Daotok barely flinched when the abrupt knocking interrupted his horror movie. He had been completely absorbed in the film, eyes glued to the screen, following the ghostly apparition that crept through an abandoned house. With an irritated sigh, he paused the movie and shifted his attention toward the door. The knocks came again—persistent, drunken.
Again? With slow, deliberate steps, he walked to the peephole and peered outside. Sure enough, the familiar sight of the neighbor from the next room greeted him—slouched, clearly intoxicated, and wobbling slightly.
"Hey, can you help me with something?" the man slurred.
"No." Daotok's response was immediate, blunt. Before the drunk could say anything else, Daotok shut the door in his face with an audible click, leaving the man stunned on the other side.
Unbothered, he returned to his seat, resumed the movie, and slid on his headphones to drown out the renewed knocking. Lately, work had been overwhelming and today was supposed to be his one day of peace. He wasn't in the mood to entertain anyone—not that he ever was.
"Not like you ever want to be disturbed anyway." Emma's voice echoed in his head, but he didn't acknowledge it, too engrossed in the film. Horror, thrillers, mysteries—those were his preferences. Anything with a clever plot kept him engaged. Torture porn? Not his thing. Romance? Boring. Action movies? Acceptable, but not particularly thrilling.
Currently, he was deep into a ghost movie, something North had recommended. North was the same as him, a horror fan—although he was the type to get easily scared. Daotok had tried explaining that behind-the scenes footage, actor interviews, and special effects breakdowns helped strip horror of its fear factor, but North believed that ruined the immersion.
For Daotok, fear had long lost its grip on him. After all, the best way to stop being afraid of ghosts was simple: encounter them often enough, and they became just another part of life. His grandmother used to say that people feared ghosts because they believed spirits could harm them, or worse, take them away.
If a ghost wants to take you, just be an awful person—no one wants to keep a bad soul around. But if they wanted to hurt you... well, that was another issue entirely. He still hadn't figured out what to do about that.
Donut certainly wasn't helpful in that regard. The other night, the ghost had nearly yanked Daotok off the bed, and the bathroom ghost had clawed at his neck, leaving sharp, stinging scratches. Painful, but manageable. If things got worse, he'd consult his grandmother, Phuangthong.
A message notification from his phone pulled him from his thoughts.
[NORTH]: Hahaha!
[NORTH]: Dude!
[NORTH]: I heard you locked P' Thit in the bathroom and slammed the door in his face today too. Hahaha!
Daotok exhaled sharply through his nose.
[DAOTOK]: What's so funny...
[DAOTOK]: Did he tell you that?
[NORTH]: Sort of. He was complaining about it while we were gaming.
[NORTH]: Hahaha! You're so cold. I feel bad for him.
[NORTH]: Why didn't you listen to him? He wanted help with something.
[DAOTOK]: If it was important, he should've said so.
[NORTH]: It is interesting, though. Apparently, P' Donut might not have been killed by his girlfriend after all. P' Thit wants you to talk to the ghosts in your room. If she's innocent but stuck in jail, that's really sad.
Daotok frowned, staring at the screen.
[DAOTOK]: Did he tell you that himself?
[NORTH]: Yep. Hahaha!
[NORTH]: Come on, help him out. You might save an innocent person from jail.
That made Daotok pause. If someone truly innocent was locked away for a crime they didn't commit, that was something worth investigating.
[DAOTOK]: ...Fine.
[NORTH]: I'd love to see you talk to ghosts.
[NORTH]: Can I come over?
[DAOTOK]: Midnight.
[DAOTOK] : I'll try talking to the ghost who hung herself.
[NORTH]: Don't think that'll work. She doesn't seem the cooperative type.
[DAOTOK]: Exactly. It's a high-rise building.
The conversation went on for a bit before North suggested gaming. Daotok declined, still absorbed in his film. The protagonist saw ghosts and solved crimes with their help—eerily similar to what he was about to do.
