Chapter 6 4-1

The scream was short and vague, and it felt as unreal as the moving moonlight in the backyard, and maybe it was just me.Just like that monkey, it seems to be nothing but nothing. The curtain on the door slipped quietly from my fingers and slid across the door glass. At this moment, another muffled loud sound came from inside the room, shaking even the walls. The second cry was shorter and weaker than the first - but clearly a cry of pain and panic. Maybe she just accidentally fell off the bench and sprained her ankle, maybe all I heard was the wind and the birds chirping under the eaves, maybe the moon is made of cheese, and the sky is sprinkled with star-shaped candies chocolate pie.

I called out Angela's name aloud.She didn't answer. The house is not very big, not so big that she can't hear me calling her, and her silence makes me feel ominous. I muttered curses as I pulled the Glock out of my jacket pocket. Holding the gun in the candlelight, I frantically looked for the switch.All I could find was a switch, which was probably what I was looking for, and when I pressed the switch, a red beam shot out from a small hole under the muzzle of the gun, painting a spot of light on the refrigerator door. Dad was willing to pay a little extra for a pistol with a laser sight in order to buy a weapon that even a literature professor could handle with ease, man.

I'm not very familiar with the operation of handguns, but I know that some models have a "safety activation" system, the internal safety device will only be disengaged when the trigger is pulled, and will automatically engage after the shot.Maybe this gun is that type of gun.If not, in case of a head-on confrontation with the enemy, I would probably find myself unable to shoot the bullet-or else shoot myself in the foot in a hurry. Although I have no such training, there is no one else in sight who can perform this task except me.Frankly, I thought about running for the door, jumping on my bike, riding to safety before calling the police.But if I do, I'm afraid I'll never be able to look myself in the mirror, or Orson's eyes, for the rest of my life.

I hate that my hands are shaking all the time, but of course I can't stop to do deep breathing exercises or sit still at this damn juncture. As I walked through the kitchen to the open door of the dining room, I considered whether I should put the gun back in my pocket and go back to the kitchen drawer for the knife.When Angela described the story of the monkey, she once pointed out to me where the knife was kept. In the end, rationality won. My skills in holding a knife and holding a gun are almost the same. Besides, cutting and stabbing another person with a knife seems to require more cold-blooded cruelty than pulling the trigger.Of course, when my own or Angela's life is threatened, I will desperately take any necessary measures, but I don't deny that shooting a gun alone may be more suitable for me than fighting with a knife.In times of conflict, there is no room for flinching, the slightest of which can cost you your life.

I think back then when I was only thirteen years old, I dared to go to the cremation ground to peek at the cremation of the remains.However, even after all these years, I still daunted the process of applying preservatives. I hurried across the restaurant and called Angela's name again, but she still didn't answer.I couldn't call out a third time, and if someone did break into the house, every time I called Angela's name I would give away my location to the enemy. When I got to the living room, I didn't stop to turn off the light, but I tried to take a long stride to the side without looking away.

Against the glare of the vestibule, I looked towards the open door of the study to make sure no one was inside. The door to the dressing room was open, and I pushed it all the way open, and I could see that there was no one in there without turning on the light. I left my hat in the kitchen and felt naked without it, so I hastened to turn off the ceiling light in the vestibule.Dark Favor Come upon me again. I looked up towards the landing in the middle of the stairs, from where the stairs turned back up out of sight to me.As far as I can see, not a single light was on upstairs - which is a good thing for me.My dark eyes are my greatest strength.

My big brother phone is on my belt.As I went upstairs, I wondered if I should call the police. After my late evening appointment, Louis.Stevenson must be looking for me everywhere.If so, the chief may take the call himself.Then, the bald man would probably come with him in a ride. Manuel.Ramirez can't help, because he has to be on duty at the station tonight, and I don't feel comfortable asking other police officers to help.According to my guess, the police involved in the Moonlight Bay area should not only be Director Stevenson, but perhaps the entire police force, except Manuel, should be accomplices.In fact, despite our friendship, I couldn't trust Manuel completely until I had a better understanding of the whole thing.

I climbed the stairs step by step with the Glock in both hands, ready to hit the laser aiming switch if I noticed someone moving.From time to time, I remind myself that to be a hero, you can't shoot Angela by mistake. I turned around on the landing in the middle of the stairs and found that the upper stairs were darker than the lower stairs.The light in the living room can't reach such a high place at all.I quietly and quickly climbed the stairs. My heart wasn't idle either; it was still beating on meekly, without any signs of speeding up, which surprised even me.If it were yesterday, I would never have imagined that I could adapt so quickly to the violent conflict that may be faced at any time.I even began to have an inexplicable desire for danger.

