Rule Horror: My Dictionary Is Scarier Than the Ghosts

A convenience store, 2:17 a.m. Rain lashes the glass door at an angle, and the air conditioner’s outdoor unit hums.

An old man with a mouth split from ear to ear, a giant planarian worm crawling up through the floor, and the eternally dark hallway lights in the S-rank instance “Happy Apartment.”

Science has failed, and the rules have collapsed. Gray fog swallows the streets. Survivors huddle inside safe zones, while the things lurking in the dark bare their teeth and wait for you to bend down.

In this world, human lives are as insignificant as dust.

As the world crumbles, someone sees a young man standing between a gaping monster and a giant planarian. A silver pendant glimmers faintly, and the pages of a dictionary turn on their own.

The monster’s tentacles hang just three inches above his head, but can go no farther.

“Young man, I’m old and my back’s no good. Could you pick up the bar of soap I dropped?”

One punch, and blood rains down!

“Don’t mention it, sir!”