The Hand

To All those who did not answer my question in ch 36, I curse you to forget your phone password.

muhahahaha!!!

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Seeing Felix's retreating figure, Charlie pushed his stray thoughts aside as he considered what to do next. He had no classes in the afternoon, so after grabbing a quick bite to eat, he returned to his apartment, the documents Felix had handed him still neatly tucked under his arm. He settled into his chair. With the room dimly lit by the soft afternoon light filtering through the blinds, he began to delve into the files.

The first document outlined an incident from the previous day. Ethan Ward, a student from the same university as Charlie, had walked into the Riverton City FBI office in a state of visible distress. According to the agents who interviewed him, Ethan's face had been as pale as freshly painted drywall, his expression so unsettling that it left even the hardened agents feeling uneasy.

He had stumbled into the office, his breath ragged and uneven, as though he had just finished a long-distance sprint. Despite the sheen of sweat on his brow, Ethan was trembling uncontrollably, as if a deep, bone-chilling cold had seeped into his very being. When he first sat down in front of the agents, he had struggled to form coherent sentences, his words coming out in broken, fragmented gasps.

One of the agents, sensing the urgency of the situation, had guided Ethan to a small, heated room in the back of the office. There, they had sat him down, handed him a cup of steaming hot French Vanilla coffee, and gently coaxed him to take his time. It had taken a good deal of patience, but eventually, Ethan had calmed down enough to start explaining what had brought him to the FBI in such a state.

Through his halting words, the agents pieced together a disturbing tale. Ethan was a student at the local university, just like Charlie. He and his girlfriend, Emma Heart, had recently experienced a catastrophic event that had shaken him to his core.

More than ten days ago, they had embarked on a long-anticipated trip to a snow-covered mountain. It had been a journey they had planned meticulously, hoping to create unforgettable memories. The pristine white slopes, the crisp mountain air, and the promise of adventure had made the trip seem like a dream come true. But that dream had quickly turned into a nightmare.

They had underestimated the treacherous conditions of the mountain, and their timing couldn't have been worse. The weather had taken a sudden turn for the worse, catching them completely off guard. A massive blizzard swept over the mountain, bringing with it howling winds and blinding snow that erased the world around them. To make matters worse, an error in the meteorological forecast meant that the warning of the incoming storm had come too late. Before they knew it, they were trapped in the storm's relentless fury.

The situation escalated when a rare avalanche was triggered by the storm, burying them in a lethal cascade of snow and ice. They had been caught completely unprepared, with no chance of escape from the deadly avalanche that engulfed them.

It wasn't until several hours later that the rescue teams managed to reach them. By then, the storm had finally subsided, but the damage had been done. Ethan and Emma were found buried under the snow, unconscious but alive—barely. They were rushed to the nearest hospital, where doctors worked tirelessly to stabilize them.

Ethan's injuries, while severe, were not life-threatening. He had suffered from hypothermia and minor frostbite, but with medical attention, he recovered relatively quickly. However, his girlfriend, Emma, had not fared as well.

When the doctors informed Ethan that Emma had succumbed to her injuries despite their best efforts, it felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him. He had thrown himself onto her hospital bed, clutching her cold, lifeless hand, and wept until he had no tears left to shed.

Time lost all meaning for him as he remained by her side, his world reduced to the small, sterile room that held his most precious person. The bustle of the hospital faded into the background, and the sounds of doctors and nurses moving about became distant echoes. It was as if he and Emma were the only two people left in the world, suspended in a timeless, frozen moment.

She looked so peaceful as if she were merely sleeping. Her long eyelashes rested delicately on her pale cheeks, and her face, though devoid of color, was still as beautiful as he remembered. The sunlight filtering through the blinds cast a soft, dappled glow over her, making it seem as though she might wake up at any moment, ready to greet him with a sleepy smile.

Then, something impossible happened—her eyelashes fluttered.

Ethan's heart skipped a beat, his breath catching in his throat. He stared at her, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and desperate hope. Could it be real? Could she really be waking up?

He held his breath, afraid to move, afraid to blink, lest this fragile hope be shattered.

But it wasn't an illusion.

With great effort, Emma's eyelids slowly lifted, revealing her eyes. Her gaze was unfocused and cloudy, as though she were struggling to emerge from a deep, disorienting sleep.

A tidal wave of emotion crashed over Ethan. Overwhelmed with relief, he threw his arms around her, sobbing uncontrollably. She was alive. Somehow, against all odds, she had come back to him.

Dr. Li, the attending physician, was equally stunned when he heard that Emma had miraculously regained consciousness. He rushed back to the ward, where he carefully examined her, checking her vital signs and looking for any indication of what had just occurred.

As Dr. Li completed his examination, his expression turned strangely unreadable.

"What's wrong, doctor?" Ethan asked, his voice trembling with both hope and anxiety as he held onto Emma.

Dr. Li hesitated, glancing at the girl in Ethan's arms as if weighing his words carefully. There was something in his eyes, something that suggested he wanted to say more, but in the end, he chose not to.

