Chapter 1

I’m scared of walking alone at night. Anxiety seizes me when sharing an elevator with unfamiliar men. Living alone, I freeze in fear when a stranger suddenly knocks on my door. The world is a scary place and I am a coward. My mind often leaps to the worst-case scenario. At night, when I pass by a man wearing a baseball cap or a mask, I'm instantly struck by a chilling thought: What if he suddenly comes running at me with a knife…?

It’s never happened though. Not even once. Still, like some sort of disorder, I can never stop thinking about it until he’s far enough away.

I once wanted to try turning this sort of thought—being murdered by a man I don’t know—into a novel. I think I wanted to try turning it into fiction because the thought of it actually happening terrified me.

But I hated the idea of being killed by an ugly man, even if it was just a novel. Maybe it was a little twisted but if I was going to be murdered, I would rather die in the hands of a handsome guy. So I made the killer devilishly good-looking.

Then, I got stuck on the victim. Specifically me, I mean. I didn't want to die, even if it was just a novel. It felt unsettling. So I decided to create an imaginary woman to replace myself.

But even if it was just a novel, I didn't like the idea of killing an innocent woman. After all, what sin did the victim commit?

That’s when it hit me. Why not kill someone who deserves it instead? With that thought, I turned the victim into a villain.

My first horror novel, Endless Night, was a hit. It was a story about a female serial killer who murders and remarries husband after husband, but eventually, a man named Hades kills her as retribution.

Hades. You must have noticed as soon as you read the name. Yes, the literal god of the underworld. I’m not very creative with names.

How could I have known? I had no clue this guy with a corny name would become a Freischütz, capturing the hearts of female readers in their twenties and thirties. If I had known, I would have gone to a fortune teller who specializes in names.

Including the reprints, more than one million copies of Endless Night were sold before the publisher asked me to write a series with Hades as the main character. To reiterate, Endless Night was a horror novel. That meant that his role was akin to that of a ghost, zombie, alien, or unhinged serial killer. He was a hunter; he could never be the main character. But readers were crazy about Hades the Hunter, and the publisher knew this. They wanted a multi-series in which Hades always killed the main character.

I had no reason to refuse. Who would turn down a goldmine?

With excitement, I wrote the sequels. Captured Night. Red Night. Wailing Night. And so on… Thus, the so-called Night series was born. The narrator of the Night series kept changing, but the killer never did. Hades was the true main character of the series.

The books became regular bestsellers. As a writer, I also became a big star. Like a flood, requests for interviews and lectures poured in, but I turned them all down, determined to never reveal my identity.

Yes, I am an anonymous writer.

As a horror author, I use a masculine-sounding pen name: Ed Scar. But if you rearrange the characters, its true meaning is revealed: Scared.

The only friend who knows I'm Ed Scar, the author of the Night series, once said with a chuckle, “It’s ironic that South Korea’s most renowned horror author is actually its biggest coward.”

My real name is Ji-an Ha. I’m a twenty-nine-year-old single female. I lead a double life as Korea’s number-one bestselling horror writer and a high school teacher. Yes, I’ve made a fortune from the Night series, but I have zero intentions of quitting teaching. Financial stability comes first, right?

Ding dong.

I jumped, startled. A doorbell in the middle of the night scares me too. I guess I have one more thing to add to the list.

Subsequently, I heard the sound of someone putting down a box, then footsteps fading away. A delivery. It was past 11 PM. That was one hardworking delivery man.

I headed to the front door, my heart fluttering. The delivery could only be one thing—a keyboard.

It was a keyboard I’d desperately wanted, but being discontinued and out-of-stock had made it hard to find. I’d screamed when I’d found it listed on a secondhand site overseas. It had taken a week to deliver, but even the wait had been sweet.

Just in case, I hung the latch first before opening the door. A robber pretending to be a courier could be waiting…

But when I peeked out the front door, there was no one outside—only a long, flat box placed on the floor. I quickly brought it inside.

Now, for the unboxing. With a thumping heart, I opened the box, and out came the keyboard of my dreams. Neat and black. Tactile keys. There was nothing I didn't like. But the keyboard’s condition was the most amazing of all. It was so clean and intact; I couldn't believe it was secondhand.

Great. Let’s get started. I put my old keyboard away and connected the like-new keyboard to my computer. After opening a blank document, I thought hard while staring at the white screen. What I was going to write would be the newest addition to the Night series.

What scene should I start with? Ed Scar, master of the horror world, was famous for infusing fear into daily life. The trick was to turn the ordinary into something frightening.

As soon as I had the thought, an idea came to me. With the corners of my mouth curling upwards, I started typing.

[Rattle rattle. The door handle shook like mad.]

The moment I typed the period, I heard a terrible rattling sound from behind me.

Horrified, I whipped around. But the door was quiet as if there had never been a noise at all. Had I misheard? But the goosebumps on my arm and the pulse racing through my whole body argued otherwise.

I was conflicted—to check or not to check. All I had to do was open the door, but I was too scared to move. What if I hadn’t misheard? What if someone was really there? My room door wasn't even locked. I lived alone, so why would I? It was just a relief that the door was old and difficult to open.

No, I’m just being stupid. How could someone be there? I only started getting this jumpy when I started writing. Still, there was no harm in being careful.

Holding my breath, I got up and tiptoed to the door. Just imagining the door opening made it feel like my heart would explode. Click. Once the door was locked, my anxiety subsided slightly.

When I returned to my desk, the sentence on the screen caught my eye.

[The door handle shook like mad.]

It couldn’t be. Had I written it into reality?

I wrote the next sentence as a test.

[Then, a knock.]

Knock knock.

I nearly screamed. My heart pounded as if it were going to explode out of my chest.

Impossible. Someone’s actually inside my house? I didn’t imagine it?

