Driven to suicide by her, I thought my death would finally bring her remorse. Instead, I watched her pay a fortune to an occult medium: "Medium, exactly how many Spirit Dollars do I need to burn every day to stop her from overspending down there?" "Is there a way to make her 'check in' every day, just like when she was alive? If she behaves, I'll burn more money." In that moment, I actually felt a wave of relief— Thank God I was dead. I was finally free from her control. But the medium's chilling voice instantly shattered my illusion: "Yes. "There actually is a way." 1 After I died. My mom burned exactly twenty Spirit Dollars for me every single day. Just like when I was alive, she would transfer exactly twenty bucks to my bank account every morning for living expenses. Exact to the penny. Not a cent more. But surviving in the Netherworld was far more destitute than anyone could imagine. I stood shivering in the biting spectral wind, struggling to calculate today's expenses: "Crypt Lease"—even the most rundown wooden coffin cost 10 Spirit Dollars a day. "Reaper Protection Fee"—to avoid being bullied by vicious poltergeists, you had to pay the Reapers 200 Spirit Dollars a month. "Soul Painkillers"—ghosts who died unnatural deaths, like me, were forced to repeatedly experience the agonizing pain of our final moments. You had to drink the painkillers to suppress it. Each dose cost 15 Spirit Dollars. On top of that, there were "Reincarnation Taxes," "Soul Mending Fees," "Incense Meals," "Phantom Garments"... With twenty Spirit Dollars a day, I could barely afford to suppress my agonizing pain. Let alone find a safe place to live or avoid getting harassed. "Tsk." The Reaper collecting the protection fee weighed my few, thin paper bills in his hand, looking at me weirdly. "When other families burn money, it’s tens of thousands at a time. This person in your family... burning twenty bucks a day? If I say she cares, she clearly remembers you. If I say she's cheap... wow, she's literally cheaping out the Netherworld." I pressed my lips together tightly, not saying a word. They didn't understand. This was my mother's obsession with control, carved deep into her very bones. It was like this when I was alive. And now, in death... it followed me like a shadow. "Look, why don't you request a Dream Visitation? Tell your mom to burn more cash. She probably just doesn't know how expensive the Afterlife is," the Reaper suggested slowly. "Every new soul gets one free Dream Visitation voucher, just so you can tell your folks to send more money." Dream Visitation? That meant I'd have to face my mother again? A shudder violently racked my body. Just the thought of it made my soul run cold. I still clearly remembered how every single day of my life was spent simmering in fear and suffocation. My mother demanded that I video call her three times a day—morning, noon, and night. I had to report every microscopic detail of my college classes and my social life. Furthermore, I had to go to the library every single day, record a video of myself studying as a "check-in," and state to the camera: "Today is day X of working hard." Only when all of this was completed would I receive my twenty dollars for the next day. I tried to object once. But my mother was self-righteous: "Twenty bucks! I calculated it perfectly. It is exactly enough for your food and water! College girls are easily corrupted by temptations. I am controlling your materialistic desires so you build good, frugal habits. You ungrateful brat, I put my heart into this and you think I'm hurting you?!" The sheer entitlement in her voice instantly crushed any argument I had. I knew fighting back was useless. So, I learned to be silent. I learned to shove every ounce of grievance and every shred of desire deep down into my chest, building a shell of "obedience" just to earn my pitiful right to survive. Yet, even trying my absolute hardest, I could never seem to meet her demands. When I needed to buy tampons. When I ran out of toilet paper. When I just wanted a piece of fresh fruit. I was constantly trapped in humiliation. I couldn't have a normal social life. When my roommates asked me to get boba tea or grab dinner, what was I supposed to say? Hold on, let me ask my mom to authorize a Venmo transfer? Besides, I knew that even if I asked, she wouldn't give it to me. Once, I gathered my courage. After a roommate kindly bought me a coffee, I begged my mom for an extra twenty dollars so I could treat her back. My mother demanded I write a two-thousand-word essay detailing the exact justification for the extra funds. After I racked my brain to write that essay, she replied with only two words: [Request Denied.] There was another time when my period cramps were so bad I couldn't get out of bed on time. At 7:00 AM sharp, her phone call rang out like a death