"Look, look, that's him! Oh heavens, I never thought someone like that would actually live in our neighborhood. That kind of ungrateful wolf, the moment he was born, he didn't deserve to live in this world."
Richie had just returned to his apartment complex when he heard several elderly women huddled together gossiping. Not only were they talking, but they were also pointing fingers directly at him.
"What the hell are you looking at, you old hags! Say one more damn word about me and I'll send your whole families straight to hell!" Richie roared with fury. The women, frightened, immediately scurried away like startled pigeons. Their lives were far too comfortable and pleasant to risk being entangled with a scoundrel like Richie.
Spitting a mouthful of phlegm onto the ground, Richie glared at their retreating figures, his heart seething. He kicked at an empty drink can lying nearby, irritation gnawing at him.
None of this should have happened. His plan had been simple—take that old man, his useless father, to watch Edward's movie, then find a way to get rid of the old burden. Afterward, he would blackmail Edward, a wealthy director, and extort a large sum. With that money, he would never need to work again, living out the rest of his life in ease and luxury.
But now, everything had gone to hell!
"Bastard… if I find out who filmed that, I swear I'll—" Richie cursed and muttered all the way back toward his apartment. Even when passersby brushed by without sparing him a glance, Richie still imagined they were mocking him. After all, he and his sister had already become laughingstocks on the entire internet.
Annoyed, he entered the dimly lit stairwell.
He hated this place. From the very beginning, he had wanted his old man to cough up more money to buy a better apartment. But that useless fossil couldn't, so what was the point of even giving birth to children if he couldn't provide? Because of him, Richie was stuck living in this decrepit old residential building, every day feeling as though he might rot away inside.
"Damn old man, why didn't you just die?" Richie muttered, unable to comprehend. He had seen it himself—his father had taken his last breath, he'd even sat and watched through the length of a movie to make sure. And yet when the film ended, the old bastard had revived as if nothing had happened. It was infuriating beyond belief.
"Meow~"
A cat's cry echoed through the stairwell. Richie glanced up toward the upper flights; he had only reached the second floor.
Did someone upstairs keep a Meowth?
He couldn't quite remember, nor did he care. If someone did, all the better—he could deliberately provoke that mutt of a cat to scratch him, then squeeze compensation money out of its owner.
Climbing a few more flights, Richie finally reached his apartment door.
"Damn utility companies… all they know is to hound me for bills every single day!" He noticed a water-and-electricity bill notice pasted to his door. He ripped it off and stuffed it into his pocket, then pulled out his key and let himself inside, slamming the door shut behind him.
And then he froze.
This was supposed to be his home—he knew the layout by heart. It was an old apartment his father had paid for, and Richie had lived here long enough to be familiar with every corner. Opening the door should lead to a small living room with a tiny balcony, bedrooms, a kitchen, and a bathroom branching off to the sides.
But now, directly before him was a staircase.
A staircase leading upward.
"Did I… go into the wrong place?" That was his first thought. But he had used his own key, hadn't he? No way someone else's lock matched his.
Still, uneasy, he turned to check the door—but no matter how hard he pushed, it wouldn't budge.
"What the hell is going on?" Confused and unsettled, he pulled out the notice he had stuffed away. It was indeed his own utility bill, with his address printed clearly. He hadn't gone to the wrong home. So, what was this place?
When he had come in, it was still daytime outside, but the interior had dimmed unnaturally, like evening had already fallen. The entire house carried a chilling, oppressive atmosphere that made him deeply uncomfortable.
"Damn it… what the hell is happening here?" With the door stuck, he decided to investigate.
The first floor layout was nothing like his real home. In the bathroom, the tub was still filled with water. Richie ignored it and went straight to the window, pulling it open.
The window opened easily—but what he saw outside left him stunned.
Beyond was not the familiar sight of his fourth-floor balcony, but a ground-level yard and street, with people walking past. He shouted loudly, but none of them responded, as though he didn't exist.
He even crumpled up the bill notice and hurled it onto the street. Still, not a single person noticed.
"What the hell—are you all dead?!" Richie swore nervously.
The moment the words left his mouth, every single passerby turned their heads in eerie unison, staring at him with unsettling smiles. They said nothing, just stared. Richie swallowed hard and quickly slammed the window shut.
"What the hell is this… what's happening?" His heart pounded wildly.
His apartment was on the fourth floor, but when he opened the window, it had been ground level—as if the entire building had shifted.
Then it hit him.
This house… he had seen it before.
He thought carefully, and then remembered.
Back at the theater, while scheming about killing his father and cashing in, he had still watched a little of the movie at the start. The layout was unmistakable. He was standing inside the cursed house from The Grudge.
"Goddammit… this is some kind of reality show prank, isn't it?" Richie gritted his teeth. He refused to believe it was real. Edward was a film director, not a ghost summoner. His first thought was that Edward had arranged all this to humiliate him.
"I get it! I know what's going on! This is all a show! What are you trying to pull?! I'll sue you bastards!" Richie shouted angrily.
Why he had climbed to the fourth floor but ended up in a house with ground-level windows—he didn't care. To him, it was all Edward's doing. The director must have paid people to set him up.
Furious, he smashed at the furniture, then stormed to the living room and yanked the window open, intending to confront the people outside.
