supernatural malice. The lockers in the dressing room rattled with increasing violence, their doors shuddering as if something monstrous was clawing to escape. The walls and floor seemed to darken, their colors deepening unnaturally, while a persistent ping, ping echoed from the corridor, growing louder and more frequent. The stench that had lingered faintly now suffused the air, a heavy, rancid odor that turned his stomach. Every instinct screamed for him to flee.
As he moved toward the exit, a sudden tug on his calf nearly sent him sprawling. He glanced at the mirror, his blood running cold. The three female students, their vengeful faces twisted in maniacal laughter, were clawing at his leg, their fingernails digging into his skin through the fabric. Desperate, Chen Ge swung the mallet at the splintered remains of the chairs, hoping to disrupt their hold, but the spirits clung stubbornly, undeterred by the blows. The ping, ping from the corridor drew closer, a harbinger of something far worse. The studio's atmosphere grew oppressive, as if a heavy veil had descended, distorting the light from his phone and intensifying the stench. "There's something else here," Chen Ge realized, his heart pounding. "Something scarier than these girls." His confidence had stemmed from the belief that Zhang Ya, the Red Specter, was the school's most formidable presence—and that his mission to retrieve her dancing shoes would earn her protection. But this new entity challenged that assumption.
The sound reached the studio's door, the stench now overwhelming. The girls at his feet glared up with sinister delight, their laughter chilling. Chen Ge pressed his back against the mirror, his hand instinctively reaching into his pocket. His fingers brushed the doll left by his parents, a talisman of comfort and protection. The moment he touched it, the noise at the door ceased abruptly, retreating with unnatural speed. The stench dissipated, and the oppressive veil lifted, leaving an eerie calm. "What just happened?" Chen Ge whispered, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. The light from his phone twisted even more violently, and the studio's temperature plummeted, a bone-deep chill settling over him. The girls' grip on his calf vanished, and he glanced down to see them cowering, their faces no longer vengeful but filled with desperation. Their eyes were fixed on the space behind him, wide with terror.
"Behind me?" Chen Ge's voice trembled, his mind racing. The sudden shift in the studio's atmosphere, the retreat of the unknown presence, and the girls' fear all pointed to something—or someone—standing just out of sight. The mirrors, silent witnesses to the chaos, held no reflection of what lurked behind him, but the weight of an unseen gaze pressed against his back. Gripping the mallet and the doll, he braced himself, knowing that whatever had scared the spirits—and possibly saved him—might be the key to Zhang Ya's red dancing shoes, or the harbinger of his doom in this haunted school.
Chen Ge's heart pounded in his chest, his breath shallow as he stood frozen, staring at the scene unfolding before him. The expressions on the faces of the female students—young women, all at least eighteen, as was the grim reality of this haunted place—shifted from resigned despair to abject terror. Their eyes, wide with fear, locked onto something Chen Ge couldn't yet see. A faint creak echoed through the dormitory, and his gaze darted to the closet door, now ajar, though he hadn't noticed it open. His imagination had braced him for a grotesque specter, some monstrous entity born of nightmares, but what emerged was far stranger—and far more unsettling.
Four chairs, previously scattered, now stood back-to-back in the center of the corridor, as if arranged by an unseen hand. The female students, their wrists bound by invisible shackles, were tied to the chairs, their bodies trembling as they let out piercing wails that sliced through the air, threatening to rupture Chen Ge's eardrums. Following their terrified gazes, he finally saw the true inhabitants of the closet: a cluster of faceless, translucent male ghosts, their forms vaguely humanoid but devoid of any distinguishing features. Their naked, spectral bodies shimmered in the dim light, exuding an eerie, predatory aura. They emitted low, guttural laughs—strange, distorted sounds that sent chills racing down Chen Ge's spine. The ghosts moved with purpose, converging on the female students, their attention fixed solely on them, ignoring Chen Ge as if he were invisible.
The female students' screams grew shrill, their bodies writhing against their restraints, but the ghosts were undeterred. They descended upon the women with a cold, methodical hunger, their translucent hands tearing away the tattered remnants of the students' school uniforms. The fabric fell in shreds, leaving only the white dancing shoes on their feet, which gleamed with an almost surreal clarity against their exposed skin. The contrast was jarring, the shoes lending an unsettling, almost seductive charm to their vulnerability. The women, realizing resistance was futile, went limp, their faces streaked with twin trails of blood-tears, their eyes hollow with resignation.
