夜晚的城市，霓虹燈光閃爍，街道上人影稀疏，只有偶爾經過的汽車燈光劃破黑暗。阿強拖著疲憊的身軀走進了那棟大樓，他是這裡的新任夜班警衛。這份工作雖然薪水不高，但勝在穩定，對於剛失業的他來說，已經是最好的選擇。
值班室內，老舊的監控螢幕散發著微弱的光芒，牆上的時鐘顯示時間是十一點五十五分。阿強坐下後，翻開桌上的巡邏記錄本，發現前一任警衛的名字被劃掉了，只留下模糊的筆跡。「老張？」他低聲念著這個名字，感覺有些耳熟，但又想不起來在哪聽過。
「別多想了，」阿強自言自語，試圖平復心中的不安。他環顧四周，值班室狹小而簡陋，牆角還堆著幾個破舊的紙箱。窗外的走廊燈光昏黃，似乎隨時會熄滅。
午夜十二點整，交班時間到了。阿強站起身，準備迎接日班警衛，但等了許久也不見有人來。他看了看牆上的時鐘，指針已經指向十二點零五分。
「奇怪，不是說準時交班嗎？」阿強嘀咕著，拿起電話撥通了主管的號碼，但電話那頭卻始終無人接聽。
就在這時，監控螢幕上的畫面突然一閃。阿強皺了皺眉頭，盯著螢幕看，只見一個模糊的人影出現在一樓大廳的角落，那人背對著攝影機，彷彿在低頭整理什麼。
「誰啊？這麼晚了還有人？」阿強心中一驚，他拿起手電筒和對講機，小心翼翼地走出值班室。
走廊裡一片死寂，只有他的腳步聲在空曠的空間裡回蕩。他按下電梯按鈕，但電梯遲遲沒有反應。他只好轉身走向樓梯間，一步一步地向下走去。
當他抵達一樓大廳時，那個人影依舊站在角落，背對著他，一動不動。阿強壓低聲音喊了一句：「喂！你是誰？這裡不能逗留！」
那人沒有回應。阿強壓抑住心中的恐懼，慢慢靠近。當他距離那人只有幾步之遙時，那人突然轉過身來——
那是一張模糊不清的臉，五官像是被水浸泡過般模糊不清，但身上的制服卻與阿強一模一樣。阿強倒吸了一口冷氣，下意識地往後退了一步，那人卻沒有追上來，只是冷冷地盯著他。
「你……你到底是誰？」阿強聲音顫抖地問道，但對方依然一言不發。
突然，那人抬起手指向阿強的身後。阿強猛然回頭，只見自己剛剛走下來的樓梯間裡，有另一個身影正緩緩走下來。
「怎麼回事？」阿強感到頭皮發麻，他不敢再多待，轉身就跑回值班室。然而，他剛關上門，就聽見有人輕輕敲打門板。
咚——咚——咚——
敲門聲有節奏地響起，每一下都像是敲在他的心上。阿強屏住呼吸，不敢發出任何聲音。他盯著監控螢幕，只見值班室外的椅子上坐著一個人，那人依舊穿著與他相同的制服，低著頭，看不清臉。
「不可能……這不可能……」阿強喃喃自語，他努力說服自己這只是自己的幻覺。但敲門聲仍然持續著，像是在提醒他這一切都是真實的。
就在此時，電話突然響了起來。阿強猛地抓起聽筒，是主管的聲音：「阿強，你交班了嗎？」
「交班？」阿強愣住了，「我剛剛才接班啊！」
電話那頭沉默了一會兒，然後傳來一個低沉的聲音：「我在值班室外。」
阿強渾身一震，他緩緩轉過頭，看向監控螢幕。椅子上的人影依然低著頭，但此刻，那人的手正慢慢抬起來，似乎在朝他招手。
「不……不可能！」阿強失聲喊道，他掛斷電話，一把拉下值班室的大門鎖，把自己關在房間裡。他試圖冷靜下來，但心跳卻越來越快。
突然，監控螢幕上的畫面開始扭曲，那個人影竟然從椅子上站了起來，一步一步地朝值班室走來。他每一步踏出，都像是在地板上留下了一道深深的痕跡。
「不要過來！不要過來！」阿強大喊著，但他的聲音卻被厚重的門板隔絕在外。
那人影終於停在值班室門口，他抬起手，再次輕輕敲響了門。
咚——咚——咚——
牆上的時鐘顯示時間是十二點零二分，但對於阿強來說，每一秒都像是一個世紀那麼漫長。他蜷縮在角落裡，用顫抖的手掏出手機，想要撥打求救電話。然而，在撥號的瞬間，手機屏幕突然變得一片漆黑，再也無法開機。
「該死！」阿強咒罵了一句，他不知道該怎麼辦，只能緊緊盯著門口。
就在此時，敲門聲停止了。四周陷入一片死寂，只剩下牆上的時鐘滴答作響。
滴答——滴答——滴答——
「走了嗎？」阿強壓低聲音自言自語。他鼓起勇氣站起身，慢慢靠近門口，用眼睛貼著門縫向外張望。但外面什麼也沒有，走廊空無一人。
他鬆了一口氣，以為危機已經解除。然而，就在他鬆懈的一瞬間，一隻蒼白的手突然從門縫下伸了進來！
「啊！」阿強驚叫一聲，連忙後退，那隻手卻迅速縮了回去。接著，他聽見門外傳來低沉的笑聲，那笑聲沙啞而詭異，如同從地獄深處傳來的一般。
阿強再也忍受不了這種壓力，他用力踹開門衝了出去，但走廊裡空蕩蕩的，什麼也沒有。他轉頭看向監控螢幕，那原本空無一人的椅子上，此刻竟然坐滿了一排穿著警衛制服的人影，每個人都低著頭，一動不動。
「不可能……這到底是怎麼回事！」阿強瘋狂地大喊著，他想要逃離這座詭異的大樓，但無論如何都找不到出口。每當他跑到某個樓層時，都會發現自己又回到了原點。
時間不停地流逝，牆上的時鐘指針已經指向凌晨三點，但對於阿強來說，這場噩夢似乎永遠沒有結束。
天亮時分，大樓管理員發現值班室內空無一人，而監控螢幕上的畫面也恢復正常。沒有人知道阿強去了哪裡，只是在桌上留下一本巡邏記錄本，上面寫著幾行歪歪斜斜的字：
「午夜十二點，不要接班……不要接班……」
English Version
The city at night shimmered with scattered neon lights and long stretches of emptiness, where passing headlights occasionally cut through the darkness, and for Ah Keung, who had just taken on a job as a night security guard after losing his previous employment, this quiet building seemed like a blessing—stable, uneventful, and manageable—yet on his very first shift, something subtle and unsettling began to unfold, something that would transform an ordinary night into an experience he would never escape he entered the duty room with a sense of cautious relief, noting the dim glow of aging surveillance monitors and the ticking wall clock that read 11:55 p.m., only five minutes before the official shift change, and as he sat down, he flipped open the patrol logbook left behind by the previous guard, noticing that the name had been scratched out, leaving only a faint trace that looked like “Lao Cheung,” a name that felt oddly familiar yet impossible to place, and though a flicker of unease crossed his mind, he dismissed it, telling himself not to overthink what was likely just an administrative detail, focusing instead