"Next, you need to make some mental preparations."
When I stepped into the door of the newspaper office and talked straight to the point with the editor-in-chief of The Sun, I said this sentence——
——The oily-haired and pink-faced young man in his twenties didn’t seem to realize how important this matter was. He didn’t recognize me, he didn’t recognize David Victor, and naturally he didn’t recognize Latia Morian.
He doesn't remember my face, let alone the pen name I used.
It wasn't until I passed the publication shelf with coated paper proofing and sat down in the editor's office with a familiar face. Young Greene invited his father in, and the family business finally got off the ground.
"Ms. Latia Morrigan?" Mr. Green asked anxiously.
I immediately responded: "Yes, I used this name in 1961."
Mr. Green immediately corrected his attitude: "Mr. Victor, do you want to pick up the stories you have written before this time? Do you want to republish them?"
"No, the content of these story collections has never been officially published." I immediately corrected: "Not long ago, they could only be regarded as scattered materials. Leftovers left to rot and smell in the kitchen were no longer fresh enough.
Already."
With that said, I opened the doctor's bag and took out a few yellow pages document bags at the bottom.
"Maybe it's better than the previous manuscript..."
For a while, I couldn't find the right adjectives to describe these materials.
I thought about it for a long time and finally said it firmly.
"The evil door, yes, it is the evil door."
"Magical stories like Weird Tales, Lovecraft? Or Frankenstein? It almost lives in the last era - most of them are told from the first-person perspective."
Just like the introduction I leave you now, these works belong to Latia Morian and another alter ego of David Victor - I will never publish these stories in newspapers under a male pseudonym because of their
There is a difference in style, which may be difficult for my readers to accept.
"Does it need to be corrected again?" Mr. Green was very cautious. After the last lesson, his strategy for soliciting papers became more conservative.
Come to think of it, just send a draft to the front page without anyone’s consent?
This kind of behavior made me so angry that I went to the newspaper office to beat his son last time. If it happens again, I will step on his life.
"Please help me, my assistant. I didn't write the header and footer of the page, and I'm missing some annotations and explanations." I responded: "If possible, try not to modify the original content."
"The first story..." Mr. Green rang the summons bell and called for the little helper——
——A freckled girl with glasses and a puzzled face came in through the half-open door. I recognized her. She was a reporter from the Sun. She had been working in the field for more than six years. She had only been hired as a new employee in the past few months.
Ms. Yunqing takes over. Her name is Cotana and she is Spanish.
"Mr. Victor! Hello!" Kotana asked to shake hands when she came in. I don't understand this inexplicable enthusiasm, but I can accept it.
"Hello to you." I didn't want to say any more nonsense and transferred the manuscript to Kotana's arms——
——Immediately took the girl away, went to the editor's office, and asked her to start working quickly.
To be honest, I hate the working model of the Sun newspaper, including this big and crowded office, with fifty-six people on the first floor and thirty-two people on the second floor. They are like worms hiding behind the phone lines, killing field reporters.
The text information sent back is used as nourishment, and then processed repeatedly, and the pulled out things are modified and modified, and then turned into chocolate-flavored stool and stuffed to the readers.
The Internet self-media in the new era seems to be even worse. People put forward an opinion, and then circulate it and forward it repeatedly from forum after forum, revise it repeatedly, eat it from the mouth and pull it out of the butt - the story changes again and again, but there are still users.
Pay the bill.
Just like a simple announcement, you have to ponder it over and over again, study the code words in all aspects, and start to evolve different versions of conspiracy theories, creating anxiety and confrontation. It seems that if you don't do this, media people will no longer be able to live and work, and they can't bear this.
Eat rice.
"Mr. Victor?" Kotana was already ready.
I finally came to my senses, opened the WALKMAN, and inserted an empty tape into it to record the audio version of this story.
"The protagonist of the story is named Sam Walker."
"The main title of the story is "The Beheading of the Beautiful Wife in Sixteen Pieces"——"
——When talking about this, Kotana's expression obviously changed slightly. She was a little surprised. Maybe she didn't expect that I would use such a big title similar to a street stall story.
I immediately asked: "What's the problem?"
"No! No!" Kotana read on.
