Chapter 3: Skin and Sin

"You’re already evil, Chris. Ghost resentment just makes it worse. You’re on your own."

I left, saying:

"Ghost resentment: light meets dark brings harm, light meets light brings calamity, dark meets dark brings disaster. Ghost resentment turns into disaster, inescapable!" I shook my head. Some people never listen.

"Why am I here? Jackson, why are you looking at me like that—are you here to laugh at me?"

Ethan, lying on a hospital bed, was panicking, thrashing on the bed.

"Look at your fingers."

My tone was heavy. Ethan raised his arm and saw his fingers had turned black, the tips sharp as daggers. He stared at his hands, horrified.

"Ah! What’s wrong with my hand? Did you do something to me while I was out?"

Ethan panicked instantly.

"I’m telling you, the cigarettes by my bed are soul-guiding cigarettes, used to exorcise wandering ghosts. You smoked them—probably several at once. Now your three souls, seven spirits—think of it like your soul and willpower—and even your flesh are changing by the second. Eventually..."

Before I could finish, Ethan scratched his blackened fingers, realized how serious it was, and confessed uneasily:

"Jackson, save me! I really didn’t mean it! I just wanted a smoke, didn’t want to go buy any, saw yours and took them. And I wasn’t the only one—Chris smoked too." Chris smoked too. He said if we finished your cigarettes, you couldn’t do anything to us."

So Chris smoked them too. Now I understood why he also showed signs of ghost resentment and kept siding with Ethan.

Suddenly, there was a commotion in the next ward. I rushed over. As soon as I opened the door, a stench hit me. Inside, equipment was scattered, the sheets soaked with blood, and on the bed was only a human skin, like a snake’s shed skin.

I turned to see the window open, curtains swaying. I walked to the sill—there were faint bloodstains, but no sign of Chris.

"Wh-what is that? Is that a person or a ghost on the bed? Why does it look like a deflated balloon?"

Ethan’s voice trembled behind me.

"This is Chris’s ward. I brought you both to the hospital, so that should be Chris’s skin."

Just another day. I calmly wrapped the skin in a sheet and left.

"Jackson, where are you going? What are you doing? Save me—I don’t want to end up like him!"

Ethan was all arrogance before. Now, he was just terrified, trembling as he followed me.

"I’m just getting rid of this. Can’t let a nurse see it."

I answered casually. Honestly, I was just glad to get rid of the evidence. As I walked away, Ethan hurried to catch up.

"Jackson, save me! This is too scary—I didn’t mean to offend you. Chris made me take your cigarettes. Don’t let me become just a skin!"

Even now, Ethan tried to shift the blame and play the victim. I could feel my frustration rising.

"Not turning into a skin—he crawled out of it." I paused, watching Ethan’s face go white.

"What? Crawled out? You mean Chris crawled out of his own skin?"

He looked like he was about to lose it, clutching my sleeve.

"Yes, crawled out. You’re next!"

I said simply, then tossed the sheet-wrapped skin into the hospital boiler room.

As I watched it burn, there was a "thud" behind me. I turned, startled, to see Ethan kneeling, hugging my leg and crying:

"Jackson, I’m sorry, please save me! Wearing your shoes, drinking your sodas, eating your takeout—I was wrong! I’m my parents’ only child. If something happens to me, how will they live?"

He cried with snot and tears, banging his head on the floor by my feet. I felt a little pity for him, honestly.

Looking at Ethan kneeling, I smiled faintly, letting a pause hang in the air:

"You weren’t so tough a minute ago. Now you want me to save you—aren’t you afraid I’ll hurt you?"

I pulled my leg away. After living together so long, I knew his character—he was good at playing pitiful.

"No! No! Jackson, you’d never hurt me, you’re a good person. It’s all my fault. Chris was scary enough—save me, I’ll do anything you say!"

Ethan was bawling. Looking at his pitiful face, I felt a little sorry for him. After all, we were classmates—I should save him. I sighed:

"I’ll go see where Chris went. Maybe I can still save him."

Following the blood trail, we opened the morgue door. Peeking inside, we saw the bloody Chris sit up from a corpse bed. My heart jumped into my throat.

"Crap, a corpse just got up!"

Ethan yelped. I gestured for him to be quiet.

Looking through the crack, all the corpses on the beds seemed summoned, starting to move. The beds creaked. Bloody Chris sat staring at us with red eyes. All the other corpses, wrapped in shrouds, slowly floated above the beds.

"Damn it, useless idiot—should’ve let you die!" I muttered under my breath, frustration boiling over.

If not for his noise, it wouldn’t be like this. Without delay, I pulled out a soul-guiding cigarette to light, but Ethan kept shaking my arm, crying:

"Jackson, do something! Do something! Do something!"

He repeated it, shaking my arm, ready to bolt.

"Why are you panicking? If you keep shaking me, how can I light the cigarette?"

Ethan let go right away. As I tried again, Chris was already in front of us. I backflipped away, leaving Ethan face to face with bloody Chris.

"Ah!"

Ethan screamed and fainted. I quickly lit the cigarette, waved my hands, and the smoke radiated out like a wave. Wherever the smoke reached, the floating corpses fell back onto the beds, and the morgue went quiet. I was exhausted, sweat running down my face.

Only the half-human, half-ghost Chris kept coming at me—his skin shed, skull exposed, sunken eye sockets glowing red, bloody hands with pale finger bones reaching for my face. Horrifying.

"Chris, your inner evil is too strong. That’s why you’re so vicious after being possessed."