STRGS 08

Chapter 8

Mangryang Tunnel No. 2 (3)

Question.

There is an endless tunnel of Avici hell and a headless zombie bus driver putting on an organ exhibition. When there’s a ghost outside chewing on people like chocolate bars, calculate the probability of surviving together with the people.

Answer.

‘Honestly, 0 percent.’

Inside the bus, even weeping sounds had ceased. Nobody could bring themselves to open their mouth first.

‘Let’s stay calm. There’s no such thing as zero in probability. First, I need to grasp the phenomenon.’

Crunch. The sound of bones crushing echoes again.

Useless ghost story-style 4DX welfare. Why are they letting us hear the bone-chewing sound across this distance and through the bus, anyway?

For now, assessing the situation outside comes first. Taking another look at the tunnel, the bus wasn’t the only thing stopped. Five sedans. One van. The people running earlier seemed to have gotten out of those cars and run away.

“They say only the cars were parked at the tunnel exit.”

“But there’s no one inside. Neither the driver nor passengers. The bus was completely empty.”

‘First of all, going outside recklessly seems like a guaranteed death. I don’t know whether it moves by recognizing sound or not. But I can’t ask anyone to go out and check, either.’

Then, the first thing to do is, as expected—

“Everyone, please pay attention. We have to survive and get out of here together.”

Feigning composure as much as possible, I smooth my voice so it doesn’t tremble, speaking at a volume that is small yet clearly delivered. Eyes terrified with fear look at me, filled with doubt and expectation.

“Do you know what’s going on right now?” “Yes. Probably.”

It’s about taking the initiative and running my mouth.

If there is no focal point, people scatter easily. The probability of causing panic, the probability of being cooperative with the situation, the probability of pretending to know or shifting responsibility—even if you add, multiply, and divide them all up, the survival rate will crawl on the floor, so “every man for himself” is a reservation for the total annihilation route.

“And I need your complete and total cooperation.”

But what if a person who seems to know well takes the lead? The public believes it easily. If I know the answer, that’s good; even if I don’t, they can push the blame on me, which is even better. Now that fear is paralyzing their reason, I have to make them follow me through incitement and fabrications.

“D-Do you know what that thing is?”

“Do you know what happened?”

“Can we get out of the bus?!”

Starting with the question from the man in the black suit, people poured out questions in competition.

“Not right away. What’s out there is probably an entity that reacts to sound. It’s safe to assume that the louder the sound, the faster its reaction speed becomes.”

“Then that means we can’t get out?”

“By any chance, does anyone have an object that makes noise, besides a cellphone?”

The student I saved earlier raised her hand with a frightened face.

“I-I have a personal safety buzzer.” “W-Wait a minute. Then what if that thing suddenly attacks us?” “We’ll throw it as far as possible. And if that thing is moving around, there won’t be anywhere to run when it gets close anyway. It has to be now.”

I cut off the words before the protest could continue. Thanks to my firm tone, no one stepped forward anymore. I went to the very back of the bus, opened the window, and leaned my body out.

‘Good, it looks fine.’

Pressing the button on the buzzer, I threw it quickly. Closing the window and holding my breath, I check the rolling buzzer.

Beep-beep-beep-beep! Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep!!

The moment the sound echoed, shadows flickered and swallowed the buzzer. The red glowing light was slowly devoured into the darkness, and the sound ceased. A moment later, the crushed buzzer dropped to the ground in a flurry.

“My guess was right. Touching that part that looks especially black is dangerous. It seems to move by sensing sound.”

“Then wouldn’t it work if we walk while making as little noise as possible? The tunnel can’t be more than a thousand meters long at most.”

“Where is a person who can walk several hundred meters without making a sound?”

“It’s better than waiting here to die!”

Opinions quickly split among the people again, and they began arguing.

Those who said we should get off, those who said we should just wait, those who said we should start the engine while avoiding the bus driver.

Fortunately, it seemed sound was not leaking out of the bus. The black thing attached to the tunnel had not expanded its range or come closer yet.

