The Seven-Day Death Knell: Your Name Is the Sacrifice

A blood-red countdown on my phone is racing: seven days. If I can't find the name, I'll become an offering.

Mirrors all over the city reflect people on their own, and black water gushes from the pipes in the dead of night. I, Chen Yan, follow the strange old man Shen Jian into the underground tunnels and escape to the old mountains.

Something outside the observation station pounds furiously on the walls. The drinking water inexplicably reeks, and the pickle jar gives off the aroma of stewed meat, even though the stove is ice-cold. The people begging for help outside have soles smeared with a slime that devours people without leaving a bone behind.

We flee for our lives into a river valley, only to realize that the entire underground has already been bored through. The path beneath our feet is soft, like walking along the intestines of a living thing.

At the end lies a warm little town, brightly lit, with barking dogs and laughing people. It's so normal it makes our scalps crawl.

As soon as one of our companions steps inside, they are dragged away, leaving only a pile of clothes behind. Every “person” on the street turns their head in unison to face us, grinning the exact same grin.

Shen Jian's voice turns icy. “They don't kill people. They ‘replace’ them. They peel off your skin and live in your place.”

He suddenly digs a black hole out from beneath the rotting leaves. A foul wind, mixed with the sound of writhing slime, rushes toward us, and the compass needle spins wildly.

He stares at me and says each word deliberately:

“Go down.”

Below is a monster's lair. Behind us is a ghost town full of things wearing human skin.

The countdown has only three days left.

Go in, and we die.

Turn back, and we'll be “replaced.”