on preparing for his responsibilities, yet as midnight arrived and the clock struck twelve, no one came to relieve or confirm the transition, and as minutes passed in silence, stretching from 12:00 to 12:05, a quiet tension began to build, prompting him to call his supervisor, only to be met with unanswered ringing, as though the connection itself had been severed from the world beyond the building; at that moment, one of the surveillance screens flickered, drawing his attention sharply, and as he leaned closer, he saw a figure standing in the corner of the ground-floor lobby, facing away from the camera, motionless except for a faint suggestion of movement, as if adjusting something unseen, and the sight immediately triggered a sense of urgency within him, compelling him to grab his flashlight and radio before stepping out into the corridor, where the silence felt heavier than before, pressing against him with an almost physical weight, and when the elevator failed to respond to his call, he had no choice but to take the stairs, descending step by step as his own footsteps echoed through the empty space; upon reaching the lobby, he found the figure still standing there, exactly as it had appeared on the monitor, its back turned, its posture rigid, and summoning his courage, he called out, instructing the person to identify themselves and leave the premises, but there was no response, no acknowledgment, and as he moved closer, each step accompanied by a growing sense of dread, the figure suddenly turned around, revealing a face that was blurred and indistinct, as though its features had been erased or washed away, while its uniform matched his own exactly, a detail that sent a jolt of terror through him, forcing him to step back instinctively, his voice trembling as he demanded to know who—or what—it was, yet the figure remained silent, its gaze fixed on him with an intensity that felt unnatural; then, without warning, it raised a hand and pointed behind him, prompting him to turn and see another figure descending the staircase he had just used, moving slowly, deliberately, and in that moment, panic overtook him completely, driving him to flee back to the duty room, slamming the door shut behind him as his heart pounded uncontrollably, only to hear a soft, rhythmic knocking begin almost immediately, each knock echoing through the small space like a heartbeat that did not belong to him, and as he stared at the monitors, he saw that the chair outside the room was now occupied by another figure in the same uniform, head lowered, face obscured, sitting silently as if waiting; “This isn’t real,” he whispered to himself, trying desperately to rationalize what he was seeing, but the knocking continued, steady and deliberate, refusing to be ignored, until the phone suddenly rang, startling him into answering, and when he heard his supervisor’s voice asking whether he had completed the shift change, confusion and fear collided as he replied that he had only just started, only for the voice on the other end to pause before responding in a tone that was lower, heavier, and unmistakably wrong: “I’m outside the duty room,” and as those words settled in, Ah Keung turned slowly toward the