Excitement flickered in his chest. If this turned out to be something big, something real, then maybe—just maybe—it would make for a great story. Hours passed, and before he knew it, midnight had arrived.
Daotok slipped off his bracelet, the one that usually dulled his sensitivity to spirits. As expected, an unsettling weight settled over him, but something felt different this time. He turned his head toward Donut, who was seated casually on the bed.
"Dao, don't go near the bathroom."
Daotok didn't reply.
"P' Cream is losing it."
Still silent, he ignored the warning and walked straight into the bathroom. The door slammed shut behind him. The lights flickered violently before dimming to a sickly, dying glow. A shadowy figure emerged by the bathtub, long, wet hair plastered to her back. Her voice drifted through the air in a slow, haunting melody.
Daotok tilted his head, watching her. "You're singing it wrong." The figure stilled.
"That part should go, 'Why did you...'" He trailed off as she slowly turned, revealing her pale, bloodied face. A deep, gaping slit stretched across her throat, the wound still leaking thick rivulets of red. Her lips curled into a grotesque smile, the cut at the corner of her mouth stretching wider than humanly possible. Daotok simply observed.
"...Aren't you scared?" she rasped.
"Nope."
"Do you... want to stay here with me?"
"Nope."
Her expression twitched. Her broken, sorrowful eyes filled with rage. "W- Why... hic... why don't you want to stay with me? Why did you have to have someone else? Why did you kill me?! AAH!"
Her wail erupted into a violent, earsplitting scream, the pitch so high it made the very air tremble. The mirror cracked, and the dim light flickered erratically.
Daotok winced. "My ears..." Another piercing scream split the air.
"AAH!"
Daotok winced, pressing his hands tightly against his ears. The sound was unbearable, a high-pitched, grating noise that clawed at his skull. It reminded him of the deafening screams from the K-pop concerts he'd attended in the past—shrill, overwhelming, relentless. He squinted at the apparition before him, realization settling in. She must have been a fan when she was alive. A sudden voice echoed in his head.
"How did you know?"
Daotok stiffened. "Huh?"
"Are you a fan too?"
He hesitated before muttering, "Not really, but I follow some groups."
"Which group do you like?"
"...I don't have a favorite." He exhaled and glanced at her spectral form, translucent yet unnervingly vivid. "What about you? Who did you like? I can check them out for you."
And just like that, he found himself sitting in the dimly lit bathroom, engaged in an extended conversation about K-pop with Cream—a vengeful ghost who, mere moments ago, had been shrieking loud enough to rattle his bones. Now, she was animatedly recounting her favorite idols, lamenting how she'd lost track of their activities after her untimely demise.
With nothing else to do, Daotok found himself pulling out his phone, looking up updates for her. The irony wasn't lost on him. By the time he left the bathroom, exhaustion weighed on his limbs. He trudged to his bed and flopped down beside Donut, a familiar presence by now.
"She's calm now," Daotok murmured.
Donut chuckled. "Yeah? How'd you manage that? P' Cream is usually a handful."
Daotok exhaled heavily, rubbing his temples. "Everyone has their exceptions."
Remembering his earlier plan, he turned toward the balcony, intending to check on the ghost who had hanged herself. But as he stepped closer, he found nothing. The eerie emptiness of the space unsettled him.
"P' Cream," he called out, "where's the one who hung herself?"
"Dunno", she replied flippantly. "I haven't seen her."
His brow furrowed, but he let it go for now. Shifting gears, he glanced back at Cream. "By the way, do you know anything about P' Donut's murder that night?"
"Little Don disappeared somewhere. He got mad just because I teased him a bit."
A dry voice cut through the conversation. "Well, you did pull your head off in front of me."
Donut had appeared beside him without warning. His expression was one of exasperation, though the corners of his lips twitched with amusement.
"Like this?" Cream grinned before grasping at her own head. At first, it seemed like she wouldn't be able to remove it, but with a sharp tug, the prior slit gave way, and with an unsettling pop , she yanked it clean off.
