"Don't forget to pick up your letter."

  If it weren’t for my assistant-- Xion's reminders, I probably would have forgotten all about it.

  In this age of instant emails and text messages, I couldn't imagine who would bother sending me a physical letter.

  I tore open the plain white envelope. Inside, I found another—this time, a brown craft paper envelope.

  This better be something good, I thought. A long-lost inheritance, a dark secret—something worthy of the suspense.

  I was right.

  On the kraft envelope was a name—LIN.

  Last year, during the Ghost Festival, I had a chance encounter with Lin, a journalist, in N City. And somehow, it had taken an entire year for this letter to reach me.

  I slid out a small stack of photographs. A folded piece of paper fluttered to the floor.

  I picked it up.

  "Told you, surprise!"

  The words were scrawled in English.

  I could almost hear her voice, teasing and full of mischief.

  I turned my attention to the photos—five in total. A sequence of snapshots, each capturing me in a moment of surprise, staring wide-eyed at the camera. At first glance, the only difference between them was the slight variation in my expression.

  But then I noticed something else.

  A white anomaly.

  The first photo had only a few scattered white specks—static noise, perhaps, or a trick of the light. The second was nearly the same.

  In the third, the specks had stretched into irregular white streaks.

  By the fourth, an eerie, cotton-like mass had begun creeping into the frame from the right side.

  In the fifth, that mass had grown—swelling, twisting—until it loomed over my left shoulder.

  A chill prickled down my spine.

  So, this is what they call a "ghost photo"?

  I wanted to dismiss it as coincidence, an optical illusion—just some strange artifact of the camera.

  But curiosity gnawed at me.

  Not just about the photos, but about something else.

  How did Lin know my home address?

  I had only ever given her my work contact—a business card that listed my magazine's office. Yet, here was the letter, arriving directly at my doorstep.

  I called Xion, to ask if anyone had inquired about my home address at the office.

  “No one,” Xion replied.

  Just as I was about to hang up, I hesitated and asked, “Hey... do you know anything about ghost photos?”

  Xion paused. “Not really. But I have a friend who might be an expert. Why? Something wrong?”

  I suddenly felt foolish. How was I supposed to explain this without sounding paranoid?

  “Oh, nothing. Just curious.”

  “Well, I can ask my friend for you,” Xion said, already making plans before I could refuse.

  That afternoon, I found myself standing in front of a discreet photography studio tucked away in a quiet alley.

  From the outside, the building looked unremarkable—just an old structure with a pair of wooden double doors.

  Stepping inside, a narrow stone pathway led through a small, overgrown bamboo grove before reaching a two-story glass building.

  The first floor was an office. The second, a photography studio and a darkroom. The walls were lined with framed photographs—most of them high-end commercial shots, some even vaguely familiar.

  Nothing about this place seemed strange.

  I glanced at Xion, skeptical.

  Was this really where I was going to find a “ghost photo expert”?

  Before I could voice my doubts, a man emerged from the second floor.

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  He was dressed casually in a white button-down and jeans. His face was clean-shaven except for a small goatee. Silver-dyed hair, styled in a Mohawk, gleamed under the sunlight filtering through the windows.

  Xion grinned. “This is Gai. He’s the one I was telling you about—an expert in ghost photos.”

  “You must be Mr. Hai,” Gai said, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  I hesitated before shaking his hand. “Uh, just call me Hai.”

  He led us to a cozy tea room, listening as Xion explained why we were here.

  As Gai prepared a pot of green tea, he asked, “So, did you bring the photos?”

  I slid them across the table.

  Gai examined them in silence.

  Then, he looked up.

  “Yeah. These are real ghost photos.”

  I frowned.

  Of course, the ‘expert’ would say that.

  The more convinced he sounded, the more I wanted to believe otherwise.

  Gai studied me. “Since taking these photos, have you experienced anything unusual?”

  I shook my head.

  “Any discomfort in your left shoulder?”

  Another shake.

  “Had any bad luck recently?”

  Yet again, I shook my head.

  Gai leaned back. “Then you’re fine.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “But are these really ghost photos?”

  He nodded and poured tea into our cups.

  “So… that’s a ghost?” I asked.

  Another nod.

  “Are all ghost photos like this?”

  This time, he hesitated.

  Then, he shook his head.

  “If you’re interested, I can show you more,” Gai offered. “Want to see?”

  I forced a laugh, glancing at Xion, who was practically bouncing with excitement.

  Gai’s gaze was expectant.

  It felt rude to refuse.

  “…Sure,” I said.

  He led us upstairs, past the darkroom, into a bedroom-like space.

  The walls were covered with commercial posters. A massive bookshelf—nearly two meters tall and four meters wide—dominated one side of the room.

  Gai pulled out a thick binder and placed it in front of us.

  Xion and I exchanged a glance.

  Gai flipped it open.

