Chapter 1: The Rules of This New World
Summer vacation had just started. Mom and Dad had gone on a business trip, and when I woke up that morning, breakfast was already laid out—something Mom must’ve prepared before she left.
Just as I pulled out a chair to enjoy the meal, I noticed a note next to the plate. The handwriting was unmistakably my mother’s.
- There are no red eggs in the house. If you see a red egg, throw it away immediately.
- There should only be a cactus on the balcony. If you see mushrooms growing on it, eat them immediately.
- No strangers (or ghosts) will come to the house. If one knocks on the door, politely ask it to leave.
- Grandma will be coming from the countryside to stay with you at noon. Remember, the daytime Grandma loves you—you can trust her unconditionally.
- Keep this note safe. If it turns black, hide in the wardrobe immediately with the note.
Mom and Dad will be gone for three days. During this time, follow these rules and keep yourself safe.
If you accidentally break a rule, hide under your blanket, shut your eyes, and place the teddy bear Mom gave you by your pillow. It will protect you once.
One last thing: Always check your phone for messages. This is very important.
After reading the note, I was completely confused.
What the hell was this?
It’s not even April Fool’s Day.
I grabbed my phone, planning to call and ask them what this was all about—
But there was no signal.
That made no sense.
We lived in a downtown apartment—how could there not be signal?
Refusing to believe it, I ran to the balcony and looked out.
That’s when I saw it.
The sky—
It had been split in half.
To the left, endless darkness. To the right, blazing daylight.
Our building stood directly in the divide.
Half-night. Half-day.
I stared in shock, hand over my mouth, completely unable to process what I was seeing.
One moment of sleep—and the entire world had flipped on its head.
Just as I was standing frozen on the balcony, the sound of knocking pulled me back.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Slow. Heavy. Uneven.
I crept toward the door and peeked through the peephole.
And I nearly collapsed from fear.
Outside stood a woman—only half of a woman.
Half her skull was gone. White brain matter oozed out, tinged red with blood. One of her eyeballs bulged, almost falling out.
Her lips were bright red, and inside her mouth… I saw a severed finger.
I doubled over and vomited on the spot.
The sound must’ve alerted her.
I heard her mumbling, her voice wet and garbled:
“Open… door… people… coming… almost dead…”
Probably because of the finger in her mouth, I couldn’t make out the rest.
Then I remembered the third rule:
No strangers (or ghosts) will come to the house. If one knocks on the door, politely ask it to leave.
I forced down my nausea and tried to speak as calmly as I could.
“I’m sorry, my parents aren’t home. I can’t let you in.”
Silence.
Total silence.
About thirty seconds passed, and then—
A low laugh echoed through the air, growing distant:
“Heh… heh…”
And then it cut off.
I dared to peek through the peephole again.
The hallway was empty.
Only then did I finally breathe again.
I stumbled back into the living room. My clothes were soaked with cold sweat.
If not for the note still sitting on the table, I would’ve believed everything was just a nightmare.
I walked over, picked up the note again, reread it carefully, and tucked it into my pocket—
As if it were the only thing tethering me to survival.