When Chen Mo carried the last crate of fake antiques into the warehouse, his back felt like it was about to snap.
He braced himself against a shelf and caught his breath, then shouted toward the front of the shop."Old Lin, can we hire a mover or something? I'm only twenty-seven. I don't want a slipped disc this early in life."
Old Lin lay in the rocking chair at the shop entrance, lazily waving a palm fan, not even opening his eyes."I already feel cheated for hiring you. And you want me to hire someone else? Hurry up and finish. Close the shop when you're done."
Chen Mo curled his lips in resignation and kept moving boxes.
At 11:40 p.m., he finally locked the door and started the walk home.
The night fell over him like a basin of cold water. After dark, this old street became so quiet it made people uneasy. His shoes stepped on the uneven concrete, yet even the sound of his footsteps seemed to disappear.
The streetlights above looked like they had gone on strike. Out of five lights, three were broken. The remaining two struggled to stay lit, casting a dim yellow glow like day-old tea. They flickered on and off, making his heart uneasy. Honestly, the rhythm of the flicker reminded him of the breathing of dying patients in an intensive care unit—jerky, uneven, as if each breath might be the last.
Chen Mo kept his head down and walked quickly, not daring to glance into the pitch-black alleys on either side. His mind was already a mess. It wasn't ghosts he feared.
Tomorrow was rent day.
These days, bills were scarier than ghosts.
Three thousand five hundred in salary.Rent: eighteen hundred.Utilities: one hundred.Food: twelve hundred.Four hundred left.
Last month he gave two hundred as a wedding gift.
Two hundred remained.
Clutching his bank card, the small sense of security he had built over three years suddenly collapsed. Twenty-three thousand yuan. Just a dry number, like a stone sitting in his stomach.
What could that money even do?
After calculating it again and again, he realized it was barely enough to send someone off after death—and even then in the most basic way. He couldn't even afford a proper urn. The irony struck him: a lifetime of scrimping and saving, and in the end, even the box to hold his ashes would have to be a cheap one.
He gave a bitter smile.
Then he stopped.
A sudden noise burst from the alley, making Chen Mo jump. The sound was wrong. It wasn't the normal "scrape scrape" of footsteps. It sounded more like someone violently tearing something apart.
At first, he thought it might be some torn plastic sheet flapping in the wind. But when he listened carefully, the sound was sticky, wet.
More like… someone tearing flesh.
The thought made the hair on the back of his neck stand up instantly. His feet felt ready to run.
Chen Mo knew he shouldn't turn around. Only idiots in horror movies turn back.
But the icy sensation of being watched crawled up his spine to the back of his head. His neck turned stiffly, out of his control.
In the alley, a woman in a red dress stood with her back to him.
The streetlight flickered, stretching her shadow into a twisted shape along the wall. Her hands were raised beside her face, fumbling around as if adjusting a mask. The skin on her face had been lifted at one corner, slowly peeling away from the flesh beneath like old wallpaper.
Chen Mo's breathing stopped.
Beneath the mask…
There were no facial features. Only a smooth, dark red surface that glimmered faintly. The surface squirmed slightly, and suddenly two murky eyeballs squeezed out of the flesh, wet and glistening, rolling until they locked directly onto Chen Mo.
He wanted to run.
Every instinct in his brain screamed at him to run.
But his legs felt filled with lead, nailed to the ground.
He glanced down. His knees were shaking uncontrollably, trembling like overcooked noodles. Yet he couldn't move a single step.
When he looked up again, the thing had already drifted closer.
He never saw it walk. Its body glided forward like a scrap of cloth in the wind.
Ten meters. Eight. Five.
The distance compressed in an instant until only one meter remained.
It stopped in front of him. The cloudy eyeballs rolled slowly across the red flesh, examining him with the critical gaze of someone inspecting a perfect cut of pork belly at the market.
"You can see me?"
The voice did not come from a mouth—there was no mouth. The sound squeezed out from deep inside her abdomen, heavy and damp, as if filtered through a thick layer of water.
Chen Mo opened his mouth, but his throat felt stuffed with wet cotton. No sound came out.
"You really can see me."
She laughed.
Though she had no mouth, Chen Mo could clearly feel the strange delight in her. The two eyeballs curved slightly, like cold crescent moons.
She slowly raised a hand.
The hand had rotted until only white bones remained. Strands of dark red flesh hung loosely from it. Her nails were horrifying—black, sharp, and nearly three inches long, gleaming coldly in the dim light.
One of those nails pointed straight toward him.
Chen Mo tried to dodge, but his feet were rooted to the ground.
The nail touched his eyelid.
The cold that spread from it was not an ordinary cold. His eyeball trembled violently in its socket.
"Let me see," the thing murmured with amusement, "what your eyes are made of… that they can see me."
The sharp nail pressed against his eyelid and slowly pushed downward.
Chen Mo could feel it clearly—feel the tip scraping the thin surface of his skin, feel a drop of warm liquid forming and sliding down his cheek.
It hurt a little.
Not much.
But the anticipation of being pierced was far more terrifying than the pain itself.
