"God, it stinks!"
The drunkard had sobered up completely. He pinched his nose and shone his phone light into the doghouse.
To his surprise, there was nothing filthy inside.
"It looks clean, so why does it smell so terrible? Even spoiled raw meat at my place never reeked like this!"
Grimacing in disgust, the drunkard picked up a nearby tree branch and poked at the dirt inside the doghouse several times. "There's nothing buried underneath either. Where's the smell coming from? It feels like it's already soaked into the wooden planks."
The chaotic footsteps outside were growing closer. The drunkard retreated a step. He simply couldn't stomach the stench any longer, so he climbed through the window beside him and slipped into the small building.
"I hope that family of three doesn't lead that thing over here." The drunkard felt a vague sense of regret — why had he insisted on dragging that middle-aged man along? Hadn't that just given away his position?
Holding his head, the drunkard crouched beneath the windowsill. He pinched himself again. "This is definitely not a dream. What the hell was that thing just now? Just a head left, and it can still run that fast? Is it moving on its chin?"
In the drunkard's estimation, the family of three was probably done for. He had no intention of going back to save them. "Aside from me, the other passengers on the bus are probably all dead. Nobody dares to face that thing. Absolutely nobody…"
His head was still spinning. The scare had drenched him in cold sweat. "What do I do now? My phone has no signal — I don't even know where I am. Forget it. I'll just hide here until the fog lifts."
A fall into the pit, a gain in your wit. The drunkard wasn't about to wander around anymore.
He crouched beneath the window and waited a few minutes when suddenly he heard a noise from the gate in the yard.
"Someone came in!"
He held his breath, not daring to make a single sound.
He strained his ears. After the door had made its noise, the yard quickly fell silent again.
"They just popped in for a look? That thing didn't spot me?" This time the drunkard had learned his lesson. He didn't lift his head to peer out the window — he was terrified that if he did, he'd find someone standing right at the glass, looking in.
He turned on his phone and adjusted the angle, using the camera to watch the yard outside.
The door was half-open. There was no one in the yard.
"I guess that's the best outcome under the circumstances." The drunkard stood up, and as he was putting his phone away, he accidentally knocked a bottle on the windowsill.
"Air freshener?" He set the bottle back in place and paid it no further mind.
Straightening up, the drunkard finally had time to take in his surroundings.
He wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but he kept hearing a faint sound at the edge of his hearing — like wind chimes tinkling.
In some rural areas, people had a habit of hanging wind chimes by their door. As long as the chimes made a sound, it meant someone had entered the house.
Under normal circumstances, the sound wouldn't have bothered the drunkard at all. But things were different now. He had this persistent feeling that something in the hallway was pacing back and forth, and at great speed.
Just the thought that something else was in this house made his heart pound.
Footsteps shuffled across the floorboards. The drunkard had his back to the window, and he vaguely sensed the light behind him suddenly dim, as though something outside had blocked the glow from the window.
Was someone standing out there?!
The thought exploded through his skull. His scalp nearly split open. His body froze in place. The wind chimes kept ringing in his ears, growing clearer and clearer.