"Okay."
Daryl raised his voice while not shouting and not panicking either.
"This is getting ridiculous."
The theater lights flickered weakly above him as if reacting to his agitation, and the ghosts sitting in the seats began to stir again with their attention no longer fully locked on him but instead drifting toward something else.
The chat scrolled so fast that the words blurred together before he could properly read them.
[HeraldJoseph - PaidComment - ¥1,200]: ADD MORE TRAPS
[???]: DROP THE CEILING
[3rdRateVillan - PaidComment - ¥1,800]: MAKE THE FLOOR COLLAPSE
The names were unfamiliar and generic, paired with default avatars and accounts that felt new to be coincidence, and that realization made Daryl swallow hard as unease crept up his spine.
"Some of these guyes weren't here at the beginning," he thought to himself when he go so much new viewers
Seeing the agitated and indifferent comments from them, he signed "And it shows."
The older usernames were still present like ghosts of a different kind, familiar watchers who had been there before everything spiraled out of control.
[MoonPetal ⭐]: This is too far.
[OldViewer77]: WTF, Wasn't this supposed to be fun.
[GraveLaugh]: Are you people trying to kill him??
Another donation alert rang out and this time the sound of a large donation gave him goosebumps, as the domain itself trembled in response and a row of seats cracked down the middle as if splitting open to reveal a mouth beneath them.
Daryl flinched despite himself.
"That's it," he said sharply as fear hardened into resolve.
"I'm turning off donations."
The chat froze for a heartbeat and then it erupted all at once.
[Claudia llV] NO WAIT
[DON'TLOOKBACK] Foul! you can't do that, ref do something.
[WHYSOSERIOUS??] NAH I JUST GOT HERE
[RichYoungMaster - PaidComment - ¥2,500]: ONE LAST ONE, Let the ghost sing Mozart
"Stop," Daryl said without raising his voice.
"I'm serious."
His finger hovered near the screen menu while his pulse thudded in his ears.
"I gave you enough warnings."
The theater groaned in protest and dust drifted lazily from the ceiling while the ghosts began whispering again, excited now and hungry in a way that made his skin crawl.
Then the donations started pouring in faster than before, stacking on top of each other until the numbers blurred together.
¥3,000
¥5,000
¥7,000
Commands overlapped and contradicted one another with violent intent.
[DeathScripture - PaidComment - ¥4,500]: LOCK ALL EXITS
[SicMudos - PaidComment - ¥6,000]: MAKE HIM BLEED
Daryl's eyes widened as disbelief gave way to horror.
"What is wrong with you people?" he shouted.
Even the original viewers were panicking now and their messages flooded the chat in desperation.
[STOP THIS]
[THIS IS REAL LIFE]
[YOU'RE GOING TO GET HIM KILLED]
The ghosts stood all at once as if responding to an invisible cue, their movement synchronized like performers waiting for a curtain call, and Daryl felt his breathing turn shallow and uneven.
"There's no getting through to them," he muttered.
He opened the stream settings and stared at the donation toggle that sat just one tap away, his finger trembling as he hovered over it.
Then a new alert cut through everything and it was louder, deeper, and different in a way that made his stomach drop.
¥20,000 DONATION
The chat stuttered as the message appeared from an anonymous account with no avatar and no history, just a string of characters that made his eyes sting as he read them.
愿废楼魇猿降临,猎杀他.
May the 废楼魇猿 descend and hunt him.
The theater went completely silent as if the sound itself had been swallowed, with no whispers and no breathing and not even the ambient creaks of the building remaining, and even the stream chat slowed as if unsure how to react.
Daryl stared at the message with his mouth slightly open.
"…What?" he said.
He turned off the donation immediately and there could be no further ill charity, but the name refused to leave his mind and echoed there like a curse.
"废楼魇猿…?" he murmured.
"What the hell is that?"
The ghosts remained perfectly still and some of them slowly turned their heads, not toward Daryl but toward the darkness behind the seats, and that subtle movement sent a chill through him.
The chat erupted again but this time the tone had shifted from excitement to dread.
[WAIT]
[NO NO NO]
[WHO THE HELL DONATED THAT]
[MidnightWatcher - PaidComment - ¥100]: TURN OFF THE STREAM NOW
Daryl's heart skipped as adrenaline surged through him.
"Somebody explain," he said quickly.
"What is that thing?"
No one answered at first and the silence stretched until it became unbearable, and then messages began to appear again.
[OldNightWatch]: …That's not something you joke about.
[DemolitionGuy]: Why would someone type that name??
Daryl's throat went dry as fear tightened around it.
"Guys," he said.
"Talk to me."
Messages flooded in faster than he could read.
[SEARCH IT]
[GOOGLE IT NOW]
[DON'T SAY IT OUT LOUD]
"…Google?" Daryl repeated as his hands shook and he pulled the streaming app into a side window before opening a browser.
"Okay," he muttered.
"Okay."
He typed the name and waited as the results loaded, and when they did his expression changed instantly as his pupils constricted and his brow furrowed while he scrolled and read the entries once and then twice.
His breathing slowed, not from calm but from shock.
"…This is real," he whispered.
He read aloud without meaning to.
The Abandoned-Building Nightmare Ape.
His voice sounded painfully small in the vast empty space around him as the descriptions continued, each paragraph worse than the last, detailing its size and its claws that could bite into concrete and the way it was often mistaken for debris until it moved, a predator that did not chase and did not rush but instead waited.
Daryl's mouth went dry.
"…It's tied to abandoned buildings," he murmured.
"…It doesn't leave them."
The chat was in full panic now.
[THIS IS BAD]
[THIS IS VERY BAD]
[IT SHOULDN'T BE ABLE TO ENTER A DOMAIN]
Daryl frowned as confusion cut through his fear.
"…What do you mean enter?" he asked.
No one answered and he kept reading through rules and warnings and survivor accounts until his eyes reached the final line.
Once acknowledged, the building itself becomes its trap.
The lights flickered violently as something deep within the structure shifted, and a low vibrating sound rolled through the theater that was not an echo and not wind but something alive.
Daryl froze.
"…You hear that?" he whispered.
The chat exploded.
[YES]
[THAT'S IT]
[DON'T LOOK UP]
A growl reverberated through the walls as concrete cracked and something heavy began to move, not above him but behind him, slow and deliberate with each step making the floor tremble as dust fell from the ceiling.
The ghosts recoiled and pressed themselves into the corners with faces twisted in terror, and that alone made Daryl's blood run cold.
"…The ghosts are scared," he breathed.
The footsteps drew closer without rushing or chasing, patient and hunting, and Daryl felt his heart sink into his stomach as he slowly turned his head toward the darkness behind the seats.
The growl came again, closer this time, and in that moment Daryl understood one undeniable truth.
This was no longer part of the show, if he was not careful things could actually go wrong.