Donut recoiled instantly. "AAH!" He slapped his hands over his eyes, his ghostly form trembling. "Min! Min, where are you? I'm scared. Help me, babe!"
Cream groaned. "You love her so much. Even we ghosts are sick of it."
"Don't tease me, P' Cream," he whined.
Daotok watched their exchange with a weary expression before steering the conversation back on track. "So, P' Cream, do you know anything about the night P' Donut was murdered?"
"I was in the bathroom. How would I know? Try asking Prou."
He nodded, mentally noting the name. "Alright." Settling back at his desk, he let out a small sigh, reflecting on the strange normalcy of his situation. " By Prou, she must mean the one who jumped from the second floor." He still had no clue where the hanged ghost had gone.
He waited. Hours ticked by. When the clock struck 2:13 A.M, the balcony door creaked open. A shadow emerged—Prou, her spectral figure appearing just as it had before. She moved hesitantly to the edge, silent tears slipping down her cheeks. Daotok stepped forward, positioning himself in her path.
"E-excuse me," he started, keeping his voice soft, careful not to startle her.
"Can I ask you something?"
She didn't respond at first, but then she turned to face him. Their eyes met, and for the first time, she seemed aware of his presence.
"That night," Daotok continued, "when P' Donut was murdered... did you see anything?"
She remained eerily silent.
"Did you see anyone enter the room?"
Slowly, she nodded. Daotok's pulse quickened.
"Someone else killed P' Donut, right?" Another nod.
"Who?"
Her lips parted slightly, but instead of answering, she merely shook her head. Don't know. Of course. Why would she?
"Can you describe them at least?" For a moment, she hesitated, then whispered, "A woman. Short hair. Black shirt... I have to go."
"Oh, okay. Thank you." Daotok dipped his head respectfully. "I'll ask again another time. Please, go ahead." Prou gave one last solemn nod before turning—and without hesitation, she leaped from the balcony.
Daotok stood frozen for a moment before sighing and retreating back into the room. Now, at least, he had confirmation that Donut hadn't died by his own hand. Someone else had killed him. But who? When he relayed the information, Donut's expression lit up with excitement.
"I need to visit Thit in his dreams with this new info," he said. Then he shot Daotok a hopeful look. "Or, Dao, will you tell him?"
Daotok scoffed, rubbing his temples. "No, you do it. Thanks."
Donut nodded firmly, determination shining in his ghostly eyes. "Got it."
~~~~
Arthit stirred awake, his body heavy with exhaustion. The familiar weight of someone sitting next to him registered in his half-conscious mind. He exhaled sharply, irritated. Not again.
Whoever it was, they could wait. Turning onto his side, he stubbornly buried his face into his pillow, refusing to acknowledge the presence hovering beside him. But just as he started slipping back into sleep, a firm grip latched onto his arm, yanking him back.
"Even in your dreams, you're ignoring me?"
Arthit groaned, cracking one eye open. "You again? What now?" he muttered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he faced Donut's spirit. Donut, ever the nuisance, sighed dramatically. "Min didn't kill me."
Arthit blinked, unimpressed. "Yeah? And who told you that?"
"The ghost in the room."
Arthit scoffed. "You're also a ghost in the room."
Donut waved him off. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. But Daotok asked for me."
"Why don't you ask for yourself?"
"Because I'm scared, man."
"Coward."
"Just tell Min, okay?" Donut insisted. "The witness said it was a short- haired woman in a black shirt."
Arthit let out a heavy sigh. "Fine. Can I sleep now?"
"Also, tell Min I miss her so much. I cry for her every day. I can't sleep without hugging her."
Arthit wrinkled his nose. "Gross."
Before he could dismiss Donut completely, his friend leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper.
"Oh, and that ghost in the bathroom you scared off?"
Arthit hesitated. "Yeah? What about it?"
Donut smirked. "She wanted me to tell you, 'I'm here, ready, and waiting in the bathroom all the time.'"
Arthit stiffened. "...Damn."
