Chapter 16: The Uninvited Critic

The world shrinks to the size of the ballroom, plunged into a sudden, shocking darkness. The only light comes from the terrified, faint glow of ten ghosts who have just performed their spectral hearts out, and the single, mocking image of the 'Technical Difficulties' cartoon ghost on a monitor. The explosive energy of the showdown vanishes, sucked into a void of absolute silence and dread.

The shadow in the corner detaches itself from the wall. It’s not a shadow anymore; it’s a solid thing, a three-dimensional hole in reality shaped like a tall, slender man. It has no face, no features, just a smooth, dark expanse where a face should be. It takes a silent step forward, and the very air in the room seems to curdle.

This is not the kind of ghost I know. This is something else entirely. Something ancient and wrong.

Joshua, for the first time since I’ve known him, is completely silent. His usual boundless optimism has evaporated, leaving behind the pale, stark face of pure terror. He grabs my arm, his grip surprisingly tight. "Amy," he whispers, his voice trembling. "What is that?"

My mind is a frantic library, pages flipping at impossible speeds. I search through every scroll, every text my family has passed down through a hundred generations. Poltergeists, phantoms, wraiths, specters... nothing matches this. This creature doesn’t feel like a soul trapped between worlds. It feels like a piece of the abyss itself decided to stand up and walk around.

"I don't know," I say, my own voice tight in my throat. "But I think we just started a war."

The creature cocks its featureless head, as if listening to something. The dry, rustling whisper slithers directly into my mind again, bypassing my ears entirely.

War? the voice muses. Such a noisy concept. No. This is not a war. This is a critique.

Before any of us can process that, the idols react. They are scared, their forms flickering like faulty neon signs, but they are also performers who have just had their stage invaded.

Nana is the first to recover. Rage overtakes her fear. "Critique this!" she snarls, raising her spectral guitar. She unleashes a blistering power chord, a wave of pure, punk-rock defiance that shrieks through the silent room. The wave of sound hits the shadow creature and... dissipates, absorbed into its form with no effect at all.

Derivative, the voice in our heads comments calmly. Three chords? So pedestrian. There is no innovation in your anger.

Ren, ever the dramatist, steps forward, one hand placed over his heart. "What foul fiend art thou, that doth invade our hallowed stage? Speak thy name, oh beast of shadow, that we may know our tormentor!"

The shadow creature turns its blank face towards him. Names are labels. Labels are noise. But you... your performance was overwrought. Your pathos, unearned. A caricature of emotion. Two stars out of five.

Ren gasps, looking more offended than he did when he was facing oblivion. "How... how dare you!"

The two rival groups, moments ago glaring at each other, now form a single, frightened line. Reiko, the class president, instinctively takes charge. "Unidentified entity!" she calls out, her voice crisp with authority despite the tremor running through it. "You are trespassing on private property. Your presence is unauthorized and disruptive. I must ask you to vacate the premises immediately!"

Ah, the leader, the voice whispers. So much structure, so little soul. Your group's performance was technically proficient but lacked any semblance of heart. A metronome has more passion. One star.

Reiko’s spectral form puffs up with indignation. Even Mika looks horrified, not by the creature, but by its terrible reviews. "Like, OMG, you are a total buzzkill!" she says, stamping her foot. "Your vibe is, like, a total black hole of lameness!"

The bubbly one. Your energy is grating. All sparkle, no substance. A distraction from the silence that you so clearly fear. Zero stars.

This is the weirdest paranormal encounter of my life. We've woken up an ancient evil, and it's a snooty art critic. I can feel Joshua beside me starting to vibrate. His terror is slowly being replaced by something else, something far more dangerous: an idea.

"Amy," he whispers, his eyes gleaming with a terrifying, familiar light. "It's a villain! It's a rival! It's the Simon Cowell of the spirit world! This is amazing for their brand narrative!"

"It's going to eat them, you absolute melon!" I hiss back, trying to keep my voice down. I fumble in my bag for a talisman, any talisman. I pull out a standard 'Purification' seal, the bread and butter of my trade. I hold it up, channeling my energy into it. The paper glows with a warm, red light. "Begone, foul spirit! Return to the shadows from whence you came!"

The creature turns its full attention to me. The red light from the talisman touches its dark form and is immediately extinguished, like a match dropped in water.

The little talisman maker, the voice says, a hint of something like interest in its tone. You are the source of this power. You amplify their noise. Your technique is traditional, your form is perfect, but your application... is for this? This... cacophony? A waste of a classic education.

I am speechless. An ancient horror from beyond time just critiqued my family's sacred art form.

The shadow takes another step forward, its form seeming to grow, to swell, filling the room with an oppressive, sound-dampening aura. The idols all flinch, their own light dimming under its presence.

I have slept for centuries in the quiet, peaceful dark beneath this house, the voice explains, its tone turning cold. I am a connoisseur of silence, a collector of the void. You have woken me with your... rehearsals. Your pointless, grating noise. You generate so much spiritual energy, only to waste it on these fleeting, forgettable little songs.

It raises a long, shadowy arm and points at the huddled ghosts.

Cease this cacophony, it commands. Return to the silence. Disperse. Fade. Or I will be forced to... quiet you. I will consume your little lights, one by one, and restore the peace you have so rudely shattered. You have one week.

And with that final, chilling ultimatum, the creature dissolves. It does not fly away or disappear in a puff of smoke. It simply melts back into the shadows of the room, leaving behind nothing but a profound cold and the lingering echo of its judgment in our minds.

For a long moment, the room is utterly still. Then, everyone starts talking at once.

"Did that shadow just give us a bad review?!"

"One star! The audacity!"

"What's a 'Simon Cowell'?"

I lean against the tech table, my legs weak. We are in mortal danger. We have a week before an ancient entity tries to eat our friends' souls. This is the worst-case scenario.

"Okay," Joshua says, breaking through the chatter, his voice filled with a terrifying new energy. "New business plan. Phase one: we need to write a comeback track. Something that really proves that shadow-jerk wrong. Phase two: we design a new line of merch around our mysterious 'Critic'. Yui, get on that!"

I stare at him. I stare at the idols, who are already starting to argue about whose performance was clearly better than one star. I stare at the empty corner where an abyss-monster just threatened us all with soul-annihilation.

My life is a joke. A terrifying, high-stakes, supernatural joke. A deep, familiar wave of regret washes over me. I regret every talisman, every decision, every moment that led me to this point. But as I watch Nana and Kaito start arguing with the Critic's assessment of their "innovation," a new, unfamiliar feeling sparks within the regret. A tiny, defiant ember of anger.

Zero stars? For Mika's energy? That thing has no taste. Okay, Critic. You want a show? We'll give you a show.