I don't know when I regained the ability to move, nor am I sure it even mattered. When I saw that creature, my legs froze in terror and refused to obey me.
The hairless creature began moving its head in all directions, and when it spotted me, it charged with terrifying speed. I staggered backward while staring at it with wide eyes, but my feet tangled and I fell to the ground. My eyes widened further as it approached, then suddenly it leaped and grabbed my neck with its bony hands!
It started choking me with unbearable force. I raised my small hands, struggling to break free, but it lifted me off the ground as if I weighed nothing! Its featureless face drew closer, and in that desperate moment, I felt a crayon in my pocket—I've no idea how it got there—so I stabbed it into the creature's neck with all the strength my small body could muster.
Black blood gushed from the wound, but it didn't stop or loosen its grip—instead, its hold grew tighter! I kept stabbing repeatedly, yet it remained immovable as a mountain, as if the wounds meant nothing. My eyes reddened from oxygen deprivation, and my vision began to blur... The situation had become a brutal race: who would die first? Me from suffocation, or it from blood loss?
I heard my heartbeat weakening, felt coldness spreading through my body... Then suddenly, just as I was about to lose consciousness, its hands slipped from my neck and it collapsed to the ground. I fell too, coughing and vomiting. I crawled away, putting distance between us, and muttered fearfully: "I almost died! Had it lasted any longer..."
Mustering courage I never knew I had, I moved closer to examine it. Its black blood stained its lean, muscular body—clearly built for combat. Faceless and hairless. I sighed in relief: "I won by sheer luck! Had it not grabbed my neck, or had I not had that crayon, I'd have died without a fight."
Then suddenly, I heard heavy footsteps behind me. I turned to see another faceless creature, this one with a powerfully muscular build, standing about 180cm tall. I smiled fearfully and sarcastically: "Well... I'm dead."
As if responding to my words, it charged at me. I raised the blood-stained crayon and waited. I don't know where this bravery came from—maybe from having killed one of them, or maybe it was just adrenaline. When it got close, it kicked me in the chest like I was a ball! The impact felt like being hit by a bus. My short stature didn't help—I went airborne, spinning before face-planting and rolling until I finally stopped, staring at the white ceiling. Blood flowed from my mouth and nose, and I felt my ribs piercing my lungs!
I thought despairingly, "Just when I believed I'd live this new life happily..." Then my vision filled with a massive foot descending toward my face—and everything went dark.
I woke up gasping, drenched in sweat. "Was it a nightmare? No... impossible for a dream to feel that real! Even the pain was genuine!" I could still feel my face being crushed under that monster's foot.
I went to the bathroom, grabbed the chair by the door, and placed it near the sink. Turning on the water, I began washing my exhausted face. Looking in the mirror, I saw my wide, terrified eyes and ghostly pale face. I muttered quietly and sarcastically, "I look like someone going through drug withdrawal."
I took the toothbrush I'd recognized from this body's memories and carefully brushed my teeth. After finishing, I headed to the kitchen and opened the fridge—only three eggs remained! The rest was just piles of cheap alcohol bottles and empty beer cans. I shook my head, thinking, "This explains why my sister and I are as thin as twigs."
Then I heard light footsteps behind me...
My little sister stood in the kitchen doorway, clutching her tattered doll and staring at me with big eyes. "Ji-hoon... are you okay? You were screaming in your sleep."
Trying to hide my unease, I replied, "Everything's fine, just a nightmare."
But she suddenly approached and grabbed my hand. "Your hands are ice-cold... and you're shaking!"
I said, "Last night was freezing."
She answered while letting go, "I'll get you some extra clothes to wear," then hurried toward the closet.
I brought the chair to the stove and began preparing breakfast with trembling hands. Those three eggs seemed like precious treasure—they might be our only meal today.
As I fried them, I heard my sister behind me: "Can we... have two eggs each today?"
I looked at her, masking my bitterness. Her hungry eyes begged for more than we had. "I-I'll make these eggs enough for us," I said, forcing a reassuring smile.
Then suddenly... the stove flame went out!
We'd run out of gas. I stared at the empty meter, then at the half-raw eggs. "No..." I whispered, my hands shaking worse now.
My sister slowly approached and said with strange calm: "It's okay... we'll fill up on canned soup today."
But we both knew the truth... we'd run out of cans three days ago.
Amid this despair, violent pounding erupted at the door!
"Open up! It's your neighbor!"
The voice of the old man who lived alone nearby. Why was he
here now? And why did his voice sound... so different?