The following morning, Arthit sat in his car, parked just outside the prison, staring blankly ahead as he processed last night's dream. Donut had appeared again, running his mouth as usual, but this time, he had dropped unsettling information.
Min didn't kill him. The ghost said so. On top of that, the bathroom ghost left him a creepy message. Damn. That's all he could say. Just damn.
How many more women like Min was he going to have to deal with? Except this time, they weren't even alive. He shook his head and climbed out of the car. Inside the visitation area, Min sat behind the glass as usual. But today, her face was different—swollen with bruises, her lip split, and a deep gash marking her eyebrow.
Arthit raised a brow. "What happened to you?"
Min leaned back in her seat, unfazed. "Nothing much."
"What's 'nothing much'?" he pressed.
"Got into it with one of the big shots here last night."
"What?"
"It's normal," she said with a shrug. "I don't belong to any cliques. That makes me a target."
Arthit exhaled slowly. "And what happened?"
Min smirked. "Send her to the hospital."
"No way."
"Yeah. Picked the wrong person to mess with. Knocked the silicone out of her, Thit. I'm the undefeated slapping champ of Vishara High. Took out everyone back in school."
"Slapped people?"
"Volleyball, you idiot!" Min rolled her eyes. "My team won the championship every year."
Arthit chuckled. "And now you sent the prison boss to the hospital. You're not in trouble?"
"Not this time. First offense, I guess. But I've got plans to make my mark in here."
"Oh yeah? How?"
She grinned. "I'm gonna become the new big shot. Take control, start a gang, be the queen of this place. What do you think?" Arthit pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't even know what to say to you anymore."
"Anyway," Min continued, leaning in. "Got any news for me?"
"Yeah. The ghost said you didn't do it."
Min slammed her hands on the table, drawing the guard's attention. She quickly composed herself and smiled innocently. "See? I told you! Even the dead know I'm innocent!"
"The witness said a short-haired woman in a black shirt entered your room that night."
Min frowned, her mind racing. "Who the hell is that? Who killed my husband and framed me? I'm pissed, Thit. Find out who it was."
"Do you have anyone in mind?"
Min tapped her chin. "Short hair... Could be Ming, Olyn, or my sister. Everyone else has long hair. My mom and Donut's mom have long hair too."
"Three suspects, then."
Arthit studied her. "That night, you were drunk when you came back, right?"
Min nodded. "Yeah, so?"
"Did you lock the door?"
Min's face turned pale. "Crap. I don't remember. Maybe I forgot."
Arthit exhaled. "If you left it unlocked, someone without a key could've gotten in."
Min bit her lip. "Shit. This is bad."
"Yeah, no kidding."
They sat in silence for a moment before Min sighed dramatically. "Ugh. My slapped face hurts. My implants hurt. My life is a mess."
Arthit snorted. "That's an understatement."
Min smirked, tilting her head. "Still gonna help me, Thit?"
Arthit met her gaze, his expression softening just a fraction. "Yeah. I'll try my best."
Min grinned. "Good. Don't half-ass it. Otherwise, I'll pinch your balls."
Arthit sighed. "What kind of threat is that?"
Min laughed. Even in the face of all this, she still had the audacity to smile. That was Min for you.
~~~~
Daotok stood in an unfamiliar place, his fingers curling slightly as he recited Min's name in his mind. He took a steady breath before approaching the attendant seated behind a scratched wooden desk. The man barely looked up, his bored gaze skimming over Daotok before gesturing toward an empty seat in front of a large, smudged mirror.
"Wait there," the attendant instructed flatly.
Daotok obeyed, settling into the cold metal chair. His reflection stared back at him, but his mind was elsewhere—piecing together everything that had led him here.
After getting a crucial lead from Prao, the next-door drunk had shown up unexpectedly, handing over the names of three suspects. It wasn't much, but it was enough to go on.
Daotok had spent the last few days pressing the brothers in the room for more details, digging into their words, their expressions, anything that might point him in the right direction. He had done his own investigation, following threads that no one else had thought to pull.
