The mansion felt different that night.
Not just dark—dark in the "something is breathing behind the walls" kind of way. The wind scraped against the windows like bony fingers, and the old wooden floor groaned under every step as if complaining about life choices.
#@&# walked beside little Hana—the strange girl who had appeared out of nowhere with a request that was equal parts cute and terrifying.
"I need your help," she had said.
"With what exactly?"
"My grandfather left me a secret."
"…Like a will?"
"No. A curse."
Excellent. Just what #@&# needed. More trauma.
Hana clutched a small lantern as they entered the long hallway. Her tiny steps echoed with an eerie rhythm.
"So," #@&# whispered, "what kind of secret are we talking about? A treasure? A hidden room? A demon you accidentally adopted?"
Hana shook her head.
"No treasure. No demon."
She paused.
"…I think."
Great. Very comforting.
They approached a large wooden door at the end of the hallway—carved with patterns that looked suspiciously like screaming faces.
"Is this… your grandfather's study?" #@&# asked.
"No," Hana replied brightly. "This is the door he told me NEVER to open."
"…And we're opening it why?"
"Because I want to know why I shouldn't."
Of course.
Writer: This is how horror movies start.
#@&#: "SHH. Let me suffer in peace."
Hana pushed the door open.
Inside was a room filled with dust-covered shelves, ancient books, and jars that looked like they contained nightmares preserved in vinegar. A faint glow radiated from the center—a stand holding a cracked mirror framed in rusted silver.
The mirror.
The weird mirror from the mansion's files.
The one William had sworn "blinked" at him.
Hana stepped toward it.
"My grandfather wrote something before he died," she said softly. "He said this mirror hides the truth… but only for those who are brave enough to see it."
#@&#: "Okay but I'm not brave. I'm like… brave-adjacent."
But Hana wasn't listening.
She touched the mirror.
Immediately, the surface rippled like water—and an image formed.
It was… a person.
A cloaked figure standing in the shadows of an alley.
A symbol carved into the wall behind him.
Not just any symbol.
#@&# recognized it instantly.
The mark of The Black Lantern Gang—a criminal organization that was supposed to be extinct years ago. The same gang rumored to dabble in curses, illusions, and "accidental disappearances."
Writer: Oh. They're back.
#@&#: "WHY ARE THEY BACK?!"
Before he could recover, Hana pointed to the reflection.
"That's him," she whispered. "The man who visited my grandfather the day before he died."
"Oh wonderful," #@&# muttered. "A murderer with dramatic fashion sense."
Suddenly—
BANG!
The door behind them slammed shut.
The lantern flickered violently.
And the mirror's reflection shifted.
Now it showed something new:
A message written in glowing red letters.
"THE GIRL KNOWS TOO MUCH."
Hana gasped and stumbled backward.
"Oh no," she whispered. "They're coming."
"Who's 'they'?!" #@&# demanded.
"The gang," she said. "My grandfather was part of them long ago. He left them. He stole something—and they want it back."
"Oh sure," #@&# groaned. "Why not add 'ancestor betrayal' to tonight's chaos?"
He pulled Hana behind him as footsteps echoed in the hallway—multiple footsteps, heavy and synchronized.
Writer: This is where a normal detective would prepare.
#@&#: "NORMAL DETECTIVES HAVE TRAINING!"
The door burst open.
Three masked figures stepped inside, each wearing the symbol of the Black Lantern Gang. One held a knife. One a chain. The third carried a lantern dripping with black smoke.
Gang Leader: "Give us the girl."
#@&#: "NO. GO AWAY. TRY A DIFFERENT HOBBY. KNITTING, MAYBE?"
Gang Leader: "We do not knit."
#@&#: "Well, maybe you should! You clearly need stress relief!"
The leader lunged forward.
#@&# grabbed the nearest object—a book—and threw it at him.
It bounced off harmlessly.
#@&#: "…Worth a try."
Hana tugged his sleeve.
"The mirror!" she whispered. "Break it!"
#@&#: "WHY WOULD WE BREAK THE MAGIC CURSED OBJECT?!"
"Because my grandfather said the gang's power comes from it!"
Well. That would've been useful information ten seconds ago.
The masked men advanced.
Thinking quickly, #@&# picked up a chair—his favorite weapon in life.
Writer: Why is it ALWAYS a chair?
#@&#: "BECAUSE IT'S THERE."
He swung the chair with heroic panic, smashing it right into the mirror.
CRACK—SHATTER!
Light exploded outward in a blinding flash.
The masked men screamed.
The black lantern melted into smoke.
The entire room shook as if reality was glitching.
Then—
Silence.
The gang members collapsed on the floor, unconscious. The mirror lay in thousands of pieces, each one still faintly glowing.
#@&# panted heavily.
Hana stared in awe.
"You… you saved me," she said quietly.
#@&#, still on the floor:
"I ALSO ALMOST DIED. TWICE."
Hana giggled.
Writer: Not bad, detective.
#@&#: "Shut up. I need emotional support."
But before they could leave, Hana noticed something—inside the broken mirror shards was a small metal box with her grandfather's initials engraved on it.
She picked it up.
"What's inside?" #@&# asked.
Hana hesitated.
"I don't know."
She handed it to him.
"But I think… you should open it."
He swallowed.
"Okay but if a demon jumps out I'm quitting detective work and becoming a baker."
He slowly lifted the lid.
Inside was—
A map.
A key.
And a note.
A single line written in rushed handwriting:
"THE TRUTH DIDN'T DIE WITH ME."
Before #@&# could process any of this—
Footsteps echoed from the hallway again.
Not the gang.
Not William.
Not anyone they knew.
A new voice whispered from the darkness:
"Step away from the girl… detective."
And the lantern went out.
----つづく-----