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Lovesick Ghost Tales
墨書 Inktalez
The dream was cold.
He ran helplessly forward, barefoot on the wooden floor, his oversized pajamas billowing out behind him, adding more resistance to his movements. Just moments before, he had entered the courtyard as usual and smoothly retrieved the flashlight from the study. But why, in the brief moment it took to lower his head and close the door, had the outside world become shrouded in thick fog? The flashlight's beam barely penetrated the milky white mist, yet he could hear something inhuman roaring in the distance.
Run fast!
His racing heart seemed to speak, a voice that was not his own yet clear as day.
Run forward!
The urgency of the voice intensified, accompanied by the roar drawing closer. Unable to discern direction from the sounds, he followed the voice's command, gripping the flashlight tightly and charging ahead. He couldn't see where his feet landed with each step; all that surrounded him was the unyielding fog. The light from the flashlight flickered briefly as he swung it, a reminder that he had not yet been abandoned by brightness.
The roar was right behind him now, clearer than ever. Along with it came the sound of his own breathing—heavy and labored, accompanied by a hissing noise from his chest under strain. The fog thickened in his nostrils like water droplets, making it hard to breathe; his airway protested with sharp pains and increasingly hot gasps that sapped his strength to continue.
He stopped, hands on his knees like a fish out of water, desperately gulping for air to ease his discomfort. But the voice would not relent.
Run!
Don't stop!
He wanted to keep running; the roar was now mere inches away. But he couldn't do it anymore. The dizziness from oxygen deprivation made the fog before him explode into snowflakes, a buzzing sound filled his ears, aggravating his already muddled mind. He realized that at some point, the flashlight had gone completely dark. He could see nothing—no sense of where he was or what he looked like. The only thing visible was a face that came into view when he looked up after the roar abruptly ceased.
It should have been a human face. An oval-shaped visage partially obscured by long black hair, eyes bloodshot and bulging without eyelids, a gaping hole in its forehead where white maggots writhed within. There was no nose—or rather, what remained was just a hole; the triangular cavity connected to an upper lip that vanished into nothingness, revealing a row of stark white teeth while its tongue and chin were nowhere to be seen.
The smell of blood surged through his nostrils like a wave crashing against his skull, triggering an upheaval in his stomach as bile began to rise. But before he could retch, a sudden dull pain shot through his abdomen; looking down revealed that the fog surrounding him had dissipated. A hand devoid of flesh had plunged deep into his belly.
Then he saw it—the white bone stained with his blood and entrails slowly withdrawing from him, and miraculously, the pain faded away. His increasingly heavy head could no longer support him standing there; as he fell forward, this thing caught him securely.
He heard the voice grow faint as if sighing. Just before he sank into complete darkness, laughter echoed in his ears—a chilling sound like a serpent's hiss that slithered into the gaping hole in his abdomen.
Meng Xing's first thought was to check for wounds on his belly, but the IV needle in his left hand captured all of his attention. Looking up carefully, he realized he was lying in a hospital bed; fragmented sunlight streamed through the curtains while his mother sat beside him, weary yet smiling with relief.
After being rushed to the hospital in the middle of the night due to sudden symptoms, he was informed that he had suffered from gastric perforation. Staring at the yellow light tubes flickering on the white ceiling above him, Song Bunan's first reaction was relief at not having to go to school again.
However, compared to that dream, this fog was even thicker and more oppressive—but there were no roars here nor strange voices urging him to run. The mist felt dry instead of damp and carried a faint scent that wafted through it.
He recalled where that scent might be coming from; gradually, his racing heart began to return to normal.
He was right here in Jiang Family Courtyard, safely sitting on the bed he'd just made up; outside wasn't dilapidated or dark—it was merely a dream. How he had fallen asleep remained unclear but surely this scent had played a part.
Song Bunan placed his bag beside him and settled comfortably under the covers as he felt coldness seep in. He wasn't asleep nor could he fall asleep. His phone was dead with no way for anyone to contact him; here he lay in an unfamiliar place with doors wide open and fog swirling around. Though no unsettling sounds reached him, danger seemed omnipresent.
He told himself he was dreaming; having learned from past experiences where someone had erased him from existence, even if a Guang Tou Qiang appeared out of nowhere shouting about wanting to fight bears, he'd accept it calmly this time.
