Volume One: The Eight Coffins of the Corpse Grounds Chapter 51: Strange Phenomena in the Room

But the sound was undeniably coming from that room. To be sure, Fei Yao approached the door, pressing her ear tightly against it to listen intently.

Sure enough, the sound was clearer this time, emanating directly from within. Fei Yao gently pushed at the door—it was indeed locked, just as she’d remembered. But then, what was causing the commotion inside?

Filled with suspicion, Fei Yao raised her hand and knocked twice on the door.

Knock, knock…

Though the knocks were soft, they echoed sharply through the corridor. The rustling noises inside abruptly ceased; even the footsteps stopped instantly.

After about three minutes, when everything seemed to return to normal, the sounds resumed inside the room.

Now, even Fei Yao, who never believed in ghosts, broke out into a cold sweat.

She was not easily frightened. Gritting her teeth, she went to fetch the key, determined to uncover the truth behind the locked door.

Returning with the key, Fei Yao heard the old grandfather clock downstairs striking twelve times.

“Midnight…” she murmured, unlocking the door and flinging it open.

At the very moment she pushed the door wide, a flash of lightning split the sky outside the window, illuminating the entire room.

On the old dressing table sat her black cat.

The cat was licking the mirror with its tongue. Before Fei Yao could get a good look, the cat swiftly turned its head, its eyes glowing with a luminous green light.

Beside the bed, there appeared to be a shadowy figure, pacing around the bed. When the door opened, it stopped abruptly.

Fei Yao could no longer hold herself together; her taut nerves suddenly unraveled.

“Who’s there?” she cried out in a shrill voice.

But as the lightning faded, darkness swallowed the room again.

The black cat let out a screech, leaped through the air, crashed against the window, and vanished into the night.

Fei Yao felt a cold wind rush past her; her head swam, and she collapsed in the room.

When she awoke, several hours had passed, and dawn had yet to break.

The window stood open, rain and wind still raging outside, with torrents of water splashing in. The wind rattled the window noisily.

Fei Yao, recalling her ordeal, was still shaken.

She got up quickly and reached for the light switch.

But no matter how many times she pressed it, the room remained powerless.

She had no choice but to open the door, letting the corridor’s light spill in. Using her phone as a flashlight, she scanned the room. To her astonishment, she discovered a trail of bloody footprints beside the old bed. The prints seemed to be stamped onto the floor; despite the rainwater, they had not been washed away.

Remembering the cat’s odd behavior the night before, Fei Yao rushed to the dressing table. She found upon the old surface numerous marks, as if someone had hacked at it with a blade in a frenzy.

But the black cat and the shadowy figure were nowhere to be found.

Staring at the bloodstains, panic surged within her.

Fei Yao turned to flee the room; everything she’d witnessed was beyond her imagination.

Just as she spun around, she realized something grave.

She had just been facing the mirror of the dressing table. Her own reflection was visible—a common enough sight.

But in the dimness, Fei Yao thought she saw more than one head in the mirror.

Two heads seemed to appear at once.

A chill crept up her spine. She wanted to leave at once, yet her curiosity kept her rooted.

Slowly, she turned back, stepping before the mirror and peering in.

It was an old, worn dressing table, clearly an antique. The mirror’s surface was dull, not smooth or bright. When she first moved in, she had examined it, finding nothing unusual.

Now, scrutinizing it carefully, Fei Yao saw mottled bloodstains upon the glass.

Within those stains, there were marks as though something had been licked—surely the work of the eerie black cat. Because of the lighting and the blood, she could only faintly make out the outline of a person in the mirror, but the face was indistinct. Only one figure appeared. Fei Yao exhaled in relief, thinking she’d imagined the second head.

As she rose to leave, she saw the head in the mirror suddenly shift, separating from the body.

Fei Yao’s mouth gaped in horror, and she stumbled backward.

Yet the figure did not move in tandem with her, which meant—it was not her own reflection.

Her mind went blank for a moment. The realization was terrifying: if the figure in the mirror was not her, who could it be?

A ghost?

Once she understood, Fei Yao screamed and scrambled out of the room.

That very night, she left the old house and booked a hotel. Only after sunrise did she return with her assistant to investigate further.

The attendant had recounted all this in one breath, and both my third uncle and I listened, utterly absorbed. At this point, I couldn’t help but remark, “This woman writer is remarkably brave. After experiencing so many terrifying things, she still dared to return?”

The attendant smacked his lips and gave a thumbs-up. “From what I know, Fei Yao is no coward. In the writers’ circle, she’s absolutely top-tier.”

I asked, puzzled, “How so?”

He explained, “I heard she once crossed a desert alone to experience life, and even ventured into African jungles. She’s done things most men wouldn’t dare. That’s why her work is so outstanding—I heard she was even nominated for some Nobel prize or another. She’s no ordinary person. But lately, because of this house, Fei Yao hasn’t been eating or sleeping, haunted by nightmares every night. Her script work has stalled, and she’s in trouble.”

Third uncle glanced at the attendant and asked, “You tell it so vividly, as if you saw it yourself. Are you making up stories to swindle us?”

The attendant was taken aback and hurried to explain, “How could I? Since word got out that the house was for sale, anyone interested came to ask about its history. I just pieced together what each one knew. You two want this house, right? That means you’re lucky—you took the shortcut, you know? Yet you accuse me of making things up…”

(End of this chapter)