Chapter 4: Seven Days Since She Died

The chat blew up—panic, jokes, desperate attempts to lighten the mood. Nobody wanted to admit it. But we were all scared.

The mage said, "I didn't do anything, why'd I have to piss off a ghost?"

The marksman said, "Should we call the cops? If we wait till something happens, it'll be too late."

The mage added a bunch of scared-face emojis, but his words sounded a lot less like a joke than usual. The tension was real.

But the jungler said, "If it's really a ghost, what good are the police? We need to think of something else..."

He sounded oddly calm, like he'd already thought this through. It made me nervous.

I agreed we had to do something, but I had no clue what.

My mind raced through every horror movie I'd ever seen, but nothing seemed to fit. This was just too bizarre.

Then the marksman messaged me privately: "Did the jungler ask you for your address? Did you tell him?"

I replied: "I just said Maple Heights District Four, but he didn't ask which building."

I tried to keep my answer short, not wanting to tip him off. My hands were shaking a little as I typed.

The marksman replied: "He asked me, but I didn't say, so he didn't dare ask you."

I felt a chill and quickly asked: "What do you mean?"

The marksman’s next message came fast, like he’d been waiting for me to ask.

He said: "There's something off about the jungler. He found us, and it's like he already knew where we lived, then pulled us into this group... Wanna bet he's the next one to suggest something?"

As soon as he sent that, I saw in the group that the jungler really was about to make a suggestion:

"Guys, I actually have an idea. Want to hear it?"

Exactly like the marksman predicted!

I stared at the screen, my heart thumping in my chest. This was getting weirder and weirder.

Before I could say anything, the marksman played along and replied in the group: "Sure, what's your idea?"

The jungler started typing, one line at a time:

"Since I was able to find all of you, if QueenOfGames is really a ghost, then she can definitely find us too."

"We can't just sit around and wait for her to come for us, right?"

"I was thinking, why don't we go to her ourselves?"

"Make an offering, ask her to let us go. At least it shows we're sincere, right?"

Each message made things feel weirder. The idea of actually going to her apartment made my stomach twist.

My first thought was: Isn't that basically sending us to our deaths?

I wanted to type something, anything. But nothing came. My mind kept replaying the story from the news article, the burned child, the murdered wife.

The marksman messaged me privately again: "See? He really did come up with that dumb idea."

I agreed and replied: "Yeah, but why would he do this? We don't even know each other. Why would he set us up?"

I kept my eyes glued to the group chat, waiting for the next move.

The marksman said: "Let's talk in the group and see what his real motive is. Maybe QueenOfGames is his accomplice."

He had a point.

My mind raced with possibilities—was this some kind of elaborate setup? Or was it something even darker?

I switched back to the group chat, and to my surprise, the usually foul-mouthed mage actually agreed with the jungler.

The mage asked, "Going there isn't a problem, but do you know which apartment she lived in?"

His question hung in the air, and for a second, nobody replied. It was like we were all waiting for someone else to make the first move.

The jungler replied, "There's a news article. I can ask someone and find out."

He sounded confident, too confident. It made me uneasy.

Sure enough, things were going just the way the jungler wanted.

It felt like we were all being herded in the same direction, and none of us knew how to stop it.

Now, as long as he gives us an apartment number—whether it's really QueenOfGames' home or not—it's all up to him.