warrant: "Where the hell are you?! Where is the video? Where is the check-in?! It's only been a few days and you're already slacking off?! Are you hanging out with those trashy girls again? I'm telling you, if today's check-in isn't done, don't even think about tomorrow's money!" Even as I explained through trembling lips that I was sick, she didn't soften in the slightest. "So what if it's your period?! What woman doesn't get her period? I don't see anyone else acting as dramatic as you! You're just lazy to the bone and making excuses!" She didn't even care that I had a final exam that day. The only thing that mattered was that I hadn't greeted her at the exact right second, and her rage ignited like a wildfire, screaming that I didn't respect her as a mother. I thought about running away. Getting a part-time job. Doing anything. But it was useless. My mother was a 24/7 surveillance camera. She would show up at my college unannounced to audit me. She kept her eyes locked on me, driving me like cattle. If I deviated even slightly, what awaited me was slap after slap, and a tidal wave of verbal abuse. I couldn't defy her. I didn't dare. So, I chose to jump off the roof. I used the most absolute, decisive method to finally find my escape. I wanted her to cry over my body. I wanted her to repent. I wanted her to admit that her suffocating "love" was wrong. I wanted to escape her control forever, and ever! So, looking at the Reaper, I shook my head. "I don't want a Dream Visitation. Are there any jobs in the Netherworld? Can I earn my own Spirit Dollars?" The Reaper gave me a sideways glance, like he was looking at a defective product. "Ghosts like you who commit suicide are classified as 'Self-Destructive Souls.' Down here, you're the equivalent of a high-risk felon. Who's gonna hire you?" I refused to believe it. Dragging my weakening soul, I wandered through the gloomy, shadowy alleys, begging for work. "Get lost! Bad luck!" Cold rejections slammed into me over and over again. Without a crypt to shelter me, the spectral wind sliced through my soul like razor blades. Without Reaper protection, the malicious glares of older, violent ghosts pricked at my back. But the deepest despair was the agonizing, bone-shattering pain of my fatal fall, repeating itself on an endless loop every single day... "Ah—!" Torn apart by the phantom agony, I couldn't help but cry out that name from the bottom of my heart: "Mom..." In that split second, a tiny, flickering flame of hope sparked in my despair: I'm dead... Mom must know she was wrong by now, right? Those twenty dollars she burns every day... it's probably just because she doesn't know how hard it is down here, right? That pathetic, desperate little hope gave me the strength to raise a trembling finger and tug at the Reaper's sleeve. My voice was as thin as a thread: "Excuse me... where do I go to request a Dream Visitation?" 2 That night, I slipped into my mother's dream. Her dreamscape was a cold, clinical prison of order. I saw countless versions of "me"— All wearing identical, perfectly pressed uniforms, sitting expressionless at identical desks, obediently copying Bible verses. The walls were plastered with schedules precise to the minute, and the air smelled heavily of bleach and ink. She sat high above it all in a carved, gothic armchair. Her eyes were sharp as a hawk's, scanning every "daughter" to ensure our handwriting was neat and our posture was perfect. This was probably her ideal version of me. Obedient, flawless, and completely stripped of a soul. "Mom..." My voice drifted, broken and hollow. Because I couldn't afford the protection fees or a place to sleep, my soul had been tortured until it was withered, flickering like a candle in the wind. Standing on the edge of her "perfect world," I looked like a stain that didn't belong. "Who's there?" she snapped, her voice carrying a trace of caution. "It's me." She shot up from her chair, her eyes instantly focusing through the haze of the dream. "Serenity, is that you? You finally came to my dream..." Her voice carried a kind of profound relief. She reached out her hand to me, a gesture that made it seem like I had just had a bad day outside and was coming home to her embrace. Seeing her like this, a sour, emotional lump rose in my throat. Had she been waiting for me? Did she finally realize how cruel she had been? Did my death finally make her understand? "Mom, I'm doing really badly in the Afterlife." My heart softened, and my tone unconsciously slipped into a pathetic, wronged whine. "It hurts so much. The pain of hitting the pavement... it repeats every single day... I need painkillers. I need to rent a crypt. I need to pay the Reapers for protection. Can you... can you please burn a little more money for me?" I don't know why, but even though I was already dead, the moment I opened my