‘I should rather leave them to fight and think of a way to get out…’

“I… I know how to get out.”

What?

Suddenly someone raised a hand. It was a young man with an ordinary impression, one of the group of three college students gathered together. His face was pale and his eyes flickered strangely, but his voice was filled with a bizarre certainty.

“You know how to get out—how?”

“We saw the name when we came in earlier. It said Mangryang Tunnel. It’s that tunnel where lots of people died, right?”

To think there was someone else who knew the ghost story. Just as a bit of internal familiarity was about to form, the college student shrugged his shoulders.

“There’s no need to even go all the way outside. We just need to find one thing in the middle. If we just look at the mirror, we’re safe. From there, cell service will work and we can report it.”

“Are you planning to go out there without even knowing where the mirror is? It’s dangerous.”

“That’s your opinion, mister. We just shouldn’t make noise, right? As long as we don’t scream like those people earlier.”

It sounded like it made sense. But is making no sound really that easy? When we’re this nervous?

I feel uneasy. I agree with finding the mirror, but the thought that going out itself is a trap keeps coming up. When I remained silent while choosing my words, they headed toward the front with confidence.

“You can’t. We don’t know how low a sound it will react to.”

“Mister, you’ve been stepping up and acting like a boss since earlier, but what do you even know? Besides throwing one buzzer, is there anything you know?”

“I also agree with finding the mirror. But finding it without stepping outside the bus…”

“Funny guy. If we don’t go out, how are we going to find it? Don’t act like a coward; if we get out, we’ll call it in for you, so back off.”

“But…!”

It doesn’t work at all. The college students pushed my shoulder hard and headed toward the driver’s seat. The melted bus driver seemed to exert no influence anymore. Nothing happened to the student who stepped on the squishy remains of the driver either.

The college students showed no signs of tension. Right up until the moment they opened the door, jokes like “I’m turning on stealth mode” continued.

Screeech—

The three college students crept down the stairs. It was a movement so quiet that not a single sound of stepping on stones or shoe soles rubbing could be heard. One foot touched the floor, and soon the next foot lifted to move forward.

Stepping a few more paces into the tunnel, a firmly intoxicated smile of victory spread across the students’ faces.

‘Is it really okay?’

Holding their breath, everyone watched the students advance to the opposite wall and shine their phone flashlights far down the tunnel. Where the light reached, no mirror was visible. The students gestured to communicate that they should move further forward.

At that moment,

Crunch.

Half the head of the college student pointing direction at the very back vanished. There was no sound, no forewarning. The flashlight beam dropped to the ground, and a pitch-black shadow pounced right behind the students.

“E-Eaaargh!!”

Screams erupted from the mouths of the students who saw their friend split in half in an instant, and—

“Run back toward the bus!!”

“S-Save me! Don’t close the door!!”

People running away while screaming, and death pouncing faster than that. Shoulders were severed. Legs flew into midair. They crawled on the ground to grab their scattered body parts.

Before blood could even flow, they became part of the black thing. Their forms vanished, and the remaining parts screamed instead of mouths.

‘The bus door!’

I hurriedly pulled the lever. Along with the announcement sound “The door is closing,” the door began to move slowly. Between the closing doors, my eyes met the panic-stricken eyes of one college student before being devoured by darkness.

Thud.

The door closed. There were now only six people left inside the bus. In a silence where no one dared to open their mouth, only the sound of heartbeats pounded as if it would tear through their ears.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

While low moans leaked out, the student who had given the buzzer sobbed.

“S-Sound, no sound was made. How… Are we all just going to die?”

“…There was a sound.”

“There was?”

A sound I had missed. Humans are entities that continuously produce sounds just by being alive. Blood flow, digestion, muscle tremors, down to heartbeats—everything transmitted through vibrations is ultimately sound, we just can’t hear it.

“That monster… can even hear the sound of a beating heart.”

We can’t go outside. Unless we could be alive while dead. People slumped into their respective seats. What should we do? What should we do?

‘There must definitely be a trick I can use.’