  Page after page, filled with photographs and newspaper clippings.

  “What… is all this?” I asked.

  “My collection,” he said. “Ghost photos from over the years. Some were sent to me by strangers, others I gathered myself.”

  He explained that he used to be a DJ for a paranormal radio show. Many of these photos were sent in by listeners.

  “Some are fake,” Gai admitted. “But the ones I’m showing you? They’re real.”

  As an experienced photographer and a Photoshop expert, Gai claimed he could tell the difference.

  And for the ones he couldn’t debunk?

  He investigated them himself.

  Many of the newspaper clippings attached to the photos were reports he had dug up—articles meant to verify the authenticity of what was captured.

  “Ever made a mistake?” I asked.

  “Of course,” Gai said. “I’m sure some of these still aren’t real. But for now, they’re the closest to proof I have.”

  I flipped through the binder. The photos were eerily ordinary.

  Family outings. Graduation ceremonies. Birthday parties. Couples’ selfies. Landscapes. Still-life shots.

  Nothing special.

  Except for the ghostly details—the faint face in a window, a shadowy figure in a mirror, a pale hand resting on someone’s shoulder.

  “These are from this year,” Gai said. “Want to see some older ones? More authentic.”

  He pulled another thick binder from the shelf.

  “This one’s from 1997 to 1998,” he said. “Back then, we only had film cameras. Much harder to fake.”

  I opened the binder.

  One article caught my eye.

  ‘1997: Mysterious Disappearance of a Young Girl in Y City.’

  Beneath it, two photos.

  Both taken in the same dimly lit hallway.

  A young man stood in the foreground, eyes closed. Behind him, silhouetted in the light at the end of the corridor…

  A girl.

  Shoulder-length hair. A long dress.

  A ghostly presence.

  My grip tightened on the page.

  I could feel her staring at me.

  “There’s also a close-up shot,” Gai said.

  I turned to the next page and saw the enlarged photograph. Even though the graininess had intensified, I could still make out—or rather, feel—the sorrowful gaze of the girl staring straight into the camera.

  “Do you have any other photos from this place?” I asked.

  “No, that’s all,” Gai replied. “To be honest, that night was terrifying. I snapped these two shots and got out of there as fast as I could. After all, I was just a twenty-year-old kid back then.”

  “1997? Twenty years old?” I looked at Gai in disbelief.

  He chuckled. “Yeah, I’m almost fifty now. But even now, when I think back to that night in Y City, I still get chills. Sometimes, I even have nightmares about it.”

  I glanced back at the photos in the archive, feeling a wave of emotions that I couldn’t quite put into words. So instead, I waited for Gai to continue his story.

  Gai's Story

  In 1997, the city of Y was a peaceful place—until the first day of May, when a young girl vanished without a trace.

  Every year, the police received numerous reports of missing persons, but this particular case shook the entire city. The girl wasn’t a celebrity, nor was she anyone of particular importance. It was the circumstances of her disappearance that sent chills down people’s spines.

  That girl disappeared in a six-story building.

  She had only gone downstairs to open the door for her younger brother, who had forgotten his key. And yet, she was never seen again.

  According to reports, their apartment was on the fourth floor of the building. The entire trip—from the moment she answered the intercom to the time she would have reached the front door—should have taken no more than a minute. But when her brother arrived, she wasn’t there. He rang the doorbell again and again, waited, called her name. No answer. Eventually, their mother returned from work and let him in. Together, they searched the apartment, the building, the neighborhood. There was no sign of her.

  Desperate, they knocked on every door in the building. No one had seen her. The police combed through every inch of the complex. No leads. Fortunately, the neighborhood had recently installed security cameras. But when they reviewed the footage, all they saw was the younger brother standing alone at the front door, waiting. No one had come out. No one had gone in. The girl had simply disappeared.

  One week passed, then two, then months. The case went cold, fading into local legend.

  Years later, the area was marked for demolition. One by one, families moved out, including the girl’s mother and brother. But as soon as the demolition began, the stories started. Construction workers heard a girl crying at night. Others claimed to see a pale figure wandering through the empty halls. The rumors spread like wildfire, grew more terrifying, and soon, the site became infamous.

  Then, for reasons unknown—perhaps a lack of funding, or a sudden change in city plans—the demolition was halted halfway. The skeleton of the building was left to rot. Over time, it became known as a haunted place, a ghost building. Some claimed that if you stood outside on a quiet night, you could see a light flickering in the window of the fourth floor. And if you looked closely, you might see the outline of a girl standing there, watching.

  Stories of the ghostly apartment spread to the internet, where a new generation of thrill-seekers latched onto the legend. Online forums buzzed with talk of exploring the ruins. Most were just empty words.

  But Gai was different.

  The summer of 1998, Gai and a university friend arrived in Y city. With a brand-new Nikon film camera slung over his shoulder, he set out to find the infamous ghost building.