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墨書 Inktalez
Chapter Three
The taxi driver dropped him off at the intersection of a small path, hesitating as he fumbled for change. Just as he was about to close the door, gripping the strap of his backpack and preparing to embark on his adventure, he heard the driver’s voice from behind: “Young man, I’ll wait for you at the intersection up ahead for half an hour. If you change your mind, come back and find me! After six in the evening, no vehicles will pass through here.”
“I know, sir. Don’t worry. After I finish looking around, I’ll have my brother come pick me up. You don’t need to wait; I’d feel bad delaying your work,” he replied, noticing the driver frowning and sighing, muttering something about how curiosity kills children as he rolled up the window and drove away from sight.
Taking a deep breath, Song Bunan stepped onto the journey he had longed for. He imagined that after tonight, once he wrote down his experiences, he would become a sensation on the forum. Although he was heading to a place with a terrible reputation—the Haunted House—and he understood the driver’s concerns, he believed that with all his years of dreaming, he could definitely make it out unscathed.
Autumn evenings arrived early; even though the sun hung low in the western sky and tried its best to shine, the excellent greenery of the countryside blocked most of its light. Moreover, on either side of the narrow path leading to the Haunted House, tall and straight poplar trees stood like sentinels, their bases filled with shrubs that filled in any gaps. Walking on the old Bluestone Slab under the dim light, he could only pray that no venomous creatures would emerge from this dilapidated path with each step he took.
The road stretched long and winding without an end in sight; all that lay ahead was a vast expanse of forest. Song Bunan felt as though he had been walking for ages—what started as a clear view of the path had turned into a necessity to rely on his Flashlight to see where to place his feet. He estimated that this road must be at least five kilometers long, but glancing at his watch revealed that he had only been walking for less than ten minutes.
He had never been afraid of the dark and didn’t feel any of the ominous sensations described in forums about being watched by something unseen. Instead, he wondered why night fell so quickly and why this path seemed interminably long, composed of irregular Bluestone Slab pieces. Unconsciously, he began counting how many slabs he had passed; the more he counted, the more endless it felt.
“Oh dear…” After about fifteen minutes of walking, Song Bunan grew frustrated. Standing on a seven-sided stone slab, he swung his flashlight around to check ahead and glanced back; both directions were pitch black—truly a place where there was neither village nor shop in sight. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully; after all, according to what he read on the forum, this path didn’t twist and turn too much—it was just excessively long. He decided to run straight towards the courtyard of that house; then it wouldn’t feel so endless.
Having made up his mind, Song Bunan tightened his shoelaces and adjusted his backpack straps before raising his Flashlight to illuminate his way. He focused intently on those Bluestone Slab pieces beneath him to ensure that when he ran, he wouldn’t trip over an empty space. With athletic talent barely scraping by at passing level, he sprinted through the darkness with all his might—perhaps luck was on his side since he had prayed before leaving home—until he finally stopped in front of the courtyard without falling.
The gate and courtyard walls were made of Iron Railings, coated in black paint like long arrows standing upright in the ground; some had already been weathered down or bent by storms. Peering inside revealed a ground covered with fallen leaves and overgrown weeds; once-thriving trees now stood as mere dry branches under what little light remained in the sky, casting an even more desolate shadow over the dilapidated Main House.
Fortunately, many previous adventurers had opened this gate repeatedly, paving the way for those who came after them. Song Bunan gripped his flashlight tightly and strode confidently into this decaying yard that felt strangely familiar despite never having visited before. Perhaps it was because of all those dreams that brought him here so often; it wasn’t until he reached the front of the Main House that he sensed something was amiss:
The Flashlight in his hand had inexplicably gone out.
The flashlight was a new one, fully charged and packed into the bag the night before. The journey from turning it on to reaching the front door of the house would take no more than half an hour. Song Bunan patted his bag but found no spare flashlight in the compartment where it should have been. After some thought, he decided to go inside and try his luck.
As he stepped up the stairs, Song Bunan recalled all the details from his dream about entering the house. The study, where he could always find a flashlight, should be on the left side after passing through the living room and up the spiral staircase. However, in his dream, this place had always felt new and warm, while now it seemed devoid of warmth; the floor was likely rotten to dust.
He placed his hand on the ornate metal door and pushed it slightly. The sound of the latch creaking in protest echoed through the empty house, a reminder of years of neglect. The noise sent a shiver down his spine. Inside, there was no light, and as he carefully examined the arrangement of furniture, Song Bunan took out a baton given to him by a friend, gripping it tightly as he made his way toward the study.
