I opened my eyes to a sharp sting in my arm.

Pushing up my sleeve, I froze.

A dense line of jagged letters had been carved into the skin of my right forearm:

[This house has monsters! Every time I'm killed, I'm thrown into a loop and lose all my memories. With each death, I mark my hand.]

Beneath the warning, three crooked tally marks were etched deep into my arm.

The words carved into my arm sent a chill racing down my spine.

If what they said was true… didn't that mean I had already been killed by the monster fifteen times?

"That's impossible… maybe it's just a sick prank…" I murmured under my breath.

But when I lifted my arm slightly, a tearing pain shot through me, making my whole body flinch. The wounds split open, and warm blood seeped out.

The wounds were deep and shallow by turns, warped and jagged, absolutely horrifying to look at.

Yet all I remembered was falling asleep at home. How could so many injuries appear out of nowhere? And why did I have no memory of them at all?

"Could I really have carved these myself?"

A shiver ran through me. I forced myself to calm down, reasoning it through.

"If it's just a prank, the worst is that I've been fooled. But if it's real… then I'm in serious danger. Better to assume it's all true, just to be safe, and treat it seriously.

"Still… I have no memory of any monster. Does that mean I was killed again in the last loop, and my mind was wiped clean? If so, this would be the start of a new cycle. Which means… I've actually died sixteen times, not fifteen."

I got to my feet, intending to find a utility knife to carve a new mark into my arm.

When I turned my head, I saw my knife lying right beside my pillow. Faint traces of blood still clung to the blade. I never kept it there—normally, my utility knife stayed in the pen holder on my desk.

Without hesitation, I picked it up and etched a fresh mark into my arm, gritting my teeth until it was done. Then, carefully, I slid the knife into my pocket.

The moment my hand went in, my fingers brushed against a folded scrap of paper.

On it, in shaky red writing, was a single line:

[The monster is tampering with my memory. Trust no one. Not even myself.]

I tucked the paper back into my pocket and lowered my head in thought.

Even though my memories were wiped each time, the blood on the knife and the writing on the paper proved that physical traces seemed to survive the reset.

Sixteen deaths. Sixteen cycles. In each one, I must have tried to leave myself clues.

I still knew nothing about the monster. If I wanted a way out, I had to gather every scrap of information I could.

Wasting no time, I began searching the room. After all, no one knew my hiding spots better than I did.

Sure enough, tucked away in familiar places, I found two more notes.

[The monster's cycle isn't endless. If you can't escape within a set number of loops, you will die. Permanently.]

[The monster is cunning and deceptive. It hides well and can take human form. But I suspect it can't kill at will. It must meet certain conditions first. I still haven't figured out what those conditions are.]

These, too, were messages I had left for myself—warnings from past loops, reaching across death to keep me alive.

After reading the notes, I tucked them away again, along with the one I'd found in my pocket when I first woke up.

If I failed to escape this loop, they would become the next cycle's lifeline.

I had just hidden them all and risen to my feet when a faint, scratching sound came from behind me, like fingernails raking across wood.

Startled, I turned toward the bathroom. Only then did I notice the door was shut.

That was strange. I always left it slightly ajar.

Who was inside?

The sound continued, fine and rapid, like long nails frantically clawing at the door… or like a swarm of worms writhing over its surface.

Suddenly, it stopped.

A heartbeat later, it returned.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Something was slamming against the door.

The pounding grew wild and relentless, like a storm hammering down, shaking the wood on its hinges.

Could the monster be in there?

Every hair on my body stood on end, and for a moment I almost bolted from the room.

But just as my hand was about to grasp the door handle, a flash of reason forced me to stop.

No. Something didn't add up.

If it really was the monster, how could it be trapped in a bathroom?

And if a place this close to me was truly dangerous, wouldn't my past selves have left a warning?

It wouldn't even have to be elaborate. Just carving "Don't go to the bathroom" into my arm would've done the job.

By that logic, the bathroom probably wasn't as dangerous as it seemed.

Forcing down the fear twisting in my gut, I turned to face the door, still rattling under heavy blows.