There were four doors on the second floor, three of which were closed, and only the fourth door—the one farthest from the stairs—was open, and a faint light shone through it. I don't like to just walk through those three closed doors. At least I should make sure there is no one inside before speaking, otherwise, I may be attacked from behind. However, due to my XP syndrome and the fact that my eyes sting and tear instantly when exposed to bright light, I have to rely on the pistol in my right hand and the penlight in my left to search these places.Doing so is not only unnatural, time-consuming, but also quite dangerous.Whenever I step into a room, no matter how low I squat or how fast I move, the enemy can immediately know my position from the light of my tiny penlight before it hits the ground.

My best chance of winning is to use my strengths as much as possible, which is to use the dark environment and use the shadows as cover.I walked sideways through the corridor on the second floor, while paying attention to the movements on the front and rear sides. I didn't make any sound, and no one else made any sound in the whole room. The second door on the left opened only a small gap, and nothing could be seen inside but a narrow ray of light.I pushed the door inwards with the butt of my gun.It's the master bedroom, and it looks extremely comfortable, with the bed perfectly made, a brightly colored blanket draped over the arm of the easy chair, a folded newspaper on the footstool; Bright.

One of the standing lamps was on, the candle light from the bulb was not strong, and most of the light had been blocked by the crepe cloth lampshade. Angela was still missing. A door of the closet was open, maybe Angela just went upstairs to get something from it, but there was nothing in it except clothes and shoe boxes.The door to the bathroom next door was also open, and it was pitch black inside.At this time, if someone looked from the inside out, I happened to be the most obvious target. I approached the bathroom as inconspicuously as possible, aiming the Glock in my hand at the black gap between the door and the door frame.I pushed against the door and it swung open without retaliation. A smell deters me from the threshold. Since the light from the bedside lamp could not illuminate my vision, I fumbled for the penlight in my pocket.The light swept across a pool of red water on the white tiles, and the walls were spattered with blood from arteries.Angela.Freeman lay in a pool of blood, his head thrown back against the edge of the toilet.Her wide, pale eyes reminded me of the eyes of dead seagulls I once saw on the beach. At first glance, it seemed to me that her throat had been slashed continuously with a blunt knife, and I could not Endure and take another look at her carefully. What I smelled was not only the smell of blood, but before she died, her excretion was out of control, and I felt that my whole body was bathed in the stench. A two-door window was completely opened. This is not a small window commonly seen in bathrooms. This window is large enough to allow the murderer to escape through it. He must also be spattered with the blood of the dead. It could also be Angela who opened the window.If the roof of the balcony on the first floor is just under the window, then the murderer is likely to sneak in from there and escape from there. Orson somehow didn't bark—but then again, the window was right in front of the house, and the dog was in the backyard. Angela's hands were hanging by her sides, almost completely hidden in the sleeves of her sweater. She looked so innocent, she looked like she was only twelve years old. She has dedicated her life to others, and now, someone actually ignores her selfless dedication, and kills her, taking away her only remaining life. Unable to restrain the grief in my heart, I couldn't help trembling all over, and I turned and left the bathroom angrily. I didn't take the initiative to ask Angela questions, and I didn't cause her to end up like this. She called me first. Although she specially used the wireless phone in the car to contact, there are still people who know that she will leak the news. Immediately kill her to silence her, perhaps those unidentified conspirators behind the scenes feel that she, who is desperate, will become a serious threat to them.She just quit her job in the hospital this evening. She feels that she has lost the meaning of living, and she is very afraid that she is about to change. No matter what she means by change, she is a woman who has nothing to lose. Be sure, even