Chapter 2: Ghost Bride and Small-Town Secrets

The game dropped me straight into a ghost marriage. Several dialogue options appeared:

[1: Who is Maggie?]

[2: Who wants to be with you?]

[3: Take me home.]

[4: Are you willing to give everything for me?]

Option four? That’s a red flag in every horror movie ever made. No need to ask who Maggie is, option two’s a bit harsh, and option three—well, whose home, exactly? I picked “Take me home.” I needed to get into human society ASAP.

Gotta play the long game. Besides, haunted chapels don’t serve home-cooked meals.

The illustration shifted—the guy came over and helped me up. “Let’s go.”

He offered his hand, rough and warm, like he’d spent years hauling hay bales. For a second, I forgot he was just a bunch of code.

[Reply options:]

[1: You lead, I’ll follow.]

[2: Carry me on your back.]

[3: Hold me in your arms.]

Option one’s too stiff, three’s too much. I went with “Carry me on your back.”

Perfect mix of trust and distance. Plus, after crawling out of a coffin, who wouldn’t want a piggyback ride?

He grinned, hoisted me up, and we were off. The journey blurred into a sun-dappled montage—woods, dust, the whole small-town vibe. For a text game, it nailed the eerie nostalgia.

[You have arrived at the Maple Hollow area.]

[Your reputation in this area +50. Coming back from the dead, people are wary.]

[Building a statue can light up the area map. Build one?]

I hit yes without a second thought.

Lighting up the map is Game 101. Plus, who can resist marking new territory?

[You built a statue.]

[Your statue was destroyed.]

That was quick. In the illustration, an old man led a group over and barked, “Ethan, take care of your woman. Maple Hollow only worships the Hollow Spirit.”

The crowd’s voices rose, sharp as cicadas on a July afternoon, as the old man smashed the statue. He had the vibe of a small-town sheriff—boots caked in mud, eyes narrowed. The rest kept their distance, crossing themselves or muttering about ‘unnatural things.’

Ethan squared up, voice steady—like a guy who’s had to shut down rumors since middle school. “I will.”

After they left, he turned to me, “Maggie, don’t do that again. They’ll hurt you.”

His tone was gentle, but fear flickered behind his eyes—classic small-town drama. Three replies popped up:

[Reply 1: I insist on building it.]

[Reply 2: They’re all bullying me.]

[Reply 3: (Look at him pitifully.)]

I picked the third. Met his gaze for a second. Ethan softened. “Build one at home, just don’t let anyone else know.”

He ran a hand through his hair, awkward but sweet—like a high school couple sneaking around behind their parents’ backs.

A knot twisted in my gut. Even pixels could make me feel like a jerk.

[You built a small statue in Ethan’s home. Part of the area map is now visible.]

Inside, his place was all mismatched furniture and faded wallpaper—pure Midwest Americana. My little statue sat on a bookshelf, half-hidden by old baseball trophies.

I opened the map. Only the ruined chapel and part of Maple Hollow were lit up—the rest was fogged out, pulsing faintly. If only real life came with a mini-map.

Back to the game. Text displayed locations: [Outside the door], [East room], [West room], [Vegetable garden], [Chicken coop]...

It felt like exploring a digital version of Grandma’s farmhouse. I could almost smell fresh-cut grass and fried chicken.

Clicked [Vegetable garden]: [Plant], [Harvest], [Pest control], [Water].

Clicked [Chicken coop]: [Feed], [Pet], [Release], [Collect eggs].

Clicked [East room]: [Wardrobe], [Desk], [Wooden bed], [Floor bedding].

Clicked [West room].

[You hear a strange cough.]

I followed the prompt: “Is there someone else in the room?”

Ethan replied, “My mom is unwell. She lives in the west room. She’s afraid of strangers, so don’t disturb her.”

He avoided my eyes, fidgeting with his sleeves—a sure sign something was up. The tension was thick as Thanksgiving gravy.

Not letting the wife meet the mother-in-law? That’s a zombie movie setup. For now, I let it go and clicked [Cultivate].

I needed to restore demon power first.

[Demon power: 13/50; Divine power: 5/5.]

[You are being worshipped. View?]

Clicked view.

Ethan offered incense to the statue. “Please bless Maggie with health and a speedy recovery.”

He knelt on the faded welcome mat, lips moving in a silent prayer, a half-burned stick of incense trembling in his hand. I felt a pang for the real Maggie, wherever she might be.

A devoted man—but sadly, his Maggie will never return.

The line landed heavier than I expected. Even fake people like Ethan deserved better.

[You tasted the incense. Divine power +5.]

The UI sparkled, golden motes dancing above the statue. I could almost smell sweet sandalwood.

Days passed in-game. After talking with neighbors, a new dialogue triggered:

“Did you hear? The demon hunting squad is coming.”

“What’s the demon hunting squad?”

“You don’t know? They catch monsters.”

“Wow! If they catch all the monsters, can we go into the woods for mushrooms again?”

The gossip was wildfire—kids whispering, adults glancing over their shoulders. Small-town America, where nothing stays secret.

After a flurry of dialogue, the game flashed:

[The federal demon hunting squad is about to arrive in Maple Hollow.]

[Divine power greater than demon power reduces your chance of being attacked.]

[Demon power greater than divine power increases your risk of exposure.]

A federal squad? Black vans and suits? I pictured the FBI meets Supernatural. Black vans idled at the curb, their engines humming low. Neighbors peeked from behind curtains, the whole street holding its breath.

I’d explored every corner—mapped chicken coops, chatted up shopkeepers, even the stray cats. My digital alter ego was the talk of the town—free soup at the shelter, extra blankets for the old vet. Reputation points racked up like Halloween candy.

If I could just replace the Hollow Spirit’s statue, my divine power would skyrocket. Still a tall order.

The rival statue loomed in the square, chipped but stubborn. Every time I passed, I felt its eyes on me.

Maybe I should head out of town and hunt monsters. Let’s go.

I cracked my knuckles. Time to flex those demon muscles.

[You found a two-legged sheep standing upright. Looks like it escaped from Old Jim’s farm the other day.]

[1: Attack.]

[2: Ignore.]

[3: Converse.]

I chose to converse. The illustration zoomed in on the sheep’s hollow eyes. “You’re from Maple Hollow? There’s something terrible there.”

It bleated in a raspy, almost human voice. I shivered, remembering late-night campfire tales.

I pressed for details. It said, “I don’t know what it is. Just stay away.”

The text stuttered, like the sheep was scared of more than just me.

Moments later: [The two-legged sheep invites you to mate.]

Looking at the illustration—basically a Western goat-headed demon. Sorry, not my scene. I picked [Attack].

I laughed—classic horror bait. The soundtrack twisted, and I tapped [Attack] with gusto.

But as I stared at the locked door to the west room, I couldn’t shake the feeling someone—or something—was watching me from the shadows.