The wooden floor creaked underfoot, but it felt oddly soft, as if carpeted. Not wanting to get dirty, Song Bunan refrained from crouching down to feel around; instead, he forced himself to walk briskly toward his destination despite the discomfort of not being able to plant his feet firmly on the ground. The furnishings in the house had not changed much since his dream; they simply lacked their former vibrancy. As he brushed his fingers across a tabletop, all he felt was dust.
The first floor had a large open space; what used to be the living room had been transformed into an area that could accommodate twenty or thirty people. There were symmetrical corridors on either side, adorned with decorative paintings and display cabinets built into the walls. Facing the front door was a staircase leading to the second floor, where there should have been a large painting depicting a scenic view. Now, however, it looked like a black hole that would swallow anyone who dared approach.
As he passed by the left corridor, Song Bunan felt as if something was moving around him. He glanced around but saw only an empty hallway. Although he was nearsighted and felt like everything became pixelated when he took off his glasses, he possessed good night vision; even with glasses on, he could see clearly in darkness indoors. However, this ability only worked within buildings; outside in open spaces or woods, darkness meant complete blindness.
Arriving at the study door, Song Bunan took a deep breath to calm his nerves. Unfortunately, before he could exhale, he was hit by a wave of damp and moldy air that made him cough violently. He stumbled through the door—unlocked—and fell forward onto what turned out to be an actual carpeted floor. The dust kicked up around him almost suffocated him as he scrambled to get up, pain flaring in his nasal passages and throat.
Fortunately, this place looked exactly like it did in his dream: six-tier bookshelves lined both sides of the room with a writing desk in the center. On top of the desk lay an ink bottle and a pen standing upright beside it. The books on the shelves were neatly arranged by size, creating a pleasing sight. Brushing off the dust from his clothes, Song Bunan walked directly to the writing desk and opened its central drawer to find a leather notebook and another flashlight.
Not wanting to read someone else's diary entries, Song Bunan chose the flashlight instead. This old-fashioned flashlight resembled a high-powered searchlight; with a gentle press of its button, white light burst forth from his hand, illuminating most of the study. He was taken aback by its brightness; any lingering worries vanished instantly. However, once that anxiety faded away, an odd feeling began to creep in.
The flashlight felt warm in his hand, and where its light shone revealed details hidden in darkness. For instance, on the door of this study hung a map.
It appeared to be made of leather; its texture was soft yet not overly slick. It remained smooth despite being exposed to dust for so long. The design was drawn with gold powder; once dry, it had a slightly resistant texture when touched. As Song Bunan's fingers traced down from top to bottom along its surface, he sensed something was amiss.
When his skin made contact with the gold powder paint, he could distinctly feel invisible patterns beneath it; no matter how he angled the light upon it, hidden content remained concealed. Not wanting to waste time on these distractions, Song Bunan decided to focus on examining what was depicted in gold powder instead: it was a structural map of this house's first floor with each room clearly marked and numbered—except for this study which bore Chinese characters: Zero.
Song Bunan carefully began examining the room marked with the number one, trying to connect the house he had visited in his dreams with the map before him, hoping to determine where he should start his adventure tonight. However, he found that all his memories of the first floor led to dead ends; behind every door lurked strange creatures, whether they were human or monster, they all appeared bizarre and dangerous.
Unable to believe that dreams could represent reality, he thought for a moment and decided against taking any action on the first floor. "There are no maps for the second and third floors, and the last place I visited in my dream was on the third floor. Fortunately, I can start directly from there." He murmured to himself as he set a clear goal in the study, gripping his flashlight and baton tightly while putting on a mask. He strode confidently toward the staircase.
This section of the staircase only led to the second floor; to reach the third floor, he would have to choose one of the corridors on either side of the second floor. Song Bunan decided to take the right-hand side. However, just as he stepped onto the stairs, he heard the sound of a door slamming shut behind him.
The skin on the back of his head tightened instantly. He had left the main door open for an easy escape, and such doors typically did not have an automatic closing feature. So what had closed it?
In his confusion, Song Bunan instinctively turned around to look:
In the darkness, a tall, shadowy figure stood beside the door, its long, stick-like arms resting on the doorknob. Although he couldn't see its eyes, Song Bunan was certain that it was staring directly at him.
He quickly turned back around, pretending not to have seen this scene. Biting his lower lip, he took a deep breath and sprinted up to the second floor.
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