if I don't answer her phone invitation, they will still kill her. However, I was still full of guilt, like I was drowning in the cold sea water and couldn't breathe, I was almost out of breath standing up. Then there was nausea, like a fat eel rolled in my stomach and then swam up to my throat, almost squirting out of my mouth, and I swallowed it.I want to get out of here as soon as possible, but I can't move, panic and guilt almost overwhelm me. My right arm was drooping, pulled almost vertically by the weight of the gun, and the penlight I was holding tightly in my left hand was embroidering zigzag patterns on the wall involuntarily. I could not think calmly, my thoughts were clumsily churning like tangled seaweed in a swamp. The phone on the bedside table suddenly rang.I just want to stay away from it, I have a strange feeling that the person calling is the one who is breathing deeply in my answering machine, and he will try to steal my essence with his hound sense of smell, like a vacuum cleaner Like sucking my soul out of my body and then through the phone line.I don't want to hear his low, eerie, tone-deaf crooning. When the phone finally quieted down, my mind seemed to be cleared by the harsh ringing of the phone.I turned off the penlight, put it back in my pocket, and raised the pistol beside me——I realized that someone had turned on the light in the corridor on the second floor.The open window and the blood on the window frame made me think I was the only one left in the house, and it seemed I was wrong. I sneak up. There was no way the murderer had escaped through the master bedroom from its bathroom; if that had happened, there would have been bloody footprints on the off-white carpet.But why should he escape by an upstairs window and then immediately return by a downstairs window or door? If he changed his mind temporarily after escaping and decided to turn around and kill me so as not to leave any witnesses, then there is no need for him to turn on the light to announce his existence to me, he should choose to attack me secretly. Squinting my eyes, I stepped cautiously into the corridor, which was empty. The three doors that had been closed when I went upstairs were all thrown wide open, and the rooms inside were filled with a dauntingly bright light. Dead silence, like blood gushing from a wound, poured from downstairs to upstairs.Then there was another sound, but it was only the sound of the wind outside the house, the dirge of the evening wind blowing under the eaves. A weird game unfolded inexplicably, but I knew nothing about the rules of the game, nor did I know the identity of the opponent.Things don't look good here. I turned off the light switch, and the comforting shadow once again shrouded the corridor, making the lights in the other three rooms seem extraordinarily bright. I had an urge to run down the stairs immediately, to run downstairs and out, away from the place.But this time I dare not easily let go of the three rooms behind me that have not been checked, otherwise, my fate will be the same as Angela's, with my throat cut to death from behind. To survive, the most important key is to keep calm.Think with your head.Be extremely cautious when approaching a door.Then exit the house inch by inch.Keep your back safe every step of the way. I tried to squint less and listen more, but I heard nothing.The door to the room opposite my former master bedroom moved.I didn't dare to step across the threshold rashly, keeping my body in the shadows, and raised my left hand as a hat to block the strong light from the indoor ceiling. If Angela had children, this would most likely be a little boy or girl's room. It turned out that there was only a tool cabinet with many drawers, a chair with a backrest, and two work tables arranged in an L shape.Here she usually pursues her pastime, making dolls. I took a quick glance down the corridor, still alone. Keep moving and don't make yourself an easy target. I pushed the studio door all the way open, obviously no one was hiding behind it. I step sideways briefly into the bright room, allowing for both indoor and outdoor mobility. An Qiji is a master at making dolls, and the thirty dolls on the display shelf at the end of the studio are the best proof.The costumes worn in each work are all sewed by Angela herself, which is not only full of creativity but also takes great pains to make, such as cowboy and cowgirl costumes, sailor suits, banquet suits with tutu skirts...etc.Most breathtaking, however, is the doll's face-making.She carefully carves each doll's head