But instead of streets or people, nothing but pitch-black emptiness stretched beyond—so dark he couldn't see his own hand.
"…Director Edward! I know it's you!" Richie shouted into the void.
No response.
Taking a deep breath, he climbed through the window.
But instead of landing on solid ground, he plummeted into darkness, screaming in terror.
And then—he was back at the front entrance.
Only this time, someone else was there with him.
"Sister?" Richie was stunned. Next to him, also screaming in fear, was his elder sister—Rimi.
"Brother?! You're here too? Did you do this?!" Rimi demanded, both terrified and furious.
Richie shook his head quickly. He almost suspected his sister of colluding with Edward to trick him, but recalling the suffocating black void he had just fallen through, he bit his lip. That fall had been real, and yet here he was, unharmed.
The siblings argued briefly, eventually piecing together the situation.
Both of them had simply come home and opened their doors—only to be pulled into this place. Richie had climbed out the living room window into the darkness, while Rimi had stepped through her sliding paper door, only to fall into the same void and appear here.
"You're not lying?" Richie still struggled to believe it, but Rimi's tear-streaked face showed only fear and desperation. Her apartment had been over twenty stories up—yet she had ended up here all the same.
"If this really is that house… then doesn't that mean…" Richie swallowed nervously, glancing toward the upstairs floor. A horrifying thought struck him. If they had somehow crossed into the cursed Grudge house, then—
Rimi had the same realization. She had seen The Grudge too. At the start, they had witnessed Kayako's twisted apparition. Watching the movie had left them shaken but relieved afterward, as though escaping a nightmare. But now…
Thud!
A loud impact came from the second floor, as if something heavy had fallen. Rimi shuddered violently, and Richie's face went pale.
Then came another sound—the dry scrape of a plastic bag being dragged along the floor. Slowly, steadily, whatever it was crawled out of a room upstairs.
"B-Brother…" Rimi's whole body trembled.
"Damn it, I don't believe this crap! It's just Edward Stone's trick! He's rich, he must've paid people to mess with us!" Richie snarled, still unwilling to accept the supernatural. Ghosts—especially that ghost—were too ridiculous.
But Rimi felt danger closing in. She was terrified beyond words.
"Enough already!" Richie roared, charging up the stairs, convinced Edward's film crew was waiting to laugh at him.
"Brother!" Rimi cried out, terrified of being left alone, and hurried after him.
But as soon as they reached the landing, both froze.
A pair of pale, lifeless hands stretched out around the corner.
It wasn't the hands alone that stopped them in their tracks—it was the grotesque wounds carved deep into the flesh, exposing raw bone beneath the bloody gashes.
Many had wondered why Kayako's death birthed such overwhelming malice, creating the unstoppable curse of the Grudge. The truth was that the films had simplified it. In the novels, Kayako had been tortured at length by Takeo Saeki before her death.
And in reality, her end had been even more gruesome. These mutilations were the product of Takeo's sadistic rage.
Then, Kayako's head slowly appeared. Her eyes, filled with endless hatred, locked onto the siblings. Her neck twisted unnaturally, bent at a grotesque angle, nothing like a living human.
"Damn it, just an illusion!" Richie screamed, kicking straight at her head.
He didn't believe anyone could keep acting after that.
The good news—he connected.
The bad news—Kayako's skull burst open, brain matter spilling, but she didn't die. Instead, she gave a chilling, rattling croak. Her icy hands clamped around his legs, coldness seeping deep into his bones until his body stiffened.
Kayako's burning fury seared in her eyes.
"Grkkk… grkkk…" she croaked incomprehensibly.
Then, the door beside her slid open, and Takeo Saeki himself emerged, biting his fingers in anger. His eyes glared with hatred as he charged at Richie.
Kayako tilted her head as Takeo grabbed Richie by the hair, flinging him to the floor, then stomped brutally on his stomach, nearly making him vomit.
"You bastard!" Richie snarled, biting Takeo's leg and tearing off a chunk of flesh. But Takeo didn't even flinch—he only grew more furious, continuing to beat him mercilessly.
Staring at the bloody meat in his mouth and the spurting wound, Richie finally realized in horror—
This wasn't an illusion. It wasn't fake. He had truly met a ghost.
Kayako ignored him, slithering instead toward Rimi, who had collapsed on the floor, urine staining her clothes.
"N-no… don't come closer!" Rimi screamed in despair. But no matter how much she cried, no sound could escape the cursed house.
…
"How is Rimi's condition?" At the Pokémon Center, Officer Jenny asked Nurse Joy.
"Not good. Severe mental instability, frequent screaming episodes. If we don't restrain her, she harms herself. Preliminary diagnosis is a psychological disorder," Joy replied calmly. She too had seen the video and knew exactly what kind of people Richie and Rimi were.
Jenny rubbed her temples, exasperated.
That morning, both siblings had been discovered and the police were called. When the Jennys arrived, they found Rimi insane, self-harming, while Richie bore no injuries but was cowering in a hospital corner, trembling and howling like a madman.
Completely unreachable.
"Can they be cured…?" Jenny asked cautiously.
"Don't! Don't—ahhhh!" A piercing shriek came from Rimi's room. Joy rushed inside and administered a sedative.
At present, it seemed there was no cure.
(End of Chapter)