She's going to stab it in. She's going to dig out my eyes.
Will I die from the pain? Or faint right away? After she digs them out… will she eat them? Raw? Or cook them first? I don't even have salt at home… will she think my eyes taste bland—
What the hell am I thinking?!
Chen Mo felt like he was losing his mind. They said people's minds go blank in the face of death, filled with random thoughts.
Apparently, it was true.
"Meow—!"
A shrill cry split the night.
A white cat leapt down from the wall like a bolt of lightning and slammed into the creature's face. Its claws slashed mercilessly.
The thing let out a scream so horrible it defied description—like rusty nails scraping a blackboard, like shattered glass grinding against bone, like hundreds of rats shrieking inside the walls.
Chen Mo clutched his ears and crouched down in agony.
When he looked up again, the creature had retreated deeper into the alley.
The white cat stood in front of him. Its fur bristled like an angry hedgehog, its back arched high, a low growl rumbling from its throat.
"Nosy creature," the thing said coldly. "You're just a half-crippled demon. And you dare interfere with me?"
The white cat did not move.
The creature stared at it for three seconds, then looked deeply at Chen Mo.
"Fine. I'll remember this."
Her body began to melt.
Like a burning candle.
Dark red flesh slid down from the skeleton. White bones emerged, then melted as well, dissolving into black smoke.
The last things to disappear were the two eyeballs. They stared at Chen Mo until the final thread of smoke vanished.
The alley was empty again.
Chen Mo's legs gave out. He collapsed onto the ground.
He gasped violently, his heart hammering against his ribs as if trying to break free.
Is it gone? Did it leave? Am I still alive? Was that real? Was that a demon? Are demons real? What am I then? Can I see demons? Why can I see them?
Questions flooded his mind like tangled threads.
He looked down at his hands. They were shaking uncontrollably.
His back was soaked with cold sweat, his clothes clinging to his skin.
He slowly raised his head and looked at the white cat.
The cat stood three meters away, still alert. Moonlight bathed its body in pale silver. Its round eyes stared quietly at him.
In the reflection of Chen Mo's trembling pupils, besides his own miserable figure, there seemed to be a trace of something else.
Pity.
Chen Mo blinked.
Wait. Cats didn't feel pity.
That had to be his imagination.
Cats were aloof creatures. Proud. Detached. They didn't feel that way about humans.
He blinked again and looked carefully.
The wall was already empty.
It was gone.
It saved me… and left without a word.
Whose cat was it? No… that monster called it a "half-crippled demon." Was it a demon too? A demon saved me?
Why?
His mind was full of questions he couldn't untangle.
He leaned against the cold damp wall and slowly stood up. His legs felt like noodles.
Step by step he staggered home, not daring to look back.
At the entrance of his building, he leaned against the rusty security door, gasping.
Then he looked up at the sky.
The moon tonight was red.
Not the filtered red in photographs. Truly red.
Dark red. Like a huge piece of rotting flesh hanging in the sky, radiating a nauseating aura.
Chen Mo froze.
He had never seen a red moon in twenty-seven years.
The moon is red. That thing was red. Red dress. Red moon.
Maybe I shouldn't have gone out tonight.
Maybe I brought bad luck on myself.
He went upstairs. Fifth floor. His apartment was on the fifth floor.
His steps quickened. Every few steps he looked back in fear.
At the door, his hands trembled so badly the key rattled. It took several tries before he finally unlocked it.
"Click."
He rushed inside like a frightened rabbit, slammed the door shut, locked it, latched the chain, and slid down against the door, panting.
The room was pitch dark and silent.
He reached for the light switch.
Click.
The living room lit up.
At that moment Chen Mo finally felt alive again.
He sat on the floor, leaning against the door, staring at the ceiling.
I'm home. I'm safe. That was all a hallucination. Yes. Hallucination. If you're too tired, you hallucinate. I just need sleep.
After resting for a while, he stood up and walked toward the bathroom to wash away the cold sweat.
As he passed the bathroom, he glanced inside.
His eyes swept past the mirror—
And he stopped.
The mirror showed his face: pale as paper, hair soaked with sweat, eyes wide with terror.
He forced a bitter smile.
But the reflection didn't smile.
The person in the mirror slowly lifted the corners of his mouth.
Chen Mo's blood froze.
He hadn't moved. That wasn't his expression.
The reflection grinned wider and wider, splitting to the ears and revealing white teeth.
That's not me. That's not my smile. I have a fang on the left side. That one doesn't.
It's not me.
The reflection raised its hand and waved.
Then its mouth moved silently.
Chen Mo clearly understood the words.
"Wait for me."
He ran.
His heart pounded as he rushed into the bedroom, slammed the door, locked it, dragged a chair against it, and crawled to the corner of the bed. He wrapped himself completely in the blanket, shaking violently.
It's a dream. It must be a dream. Wake up. Just wake up.
Inside the blanket, it was hot and dark, like a sealed prison.
He didn't dare close his eyes.
Because every time he tried, he saw those two eyeballs again.
In the endless darkness,
They were still staring at him.