with unparalleled patience and talent, and then bakes them in a kiln in the garage, some into non-reflective bisque and others into bright porcelain.All the details of the face are carefully drawn by hand, making each face look lifelike. Over the years, Angela's dolls have been sold and given away.The few surviving dolls are clearly her favorite creations.Even in such a critical situation, even under the high vigilance of being attacked by a crazy killer with a blunt knife at any time, I can still see at a glance that the faces of each doll have their own characteristics—as if Angela made more than just dolls , but the lovely face of the child in her imagination that could never be conceived. I turned off the big lights on the ceiling, leaving only the desk lamp on the work table.At the moment when the shadow suddenly swelled, the dolls seemed to flicker, as if they were about to jump off the display rack.Their eyes—some flickering in the reflection of the light, others staring deeply at the same place—looked very alert and alert. I must have been paralyzed myself, no big deal. A doll is just a doll and poses no threat to me. I stepped back into the hallway and glanced left, right, left with the Glock, but saw no one. This side of the hallway is followed by a bathroom.I squinted my eyes into a line to filter out the dazzling reflections from the tiles and mirrors, but even so, I could still clearly see every corner of the room, obviously no one was lying in wait. As I reached out to turn off the light in the bathroom, there was a sudden noise behind me, from the master bedroom, a brief tap, like light tapping on wood.Out of the corner of my eye I sense something moving. I quickly turned to face the direction of the source of the noise, raised the Glock pistol in both hands, and looked very It looks like I know what I'm doing, but I'm just imitating the actions of Bruce Willie, Stallone, Schwarzenegger, Kehu Eastwood and Kage in the police action movies, and I act as if I know everything It looks like they're doing something illegal.I thought I was going to run into a big, burly man with raised eyebrows and a machete in his hands, but I was still alone in the hallway. It turned out that the movement I saw was the master bedroom door being pushed shut from the inside.In the rapidly narrowing light between the moving panel and frame, I saw a twisted shadow twist and disappear before the door slammed shut like the iron doors of a bank vault. When I left the room, there was no one else in it, and no one passed me after I entered the corridor. The only person in the room could be the murderer—presumably climbed into the bathroom window from the roof of the balcony downstairs, When I found Angela's body, he was probably hiding on the roof. If the murderer was still in the master bedroom, there's no way he'd sneak behind me and turn on all the lights on the second floor.Based on this analysis, there are two intruders, and I am currently being trapped by them. Should I go forward or back?Both options are equally bad, anyway, both sides are covered with thick shit, and I'm not wearing long-Jian plastic rain boots, so it doesn't matter which way I go. They must have counted on me to rush down the stairs, but it was probably safer not to play by the rules, so I rushed into the master bedroom without hesitation.I didn't even bother to turn the doorknob. I kicked the door open and charged through with the Glock, ready to fire four or five rounds at anything that moved. But I'm the only one in there. The bedside lamp was still on. There were no bloody footprints on the carpet, suggesting that it was impossible for someone to enter the bedroom from outside through the bloody bathroom and close the door. I went to the bathroom door to check again. This time, I left the penlight in my pocket and relied only on the dim light in the bedroom, because I didn't need and didn't want to see the bloody scene.The two-door window is still open, and the smell in the bathroom is just as bad as it was two minutes ago. The figure lying on the edge of the toilet is Angela, yes, although she is covered by the shadow of benevolence, I can vaguely see her. She opened her mouth wide in surprise, and her eyes widened without blinking. I nervously looked back towards the door, but fortunately no one followed me. I returned to the middle of the bedroom in a daze. The wind from the bathroom window was unlikely to be strong enough to keep the bedroom door shut.Furthermore, I clearly saw a shadow, and the wind can never produce a shadow. Even if there was room