Horror stories personally experienced by horror novelist Zhou Dedong
Chapter 29: Midnight
Chapter 29: Midnight Show (5)
One day, I saw some strange-looking flying insects in the bathroom of my home. They had two wings, were as big as sorghum grains, were gray, and could not see the eyes, nose, mouth and other organs.They lay quietly on the high wall, motionless.
I killed one with a fly swatter, and the others flew away.
After the flying insect died, there was no blood, nothing, only some gray powder on the wall.
I guess, it must be the various new chemical materials used in the decoration of the house, which have produced these weird bugs. We don't know what kind of subjects they belong to, and it is impossible to know their habits and whether they are poisonous. . . . . .
At Suburban Station, I parked the car and walked through the gate.
A hand suddenly came out from the doorman's room on one side of the gate and stopped me—it was the doorman.
"Certificate."
"Oh..." I glanced at him and hurriedly lowered my head to take out my ID.
Suddenly, my hand stopped, slowly raised my head, and stared at his face - it was him I was looking for!
He looked at me coldly.
"Yo, I'm looking for you."
He frowned: "What are you looking for me for?"
"I'm a writer, and I wrote the horror novels you talked about at zero o'clock on TV..."
He looked at me with disbelief, and that look made me wonder what to say next.
"What's your business?"
"You appeared on camera when my second horror novel was broadcast on TV, and I thought you did a great job, so...wanted to talk to you."
"About what?"
"Can we make an appointment?"
"I'm on duty during the day, and I'm only free at night."
"Then tonight."
"Where?"
I turned my head and looked, and said, "Turn around, there's a swearing bar, let's go there. What time do you get off work?"
"Eight o'clock."
"Then we'll meet at eight o'clock. I'll go first."
He didn't say anything.
After I left, I felt that he had been looking at me from behind, with no trust in his eyes.
I've been hanging around suburban TV stations.
It was getting darker.
The TV station is in the suburbs, the roads are empty, and if you go further, you will be in the wilderness.The lights here are sparse and deserted, like sleepy eyes.
The wind blew low over the roofs of the city.
I waited until eight o'clock and walked into the foul-mouthed bar on time.
About 10 minutes later, the security guard came.He was still wearing that ugly security uniform, which was very inconsistent with the atmosphere of this bar.
He sat quietly across from me, looking at me.
There were very few people in the bar and it was too early.Apart from me and him, there was only one person next to us, with his back to us, drinking alone.
"What do you drink?" I asked.
"I do not drink."
I could tell from his demeanor that this was his first visit to such a place.
"Then can I get you a glass of ice water?"
"Okay, two glasses."
When the drinks came, I said, "Well, there is a director who wants to make my horror novel into a TV series, and I'm helping him find actors."
"What's the name of the TV show?" he asked.
""insect"."
After saying these two words, I shivered.
He didn't respond, just looked at me quietly.
"Recently, I saw you showing your head twice in the camera, and I think your demeanor is very suitable for this role..."
He shook his head and interrupted me: "It was once."
"You didn't take part in the first horror show taping?"
"No."
I stare into his eyes.
His eyes are small, with only two very thin slits.
In my opinion, his upper and lower eyelids are actually a kind of cover, like a strong and deep bunker, with only two small lookout holes exposed.His eyeballs are hidden in there, so that no one can see his eyes clearly.
Then, I looked at his face and hands again, trying to find clues of aliens, but found nothing.
"I don't know your name yet?"
"evergreen."
"Evergreen...do you like bugs?"
"do not like."
"why?"
"What do you think?" His tone was suddenly a little aggressive.
"I like bugs," I said.
Experience tells me: the more you are afraid of something, the closer that thing is to you. This sentence contains a philosophical meaning.For example, the more you fear going crazy, the easier it is to go crazy.The more you fear being possessed by something, the easier it is to be possessed by something. . . . . .Therefore, I say I like bugs.
His eyes showed mistrust again.
"Of course, bugs are afraid of people and are hostile to people. Therefore, if I want to get close to bugs, I have to look like bugs. Once, I had a dream. I dreamed that I took out all the bones and put them on again. I stretched out a lot of legs and crawled into the grass, and the bugs slowly crawled out and surrounded me little by little..."
There seemed to be some fear in his eyes.
He is not afraid of bugs, but of people masquerading as bugs.
"If a worm wants to approach a human, it has to become a human. Otherwise, people will crush it. Once, I had another dream. I dreamed of a worm whose legs were as dense as hair. It hid in the grass, kept eating its own legs, one after another, and finally there were only two left. At this time, it slowly stood up and walked out..."
The fear in his eyes grew stronger.
"It was this weird dream that inspired me to write these bug stories."