Along with the sound of tape recording and the bright and cool blue light in the office, my thoughts went back to twenty-six years ago in this sleepy hot afternoon.
I returned to Bratislava Castle, one of my ancestral homes.
Walking 18 kilometers towards Vienna's international airport, we passed a floating hotel and the road along the river became increasingly foggy.
When we arrived at our destination, it was already almost noon, and it was also the time for the anniversary ceremony to be held at the pizza shop near the ruins of Hansberg Castle.
I remember very clearly that Sam Walker was driving a classic Alfa Romeo car and had just returned from St. Stephen's Cathedral. I found him and talked in the car for four hours -
——Then the story starts from here, from this man’s mouth, unbelievable and terrifying bits and pieces of the past are revealed.
The next perspective will switch to the first person of Sam Walker.
These words belong to him, they are Sam Walker's experience, and they are the whole story of "Hell's Highway" seen through these haggard eyes and this haggard skull.
...
...
[Part2·Trough]
The weather in Vienna always rains, and in spring and summer - this dog is like an orphan whose parents have just died, and will be mourning for six months.
This chapter is not over yet, please click on the next page to continue reading the exciting content! There is humid and hot moisture coming from the forest, and the saw blade of the cutting machine left in the backyard is completely rusted!
I can't find a job. Little New Sider doesn't seem to need a postman. There are not many living people at all - except for some ancient ruins and a rotten castle made of stones, there is nothing!
Apart from the rangers and the foxes, apart from these beasts, there seemed to be no good people to be found.
My name is Sam Walker -
"-Hey! Sam! Anything else good happens in the past half month?"
I said to myself, to myself hanging in the air——
——Be calm and hopeful.
It's just a hunting rope trap, I'm fine, I'm fine.
I have set traps myself. Squirrels often eat the grains in the bird feeders, and many red foxes will suddenly visit my cabin.
So I was caught in my own trap - which makes sense.
"Think about it, Sam." I want to continue to cheer myself up: "Remember, Margaret has taken yoga classes to keep her body flexible..."
"Hey!"
Trying my best to curl up, I slowly turned my waist around and touched the damn rope.
Then...
Yes, yes!
Grab it!
"Hey!~Hey!~"
I almost breathed like a dumb cow. Asthma took away most of my physical strength when I was young, leaving behind terrible sequelae.
I don't want to die here, I don't want to die so stupidly, I don't want to say goodbye to Margaret like this...
We were just engaged, just engaged—
——With no tools at hand, I can only hope that this diamond ring is sharp enough and hard enough.
Grab the shoe upper, cut it hard, and pull it repeatedly to cut the twine!
Yes! I am going to be saved!
No, no, no, I saved myself! I must live!
"Plop!——"
I can hear the crisp sound of bones hitting the mud. I don't know what that means. Maybe the ribs are broken?
It hurt so much that I couldn't breathe, my whole face started to steam, and tears started to flow out of my eyes - Oh my god, Sam.
Sam Walker, can you really be a good husband?
Can you do it? It's like you've just grown up, like you've just crawled out of the nursery.
I found a point of strength next to the fence, grabbed the strong wooden wedge, and slowly stood up in a rotten maple leaf.
The clothes were smelly and wet, and it was hard to imagine that Margaret would want to live here with me, in this secluded countryside, and spend the rest of her life with me.
I have no parents and no house.
This is the only thing I can give Margaret -
——This is our future home.
I slowly returned to the dining room from the backyard door, my mind was in a mess. When I saw the anonymous letter on the table, I started to feel irritable for no reason.
For more than half a month since I lost my job, I have received this kind of letter almost every two days. There are only two tickets in it, and it seems to be endless pranks and endless harassment.
I am a postman from Little New Sidel, and I was just fired from the post office. Maybe I offended someone at my workplace before, and they wanted to torture me in this way.
As for the specific contents of the ticket?
Skydome Station?London, UK?
Oh my God! I can’t even pay for gas. How am I going to travel to the UK?
"Margaret..."
This girl is almost the only thing left in my heart. It seems that as long as I think of her, I can accept any pain. There is still hope in life, Sam Walker, Sam Walker is getting married.