under the bed for one person, it must be unpleasant to be stuck on your back against the slats of the bed frame between the box spring and the floor.In any case, there's no way someone could have gotten under the bed in the fraction of a second I kicked open the door. The doors of the walk-in closet were wide open, and it was obvious that no one was hiding inside.But just to be on the safe side, I'll double-check it.Under the light of a penlight, I saw an exit to the attic on the ceiling of the closet. Even if there was a folding ladder at the exit, it is impossible for someone to break in within two or three seconds of me Quickly climb up the opening and retract the stairs. On either side of the bed was a curtained window, both locked from the inside. The killer obviously didn't escape through the window, but I might try, I don't want to be back in the hallway. I try to open the window.And keep an eye out for movement at the door of the bedroom. The windows have been sealed with paint. These two are French windows with strong frames, so even if I break the glass, it is impossible to climb out. With my back to the bathroom, I suddenly felt creepy, like swarms of spiders crawling in the marrow of my bones.In my mind's eye I saw Angela behind me, not lying by the toilet, but standing dripping with blood, her eyes wide open like silver coins, and when she tried to speak, she burst into tears. Blood gushed from her slit throat. I turned around in panic, she was not standing behind me, I breathed a sigh of relief, but the hot air out of my mouth fully showed the realism of this fantasy. I haven't gotten over this fantasy yet, I thought I'd hear her struggling in the bathroom The sound of standing up.Apparently, my grief at her death had turned into fear for my own life.It was as if she had become something else, like death itself, like a monster, battering me head-on with the fact that people are going to die, rot, and turn to dust.I'm ashamed that I even hate her a little bit because I'm only going upstairs because I feel it's my duty to save her, and I hate her for getting me into this mess, and I hate myself for hating her, my dearest protector, for She made me hate myself. Sometimes there is no place darker than our own consciousness, like the moonless midnight of the mind. My palms felt wet and sticky, and the grip of the pistol was also slightly slippery from the cold sweat from my palms. Deciding not to chase my inner ghost, I returned to the hallway again, only to find a doll waiting for me there. It was the largest doll on the shelf in Ansaegi's studio, almost two feet tall, and it sat on the floor with its feet spread out, facing me, lit by the light from the door opposite the bathroom. It's the only room I haven't checked yet.It stretches forward with outstretched arms, and something hangs from both hands. This is not good. I knew it was not good when I saw it, and it was absolutely, really, absolutely not good. If this were the case in a movie, the doll would be followed by a vicious bruiser, a bruiser in a cool hockey mask, possibly a hood, with a A cooler chainsaw, or a gas-operated fingertip pistol, or even worse, an ax big enough to chop off a bull's head. I looked towards the studio, the dim light of the desk lamp was still on, and there was no intruder hiding inside. I continued to move, and walked to the bathroom by the corridor, which was still empty. I kind of wanted to go to the bathroom, but it was not convenient at this time, so I continued to move. Now I walk up to the doll, and it's wearing black sneakers, black jeans, and a black T-shirt.What it held in its hand was a dark blue baseball cap with the words "Mystery Train" embroidered with red thread. At first I thought it was the same hat as I had on the first floor, but then I realized it was actually my hat, which I had placed on the kitchen table downstairs. I looked back and forth between Staircase Day and the only room I hadn't been in, knowing that at any moment trouble would emerge from one or the other.I didn't care about anything, grabbed my hat back from the porcelain doll's hand, and put it on my head. With the right lighting and situation, any doll can take on an eerie and sinister quality.But this doll was different because I couldn't read any menacing expression on its face at all, and despite that, I felt the chills on the back of my neck, like going to a Halloween masquerade ball. What makes me feel the most weird is not that the doll itself is strange, but the realistic sense of deja vu, it has my face, and it is made by imitating my