The mourning hall was covered with portraits of women. Every black-and-white photograph showed a terrified face. Their expressions varied ever so slightly, forming a bizarre comic strip. Judging by the portraits, the women in the photos seemed to have discovered something. Their gazes swept from left to right, their expressions growing more and more terrified.
The woman followed the portraits with her gaze, unable to help herself. She saw the room, and the pair of feet sticking out of it.
The feet wore pink flats with bows. They were the shoes the woman had worn that day.
The feet were dragged into the room, and a thudding sound came from inside.
The woman was petrified. She couldn't react normally at all. She just stared blankly toward the room, listening to the loud, heart-stopping noise.
Before long, a great deal of steam poured out of the room. Flames flickered into view, and crackling sounds came from inside, as though something were sizzling in a wok.
The woman started crying again. Her mind went blank, and all she could feel was fear. It was as if her body had fallen into a wok of hot oil. The pain made her scream.
The woman shut her eyes and curled into a ball, refusing to let anyone touch her.
The group, already shaken, grew even more uneasy.
The woman's reaction was exactly what someone would look like if they were seeing a ghost.
Her terror and pain didn't seem like an act at all.
The others looked at one another. Unease spread through the group.
"Let's go. Let's get out of here. I want to go home..." someone said first, her voice trembling. She snatched her coat and bag off a chair and hurried toward the stairs.
I saw a ghost appear on the