Instantly, all the blood in my body ran cold. I immediately picked up my cell phone.

The police. I need to call the police.

However, I got a notification informing me that I had no signal. My phone had no service, and although it indicated I could make an emergency call, the signal was too weak to manage even that. I couldn't believe it. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. Of all the times, why would I lose service now? It was like being pranked by the devil.

Being pranked by the devil…

Come to think of it, the timing was unusual. What I had just written had come true not once, but twice. Was it a coincidence? Could a logically impossible phenomenon still be considered a coincidence?

My body trembled with fear, but I had to make sure. Coincidence or not, I had to know what I was dealing with. With quivering hands, I began to type.

[Hades said in a soft voice, "Open the door."]

Suddenly, a low, thick, and masculine voice came from outside.

“Open the door.” An unfamiliar voice. Chills ran down my spine.

It's real. Someone’s really there. Tears sprang to my eyes. Oh my god. I'm scared. I'm so scared, I could die.

I would’ve fainted, but I couldn't let myself. What if I fainted and died as a result? A supernatural phenomenon was occurring inside my home—my story was coming to life. I was about to be murdered by a serial killer.

I don't want to die. I can't die like this. Quickly, I typed on the keyboard.

[Hades simply turned around and left Ji-an's house. He never returned.]

But to my surprise, the cursor circled back on its own and deleted both sentences.

What in the world is going on?

I rewrote the line, but the end result was the same. It was wiped clean.

Why? It’s the same keyboard. How come only some sentences are coming to life while others are being deleted?

[In fact, Hades had a heart condition he wasn’t even aware of. Grabbing his chest, he fell to the ground.]

Yet again, the cursor circled back without fail.

I didn’t know what to do. I racked my brain, chewing my thumb. What should I do? What can I do to survive this? Do I just stop writing?

Just then, the keys suddenly began moving on their own.

Shocked, I fell to the floor. My chair rolled backward, swinging around violently. Regardless, the keyboard continued typing and began writing my novel without me.

[Ji-an was scared; Hades, the serial killer from her horror novels, was here. The impossible truth made her feel like she couldn’t breathe: what she wrote was coming to life.

But some things didn’t work. She couldn't make Hades leave her house nor die of a sudden heart condition. Flabbergasted, Ji-an could only chew her thumb.

She was completely overlooking one thing: fiction is governed by probability.]

The unexpected hint shook me out of my paralyzed daze.

The answer was probability: after rattling the handle and knocking on the door, Hades suddenly leaving or dying would be unlikely. All at once, a terrible realization hit me. That meant the door would eventually open—I couldn’t escape.

There was no use hiding. Hades was a genius at hide-and-seek.

Why did I write him like that? At that moment, I wanted to strangle myself but didn’t. Hades was going to strangle me to death anyway.

As if he had read my mind, he spoke from the other side of the door, "If you won’t open the door, I’ll just have to open it myself."

Dear god. The man was exactly like this damn keyboard. I didn't have to type anything for him to act. I had to write something before the insane murderer got in.

Something probable…but not anything that would hurt me! Think, Ji-an. Think. If you don’t, you’ll die. Come up with something, anything.

As I chewed my lower lip, a description of Hades using a pin to pick the lock began typing itself on the screen. Simultaneously, I heard squeaking from behind. Startled, I frantically typed.

[But the pin wouldn’t work.]

Tsk. I heard him tutting behind the door.

It worked! The relief was brief before Hades punted my heart off a cliff.

"I'm sorry, but I have to break down the door.”

"Don't!" My scream was more like a shriek.

"Then open it."

"Give me a minute.”

I remembered. How to survive him. But I wasn’t certain if it would work. Gritting my teeth, I frantically typed a new line.

"I think I've waited long enough."

"Wait a little longer! It's because…because…I’m not wearing any clothes."

I was stalling for my life. I felt out of my mind, tapping on the keyboard while stripping off my pants.

"You might be naked, but it’s time to get dressed now." He was being sarcastic.

You’re finished, bastard.

After hitting the enter key, I stood up and untied my ponytail. Then I quickly shoved the pants I had just taken off under the bed and remained in only one large, loose t-shirt.

This has to work… It has to, or I’m toast!

My legs trembled as I walked over. I had to pee. I was so close to peeing myself. My hands shook as I opened the door.

Outside stood a man whom I had never seen before. But as soon as I saw him, I knew exactly who it was.

It was the main character who had lived inside my head twenty-four hours a day for the past three years. Six feet tall. Bewitchingly charming features. A serial killer who wore the mask of a gentleman, but punished evil with more evil.

Hades stood in front of my door in a black suit, a monochromatic outfit that would never reveal a bloodstain, exactly as I had always imagined him. I swallowed hard.

Hades smiled crookedly.

“Ji-an Ha.”

"Hades,” I responded reflexively.

Walking into the room, Hades grabbed my chin with one hand. I stopped breathing.

Is he going to kill me?

"My Ji-an.”

With a soft whisper, Hades took my lips with his. I went in shock and the world turned pure white.

A kiss... I was kissing a serial killer.

It felt like a hungry beast was gnawing on my mouth as if he would rip me apart right then and there.

Hades’s other hand wrapped around my waist and pulled me closer, dragging my helpless body into his arms. Parting my lips, his tongue forced its way further into my mouth.

This was the cold-blooded man who had killed several people in my novels, yet his tongue was hot. I was both surprised and relieved at the warmth.

It worked. My writing had worked.

As I received Hades’s passionate kiss, I glanced sideways at the text on the monitor.

[Ji-an refused to open the door, which broke Hades’s heart. He had no intention of hurting her. Ji-an was Hades’s sweetheart. Hades would never kill his lover.]

But then, I watched as the cursor circled back once again and erased the last sentence.