The air backstage smelled of moldy old newspapers mixed with the scent of cheap, heated-up plastic. Aiden sat on a rickety wooden chair, staring at the few brightly colored overdue notices on his desk. The electric bill, the water bill, and the one his landlady had written by hand, her handwriting crooked but the threat perfectly clear. Another day, another empty theater. Another day, zero income.

Damn it.
He cursed under his breath, crumpled the electric bill in his fist, and tossed it into the trash can in the corner.

A cheap skull prop, its hook loose, dropped straight down from the wall and rolled to his feet. Its hollow eye sockets stared right at him.
He nudged the plastic skull with his foot.

What, are you trying to bail on me too, pal.

He opened his laptop, connected to the spotty Wi-Fi, and started his usual livestream. A small window in the corner of the screen showed his listless face. The viewer count was pathetically low. He leaned back in his chair, too tired to even force a smile.

I'm out of fresh ideas, guys.
He said into the microphone, his voice weak.
I'm tight on cash right now, can't even afford the gas to go too far.

A few comments slowly scrolled across the screen.
ScreamingChicken: Dude, do something exciting for once. I'm sick of seeing this broken-down haunted house. About to unsubscribe.
JustSomeGuy: Yeah, if you've got nothing better to do, go play with a lighter.
SomeOtherGal: You look so down, streamer. Didn't you eat again?

Aiden sighed and ignored the taunts. He mumbled a few noncommittal replies while browsing websites aimlessly, hoping to find any odd job that could bring in some quick cash. He clicked on a local forum, and a post title caught his eye like a needle.
The absolute creepiest funeral home in town.
He read the title out loud without thinking.

The dead silence in his chat room suddenly came to life.
ScreamingChicken: This is it! Go there now, streamer! Bet it’s way more exciting than your fake haunted house.
JustSomeGuy: Do it! I'll even throw you a small gift! A dollar is still love!
SomeOtherGal: Me too! Go, streamer, go!

Aiden hesitated.
It's late. They're probably closed.
The chat almost immediately flooded his screen.
You scared?
Thought you said you've slept in morgues.
Just say it if you're a coward.

Aiden stared at the words scrolling past, feeling as if he were being poked in the chest. His flimsy sense of pride was pricked. He clenched his jaw.

Fine, I'll go.
He said to the camera, as if making some kind of resolution.
Just you wait, I'm heading out now. All for the show.

The town was as quiet as a graveyard at night. Aiden parked his car on a street with almost no streetlights. The funeral home was on the corner, a dark void, like a great beast lurking in the shadows. The lettering on the sign above the door was so faded he could barely make out what it said.
He pushed open the creaking wooden door. A thick wave of dust and a strange, spicy smell hit him. He turned on his phone's flashlight. In the beam, countless dust motes danced madly. The shop was filled with jars he couldn't name and oddly shaped wooden carvings.
A tall, thin old man emerged from the shadows in the back of the shop, as silent as a ghost. This was Silas.

Silas's voice was raspy, as if it had been scraped with sandpaper.
I knew you would come.
Aiden flinched, instinctively pointing his phone's camera at him and taking a step back.
How did you know? Who are you?
Silas ignored his questions. Instead, he took something from under the counter and placed it gently on the dusty table. It was a very old smartphone. The edges of the casing were heavily worn, and there was a dark red stain on the screen that wouldn't wipe off.

Stream with this. They will come.
The old man said.
Aiden was taken aback for a moment, then stepped forward.
What do you mean? You selling it to me? What's the price.
The old man slowly shook his head.
It does not cost money. But it requires a trade.
Aiden let out a dry laugh, trying to mask his unease with a joke.
What, you want my soul or something.
Silas just watched him quietly. He didn't nod, and he didn't shake his head. His eyes were murky, yet bottomless.

Aiden's stream was still live, the camera pointed at the old phone and the old man. The chat room had erupted, the comments scrolling by at high speed.
Just take it, streamer, what are you scared of! This is a god-tier plot hook!
No risk, no reward! It's just a beat-up phone!
This old guy is creepy as hell, there's gotta be a story there, take it!

Aiden looked at the phone, his mind at war with itself. He thought of the bills. He thought of his failing haunted house.
I've slept in morgues, I've hung out in potter's fields.
He said to himself, his voice so low only he could hear it.
Am I really going to be scared of a stupid phone.
Finally, he spoke to Silas.
I'll take it.
He reached out his hand. In that instant, he felt the air in the shop grow still. His fingertips touched the phone's cold casing, and then he snatched it up.

Late that night, Aiden returned to his haunted house, his It was the only place he owned, and it was the symbol of his failure.
He sat backstage and took out the phone. It couldn't be turned off. Its battery icon was a twisted eye symbol. He hesitated for a second, then tapped on the only unfamiliar app on the screen.
The app's icon was a torn curtain. Its name was Veilstream.
The moment the app opened, the stream began. The video feed had an old, grainy quality, and it was accompanied by a faint, low-frequency hum.
He looked at the viewer count on the screen.
Single digits.
Double digits.
Then, without any warning, the numbers began to surge like a bursting dam.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Tens of thousands.
His voice trembled with excitement as he shot up from his chair.
Welcome, welcome all you new patrons to my stream!
His voice was a different pitch from his excitement, a world apart from the half-dead streamer he usually was.
The old rules apply, you donate to vote. The biggest gift decides which haunted place we explore tonight!

The screen immediately began to fill with all sorts of small gifts. The atmosphere was more electric than any stream he'd ever had.
Just then, a huge gift animation, more extravagant than anything he had ever seen, filled the entire screen. A pair of blood-red ballet shoes spun and leaped in the center of the screen before shattering into countless gold coins.
Aiden was too stunned to speak, his mind a complete blank.
He stammered.
Thank, thank you! Thank you to the user called Red Shoes! Oh my god, this… this one gift, is more than I make in a few months!
He took a deep breath, feeling like he was in a dream.
He practically yelled at the camera.
You're the boss! You call the shots tonight! Wherever you want to go, we go!

He stared excitedly at the screen, waiting for the benefactor's command. The entire chat room fell silent for a moment after that massive gift.
A few seconds later, a simple chat message appeared in the center of the screen. The sender was, indeed, Red Shoes.
Grandma's Noodle Shop in Nanjiang.

Aiden's ecstatic expression froze for a moment. Grandma's Noodle Shop in Nanjiang? He repeated the name to himself. It was completely unfamiliar. It wasn't one of the famous haunted hotspots he had prepared.
He quickly regained his professional streamer's smile and said to the camera.
Alright, the boss has spoken. Grandma's Noodle Shop in Nanjiang. Sounds like a place with a story. Hold on a sec, guys, let me see what this place is all about. We do our homework before we head out.
As he spoke, he switched the stream's view to his desktop and deftly opened a browser. He typed the words into the search bar.
The search results popped up quickly. At the top were a few food reviews from many years ago, all saying the noodles were delicious.
Aiden's gaze scrolled down, and then, he stopped.
A local news headline was clearly displayed on the screen. The headline was simple.
Murder of Nanjiang Grandma's Noodle Shop Owner's Daughter Still Unsolved After a Year.
Aiden's hand, resting on the mouse, went completely still.
The comments in the livestream chat began to churn.
What's wrong, streamer?
Say something, will you?
What did you find?

Surviving the Horror Livestream — Chapter 8

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