After a moment's thought, I grabbed a sticky note from my desk and scrawled: [Strange noises are coming from the bathroom. I'm going to check it out. If there's nothing written after this, it means I died, and the bathroom is extremely dangerous. If I return safely, I'll add the words "Bathroom is safe."]

It was insurance—something to guide my next self, should this one fail.

I slipped the note into a book, then crept toward the bathroom.

Taking a deep breath, I set my trembling right hand on the doorknob.

The instant my fingers touched the cold metal, the sound cut off completely.

The sudden silence was somehow more unnerving than the pounding had been.

I swallowed hard, refusing to give myself a chance to hesitate, and wrenched the door open.

"What the—? There's nothing here."

Relief started to loosen my chest… until it froze again in the next second.

If the bathroom was empty, then what had been making that noise?

I scanned the small space, suspicion prickling at me, when I saw a faint stain had begun to bloom across the opposite wall.

Blood.

It deepened, spread, multiplied—scrawling wildly across the wall in a feverish repetition:

Help me let me out help me let me out help me let me out

Help me let me out help me let me out help me let me out

Help me let me out help me let me out help me—

I jolted back several steps, heart pounding.

When I looked again, the wall was pristine, spotless—as if nothing had ever been there.

What… was that?

The noise. The blood. Both had appeared out of nowhere… and vanished just as suddenly.

Whatever it was, at least it hadn't hurt me.

I slowly backed away to my desk, retrieved the sticky note, and added a line beneath my earlier note.

[The bathroom is safe. Still, something about it is strange. The sound of claws scratching at the door appeared out of nowhere and vanished just as suddenly. The blood-written "Help me let me out" did the same. I suspect there's another secret hidden inside. Best to keep my distance for now.]

Placing the note back, I pulled out my phone, opened the voice recorder, and tucked it close against my body.

After taking a steadying breath, I opened the door.

To be honest, countless terrifying possibilities flashed through my mind in that instant—monsters lunging at me with bared teeth, or the sight of my family brutally slain.

But when the door swung open, the living room looked perfectly ordinary.

Mom was in the kitchen, stirring something in a wok. Dad lounged on the sofa, eyes fixed on the TV.

My sister wasn't in sight—probably locked away in her room, glued to her phone again.

It was such a normal, harmonious scene that I couldn't help but doubt myself. Was the monster real? Or had I imagined the whole thing?

No. The monster could take human form. Perhaps one of my family members had already been replaced. I couldn't let my guard down, I reminded myself sharply.

Just then, Mom poked her head out of the kitchen and called, "Jason, I need to take a call. Keep an eye on this dish. Don't let it burn."

She wiped her hands on her apron and hurried off toward the balcony, phone in hand.

"Alright, got it."

Until I figured out who or what the monster was, I decided to act normal. No need to tip it off.

The potatoes and braised pork simmered gently on low heat. I gave the pot a lazy stir, added a splash of water, and glanced around.

Nothing unusual in the kitchen. Nothing in the living room either.

I kept my eyes on the food but let my gaze sweep the house in quick, sidelong glances.

Halfway through her call, Mom popped her head in again from the balcony.

"I almost forgot, add some salt and MSG," she said.

"Okay."

I followed her instructions, and by the time the dish was done, she had finished her call. Still, I hadn't noticed anything amiss.

"Strange… maybe the whole monster thing really was just a trick…" I muttered under my breath.

"What are you mumbling about? Set the table, dinner's ready," Mom said, ladling soup as she spoke.

"Alright."

The smell of the potatoes and pork made my stomach growl. I swallowed hard and turned toward the cupboard to fetch the bowls.

And the next second, a piercing scream tore from my throat.

The bowls were gone. In their place were human heads, each the size of a clenched fist.

Stacked one atop another, every head wore the same face… My mother's face.

One by one, the heads opened their cold, malevolent eyes and grinned with feral malice.

My scream shattered into nothingness.

I opened my eyes to a stabbing pain in my arm.

Yanking up my sleeve, I stared in shock at the words carved into my skin:

[[This house has monsters! Every time I'm killed, I'm thrown into a loop and lose all my memories. With each death, I mark my hand.]