I look at the ghost story page again.

“During the Japanese colonial period, while digging the tunnel, they touched a tutelary stone.”

“Water filled up inside the tunnel, equipment broke down, and people died. Eventually, they pulled all the machinery out and dug it by human hands. Holding pickaxes, breaking rocks, praying, and building stone towers.”

‘Tunnel, resentment—they move based on rituals, exorcisms, or offerings in common. And the most common form of offering seen at such construction sites is a memorial stone, a stone tower…’

My thoughts arrived at stones—a stone tower built up to offer prayers and devotion. This ghost story is definitely closer to a tale attached to a past event close to history.

In that case, just like holding a ritual before shooting a movie, it might be fine if we possess something like a stone to show our devotion.

‘The problem is, how do I get a stone in the middle of this tunnel?’

Looking at the ceiling once, looking at the floor once, uselessly shaking my shoes out to see if there wasn’t a stone inside, and regretting not putting one in my pocket.

“By any chance, does anyone have a stone?”

At my out-of-nowhere question, eyes turned toward me. I began explaining so my words wouldn’t sound like crazy talk as much as possible.

“This tunnel seems to be possessed by the ghost of a tunnel where many people died in the past. You’ve probably heard of that kind through ghost stories or tales at least once. A tunnel where you die or get cursed if you pass through.”

“The one earlier… the ghost story those people who went out were talking about, right?”

“That’s right. This type always avoids resentment by holding exorcisms periodically or offering prayers every time they pass through.”

Usually, Korean ghosts are said to have the emotion of ‘han’ (unresolved resentment). Ghosts that died unfairly, have something to say, and have unresolved grudges and resentment left behind without being able to shoot Along with the Gods in the afterlife. Unlike Japanese ghosts, if you listen to their grief or perform the necessary rituals, they don’t cause harm.

“You know how when we go to places like temples, we pick up a stone, pray, and stack it up? We do it according to that logic. Holding a stone and praying… taking a gesture of understanding their story.”

Fortunately, my words had persuasiveness, so people searched their bags one by one. I’ve never missed a pet rock as much as now. When something is sold in the world, it all has its use someday. Once I get out of this tunnel, I’m raising a rock.

“I don’t have one.”

“I don’t have anything like that either.”

“Can’t it be something like a stone instead of a stone? Like stone-shaped bread.”

“I think we’d die instead for fooling around.”

While people searched their bags, seats, and even the overhead shelves, I analyzed the blog post.

Stop at a green light, pass at a red light.

Hold a stone, offer a stone. Pray.

The bus driver and passengers vanished. The bus remained.

‘For a ghost story to be established, someone has to survive and leave. Not all buses can be wiped out, so the bus company must have a countermeasure for the second ghost story to be established.’

I looked toward the driver’s seat. From the remains of the bus driver melted on the floor, the announcement was faintly repeating like an echo. Please take your seat. Please be quiet. Take your seat, be quiet…

“You have to be quiet.”

The moment I repeated the driver’s words, a thought struck my mind like lightning. Do not make sound. Be quiet. Pass through. If the driver vanishes, you cannot pass through the tunnel. Because a tunnel isn’t a road for people to walk, but a road where vehicles must move.

“W-What are you doing?”

I leaned my body inside the driving box. The driver’s seat was in a condition more horrific than expected. Blood and mashed flesh were smeared on the chair seat, and clothes dropped to the floor. On the half-bent gear shift and steering wheel, hand-shaped bloodstains were left.

The bus is fine, but the people are not fine. If the bus is fine, the people inside are safe. The thing that lets us pass through the tunnel.

Trying my best not to look closely at those remains, I began groping the seat and the front pocket.

Drip.

When my fingertips touched the melted flesh, the squishy texture felt vivid like rotting trash. Ugh, eww. I really hate this. This is a tactile escape room. It’s just a horror concept. Trying to divert my thoughts as much as possible, I repeated the same words in my mind.

‘Not here, not here either… Here is…’

Something caught on my fingertips.

“Found it.”