appearance. I was moved and horrified at the same time by this.Angela loves me so much that she can carve out the details of my face. She can memorize my appearance and make a cute doll according to my appearance and keep it on her shelf.However, such an unexpected encounter with an image of myself can't help but awaken the primitive fear deep in people's hearts-as if as soon as I touch this monster, my heart and soul will be trapped in it immediately, and then trapped in it. The evil spirit inside the doll will take the opportunity to occupy my body, and while celebrating liberation, he will pretend to be my name to eat the skull of a virgin and blow the heart of a baby in the middle of the night. Ordinarily--if there ever was such a time--I amuse myself with my vivid imagination, Bobby.Heggway joked that "there are three hundred circuses in the head".This is certainly a lineage I got from my parents, who were smart enough to know how little one can know, studious enough to never stop learning, and perceptive enough to understand that all things contain infinite possibilities.When I was little they used to read AA Mime and Beatrix.Pat's verses to me, and of course, since I was so precocious, they read Donno too.Donald Jus JuStice Wallace.Stevenson (Wallace Sieve.) Listen to me.Since then, my imagination has always been mixed with the imagery described in the poem: From Timothy.Timothy Till's ten little fingers to the struggling fireflies in a pool of blood.on special occasions - good Compared to the situation where the corpse was lost tonight——my imagination is so rich that I embolden myself.Three hundred circuses in my head, all the tigers waiting to murder their trainers, all the clowns with knives and evil hearts hidden in their puffy clothes. keep going. The last room, check it out, make sure the back is safe, and then head straight down the stairs. Superstitiously avoiding the doll, I took a long stride aside and headed straight for the room opposite the bathroom.It is a guest room, the layout inside is very simple. I pressed down the brim of my hat and lowered my head, squinted my eyes against the strong light from the ceiling and looked inside, but I didn't see any sign of intruders.There are side rails on either side of the bed, and a footboard at the end where the comforter tucks in, so you can see the void under the bed. There are no walk-in wardrobes in the room, but instead there are two long, approved wooden chests of drawers with drawers, and a large upright wardrobe with two symmetrical drawers below and a Two tall doors.The space behind the closet door is large enough to hide an adult, with or without a chainsaw. Another doll was waiting for me in the room, this one sitting in the middle of the bed with arms outstretched, followed by Christopher behind me.The snow doll moves in the same way, but because its whole body is covered by strong light, I can't see what it is holding in its little pink hand. I turn off the big lights on the ceiling.There is still a desk lamp burning as my guide. I walked backwards into the guest room, ready to shoot anyone who appeared in the hallway at any moment. The wardrobe stood lumbering out of the corner of my eye, and if the wardrobe door swung open, I could carve out several holes with the nine-centimeter pistol without activating the laser sight. I accidentally knocked over the bed, turned around quickly, temporarily turned my eyes away from the door and wardrobe, and went forward to inspect the doll on the bed.On each of its upswing palms is an eye, not a hand-painted eye, but a human eye. The wardrobe door still hung silently on its hinges. There was no movement in the corridor except for the movement of time. In an instant, I was as immobile as the ashes in the columbarium. Although life was still flowing in my body, my heart was beating at an unprecedented high speed, and I could no longer maintain the previous gentle operation, just like a caged animal. Squirrel-like banging against the skeleton of ribs. I couldn't help but take another look at the eyes enshrined in those little hands—the bloody brown eyeballs, wet and slippery like milk, and the naked eyes showed a look that was both frightening and frightening. I knew the last thing those eyes saw was a white van that pulled up in front of him at his gesture, and then a Ricoh man with a pearl earring on his head. But I am very sure that at this moment, in Angela's house, what I am facing is definitely not the bald man. This kind of playing hide and seek game is not his style. Fast, ruthless and cruel are his