There was no fatigue but an overwhelming thirst—he wondered which bite had been too salty. He turned over onto his side facing what he assumed was the door and sighed as he pulled his bag close to hug it tightly; usually he'd have a big teddy bear for comfort but tonight he'd have to make do with this instead.
It was too quiet here, so quiet that he felt his own breathing was becoming a disturbance. Song Bunan's mind had already begun to wander, drifting from thoughts of alien spaceships to ancient beasts, running through every wild idea he could conjure.
Xiao Mei stood at the door of Song Bunan's room, accompanied by Zhang Long, who held a nearly burnt-out incense stick in his hand. The two of them looked at the person lying asleep on the bed, and they both shared a look of relief. As the incense burned down to its end, Zhang Long gently brushed the ash onto the threshold, signaling to Xiao Mei that she could go in and wake him.
However, as soon as Xiao Mei stepped into the room, the person on the bed suddenly sat up as if startled by something. Although his eyes were closed, his expression was one of terror, as if he had seen something unimaginable in a dream.
This unexpected reaction caught both of them off guard outside the room. Zhang Long looked down at the ash on the door and pondered how this guiding incense usually didn’t take effect until it was completely burnt out. Ignoring what their leader had instructed earlier in the hall, he moved closer to Xiao Mei, intending to wake Song Bunan himself.
But before he could speak, it was Song Bunan who broke the silence. His face had returned to normal, but his eyes remained tightly shut. In a tone deeper than usual, he asked Xiao Mei, "Xiao Mei, why did you bring that old man from upstairs who passed away?"
As soon as those words left his mouth, Zhang Long felt a chill run down his spine, and cold sweat broke out all over him. Despite Xiao Mei's quick reflexes—she snatched a cloth from under a vase on the table and began fanning away the ash on the threshold—Song Bunan continued with a silly grin, saying, "Goodbye, old man." With that, he leaned back and fell asleep again.
Zhang Long dared not say a word; he turned and dashed out of the room toward the hall. Xiao Mei watched as Song Bunan snored softly on the bed, her expression a mix of happiness and worry.
She couldn't forget what she had seen at Song Bunan's house—the spirit of that old man was strong but devoid of any resentment; he was not a vengeful ghost. A ghost capable of affecting real-world objects must have had powerful connections during their life or willingly accepted being sent on errands after death. There were indeed capable individuals living above Song Bunan’s home, but their intentions remained unknown.
By the time Zhang Long gathered everyone together, Xiao Mei had already managed to wake Song Bunan. The two sat by the bed while Song Bunan mumbled incoherently about what had just happened. Noticing people entering the room, Xiao Mei nudged him gently: "Why don't you tell them what you just said?"
Lying there with his eyes closed and battling imaginary Transformers in his mind, he heard strange footsteps approaching amidst his thoughts. The footsteps were slow and deliberate, almost as if someone were intentionally dragging their feet across the floor tiles. They drew closer until they reached the door.
Pausing all mental images in his mind, he opened his eyes to find that most of the fog had dissipated. Everything in the room was slightly blurred but recognizable; he could clearly see figures approaching through the haze.
Sitting up abruptly, he noticed two figures entering: one tall and one short. The shorter figure was Xiao Mei, her face cold and expressionless as she stared directly at him. Following her was that old man who had attacked him days earlier—his face pale with an eerie smile and eyes glowing green amidst the fog. Both hands rested on Xiao Mei's shoulders, his nails dark as night.
He couldn't forget how that old man had clawed at him before; feeling too intimidated to speak directly to him, he turned to Xiao Mei instead with questions in his eyes. But just as he opened his mouth to speak, the fog cleared completely and soft white light poured into the room. The light spread across the floor towards Xiao Mei and the old man; just as it reached them, the old man withdrew his hands and vanished.
Feeling lost and confused, he called out after Xiao Mei's retreating figure: "Goodbye, old man!"
After saying this, Song Bunan turned to see a group of people who had just entered; each face wore an indescribable expression. He couldn’t quite grasp what was happening now and didn’t know how to analyze it either; all he could do was cast a pleading glance toward Xiao Mei.
The person who had maintained a faint smile since hearing their story caught his gaze and simply shook their head slightly in response—indicating that everything was fine.
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