Chen Ge's stomach churned, a mix of horror and an uncomfortable, primal fascination stirring within him. He took a tentative step forward, driven by an instinct to intervene, but the ghosts froze, their faceless heads swiveling toward him in unison. Their eyeless gazes bore into him, and an invisible barrier seemed to pulse in the air, a silent warning that crossing it would mean his end. The threat was palpable—if he dared step closer, those spectral hands would tear him apart before he could blink. Swallowing hard, he retreated, his back pressing against the cold glass of the mirror behind him.
Unimpeded, the ghosts resumed their assault with a fervor that was both mechanical and ravenous. Their translucent fingers roamed over the female students' bodies, groping and kneading with unrestrained greed. Breasts of varying shapes—some full, some pert—were fondled mercilessly, the ghosts' hands leaving faint, shimmering trails on the women's skin. Several of the more impatient specters wasted no time, forcing their grotesquely oversized, ethereal members into the women's unprepared bodies. The air filled with their strange, triumphant cries, a cacophony of otherworldly lust. Others followed suit, claiming every available orifice—mouths, anuses, and vaginas—leaving no part untouched.
The chairs creaked under the strain, the women's bound hands useless behind them as their bodies were lifted slightly off the seats, suspended by the relentless thrusting of the ghosts. Through their translucent forms, Chen Ge could see the brutal mechanics of the act—the inner walls of the women's bodies stretched to an impossible degree, torn and bleeding from the lack of lubrication. The blood seeping from their ravaged flesh was the only relief, though it did little to ease their torment. Their mouths, stuffed with spectral members, muffled their screams into pitiful nasal whimpers, their white dancing shoes swaying helplessly with each violent motion.
The ghosts' stamina seemed boundless, their movements unrelenting, treating the women like lifeless vessels for their depraved desires. The scene was a grotesque tableau of violation, the women reduced to objects, their humanity stripped away as the ghosts roared with satisfaction. Chen Ge's mind recoiled, yet a dark corner of his psyche couldn't tear itself away, the raw intensity of the scene stirring a conflicted heat within him. If these were real women, they'd be dead by now, he thought, the realization snapping him back to clarity. The wails of the female students grounded him, reminding him this was no erotic fantasy but a scene of supernatural cruelty.
A sudden shift in the air broke his trance. A heavy, rancid stench flooded the corridor, and the sound of deliberate footsteps echoed from beyond the door. Even the ghosts, lost in their frenzy, paused, their translucent forms tensing as they emitted a collective, guttural growl, a primal warning to whatever approached. Chen Ge's hand slipped into his pocket, fingers brushing the small doll tucked there, its presence a faint anchor to reality. As his touch lingered on it, the footsteps outside quickened, retreating at an unnatural speed, and the stench began to dissipate. The ghosts, as if startled, vanished into thin air, leaving the women slumped in their chairs, their bodies bruised and bloodied. The closet door slammed shut with a force that rattled the glass.
Chen Ge's breath hitched. What was that? Whatever was out there scared even these ghosts. His mind raced, piecing together the implications. If something out there can terrify them, what chance do I have? The female students, still bound, whimpered softly, their white dancing shoes now still, stained with flecks of blood. Chen Ge's mission—to find Zhang Ya's red dancing shoes—felt more perilous than ever, the school's shadows hiding threats far greater than he'd anticipated.
The cacophony of the dance studio dissolved into an oppressive silence, leaving only the erratic thud of Chen Ge's heartbeat echoing in his ears. The air grew heavy, the dim light warping into grotesque distortions that cast jagged shadows across the walls. A bone-chilling cold seeped into the room, as if the very atmosphere had turned hostile, wrapping Chen Ge in an icy embrace that made his breath visible in faint, fleeting clouds. His senses sharpened, every nerve screaming that something was terribly wrong. What just happened? he thought, his eyes darting around the studio, searching for answers in the suffocating gloom.
The four female students—young women, all at least eighteen, their spectral forms bound to the cursed chairs—remained slumped in their seats, their tattered school uniforms barely clinging to their pale, bruised bodies. Their white dancing shoes, now flecked with blood, hung limply, a stark reminder of the horrors they'd endured. Chen Ge's mind raced, piecing together the grim puzzle. They were part of Zhang Ya's dance club, tied to these chairs by some unholy force. They died here, inexplicably, and now they're trapped, reliving their torment. His jaw tightened. If they didn't kill Zhang Ya, they were at least complicit in whatever drove her to become a Red Specter. They owe her justice—and I'm here to deliver it.