I have no parents. I come from the countryside of Portsmouth, a remote fishing village. I can keep everything simple at my wedding. I have few friends and the only ones I can talk to are bad gamblers.
Margaret and I are almost in two different worlds. She volunteers at church and is a nurse - and occasionally goes to the fire station to pay homage to fire-fighting heroes.
She has two dogs and often takes them for morning runs along the riverside road in Little Neusiedl.
That's how we met. I was driving a three-wheeled car delivering letters, and she and I happened to glance at each other one more time.
Every time I say -
"Dog-walker wife! You are so beautiful!"
She will also respond: "Mr. Postman! You are so handsome!"
At this moment——
——The sudden ringtone woke me up from the warm and sweet memories.
That depressive feeling is back! The new postman has taken my job, and now he wants to destroy my quiet and peaceful life.
I was almost furious and rushed out of the door!
I grabbed the man's collar and pulled him towards me. Suddenly, an inexplicable chill surrounded me.
Look at him -
——Look at what he looks like.
This gray-black poncho looked like it was fished out of the water, and his wet skin had no color at all.
The new postman seemed to feel no pain, even though he had just climbed into the driver's seat of the tricycle and was pulled towards me - his earlobe seemed to have been cut open by the helmet, revealing a little bit of dark brown viscous liquid.
I don't understand, I don't understand, this guy seems to have a very serious skin disease - his face is like a ball of squirming mud, and there is no change in expression.
"Mr. Walker..." the new postman spoke: "You have a new package..."
I was frightened by this scene, and started coughing violently again, and the hot and humid air at noon flooded into my lungs - it seemed that it had awakened painful memories of childhood asthma.
The new postman climbed into the car and walked away silently without saying a word.
I took out a moist and sticky square paper package from the rusty mailbox. Judging from its outline, it looked like a book.
I was a little glad in my heart, at least this time it wasn't an inexplicable ticket. I took it back to the living room, the sunshine outside seemed to be getting brighter, and the weather gradually became sunny.
While I was cleaning up the kitchen, I was recalling the picnic I had with Margarita a few days ago. We exchanged rings by the woods near the lake.
Pull open the brown cover of the package and carefully identify the shipping information of the envelope.
"Portsmouth Harbour, Chadderton Castle..."
This sending location makes me break out in a cold sweat——
——This is a bad memory from my childhood, a lingering shadow of terror.
The dark yellow stamp seemed to be stained with blood. I don't know if it was mud, or maybe I was hallucinating and mistook the fishy-sweet smell for blood.
But I remember, when I was eight or nine years old? Or younger?
I followed the Red Cross Society of the fishing village to Chadderton Castle. I was going to the church to listen to the scriptures. I was able to exchange for some food and candies. If I could recite a few sentences, I could receive eight pounds. I didn’t understand this strange thing.
Ritual - but did it anyway.
The owner of the castle is a noble lady with a pair of eyes as beautiful as rubies.
I couldn't forget those eyes, but later it turned into a horrifying instinct. Every time I think of this, I can't help but tremble - I seem to have lost part of my memory about this castle, maybe because I am too old.
Small, maybe I forgot.
"What is this?"
I opened the cover, revealing the book case with the pentagram seal inside, and smelled a more familiar smell!
"this..."
I can hardly believe it, I'm going crazy...
It seemed that the cracks in the oak boards of the wooden house were beginning to melt, and the mountain breeze blowing through the holes in the door became stronger.
Opening the first page of the book, there is a bloody hand hidden in the thick book.
I remember the taste of Margaret, I remember her smell -
——This hand touched the elm rosary in the church and held up the Holy Rosary. It smelled of pet dogs, hospital disinfectant, and a little bit of tequila...
I still can't believe it. It seems that everything is collapsing, except this hand. This evil book begins to tremble, and the tables, chairs, and house are gradually collapsing...
I couldn't maintain my standing position and my legs felt weak.
"Margaret!"
The sun shines on her severed limbs and the diamond engagement ring.
"Margaret! Margaret!"
It suddenly started to move! It slowly crawled up from the book, like a zombie stretching its fingers from the grave.
In my almost collapsed eyes, the last bit of blood slowly drained away...