The Erased Ones

Ji-Hoon gripped the phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. His breath hitched as the whisper echoed in his ear.

"They erased you."

Static crackled on the line, a suffocating silence stretching between him and the unseen caller.

"Who are you?" Ji-Hoon’s voice came out more steady than he felt. "What the hell do you mean, 'erased'?"

But there was no response.

Only breathing.

Faint, controlled, like someone was listening.

Then—

Click.

The call disconnected.

Ji-Hoon pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at the screen. No number. No trace of the call.

His hands were shaking now. He had been a reporter for years, covered murders, scandals, disappearances. He had seen people vanish from the public eye, whether through bribery, power, or fear. But this was different.

This wasn’t just someone being erased.

This felt personal.

The next morning, Ji-Hoon walked into the newspaper office feeling like a ghost himself. He had barely slept, his mind running in circles around the missing payphone, the untraceable calls, the whispers that made no sense.

He needed answers.

He needed a lead.

He needed someone else to confirm that he wasn’t going crazy.

“Min-Soo,” he said, dropping into the seat across from his co-worker’s desk. “I need a favor.”

Min-Soo groaned, barely looking up from his pile of notes. “You still on that phone thing?”

Ji-Hoon didn’t answer. He just pulled out his notebook, flipping to the page with the phrase from the call.

Min-Soo sighed. “Alright, what now?”

“I need you to check something for me,” Ji-Hoon said, lowering his voice. “Search for my name.”

Min-Soo blinked. “Your name?”

“In our archives. And in government records.”

A pause. Then a slow, skeptical smirk.

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

Min-Soo chuckled. “What, you think you don’t exist?”

Ji-Hoon didn’t laugh.

He didn’t even blink.

And something about his expression must have unsettled Min-Soo because the smirk faded.

“Fine,” Min-Soo muttered, turning to his computer. “But when I find your name exactly where it’s supposed to be, you owe me a drink.”

Ji-Hoon leaned forward, watching the screen as Min-Soo typed. The newsroom buzzed around them—phones ringing, reporters shouting, keyboards clacking.

But Ji-Hoon barely heard any of it.

Min-Soo frowned at the screen.

Then he tried again.

Then again.

His fingers slowed. His expression changed.

“...That’s weird,” he murmured.

Ji-Hoon’s stomach clenched. “What?”

Min-Soo scrolled rapidly. “Your articles are here. But—” He stopped, eyes narrowing. “Your name isn’t.”

A chill crawled down Ji-Hoon’s spine.

Min-Soo turned to him, confused. “Your bylines are missing. The stories are still in the system, but they’re all listed as 'Unknown Author.'”

Ji-Hoon snatched the mouse and scrolled through the list himself. His articles—years’ worth of investigative work—were still there.

But they weren’t his.

It was as if he had never written them.

“What the hell?” he whispered.

“I—maybe it’s a system error?” Min-Soo suggested, though his voice held no real confidence. “Or maybe someone—”

He stopped.

Because when he searched the government database, the problem got worse.

Ji-Hoon’s ID number didn’t exist.

His birth records were gone.

There were no official records of him before the age of 18.

His existence began and ended in fragments, scattered and incomplete.

Ji-Hoon pushed back from the desk, his pulse hammering.

Someone had erased him.

Not just his name on a few articles. Not just some database glitch.

His entire past.

Min-Soo let out a low whistle. “Okay, uh... now it’s getting creepy.”

Ji-Hoon swallowed hard, his mind racing.

The payphone. The voice. The disappearing records.

There was only one explanation that made sense.

Someone—or something—had started wiping him from existence.

And the worst part?

He had no idea why.

That night, Ji-Hoon didn’t go home.

He sat in a dingy 24-hour diner, staring at his reflection in the window. The neon signs outside flickered, casting strange colors across his face.

He pulled out his phone and dialed a number he hadn’t called in years.

His mother.

It rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Then—

"The number you have dialed is no longer in service."

Ji-Hoon’s breath caught.

He tried again.

Same message.

A wave of nausea rolled through him.

Was his family next?

Was this erasure spreading?

And if it was—

How much longer did he have?

At exactly 1:13 AM, his phone rang again.

This time, he answered before the first ring finished.

"Do you believe me now?" the whisper asked.

Ji-Hoon closed his eyes.

“…Who are you?”

The whisper was closer this time.

"I’m the only one who remembers you."

"Some disappearances are planned. Others are warnings."

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