If you are an excellent chef, these wheat will be ground into flour to make fragrant bread or sweet and delicious wheat porridge. But at this time, I believe that I am not inferior to the chefs' skills, because the golden wheat grains are roasted to make me hungry.
The aroma is far superior to the former.
I first picked out a few over-roasted wheat grains and took my mouth. The aroma of the seeds exploded in my mouth, followed by pain. I covered my sore bite muscles to recover for a while, and then I took my hand before my stomach twitched due to hunger.
The few grains of wheat left in my heart poured into my mouth.
It's a pity that there is only a small bag, they saved me from hunger today at most.
The roasted wheat grains were very dry, and I didn’t want to feel thirsty and still waiting for water. So I temporarily moved the dinner plate away from the fireplace, and went back to the kitchen downstairs to look for discarded iron cans that had not been crushed, and a bunch of them.
Hemp rope and even a rusty kitchen knife found under the cupboard.
The appearance of the weapon greatly increased my sense of security, even though it was almost useless in the face of those weird things.
Carrying the sundries I found from the kitchen, I returned to the attic. I took a breath for a moment to recover from the fatigue, ran back downstairs, squatted by the street drain to wash the tin cans and twine, and then returned to the attic without stopping, picking up the kitchen knife.
Poke holes in the edges of the tin cans and string them together with hemp rope to make a string of tinkling tin cans, then let them out from the attic window to catch the rainwater.
This way, I don't have to carry heavy buckets or run between the door and the attic frequently.
Cool water flowed into the attic, and I sat in front of the warm fireplace smelling the aroma of wheat grains, listening to the rain falling outside the window, tapping the tin can to play crisp music, and enjoying the rare peace.
When the tin cans were full, I grabbed the hemp rope tied to the wooden frame and pulled the string of tin cans back to the attic. I took out the tin cans and put them in front of the fireplace to boil the rainwater.
The boiling water cools down, and the iron can smells like rust. It reminds me of the shadow of the recent past, but it is not dirty. A glass of hot water warms my heart.
It would be great if there were coffee beans, I thought with dissatisfaction.
After eating the only meal in these three days, it was almost the end of the day in the afternoon. I was left with a handful of roasted wheat grains to prevent myself from being swallowed up by the hopeless future, and to look forward to the arrival of tomorrow.
My body sent me a signal: I should take a long sleep after eating and drinking in a safe and warm place, but it was not the time to rest yet. Before it started to get dark, I put a few pieces of burning wood into the lampshade and carried it.
The oil lamp climbed down to the attic and inspected every room starting from the second floor.
There was nothing I could do to nail up the windows that let in light or had only sash left. I could only simply close the door, but then stopped after I found that closing the door made the corridor dark.
Returning from the stairs to the lobby on the first floor, all I could do was block the doors and windows with tables and chairs. When I approached the corner to move the wooden chair, I was startled by the human-shaped shadow on the wall. I approached carefully and found that it was just a coincidence caused by water seepage.
This is very common in coastal dwellings. If the tavern was not a masonry structure but a wooden house, it would have been in disrepair for a long time, like a clinic that cannot be visited.
Despite this, I still didn't dare to get too close to the human form, so I hurriedly put the wooden chair in front of the human form and fled back to the attic, where I regained my courage in the warmth and safety of the attic.
It gradually became dark outside the window, so I dragged the bed frame to the fireplace and spread dry sheets and quilts on it.
I didn't hear the church bells. Maybe they were too far away, but I didn't hear them yesterday. Before falling asleep, I moved the bedside table to press the trap door, pulled the string of tin cans outside the window back to the attic, closed the window, and put the wooden board
Block the windows to prevent the firelight from entering the room.
Finally, after stuffing enough firewood into the fireplace to last until the next day, I climbed into bed and wrapped myself tightly in warm old quilts. I usually think about something before going to bed, but as soon as I lay down, I was illuminated by the firelight.
Falling into a dream.
I experienced a long, comfortable, worry-free dreamland that I had not seen for a long time.
This death-like silence lasted until a certain moment. A dull, subtle collapse sound suddenly broke into my consciousness. The sound was like a pile of wooden chairs collapsing under the influence of external force. As the imagination became concrete in my mind, I suddenly
The earth woke up from a bright and warm dream.
The fireplace burned steadily, and elongated shadows swayed in the attic.
I stretched my head out of the bed and listened carefully. Gradually, from the noise of wind and rain beating on the window, I heard the intermittent sound of collapse coming from downstairs. A terrifying scene emerged in my mind: stacked seats blocking the door.
Just as the door to the room was pushed open by a strange claw...
I don't know where the courage came from, or the hysteria that I hoped to be overturned. I grabbed the kitchen knife with my right hand and the half-burned wooden stick with my left hand. I pushed the bedside table with my shoulder and climbed back to the second floor step by step on the ladder.
It was like I had broken into a dark tomb, with only the narrow area illuminated by torches being bright. I regretted not coming down hastily, but I had no choice but to walk up the stairs to the living room on the first floor.
I didn't hear the rain, I didn't feel the wind, the sound of collapse disappeared, and the door was still closed.
Just when I thought everything was just my imagination, I discovered that what collapsed were the tables and chairs piled in front of the human-shaped traces. What really made me shudder was that the human-shaped traces on the wall were missing.
I seemed to have fallen into Protos' river of oblivion and lost my memory. When I woke up again, I was leaning against the bedside table pressing the trap door, covered in cold sweat, as if the previous experience was just a nightmare.
Only the emaciated and sickly human figures gradually revealed on the attic walls told me that this was not a dream.
They are coming...
The bedside table I was leaning against trembled and was pushed open, and a withered, burnt-black arm stretched out from the trap door. Without thinking, I swung out my right hand holding the kitchen knife, and the kitchen knife pierced my arm like
The ashes were stirred up and dust was raised.
The arm retracted the trap door, but more ghostly shapes were protruding from the wall, appearing in my attic.
My heartbeat began to accelerate, my breathing became rapid, and an invisible force grabbed me, causing me to fight against the invading strange shadow. The crazy blood in my body was stimulated, and I even began to regret why I found a stone house. If it was still a wooden house,
I could burn the house down and let them bury it with me. But soon, I began to feel lucky because they couldn't break down the stone house and could only penetrate little by little through the walls.
These monsters, whose power has not yet escaped the human realm, were stabbed by me with a kitchen knife before they could get out of the wall.
In the melee, the wooden board blocking the window fell, and the flashing white light outside the window instantly brought back a fragment of my memory: on the vast sea, a ship fighting a storm turned its searchlight across the dark sea.
Thunder followed, and an atmosphere of surprise enveloped me. I screamed and waved my kitchen knife, attacking every strange figure that broke into the attic. After I defended like a monster for half a night, the heavily damaged monster finally faded away.
, return the wall clean.
I gasped to confirm that they had indeed left. The kitchen knife slipped from my hand, and then fell to the floor.
On a stormy night, I spent a scary night exhausted and frightened.