mouth, I reverted right back to my old, submissive tone. I sounded like a lowly beggar, wagging my tail for scraps. That familiar feeling made me hate myself even more. But what I didn't expect was for my mother's face to instantly darken. "You useless disappointment!" Her voice suddenly shrieked. "You were a failure alive, and you're a debt-collector in death! I always said you had cheap bones, no self-discipline! You go down there, and you still haven't repented! You're still infected with the disease of spending money! Do you think money just falls from the sky?!" I stood frozen, feeling like I'd been struck by lightning. My soul vibrated with shock. "Mom, you burn 20 dollars a day. Just the painkillers cost 15. I don't have a place to live, and I have to save 200 a month for protection. If I want to reincarnate, there are taxes..." "Enough!" She cut me off viciously, her spit flying in the dream's light. "Excuses! Twenty bucks was plenty for you to eat and shit when you were alive! You don't even need to eat or drink down there. Twenty Spirit Dollars is more than enough. Don't think I don't know how it works. I consulted an Occult Medium! Twenty dollars is absolutely enough! It's because you haven't fixed your disgusting habits down there that you're spending so much!" My mother's voice was a sharp knife, piercing through every last drop of emotion I felt for her. "Did you think I was burning money for you to enjoy yourself? Let me tell you right now, I burn money every day so you remember every single second: I am your mother! I still control you! Don't you dare think you can fly out of my palm just because you're dead!" Something cracked deep inside my soul. So, my mother wasn't burning money out of love. She was doing it out of "control." She hadn't changed one bit from when I was alive. In fact, she had gotten worse. "Do you really think... that you haven't made a single mistake?" I asked, completely hollowed out. "I am your mother! Everything I do is for your own good!" She exploded like a powder keg, her voice piercing the air. "Look at me, I'm getting old, and I still have to break my back worrying about you! When you were alive, I bled for you, I taught you, and why the hell were you so fragile? You jumped off a roof over a little hardship! And now, you're dead, and you still don't understand shit!" She took a menacing step forward, and all the "perfect daughters" in her dreamscape crumbled into dust behind her. Leaving only her twisted face, contorted by her obsession with control. "Do you know why I named you Serenity? 'Serene' means quiet obedience! It means you shut up and follow orders. What you need right now is to reflect on your mistakes! Not think about how to squander money!" The one who needs to correct their mistakes... is me? I screamed silently in my head as tears streamed down my spectral face, utterly uncontrollable. My mother showed no sign of stopping. "From now on, do exactly as I say! Visit my dreams every night. Greet me, and tell me this is day X of your sincere reflection in the Netherworld. Be good! Let me see your 'progress'! If I find out you're not behaving—" A cruel, triumphant sneer tugged at the corner of her lips. "Then I'll cut the Spirit Dollars off completely! Then we'll see what you do!" She actually wanted me to continue "checking in" from the Afterlife? Even though I didn't breathe anymore, I felt like I was suffocating all over again. The nightmare of my living days was replaying in the Netherworld in an even darker, more desperate way. But this time, from the depths of my freezing despair, a blazing, all-consuming fire suddenly roared to life! When I was alive, I was powerless to fight back. But now... I was already dead. What did I have to be afraid of? "I originally thought... my death might buy a single shred of remorse from you..." I laughed mockingly at myself, raising my hand and pointing directly at her hateful face. "Now I see I was incredibly stupid! Naive and ridiculous! "Let me tell you something: even if my soul shatters into a million pieces down here, I will never, ever visit your dream for another second! "You will never control me again! Not for a single minute!" My mother stared at me in shock, reaching out to grab my soul— "You think you can escape me? I'm telling you, even if you don't visit my dreams, I have ways to make you—" Before she could finish, I scattered like smoke. The Dream Visitation was over. 3 "Are you okay?" Coming out of the dreamscape, Harper, the Reaper at the Department of Dream Visitation, caught my arm. My soul was practically disintegrating. It felt like all the energy had been drained from me, and I couldn't even stand steady. Harper looked at me, hesitating. After a long pause, she sighed and gently patted my shoulder. "Getting stuck with a mom like that... you've had it rough." I forced a