monitors, where the seated figure remained, its head now beginning to lift, its hand rising in a slow, beckoning motion that felt both inviting and threatening at once; overwhelmed by terror, he locked the door and retreated into the corner, trying to steady his breathing as the surveillance feed began to distort, the image warping as the figure outside stood up and approached the door, each step leaving an impression that seemed too heavy, too deliberate to belong to something human, and when it finally reached the door, the knocking resumed, softer now but more deliberate, as if it no longer needed to force its presence to be known, and as the clock on the wall ticked forward, showing 12:02 a.m., time itself seemed to stretch unbearably, each second dragging into the next while Ah Keung sat frozen, clutching his phone only to find that it had gone completely dark, unresponsive, cutting off any hope of calling for help; then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the knocking stopped, leaving behind a silence so complete it rang in his ears, and after what felt like an eternity, he forced himself to stand and approach the door, peering cautiously through the narrow gap to find nothing outside, the corridor empty once more, and for a brief moment, relief washed over him, convincing him that whatever had happened might finally be over, but that illusion shattered instantly when a pale hand suddenly slipped through the gap beneath the door, reaching inward with unnatural precision, causing him to scream and stumble backward as the hand withdrew just as quickly, followed by a low, rasping laughter that seemed to seep through the walls themselves; unable to endure the terror any longer, he threw open the door and ran, but the building had transformed into something unrecognizable, corridors looping back on themselves, staircases leading nowhere, every attempt to escape returning him to the same starting point, and when he glanced back at the monitors, he saw something that broke whatever composure he had left—the chairs outside the duty room were no longer occupied by a single figure, but by a row of guards, all wearing the same uniform, all sitting silently with their heads bowed, as though waiting for something, or someone, to join them; his screams echoed through the building as time slipped further out of reach, the clock eventually marking three in the morning, yet offering no sense of progression or release, and by the time dawn arrived, the building appeared normal once again, the duty room empty, the monitors stable, and no trace of Ah Keung anywhere, as if he had never been there at all, except for the patrol logbook left behind on the desk, its final entry scrawled in uneven handwriting repeating the same warning over and over: “Midnight—do not take the shift… do not take the shift…” and though the building continued to operate as usual, those who later came to work there would sometimes notice that the chair outside the duty room was never entirely empty, that in certain moments, under certain light, it seemed as though someone—or something—was still sitting there, waiting patiently for the next guard to arrive, ready to begin a shift that might never truly end.