My Inn, Sign for Living Taboos

On my first day taking over the old neighborhood parcel station, I discovered a hidden rule unknown to anyone else in the system: any package for Room 402 must be signed for, no matter what. The building’s fourth floor had been sealed off after a fire ten years ago—the entire family perished, their household registration long canceled, and no one has lived there since. But from the very day I opened for business, a delivery for Room 402 arrives every night at exactly 3:00 AM. No sender, no tracking history, no waybill number—the station’s system can’t even scan it. Red leather shoes, old photographs, a broken bracelet, a blank medical record… with each package I unseal, another household in the neighborhood is plagued by strange occurrences, and another resident meets with misfortune. Neighbors feign madness, the property management alters records, and shadowy figures come to pick up parcels in the dead of night. Gradually, I come to realize: there are no ghosts. Every living person in this building is hiding the secret of the dead. And when I try to stop accepting these deliveries, everyone lurking in the darkness finally makes their move against me.