A dark, primal urge stirred within him, one that veered sharply from the fear that had gripped him moments ago. His gaze lingered on the female students' exposed forms, their lithe, dancer-trained bodies pale as moonlight, marred by the ghosts' brutal assault. Their long, sculpted legs, graceful waists, and full, heaving breasts—accentuated by the cruel restraints—ignited a twisted fetish buried deep in Chen Ge's psyche, one he rarely acknowledged. These women, now powerless, were no threat to him. They hurt Zhang Ya, he told himself, justifying the heat pooling in his core. They deserve to pay.
With deliberate steps, he approached the nearest student, her chair creaking under her weight. The tattered remnants of her uniform gave way easily under his hands, tearing like tissue to reveal her flawless, ghostly skin. Her body was a study in contrasts: deathly pale yet supple, her breasts high and proud, their peaks marked by faint purple veins that only heightened their allure. Her thighs, parted by the chair's restraints, exposed the dark, lush forest between them, her most intimate parts glistening faintly in the warped light. Chen Ge's breath hitched, his hands moving of their own accord, cupping her breasts with a rough, possessive grip. The cold, silky flesh yielded under his fingers, spilling between them like warm jade, and a low moan escaped her lips—a sound that sent a jolt straight to his groin.
His hips pressed against her, his fully erect length straining against his pants, nestling into the cool, soft crevice of her buttocks. He ground against her, savoring the friction, his throat tightening with a guttural exhale. The female student trembled beneath him, her body quaking with futile resistance, but the invisible ropes and Chen Ge's unyielding grip rendered her helpless. Her soul seemed to shudder, a spectral vibration that only fueled his desire. She knows what's coming, he thought, his mind clouded by a heady mix of vengeance and lust.
His fingers trailed lower, brushing the delicate petals of her sex, cold yet slick with spectral essence. He positioned himself, the swollen head of his cock pressing against her entrance, its heat a stark contrast to her icy flesh. A shiver ran through him, the urge to thrust overwhelming, but he held back, prolonging the moment. Instead, he kneaded her breasts, his thumbs circling her hardened nipples, while his cock slid along her folds, teasing the sensitive bud at their apex. The wet, rhythmic sound of their friction filled the air, her body gradually softening, her resistance fading into reluctant submission. Her hips began to move with his, rising and falling in a sinful dance, her white dancing shoes swaying with each motion.
The sensation was electric, her tight, spasming core gripping his length as he finally eased inside, inch by torturous inch. Her expression softened, her bulging eyes and pale lips betraying a mix of horror and surrender. Chen Ge's lips found hers, claiming her cherry-red mouth in a bruising kiss, then trailing down her delicate collarbone to her breasts, where he sucked and nipped at the tender flesh. Her legs, now free of their earlier rigidity, wrapped around his waist, the red dancing shoes—somehow shifted from white to crimson in the heat of the moment—digging into his back as she urged him deeper.
His thrusts grew faster, more forceful, the chair creaking beneath them as he drove into her with unrestrained fervor. Her breasts bounced with each impact, her buttocks lifting to meet his thrusts, then falling as he withdrew, creating a rhythm that was both obscene and hypnotic. The studio echoed with the wet slap of flesh, her muffled moans blending with his ragged breaths. Her core clenched around him, slick and tight, drawing him closer to the edge with every stroke. Pride swelled in his chest—a conqueror's thrill—as her body responded, her climax crashing through her in waves, her essence coating his length in a flood of spectral fluid.
One by one, Chen Ge moved to the other three students, each encounter a blur of cold flesh, desperate moans, and relentless thrusts. Hours later, they lay slumped in their chairs, their hair matted with sweat, their legs splayed wide. Thick streams of his release mingled with their translucent essence, staining their swollen, reddened folds and dripping onto the chairs below. Their once-tight entrances gaped slightly, the tender flesh within quivering, a testament to his dominance. Chen Ge stepped back, his body humming with satisfaction, a dark pride in having subdued these spectral women. No monster can resist me, he thought, though a flicker of guilt crept in. This was for Zhang Ya, to punish those who wronged her. She'll understand… right? The fear that she might not, that her wrath could send him to an eternal hell, gnawed at him.
A sudden chill prickled his neck, and he froze. Behind me? His body turned stiffly, dread pooling in his gut as he faced the massive mirror spanning the studio wall, its surface gleaming with an unnatural sheen. The reflection staring back wasn't his own. A woman stood there, her head bowed, her blood-red school uniform dripping with crimson stains. Long, matted hair obscured her face, but Chen Ge knew instantly who she was. Zhang Ya. Panic surged through him, his heart threatening to burst as the mirror's surface rippled, and her presence grew impossibly closer.