style. appetite. At this moment, I felt as if I were in a teenage psychiatric hospital, where deranged teenage patients, after brutally overthrowing their rulers, were excited to be free and play happily.I could almost hear their snickering from the other room, their sinister crisp gurgling behind cold little hands. I hate to open the closet door. I have already come to the second floor to save Angela, and now I can't save her. I just want to run downstairs, get out, get on my bike, and get as far away as possible. When I started to walk towards the door, all the lights went out suddenly and instantly.Someone turned off the main switch. The sudden bottomless darkness didn't even feel welcome to me. The windows were tightly covered by heavy curtains, and the silvery moonlight couldn't find a gap to penetrate, and the surrounding blackness became blacker. I rushed to the door almost blindly, and then hid sideways by the door, because I believed that at this time someone must be outside the door with a blunt knife ready to slit my throat when I rushed out of the door. I stood with my back against the bedroom wall, listening carefully.I held my breath, but I couldn't restrain my galloping heartbeat, it sounded like the hooves of thousands of horses galloping, and I felt as if I was betrayed by my own body. However, in addition to the sound of my galloping heartbeat, I suddenly heard the sound of the wardrobe door turning, and the wardrobe door was about to open. Oh my god. It was prayer, not swearing, maybe both. I raised the pistol with both hands again, aiming at the place where the wardrobe was in my impression.Then I thought about moving the direction the muzzle was aimed three inches to the left, and then immediately scanned right to where it was. The darkness made me lose my way.Although I'm sure I can hit the wardrobe, I can't guarantee that I can hit the center of the two doors.The first shot must be on target, because the infrared light from the muzzle will immediately reveal my position. I can't risk shooting blindly, no matter who this damn guy is, there is a possibility of firing several bullets in a row to kill him on the spot, but I may only slightly hurt him, and the worst thing is not only not killing him On the contrary, it was even more irritating. Once the magazine is out of bullets - what to do? What should I do? I moved sideways towards the corridor, knowing that there might be an ambush, but luckily nothing happened.As soon as I stepped over the threshold, I immediately slammed the door behind me to keep out the uninvited guest who was about to emerge from the wardrobe-if the sound of the door hinge I heard was not a fantasy. There is also a main switch for the power supply of the lights on the first floor, and there is a faint light under the stairs at the end of the corridor. I had no intention of waiting there for the answer to be revealed, to get a glimpse of who the person rushing out of the room was, I just ran for the stairs with all my might. I heard the door knock open behind me. Out of breath, I ran down two steps at a time. Just as I was about to approach the landing in the middle of the stairs, the doll head imitated by me suddenly whizzed past me and hit the wall in front of me. smash. I threw up my arms in panic to shield my eyes, and scattered shards of china dolls streaked across my face and chest. My right heel accidentally stepped on the air, the whole person leaned forward, almost fell, and only after hitting the wall next to the platform suddenly did I maintain my balance. On the platform, the smooth porcelain face of a doll shattered beneath my feet, and I turned angrily to face my attackers head on. At this time, the doll with a severed head, neatly dressed in black, was knocked down from the steps. I quickly lowered my head to dodge it, only to see it pass over my head and hit the wall behind me heavily. When I looked up and pointed my gun at the upper half of the dark stairs, there was no one there—as if the doll itself threw its head button off at me, and then threw itself down the stairs. Suddenly all the lights downstairs went out. In the suffocating darkness, I smell something burning. I groped around in the pitch-darkness, and finally touched the banister of the stairs.Holding the smooth log escalator with one hand that was already sweating, he walked down the stairs step by step, moving towards the front hall. This sudden darkness gave people an indescribable sense of twists and turns. When I went down the stairs, I could almost feel myself being entangled round and round.Later, I realized that it wasn't darkness I was feeling but air: python-like thermals rushing up the stairs. Sooner or later, the smoke spread upward like tentacles, and then a pungent thick smoke rushed up the steps. Although I couldn't see anything, I could feel it. I felt like As helpless as a diver swallowed by a giant sea anemone.I kept coughing and struggled to breathe in the choking smoke, so I decided to head back and escape through the window on the second floor instead, but definitely not through the bathroom in An Yanla's master bedroom. 