Suddenly, there was a burst of happy laughter from the seat next to him.
(End of this chapter)
One day, I saw some strange-looking flying insects in the bathroom of my home. They had two wings, were as big as sorghum grains, were gray, and could not see the eyes, nose, mouth and other organs.They lay quietly on the high wall, motionless.
I killed one with a fly swatter, and the others flew away.
After the flying insect died, there was no blood, nothing, only some gray powder on the wall.
I guess, it must be the various new chemical materials used in the decoration of the house, which have produced these weird bugs. We don't know what kind of subjects they belong to, and it is impossible to know their habits and whether they are poisonous. . . . . .
At Suburban Station, I parked the car and walked through the gate.
A hand suddenly came out from the doorman's room on one side of the gate and stopped me—it was the doorman.
"Certificate."
"Oh..." I glanced at him and hurriedly lowered my head to take out my ID.
Suddenly, my hand stopped, slowly raised my head, and stared at his face - it was him I was looking for!
He looked at me coldly.
"Yo, I'm looking for you."
He frowned: "What are you looking for me for?"
"I'm a writer, and I wrote the horror novels you talked about at zero o'clock on TV..."
He looked at me with disbelief, and that look made me wonder what to say next.
"What's your business?"
"You appeared on camera when my second horror novel was broadcast on TV, and I thought you did a great job, so...wanted to talk to you."
"About what?"
"Can we make an appointment?"
"I'm on duty during the day, and I'm only free at night."
"Then tonight."
"Where?"
I turned my head and looked, and said, "Turn around, there's a swearing bar, let's go there. What time do you get off work?"
"Eight o'clock."
"Then we'll meet at eight o'clock. I'll go first."
He didn't say anything.
After I left, I felt that he had been looking at me from behind, with no trust in his eyes.
I've been hanging around suburban TV stations.
It was getting darker.
The TV station is in the suburbs, the roads are empty, and if you go further, you will be in the wilderness.The lights here are sparse and deserted, like sleepy eyes.
The wind blew low over the roofs of the city.
I waited until eight o'clock and walked into the foul-mouthed bar on time.
About 10 minutes later, the security guard came.He was still wearing that ugly security uniform, which was very inconsistent with the atmosphere of this bar.
He sat quietly across from me, looking at me.
There were very few people in the bar and it was too early.Apart from me and him, there was only one person next to us, with his back to us, drinking alone.
"What do you drink?" I asked.
"I do not drink."
I could tell from his demeanor that this was his first visit to such a place.
"Then can I get you a glass of ice water?"
"Okay, two glasses."
When the drinks came, I said, "Well, there is a director who wants to make my horror novel into a TV series, and I'm helping him find actors."
"What's the name of the TV show?" he asked.
""insect"."
After saying these two words, I shivered.
He didn't respond, just looked at me quietly.
"Recently, I saw you showing your head twice in the camera, and I think your demeanor is very suitable for this role..."
He shook his head and interrupted me: "It was once."
"You didn't take part in the first horror show taping?"
"No."
I stare into his eyes.
His eyes are small, with only two very thin slits.
In my opinion, his upper and lower eyelids are actually a kind of cover, like a strong and deep bunker, with only two small lookout holes exposed.His eyeballs are hidden in there, so that no one can see his eyes clearly.
Then, I looked at his face and hands again, trying to find clues of aliens, but found nothing.
"I don't know your name yet?"
"evergreen."
"Evergreen...do you like bugs?"
"do not like."
"why?"
"What do you think?" His tone was suddenly a little aggressive.
"I like bugs," I said.
Experience tells me: the more you are afraid of something, the closer that thing is to you. This sentence contains a philosophical meaning.For example, the more you fear going crazy, the easier it is to go crazy.The more you fear being possessed by something, the easier it is to be possessed by something. . . . . .Therefore, I say I like bugs.
His eyes showed mistrust again.
"Of course, bugs are afraid of people and are hostile to people. Therefore, if I want to get close to bugs, I have to look like bugs. Once, I had a dream. I dreamed that I took out all the bones and put them on again. I stretched out a lot of legs and crawled into the grass, and the bugs slowly crawled out and surrounded me little by little..."
There seemed to be some fear in his eyes.
He is not afraid of bugs, but of people masquerading as bugs.
"If a worm wants to approach a human, it has to become a human. Otherwise, people will crush it. Once, I had another dream. I dreamed of a worm whose legs were as dense as hair. It hid in the grass, kept eating its own legs, one after another, and finally there were only two left. At this time, it slowly stood up and walked out..."
The fear in his eyes grew stronger.
"It was this weird dream that inspired me to write these bug stories."
Suddenly, there was a burst of happy laughter from the seat next to him.
(End of this chapter)
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