"She's fine," Dr. Li finally said, though there was an odd tone to his voice. "She can be discharged today."

Ethan, still riding the high of seeing his girlfriend miraculously recover, didn't notice the subtle hesitation in the doctor's words or the way his eyes lingered on Emma a little too long. All that mattered to him was that she was alive and that they could go home.

As Ethan recalled these events, he realized that there had been signs—small, almost imperceptible clues—that something wasn't quite right. But at the time, he had been so consumed by joy and relief that he had brushed them aside, too eager to embrace the miracle of her survival.

The day they returned to their shared apartment, Ethan noticed that Emma was still very weak. Her complexion was unnervingly pale, almost as if the blood had been drained from her body, and her skin was cold to the touch. Though she still had the soft, delicate texture that he associated with her, there was an unsettling quality to it, like the chill of marble.

But considering what they had been through, Ethan thought it was perfectly normal for her to be in such poor health. Dr. Li had mentioned that she was recovering from a severe illness, after all, and needed time to regain her strength. He was determined to take care of her, to nurse her back to health, no matter what it took.

That evening, he went out to the market and bought a wide variety of ingredients—everything from fresh vegetables to the finest cuts of meat. He wanted to make sure she had everything she needed to recover, and he spared no effort in preparing a lavish meal, pouring all his love and care into each dish.

But when dinner was served, Emma barely touched her food. After only a few bites, she pushed her bowl aside, apologizing with a soft, tired smile that she had no appetite and couldn't eat any more.

Ethan was concerned, but he didn't dwell on it. He figured that after everything she had been through, it was only natural for her to be too exhausted to eat.

That night, however, something strange happened.

In the middle of the night, Ethan awoke with a start. He had turned over in his sleep, instinctively reaching out to embrace her, only to find that the bed beside him was cold and empty.

It took him a few moments to fully wake up, the fog of sleep slowly lifting as he sat up in the darkness.

 His hand rested on the cool, vacant side of the bed, a shiver running down his spine. He called out her name, his voice echoing through the quiet apartment like a small stone dropped into a vast, empty ocean.

There was no answer.

A sense of unease began to creep into his mind, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. He stood up, his heart pounding in his chest as he made his way out of the bedroom, straining his ears for any sound.

Then he heard it—a strange, distant sound, almost like laughter.

The sound was faint, yet it seemed to come from all directions at once, filling the apartment with an eerie, unsettling presence. It was a high-pitched, distorted laughter mingled with a buzzing noise that circled around his head, making his anxiety spike.

He followed the sound down the hallway, his steps slow and cautious, his breath shallow. The closer he got to the kitchen, the louder the sound became, until it was almost unbearable.

His hand trembled as he reached for the kitchen door, his fingers curling around the handle. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and then pushed the door open.

There she was, standing barefoot on the cold tile floor, her white lace pajamas flowing around her like a ghostly shroud. Her long black hair hung down her back, and she was facing the open refrigerator, its harsh light casting an eerie glow across the room.

What struck Ethan as most disturbing was the way she turned to look at him—her head moved stiffly, almost as if she were a marionette on strings, her eyes dull and lifeless as they met his.

"I'm hungry," she said, her voice flat, devoid of any emotion. "I'm getting something to eat."

For a moment, Ethan felt a chill run down his spine. But then, he forced himself to relax, convincing himself that she was simply feeling weak and disoriented.

"Is that all?" he asked with a sigh of relief, walking over to her. The girl closed the refrigerator door with a soft click, the sound echoing in the silent kitchen.

He reached out to ruffle her hair affectionately, the familiar gesture bringing him some comfort. "I told you to eat more at dinner. You wouldn't be hungry now."

Emma didn't respond. When Ethan asked if she still wanted something to eat, she shook her head and said she wasn't hungry anymore. Together, they turned off the lights and returned to the bedroom.

As they lay back down, Ethan suddenly realized that the eerie laughter that had filled the apartment had vanished without him noticing. The apartment was silent once more, but the unease lingering in his mind refused to dissipate.

Since that night, Ethan's anxiety had only grown.

Two days later, his unease reached a breaking point when a mysterious package arrived at their door.

The package was plain and unassuming, with no return address or sender's information. Ethan's name was the only detail written on it. It was a small, tightly sealed square box, the rough texture of its exterior giving nothing away about its contents. Yet, despite its innocuous appearance, the package exuded an inexplicable sense of dread.

Overcome by a growing sense of foreboding, Ethan reluctantly opened the package.

The moment he saw what was inside, his hands began to tremble uncontrollably. The package slipped from his grasp, its contents spilling out onto the floor with a soft thud. Ethan's scream pierced the air, a sound of pure, unadulterated terror.

Inside the package was a severed hand.

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I'm thinking about converting this story into a comic adaptation; the comic will be available on my patron... on that note, what art styles do you guys prefer?

Manhwa

American comic

Japanese adaptation

etc.

(Manhwa is temporarily the all-around favorite)

[the first chapter should be available by the end of next week]

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