Horror revival: I Own a Ghost Bus

Zhang Tiantian's casual remark about her mother's warning not to go out at night hit Jiang Yan and the man in the black hat differently than intended. While it sounded like something parents would say to keep their kids safe, to the two ghost-tamers, it was a possible sign of paranormal danger.

The village lay in an eerie stillness, with only a few homes still lit from within, faint strains of television shows seeping into the quiet night. But the darkness seemed to stretch across every corner, thick and impenetrable, leaving the streets empty and strangely oppressive.

"Tiantian, did your mom ever say why you shouldn't go out at night?" Jiang Yan asked cautiously.

"Strange things?" She shrugged. "I don't remember anything specific. It's just a kind of unspoken rule around here. My mom's always told me since I was young—better not to wander around after dark." She sped up, glancing over her shoulder. "But come on, let's just get inside."

The two men exchanged wary looks but said nothing more, quickening their pace to keep up. Soon, they reached Zhang Tiantian's house.

"Finally," Zhang Tiantian sighed, pulling out her keys and unlocking the door. "My mom's probably asleep by now, so let's try to be quiet."

Jiang Yan and the man in the black hat took in their surroundings, noting the modest single-story structure with weathered, white-tiled walls and an old, rusted green gate. Inside, the house was simple: a small living room with two bedrooms, and a locked door leading to another room.

"It's nothing fancy, but it's home," Zhang Tiantian said, filling two paper cups with warm water from a kettle. "We don't have any tea, so this will have to do for now."

"Thank you." Jiang Yan accepted a cup, though he was preoccupied, scanning the room's interior.

The living room was fairly ordinary, though one detail caught his eye—a large black-and-white portrait hanging in the center of the room. It was of a stern, middle-aged man in a traditional Chinese tunic, his face solemn and pale, eyes half-lidded as he gazed over the room with a fixed intensity.

The man in the black hat also noticed the portrait, and his instincts as a ghost-tamer sharpened. But despite its unsettling presence, he sensed nothing unusual about it.

With only two bedrooms available, Jiang Yan ended up sharing one with Zhang Tiantian, while the man in the black hat took the couch without complaint. He was, after all, used to discomfort—his years of experience as a ghost-tamer had long dulled his need for ordinary rest.

Before retiring, Zhang Tiantian locked the front door and turned to the man in the black hat with a serious expression.

"Remember, don't go outside tonight. Bad things happen if you do," she warned.

"Got it," he replied with a hint of irritation, not appreciating her tone. While he respected local customs, he was not one to be scared off by a simple warning.

Yet as she turned off the light and disappeared into her room, the darkness settled over the living room like a weight, and the man felt an unexpected chill settle in his bones.

Only the faint ticking of the clock broke the silence. Even from Jiang Yan's room, there was no sound—a quiet so thick, it felt oppressive.

"He's out already, huh?" the man in the black hat smirked to himself, assuming Jiang Yan had already fallen asleep.

Then, a sudden thud echoed through the room, making him sit up. It sounded like something small dropping to the floor, perhaps an item tipping over.

The man in the black hat hesitated, chalking it up to nothing more than a random noise or perhaps a rat, as old houses often had. But then, just moments later, he heard it again—this time, a slow scraping sound, as if something were being dragged along the floor, inching closer to him.

Feeling the hairs on his neck prickle, he knew he couldn't ignore it any longer. He mentally mapped the room, noting the location of the light switch.

He extended his black coat's sleeve, which stretched like a coiled spring across the room, and flicked the light switch.

"Click."

The light should have illuminated the room, but the darkness remained. The switch refused to work.

"Great," he muttered, his nerves taut. He reached for the switch several more times, but the lights stubbornly stayed off, leaving the scraping sound to draw even closer, inch by inch.

Cold dread washed over him, but he managed to remain composed, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette.

This wasn't just any cigarette, but a ghost-repelling item known as a "ghost smoke." Once lit, it emitted a faint green glow capable of illuminating malevolent entities and, to some extent, repelling them.

The scraping noise was just inches away by the time he flicked his lighter and brought it to the cigarette.

As the faint, greenish light from the cigarette spread around him, the scraping noise abruptly stopped.

Finally, he saw what had been moving towards him.

Just inches away was the same black-and-white portrait he had seen earlier, now lying on the floor, positioned so close he could see every brushstroke of the man's face.

Under the eerie glow, the man in the portrait seemed almost alive, his eyes slightly open, as though he were staring directly at him.

Cold sweat dotted the man's forehead as he watched the figure's expression slowly shift. He had no doubt that the scraping noise had been the portrait dragging itself across the floor.

"So, you're trying to kill me?" he whispered, heart pounding. Raising his cigarette, he prepared to blow a smoke ring to ward off the entity.

"Wait!"

A voice suddenly sounded from the portrait, startling him enough to stop mid-breath. The man instinctively stepped back, warily eyeing the shifting face.

He knew only rare, specific entities could communicate with the living. Whatever was in this portrait wasn't just any spirit.

Seeing his hesitation, the figure in the portrait visibly relaxed, color draining slightly as its expression shifted to one of urgency. It seemed to hesitate before speaking, voice tense and hurried.

"Leave… get out of here now! That girl is… a ghost!"