But the drunk neighbor had disappeared. Daotok hadn't seen him return to the room in days, and that nagging absence had driven him here—to Min. Because now, he was sure. He knew who the real culprit was.
The sharp click of a door unlocking pulled him from his thoughts. A woman stepped into view, her prisoner's uniform a dull, faded shade that did little to mask her striking features. She was beautiful in a way that leaned toward the Western ideal—high cheekbones, piercing eyes, and a natural confidence that needed no makeup to enhance. Her arms were covered in tattoos, dark ink trailing up her skin like stories etched in permanence.
She gave him a once-over, her expression unreadable. "Hey," she greeted, voice casual but edged with curiosity. "Thought you were Thit. Who's this?"
"Uh, my name is Daotok."
Min's sharp brows lifted.
"I'm a guy," Daotok clarified, catching the flicker of confusion in her eyes. She gave a small nod, absorbing the information without further comment.
"Alright," she said, leaning against the table. "So what's up? You sure you got the right person? Pretty sure I don't know you."
"I'm the one staying in your old room."
"The one next to Thit's?"
"Yes."
"The one who talks to ghosts?"
Daotok hesitated but nodded. "Yes."
Min exhaled a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Whoa. So, what's up? Thit's been MIA. Where's he off to now?"
"I don't know either," Daotok admitted, meeting her gaze. "But I think I know who the real culprit is."
Min's casual demeanor sharpened in an instant. "Who?"
"P' O-Lin. Your friend."
Min blinked, caught off guard. "O-Lin? Why do you think it's her? She's so quiet and reserved."
"Actually, she liked P' Donut."
Min's expression twisted into something incredulous. "Huh?"
Daotok nodded. "P' Donut never told you because he didn't want to start a fight. He didn't think it was important. He never even considered that someone he knew might have killed him." He paused, letting the weight of the words settle before continuing. "But when I told P' Donut that the suspect was a short-haired woman, he remembered something. P' O-Lin has short hair. And suddenly, things started making sense."
Min's jaw tightened. "So, she liked P' Donut?"
"Yes. Apparently, she confessed to him once, but he rejected her. She still tried to talk to him, but he didn't give her any attention."
Min's fingers curled into fists. "That little witch. Flirting with my man? And here I thought she was innocent." Her voice was laced with venom. "What happened next?"
"...I checked security cameras from a nearby building and got a picture. It's definitely P' O-Lin. It doesn't seem like she planned it out; it might've been a crime of passion."
Min's lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
Daotok pressed on. "I followed her... secretly. She seemed uneasy all the time. And, uh, this might sound far-fetched."
Min tilted her head. "Go on."
"I can read people's emotions. And when I read hers... her heart is full of guilt, sadness, self-loathing, and fear."
Min narrowed her eyes, absorbing the information. "Hm, I see. So, what do we do? I believe you, but how do we get me out of prison?"
"I think P' O-Lin will confess on her own."
Min's eyebrows shot up. "What? Really?"
"Yes. Her guilt is eating away at her. She won't hold out for long. If we give her a little push, she'll probably be terrified enough to admit it."
A slow smirk spread across Min's lips. "Well, well, well... I like the way you think."
~~~~
Arthit stood in front of O-Lin, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his entire body tense with fury. The room felt suffocating, the air thick with the weight of everything that had piled up on him these past few days. His bloodshot eyes burned with exhaustion, his head ached from lack of sleep, and his body was sore from nights spent crashing on Tonfah's couch. He hadn't been able to get into his own condo after losing his keycard, and management had been zero help. But none of that compared to the rage coursing through him now.
"Why did you kill Donut?" Arthit demanded, his voice sharp as a blade. O-Lin flinched, her whole body shaking. Tears streamed down her pale face, her breath hitching in pitiful gasps. "I... h-he... sniff... Thit... please don't yell at me."
Arthit stepped forward, his patience snapping like a frayed wire. "I asked you—why did you kill my friend?!" His voice rose, cracking from the sheer force of his anger.
O-Lin sobbed harder, shrinking away from him. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to... sniff... please forgive me."