tight, ugly smile. "You saw all that?" "Dream Visitations are monitored. Standard procedure." She paused, asking tentatively, "So... are you really going to 'check in' with her every night?" I shook my head, my voice lighter than a wisp of smoke. "I jumped off a roof because I couldn't stand her 'checking in' anymore. Now that I'm dead, no matter how much my soul hurts... it's better than being controlled by her again." Harper stayed silent for a moment, then suddenly lowered her voice. "Actually... your mom refusing to burn you money might be a blessing in disguise." I looked up. "If no one burns paper money for you for three consecutive months, and your personal assets fall below ten thousand Spirit Dollars, you can apply for 'Netherworld Welfare.'" "Netherworld Welfare?" I sat up straight, a light kindling in my eyes. "Yeah. It's 1,500 Spirit Dollars a month." 1,500 dollars! That was huge! Even if my mom burned money every day, that was only 600 a month. The Afterlife's welfare was more than double! Suddenly, my existence felt like it had a future. As long as my mom didn't burn money for three months straight, I could get welfare! Looking at it this way, being dead was pretty great. Even if it was destitute, it wasn't a dead end. Probably out of pity for what she saw in my dream, Harper sighed and pulled a dozen "Soul Painkiller" vials from her pocket, shoving them into my hands. "Take these. They're Department perks. I don't use them, and I was going to sell them on the side, but seeing how hard you have it... just take 'em." Overwhelmed by her kindness, I took them, thanking her profusely. Harper thought for a moment, then added, "The workload here is getting intense. If you're willing to help me out, I'll give you all my monthly painkiller allocations from now on. But you can't breathe a word of this outside. You're a high-risk suicide soul. If the higher-ups find out I'm using you for labor... we're both screwed!" I was ecstatic and quickly agreed. "Don't worry, I won't say a word!" With this job, even if my mother stopped burning me money, I could survive the three months. After three months, I'd get my welfare, and life would only get better! I bowed deeply to Harper. A Reaper I had never met before was willing to extend a helping hand when she saw my suffering. And my own mother, who claimed to love me, refused to let me go even in death. She probably... never loved me to begin with. Accepting that truth brought me a strange sense of peace. In the days that followed, I worked diligently at the Department of Dream Visitation, helping Harper with the grunt work. Filing life-and-death ledgers, calibrating visitation timelines, and floating between filing cabinets that smelled faintly of phantom lilies. Harper found a corner in the archives for me to stay in temporarily. Though the painkillers she gave me weren't many, drinking half a vial a day was enough to ease the crushing agony in my soul. Day by day passed. Two months. Just one more month, and I could claim my welfare! I'd be financially free! But then, on that exact day. I was head-down, organizing dream files. Suddenly, a brutal, overwhelming force gripped my soul! Like an iron hook piercing my collarbone, I didn't even have time to scream before I was violently yanked upward! When I opened my eyes, the blinding sunlight scorched my phantom body. —I had been pulled back to the living world. No, more accurately, my soul had been stuffed into a stuffed animal. My favorite childhood teddy bear. "It worked!" An old man with a greying beard stroked his chin, looking immensely smug. He was an Occult Medium. My mother stood to the side, wearing a triumphant, long-lost victor's smile. She leaned down, her fingernail poking hard into the teddy bear's head. Her voice was so cold it made my skin crawl: "Caught you, Serenity." 4 "I told you to visit my dreams and check in every day! Why didn't you listen? Huh? Your wings got tough, so you thought you could rebel even in death?!" My mother's interrogation crashed down on me. Her nails dug deep into the cotton stuffing of the toy, sending spikes of pain through my soul. I could barely force a voice out. "I told you, I'm never checking in with you again! I'm already dead... why should I still follow your rules?" "How dare you talk back to me?!" Her pitch skyrocketed. She violently hoisted the teddy bear into the air, forcing my "eyes" to stare directly into her furious, contorted face. "I didn't burn a single cent for you these past two months just to punish you and teach you a lesson! And what happened? You didn't starve to death, did you? I knew it! The Afterlife doesn't force you to spend money! You lied to me to squander my cash! Thank God I didn't spoil a debt-collector like you!" A coppery taste of despair surged in my phantom throat, but I couldn't even manage a whimper. —How