I Picked Up a Ghost Husband in an Escape Room - Chapter 1

**Your husband.**

I fell silent before those three bloodred characters.

A week ago, I had visited the most famous escape room in the city.

Rumor had it that there was something deeply uncanny about the place. After playing there once, people would start encountering all sorts of strange things. The only way to make them stop was to promote the venue.

I had curled my lip when I heard that.

What a clumsy advertising stunt.

I had always been brave. A firm believer in science.

Until I came home from that escape room.

First, a peeled apple began appearing on my table.

Then a hair clip that had broken months ago somehow turned up perfectly mended.

Most importantly, every night since my visit, whenever I drifted between sleep and waking, I felt a damp, clinging presence settle heavily around me.

Less like it was pinning me down than holding me.

Then, tonight, I distinctly felt something brush my lips.

Softly. Ice-cold.

Only once. The weight pressing over me vanished immediately afterward.

My eyes flew open in the darkness, and I bolted upright.

A few seconds later, resigned to my fate, I picked up my phone and wrote the escape room a review.

According to the rumors, once I posted something promotional, all the strange phenomena would disappear.

The review was live. Yet I could only stare at the mirror and the words **Your husband** written across it.

Bold as brass, with no intention of disappearing whatsoever.

“I don’t think I… have a husband?” I ventured.

Still refusing to believe it, I moved closer to inspect the mirror.

For an instant, its surface seemed to ripple like water. A shadow flashed across it—or maybe I had imagined it.

A cold draft swept past.

With a sharp clatter, a bottle of face wash toppled off the counter.

Somehow, I knew *it* was angry.

I put the bottle back. “Don’t be mad. I honestly don’t remember what happened. Write it down and tell me.”

Silence held for two seconds.

The words **Your husband** faded.

Then more characters began appearing in a crooked scrawl.

**Seven days ago, in the escape rooom, you and me, wearing red bridal veil, bowed at wedding. So, I am your husband, must follow you home…**

The mirror quickly filled with dense lines of tiny red writing.

Maybe there were too many words. He wrote slowly, with obvious effort. Every couple of strokes, he had to stop.

Then he started rubbing out his typos.

…

“Stop, stop.” My fear evaporated. I couldn’t bear to watch anymore. “Do you have an easier way to communicate?”

After a long pause, my phone lit up in the darkness.

A text message had arrived.