"Go apologize to Min!" he barked. "She's rotting in jail because of you! Do you have any idea what she's been through? Beaten so badly her implants are crooked! And you've just been out here crying about it?"
O-Lin hiccupped between her sobs, unable to meet his eyes. "Sniff... I-I'm sorry... sniff..."
"Stop crying, dammit!"
Her shoulders trembled as she gasped for air between her frantic sniffles.
"Sniff... T-Thit... I... I..."
"That's it," he snapped. "You're coming with me to the police."
Before she could protest, Arthit seized her arm and yanked her up. She didn't resist, too weak, too guilt-ridden to fight back. Anyone watching would probably think he was a lunatic, barging into her space and dragging her out like this. But he didn't care. He had spent days trailing O-Lin, piecing together the truth with whatever scraps of evidence he could find.
And now, there was no doubt left—she was the one who had killed Donut. The security footage had shown a short-haired woman entering the building the night of the murder. It wasn't enough to convict, but it had led him to O- Lin. She hadn't planned to kill Donut, he was sure of that. It had been a crime of passion, an impulsive, deadly mistake. But that didn't make it any better.
O-Lin hiccupped through her tears as he shoved her into his car. "I-I didn't mean to... sniff... I-I'll go apologize to Min. I feel so guilty..."
"Then move it!" he snapped. "Stop stalling."
"I... I'm hurt..."
"Yeah, and Min's more hurt than you! Get in!"
As he slammed the door shut and started the engine, he spotted his next- door neighbor in the distance, adjusting his motorcycle helmet. His brows furrowed. What the hell was Daotok doing here? The thought was fleeting. Daotok rode off, disappearing into the streets, leaving Arthit to deal with the sobbing woman beside him.
~~~~
By the time they arrived at the prison, Min was already seated in the visitation room, her arms crossed, her sharp eyes burning holes into the glass partition. O-Lin sat across from her, barely able to lift her head. When she finally did, her voice wavered.
"I... I'm so sorry, Min," she whispered. "I didn't mean to—"
Min's expression darkened, her knuckles whitening as she clenched her fists. "That little witch. If it weren't for this damn glass between us, she'd be dead."
Arthit sighed, rubbing his temples. "What did she say?"
Min exhaled sharply. "She's been obsessed with Donut for a long time. That night, she came over to borrow something and used the spare keycard I gave her. She let herself in and saw us sleeping together. And you know what she did?"
Arthit leaned forward. "What?"
"She sat there. Watching him sleep."
His stomach twisted. "...Right."
Min's lip curled in disgust. "Then she kissed him. Donut probably thought it was me and kissed her back. O-Lin took it as a green light and started getting handsy. They almost—well, you know."
Arthit's jaw tightened. "Then what?"
"Donut woke up and realized it wasn't me. He pushed her away, and they argued."
Arthit exhaled slowly. "Uh-huh."
Min scowled. "She had already stripped, Thit. Donut was still sitting on the bed, caught off guard. She claims she was slightly drunk and, in her anger or whatever, grabbed a knife and stabbed him."
"While naked?"
"Yeah. Does that matter?"
"Well, at least he saw boobs before he died."
Min smacked the glass with her palm. "You ass."
Arthit shrugged. "What now? Is she going to confess to the police?"
"She says she hasn't been able to sleep since killing someone. Took her months to confess. I could've been the damn queen of the prison by now."
"At least she's come around."
Min scoffed. "O-Lin's not as adaptable as me. She won't last a day in there. I've already told my prison crew to give her hell. She killed my man and framed me? She's gonna suffer."
Arthit sighed. "You're ruthless."
Min smirked. "Damn right."
She leaned back in her chair. "By the way, Thit, are there still vacant units on our floor?"
"Yeah, the whole floor's empty."
"Good. I'm moving back."
Arthit raised an eyebrow. "You sure? Dao's already in your old room."
Min grinned. "Then I'll take the one across from him."
He chuckled. "Welcome back."