laughable. She'd rather believe the bullshit of a random occult scammer than believe her own daughter when I said, 'It hurts so much.' "But I really didn't expect you to be this stubborn." Her tone carried the cruel amusement of a cat playing with a mouse. She dropped me back onto the table, poking my "face" over and over again. "Two whole months, and you didn't visit me to say hello even once! You completely abandoned your filial duty! Fine, you won't come? If you won't come, I have ways to make you come! From now on, every single day! I will have the Medium drag you up here! You will respectfully greet me just like before, report on your reflections without missing a syllable, and listen to my lectures until your deeply ingrained flaws are completely fixed!" Every single day? The words drove through my soul like an ice pick. A drowning, absolute terror, far deeper than death itself, seized me. "How is that possible? I'm dead, you're alive. We're separated by life and death! How can you just pull me up whenever you want?" "It's all thanks to the Medium's vast powers." My mother smugly pulled out a stack of dark yellow parchment, covered in twisted sigils drawn in blood-red ink. "Do you know what this is?" She waved the parchment in front of my face. "A 'Soul-Binding Sigil.' "Burn one a day, and no matter where you are, you will instantly be summoned before me." Her fingers brushed against the teddy bear's fur. The movement was gentle, but laced with a terrifying possessiveness. "I know you always loved sleeping with this ratty old doll. It's covered in your essence. It's the perfect vessel to trap your disobedient little soul! Daughter... do you finally understand your mother's 'good intentions'?" I felt an icy, agonizing dread wash over my entire being. With these cursed sigils, my soul was nothing more than a kite on her string. When she wanted me, I had to come. Trapped in this tiny stuffed animal, forced to listen to her lectures and curses. This was even more hopeless than when I was alive... "Now, just like before, give me a status report on your friends in the Netherworld. "What do those ghosts do for a living? How is your relationship with them? Tell me everything! Don't you dare hide anything, and don't you dare associate with those trashy, low-class wild ghosts! Do you hear me?" I just felt like laughing. —Mom, do you even know? I wander the Netherworld homeless. I drift from place to place. I am the trashy, low-class wild ghost you're talking about. And you made me this way. "The sigil's time limit is almost up. Hurry it up," the Medium reminded her from the side. Only then did my mother reluctantly stop talking. But before I vanished, her freezing glare locked onto me. "I am extremely dissatisfied with your performance today! But considering you haven't had any 'living expenses' in a long time, I'm sure you've suffered a bit... "I will still burn today's twenty Spirit Dollars for you. Remember, tomorrow! I expect a proper report! Or else..." Twenty Spirit Dollars? My head jerked up. No! Absolutely not! I only had one month left before I could collect my Netherworld Welfare! If she resumed burning money, I wouldn't meet the welfare requirements anymore! "I don't want it!" I screamed with every last ounce of strength I had. "Take your filthy money back! I won't check in, and I won't take your living expenses! I'm cutting ties with you, and I will never use another cent of your money!" "Cut. Ties. With. Me?" My mother enunciated each word slowly, her smile suddenly turning grotesque. "Don't think I don't know what you're plotting. The Medium already told me. The Netherworld has a welfare system. If nobody burns paper money for three months, you can claim it." She leaned in close to the teddy bear, dropping her voice to a sinister whisper: "But don't even dream of getting it. I am your mother. Every single Spirit Dollar you get must come from me. If you think you can escape my control, keep dreaming!" The welfare... she even knew about that! My soul collapsed entirely, the last shred of my strength violently ripped away. There is no despair deeper than this. My body suddenly felt weightless, and I plunged heavily back down to the Netherworld. Lying in my palm were 20 Spirit Dollars—the "living expenses" my mother so graciously bestowed upon me. They felt like glowing branding irons, burning through my hand, burning away my final, desperate sliver of hope. The welfare... was gone. And tomorrow, the day after, the endless tomorrows... That daily "check-in" would follow me like maggots on a corpse, an inescapable shadow. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to die a second time, just to find release. But I couldn't. I was already a ghost. There was nowhere left to run. I couldn't even find an escape in death...
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