我跑到楼梯当中的平台，往上走了三四阶之后猛然停住脚步。 虽然我被烟吓得惊慌失措，虽然我的双眼被烟呛得眼泪直流，但是我仍然可以清楚看见二楼闪动的亮光。 It is fire. 有人放了两把火，楼上一把，楼下一把。看来那些不见踪影的疯狂小子愈玩愈起劲，而且似乎人数惊人。不由得令我想起在殡仪馆后山，那些仿佛从地底下源源不断涌出的狩猎杀手，难不成桑第。寇克具有神奇的法力，能唤出坟墓里的僵尸。 我毫不考虑地再往楼下冲，这一次步伐更为加快，冲向唯一能找到新鲜空气的地方。如果有的话，最可能找到新鲜空气的地方就是地面最低处，因为烟雾和火焰在往上冲的同时很自然地从底部吸人冷空气帮助燃烧。 我每吸入一口气，就忍不住咳嗽一次，我的窒息感和恐惧感也跟着递增，于是我屏住呼吸，一路来到前厅。一到那里，我整个人跌跪下来，伸直身体趴在地上，赫然发现我竟然能够呼吸。虽然空气温度很高而且闻起来有股酸味，但是相对地来说，即使是太平洋吹来的清新海风也从没让我感到如此兴奋过。 但是我没有因此得意忘形地躺在那里大肆享受新鲜空气。我仅稍微休息片刻，藉机做几次深呼吸清除肺部秽气，并挤出口水将嘴里的烟油吐出。 随后我扬起头刺探空气，试图判断安全范围的高度。范围不高，只有四到六英寸左右。然而，这浅浅的空气层应该足以让我支撑到找到出口为止。 当然，任何地毯着火的地方则完全没有安全范围可言。 灯还是暗着，我在一片浓重的茫茫烟雾中疯狂地匍匐前进，朝我印象中前门的方向爬行，那是最近的出口。乌漆抹黑之中，我最先碰到的是沙发，依照直觉判断，我应该已经穿过拱门来到客厅，和我想像中走的路线起码偏离了九十度。 一阵阵橘红色的火舌不时吐向接近地面的空气层，将团团的烟雾顿时照亮。看起来就像是大平原上的闪电雷光。从贴在地毯上的角度放眼望去；这米色的尼龙纤维严然就像是一片辽阔干旱的草原，被间歇的闪电照得通明。而浓浓烟雾下这道狭窄的活命空间，仿佛就像是睡梦中跌入的另一个时空。 窜动的火光是屋内别处火焰的反射，只可惜它们无法提供足够的照明，帮助我找寻出路。四面八方的阵阵闪光只有让我更加迷惑和恐慌。 反正只要火焰不出现在我面前，我都能假装起火势发生在屋内的另一个尽头。然而此时此刻，我连这最后幻想的避难空间都保不住。我再也无法安于火光由远处反射而来的幻想，因为我已经无法分辨熊熊的火焰到底在方寸之内还是在几尺之外，也分不清火势究 竟是冲着我的方向而来，还是朝远离我的方向燃烧。炫目的火光不仅无法提供指引，反而加重我内心的焦躁不安。 如果不是吸人过量废气导致的时间感误差，那么就是火势蔓延的速度超乎寻常地快速。纵火的人大概使用了加速燃烧的燃料，可能是汽油之类的东西。 我下定决心要回到前厅，然后再从那里爬到前门。我贴近地面拼命地呼吸愈来愈刺鼻的空气，同时匍匐穿过客厅，藉着手时抵住地毯的力量拖曳身体前进，绕过家具，直到我一头用力撞在壁炉前突起的砖造炉床上。结果我愈爬离前厅愈远，而且我也不可能像圣诞老公公那样从烟囱爬回雪橇。 我感到头晕目眩，一阵剧烈的头痛从我左边的太阳穴成对角线将我的头撕裂成两半。烟雾和满人眼中的成威汗水让我的双眼感到阵阵刺痛。我没有窒息，但是窜入底层空气的辛辣浓烟让我不停干呕，我觉得自己大概逃不过这场劫难。 我卖力地回想壁炉和前厅的相对位置，沿着炉床匍匐前进，然后横切穿过客厅。 我不敢相信我竟然找不到这间屋子的出口。开玩笑，这并非什么豪华巨宅或城堡，只不过是一栋七个厅两套半浴室的房子，而且当中并没有任何特别宽敞的房间，就算全国最厉害的房屋仲介业者用尽三寸不烂之舌，也没有办法将它描述成能满足威尔斯亲王和其随从的豪宅大院。 偶尔在晚间新闻看到有人葬生火窟的骇人消息时，我们始终难以理解他们为什么不能够从门口或窗户逃生，尤其大多数门窗都在十二步的距离之内，除非他们喝醉酒，或者嗑药过度，或者愚蠢到冲回熊熊火焰中拯救家猫云云。这样说听起来可能有些忘恩负义，毕竟就某方面来说，今天傍晚若不是那一只猫我可能早就没命了。无论如何，我现在总算明白人们在这种情况下丧生的原因，呛人的烟雾和黑暗其实比毒品和酒精更让人晕头转向，毒气吸得愈多脑筋就愈不灵光，最后整个人精神溃散，愈惊慌注意力愈无法集中。 起初当我爬上二楼察看安琪拉的状况时，在那种随时可能面临暴力冲突的威胁下，连我都不得不为自己的镇定和冷静感到惊讶。当时，由于浓厚的英雄心态作祟，我甚至有一股冒险犯难的渴望。 十分钟的转变真大，转眼之间，我已经深刻的体认到，此刻就算我有编幅侠一半的沉着，也无法摆脱这些障碍，对于冒险犯难，我已经不抱任何浪漫的幻想。 正当我处于极度惶恐之中时，突然有个东西从我背上擦过，并轻触我的脖子和下巴，是活的东西。我透过脑海里的三百个马戏团看见被巫术唤醒的安琪拉。费里曼，她趴着身子沿着地面滑到我身边，试图用她冰冷的嘴唇在我的喉咙上种下血淋淋的死亡之吻。受到严重缺氧的影响，即使这样恐怖的意象都无法让我的头脑回复清醒，我惊慌失措地乱开了一枪。 感谢上帝，我的射击方向完全错误，因为即使在震耳欲聋的枪声之中，我都可以认出我喉头上冰冷的鼻子和我耳朵上温热的舔吻来自我唯一的一只狗，也就是我最忠实的伙伴，我的欧森。 “嘿，老弟。”我想说，结果只勉强发出几个毫无意义的干呕声。 它舔舔我的脸，嘴里吐出浓浓的狗口臭味，不过那实在不能怪它。 我拼命眨眼，试图把视力弄清楚，屋内红色的火光有愈演愈烈的趋势。我只隐约地感觉到它毛茸茸的脸贴在我前方的地面上。 然后，我突然想到如果它有办法进到屋子里找到我，它一定也能带领我找到出路，最好赶在我的牛仔裤和它的毛皮着火之前即刻行动。 我鼓起全身的力气摇摇晃晃地从地上站起来。我忽然觉得想吐，像是有一只鳗鱼要从喉咙游出来似的，但是我跟先前一样硬将它吞下去。 我紧紧眯着双眼，试着不去想头顶上高温的热气，向下伸手抓住欧森粗宽的皮项圈，由于它就紧贴在我的腿边，所以并不难找。 欧森把鼻子贴近地面可以呼吸的地方，我则必须屏住呼吸，不理会那些搔鼻的烟雾，让狗儿带领我穿过屋内。它尽可能带我避开家具，我无法相信它居然能在这样恐怖的惨剧当中自娱。我走着走着迎面撞在门框上，还好没有撞断牙齿。然而，在这段短暂的行程当中，我由衷感谢上帝以XP症而非失明来考验我。 正当我觉得如果我不立即趴到地上可能会当场晕厥的时候，我感觉到一股冷空气迎面拂来，当我再度睁开眼睛时，我竟然能看得见。我们正在厨房里，火势还没有蔓延到这个地方，这里也没有烟，因为后门吹送来的风把烟都往餐厅的方向吹。 餐桌上放着点燃蜡烛的红宝石色烛台，玻璃酒杯，和一瓶打开的杏桃白兰地。看着这张摆设舒适的餐桌，我觉得过去几分钟发生的事恍如一场恶梦，仿佛安琪拉会再一次神情黯然地穿着她先生的羊毛衣，和我一起坐在这里，斟一杯酒，将她的故事说完。 我的嘴又干又苦，我差点顺手把那瓶白兰地一起带走。不过，巴比。海洛威那里会有啤酒，那更够味。 厨房的门闩已经松开。虽然欧森聪明过人，但是我怀疑它有能力打开锁住的门进来找我更何况，它没有钥匙。 我站在门外，试着将肺里最后几抹浓烟吐尽，同时将手枪插入夹克的口袋里。我一边在牛仔裤上抹去手心的汗水，一边神情紧张地扫视后院以防误中埋伏遭人攻击。 天上的云影如同银白色地面下的鱼群一般浮游过洒满月光的草坪。 除了被风吹动的植物之外，一切万籁俱寂。 我一把抓起脚踏车，牵着车穿过凉亭走道，抬头凝望身后的房屋；很惊讶地发现它居然尚未完全被火吞噬。屋内大火从一间房间迅速蔓延到另一间房间，可是外表上只能看出少许的端倪，明亮的火焰正在燃烧楼上两扇窗户的窗帘，还有一朵朵如花瓣般的白色烟雾从阁楼屋檐下的通风口徐徐冒出。 除了时而咆哮的晚风之外，这个夜晚显得分外地宁静。月光湾不是个大城市，但是到了夜里也有它独特的声音，几辆疾驶而过的汽车、远处酒吧传来的音乐、年轻人在阳台上练吉他的声音、狗叫声、扫街车底下刷子运转的沙沙声、推婴儿车的声音、挨姆巴卡德罗大道尽头千年广场外高中生聚会的笑闹声、美铁（Amtrako ）乘客列车和货运列车疾驶而过时的汽笛声……然而，此时却都鸦雀无声。今晚什么声音也听不到，让人恍若置身于莫加维沙漠（Mojave Desert ）里最偏僻死寂的小镇社区。 显然我在客厅里开的那一枪，并没有引起外人的注意。 走在洋溢着茉莉花香的拱形花架下，推着脚踏车，车轮发出轻微的转动声，我带着急速的心跳尾随欧森来到前门。它跳跃起来用前脚将门闩须开，这是它的特殊才艺之一，我以前也见它这么做过。然后我们一起沿着通往马路的人行道前进，走得很快但不是用跑的。 我们运气好，四周没有目击证人，街道上没有汽车行驶，也没有行走的路人。 假如附近的邻居发现我在房子失火时匆匆离去，史帝文生局长极可能会以此当作籍口将我缉捕归案，然后以我拒捕为由一枪将我击毙，不论我到底有没有反抗的事实。 我跨上脚踏车，一脚踩在地上以保持平衡。当我回头凝视那栋房屋时，晚风正吹动高大的木兰花树，枝叶间隐约可见火焰从一楼和二楼的几扇窗户探出火舌。 我怀着哀悼、兴奋、好奇、恐惧、伤感和深沉的问号，沿着人行道迅速驶向路灯较稀疏的街道，欧森则气喘喘地跟在我旁边阔步向前奔跑。 我们离去将近一个街口的时候，我听见费里曼住宅的玻璃开始爆破，想必是剧烈膨胀的高温所导致。 树干间稀疏的星光，枝叶间洒落的月光，高大的橡树，宜人的黑暗，和安息的墓碑——对欧森来说，这里还代表好奇的松鼠气味，是的，我们又回到了紧邻圣柏纳天主教堂的墓园。 我把脚踏车轻轻停靠在一个墓碑上，墓碑上头竖立着一座花岗岩雕塑的光环天使。我坐下来——头顶上没有光环——将背靠在一个上头竖立十字架的石头墓碑上。 就在几个街口外的地方，消防大队的救火车纷纷抵达费里曼的住所，尖锐的警笛声霎时化为宁静。 我无法依照原先计划一路骑到巴比。海洛威的家，因为我一直咳个不停，严重影响我对行车方向的掌握。欧森的步伐也失去原先的稳健，它连续打了好几个喷嚏才将顽强的烟味排除。