Got Dropped into a Ghost Story, Still Gotta Work

The ghost story taxi calls for us.

Beyond the shop’s front door.

Honk, honk—

If we board it and follow the manual properly, we can definitely get to Seoul Station…

The problem is figuring out how to get into that taxi.

‘It’s parked outside the shop’s main door.’

That’s precisely why I sought out a shop with a front door—because the alleys of Death Lane are too narrow for a taxi to stop.

‘So, to hail and board the taxi, we need to step beyond the front door…’

But there’s no telling what kind of scenery will unfold outside that door, nor whether Lee Jaheon and I will make it out unscathed.

That’s why I prepared a countermeasure.

Using a product from this shop.

‘I planned to stop by here anyway, and since this shop has a front door, it’s killing two birds with one stone.’

I swallowed hard.

“Squad Leader, let’s proceed as planned.”

“Yes.”

Lee Jaheon reached into the paper bag he was holding and quickly ripped the packaging open.

Along with the cozy socks, a small ball of yarn was revealed.

It seemed the handmade shop included it as a freebie, likely for patching up the socks. But now, it would serve a different purpose.

“Let’s begin.”

Avoiding the shopkeeper’s gaze, I unwound one end of the red yarn and tied it firmly to the leg of a display case.

Then, I halved the yarn ball, handing one half to Lee Jaheon while holding the other myself.

Though it would restrict our movements, it was safer for both of us to hold the yarn directly.

“Let’s go.”

“Yes.”

Slowly unraveling the yarn, I stood with my back to the opaque glass door and walked backward…

As soon as my back touched the glass, I groped for the handle below.

Click.

The door swung open, letting in a sudden gust of wind.

And a raw blast of horn sounds.

Honk, honk—

Don’t look back.

Matching steps with Lee Jaheon, I carefully continued walking backward.

Thankfully, I had a reliable guide to act as my eyes.

– Keep walking backward in that direction, Friend! It’s nighttime, so there aren’t many pedestrians.

…Pedestrians? No, don’t dwell on it.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Fixing my gaze on the shop interior, I kept walking backward without glancing at the dark surroundings.

The yarn connecting me to the shop served as my lifeline, keeping me tethered to Death Lane.

‘As long as I hold onto this, I’m not considered missing!’

Slowly, steadily, without rushing, I retreated…

Thud.

I bumped into something.

Honk, honk—

…The taxi.

The blaring horn reverberated through the car, making my body tremble.

Cautiously, I reached back, my hand brushing against the smooth surface of the car.

– Just a little to the left.

I adjusted my hand and felt a sleek groove.

‘The handle.’

I grabbed it, pulled the door open, and slipped into the taxi.

There wasn’t even time to take in the clean, modern interior. I moved over to the seat on the other side and immediately made room for Lee Jaheon, who entered right after me.

As soon as he was in, he tossed the remaining yarn out and slammed the door shut.

The sheer force made the entire sequence happen in an instant.

BANG—

“……”

I finally lifted my head.

In the driver’s seat sat a man in an impeccably pressed, eerie uniform, wearing a peaked cap.

“Please take us to Seoul Station.”

……

[The estimated arrival time is 43 minutes.]

The taxi glided forward smoothly.

‘Phew.’

Leaning back into the seat, I let out a deep sigh of relief.

We made it, for now!

‘Transitioned into a new ghost story… success.’

Of course, since this taxi was itself a ghost story, I couldn’t afford to relax.

I quickly recalled the relevant wiki entry.

The infamous ghost story called ‘Hellfare Taxi’, a name that suggests nothing but trouble when it comes to the fare.

The taxi is typically described as a black luxury sedan of German make.

While the model varies with each call, it can be identified by its scarlet taxi sign and the golden inverted cross ornament hanging from the rearview mirror.

I glanced at the driver’s mirror.

…There it was, the ominous golden inverted cross, swaying lightly.

Confirmed.

‘Huu.’

Even though everything was going according to plan, tension crawled up my spine.

Was it because I was trapped in the confined space of the taxi? The suffocating realization that I was now inside a ghost story where escape was impossible added to the pressure…

Tick, tick.

The meter climbed.

[10,000]

[10,100]

[10,200]

Fast.

“Mr. Driver.”

I had to start talking quickly.

The less interested the driver became in the passenger, the faster the vehicle would move, and the meter would climb rapidly.

And as the meter increased…

Taxi passengers are cursed with a curse equivalent to the amount displayed on the meter when they disembark.

That’s right.

This taxi didn’t charge money as a fare—it assigned curses instead.

Strictly speaking, it wasn’t exactly a curse but more akin to ‘supernaturally induced misfortune’, which made it even more chilling.

However, if the driver maintained steady interest in the passenger and drove slowly, the meter would rise gradually, and the resulting ‘misfortune’ would be manageable for the passenger.

In the opposite case…

‘The moment you step out of a wildly speeding taxi, you’re hit with an unbearable curse.’

And no matter how fast the taxi went, it wouldn’t reach the destination early.

All taxis arrive precisely on time, unaffected by the vehicle’s speed.

My allocated time was 43 minutes.

For that duration, I had to consistently hold the driver’s interest.

‘If the vehicle speeds up, there’s a higher chance of strange phenomena occurring inside, like the windows shattering… or so the records say.’

I had no intention of experiencing that.

Fortunately, I’d read the records and knew what kind of conversations could pique the driver’s interest.

The problem?

The taxi is operated by a team of four drivers who work in shifts and refer to one another by numbers.

While their appearances are completely identical, subtle differences can be observed in their interactions with passengers. Each driver also displays a unique preference for specific topics of conversation, adding a distinctive flair to their service.

Since they looked the same, you couldn’t tell who was who. And if you asked directly, ‘Which number are you?’ they would take offense and eject you from the taxi.

‘And anyone ejected becomes a missing person…’

Thus, the only way to figure it out was through conversation.

In exploration records, the following keywords were identified as subjects of interest for each driver :

Number 1 / Olympics, elections, pets, games, social media.

Number 2 / War, mafia, action movies, vampire legends, firearms.

Number 3 / Fine dining, farming, economic recessions, slum tourism, luxury goods.

Number 4 / The afterlife, religious experiences, pandemics, mass murders, ■■■.

The standard strategy was to determine which driver you were dealing with as quickly as possible through the first few exchanges.

But if you have as much information as I do from the records, there’s another option.

A conversation method to exit the taxi in the best possible condition.

[Mr. Passenger.]

“……”

The first question was here.

From the front seat, a low, slightly mocking voice flowed from the driver, who was steering the car…

[How was your day?]