在寂靜的夜晚，幾個人圍坐桌前，一支筆，一張紙，試圖召喚未知的存在。當筆開始自行移動時，他們才發現，有些答案並不該被問起。
On a quiet night, a group gathers around a sheet of paper with a single pen, hoping to reach something beyond their world. When the pen begins to move on its own, they realize some questions should never have been asked.
中文
那天晚上，天氣悶得讓人難以入睡，宿舍裡的燈光昏黃，像是隨時會熄滅。小琳提議玩筆仙時，其他人原本只是半信半疑，卻又被那種禁忌的刺激吸引，最終還是答應了。他們把桌子清空，在白紙中央畫下一個簡單的圓，四周寫上數字與「是」「否」，然後把一支舊鋼筆立在紙上，四個人各自伸出一隻手，輕輕扶住筆身。當所有人的指尖接觸到筆時，房間忽然變得安靜得不自然，連外面的風聲都像消失了一樣。小琳低聲念著召喚的話語，一遍又一遍，聲音越來越輕，像是怕驚動什麼。起初筆一動不動，大家忍不住互相對視，甚至有人輕笑出聲，覺得這不過是心理作用。然而就在笑聲還未散去時，筆微微晃了一下，那種晃動不像是人手造成，而是從筆內傳出來的力量。四個人同時僵住，誰也不敢鬆手。筆開始慢慢移動，在紙上劃出細細的痕跡，停在「是」字旁。空氣一下子變得沉重，小琳吞了口口水，小聲問：「你來了嗎？」筆再次動了，劃出一個歪斜的圓，然後停住。阿傑皺眉問：「你是誰？」筆緩慢地寫下幾個字，但字跡扭曲得難以辨認，只能勉強看出像是一個名字，卻又不像活人的名字。氣氛開始變得詭異，燈光忽明忽暗，牆上的影子拉長又縮短，像在呼吸。有人提議結束，但小琳卻像被什麼吸引一樣，繼續問下去：「你想做什麼？」筆這一次沒有停頓，快速地在紙上劃動，寫下一句話——「一起寫完」。這句話讓所有人背脊發涼。就在這時，阿傑突然感覺手指一沉，像有另一隻手覆在他手上，冰冷而濕滑，他猛地想抽開手，卻發現筆像被固定住一樣，怎樣也放不開。其他人也開始驚慌，因為他們都感覺到那股不屬於任何人的力量。筆越寫越快，紙上出現密密麻麻的字，像一封沒有結尾的信。燈光忽然熄滅，房間陷入黑暗，只剩下筆在紙上摩擦的聲音，沙沙作響，像在耳邊低語。有人哭了，有人拼命喊停，但筆仍然不停地寫。當燈再次亮起時，筆已經倒在紙上，四個人同時鬆開手，像從某種束縛中解脫。他們低頭看那張紙，上面寫滿了歪斜的句子，而最後一行清晰得令人心寒——「現在輪到你們」。從那晚之後，小琳開始每天寫字，無論她願不願意，手都會自己動起來，把同一句話一遍遍寫下。阿傑則再也不敢碰筆，甚至連名字都不願意簽。他們都明白，那晚召喚來的，從來沒有真正離開，而那支筆，只是它留下來的方式。
English Version
The night felt unusually still, as if the air itself was waiting. In the dim glow of a dorm room lamp, Lina suggested trying the “pen spirit” ritual. It started as a joke, something to break the boredom, but curiosity quickly outweighed caution. They cleared the desk, drew a circle on a blank sheet of paper, marked simple answers around it, and placed an old fountain pen upright at the center. Each of them rested a finger lightly against it. The moment their skin touched the pen, the room seemed to quiet in a way that felt unnatural, as if even distant sounds had been muted. Lina began the invocation, her voice soft and repetitive, almost hypnotic. At first, nothing happened, and the tension dissolved into uneasy laughter. But then the pen trembled—just slightly, yet unmistakably. It wasn’t the kind of movement that came from nervous hands; it felt internal, deliberate. Silence fell instantly. The pen began to move, tracing faint lines before settling near “yes.” Lina swallowed hard and whispered, “Are you here?” The pen circled slowly, then stopped. Jason leaned closer, asking who it was. The pen responded with jagged, uneven letters forming a name that didn’t quite look human, something unfamiliar yet unsettlingly intentional. The room shifted—lights flickered, shadows stretched unnaturally across the walls, as though reacting to something unseen. Someone suggested stopping, but Lina seemed drawn in, compelled to continue. “What do you want?” she asked. This time, the pen didn’t hesitate. It moved rapidly, carving out a phrase: “Finish it together.” A chill spread through everyone. Suddenly, Jason felt a weight on his fingers, like another hand pressing over his, cold and damp. He tried to pull away but couldn’t—the pen held firm, as if anchored by something stronger than all of them. Panic rose as each of them sensed the same presence. The pen sped up, filling the page with chaotic writing, like a letter that refused to end. The lights went out without warning, plunging them into darkness. Only the scratching of the pen remained, sharp and relentless, echoing like whispers in their ears. Someone cried. Someone shouted to stop. But the writing continued. When the light flickered back on, the pen had fallen sideways, and they all released it at once, gasping as if resurfacing from deep water. They looked down at the paper—covered in dense, distorted sentences. At the very bottom, one line stood out, clear and steady: “Now it’s your turn.” After that night, Lina couldn’t stop writing. Whether she wanted to or not, her hand would move, repeating the same line endlessly. Jason refused to touch a pen again, avoiding even the act of signing his name. Whatever they had invited into that room had not left—it had simply found a quieter way to stay.
