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634 One Ghost Story to Every House

 The kitchen could not really be called big, and the most conspicuous object in the room was the cupboard. There were many delicious looking dishes placed inside, but strangely enough, all of them were wrapped inside plastic wrap, and most had been left there for so long that the rot had started to set in. "Why would they use the cupboard to store the food when there's a perfectly fine fridge?"

The situation was too urgent for the drunkard to stop to figure out a question like that. He rushed to the stove and noticed that the exhaust fan that was installed on the wall.

"This fan..." Perhaps it was special design, or maybe it was the family's peculiar habit, but the exhaust fan installed in the kitchen was larger than normal, and it was just large enough for a child to fit through.

"There's no window in the kitchen, so to help ventilation, a large exhaust fan is installed?" The drunkard stepped on the chair and yanked the fan down forcefully. He looked at the hole, and his expression was colored with hesitation. The hole was too small for an adult. If he was stuck inside, he could not imagine what would happen.

"What should I do now?" Just as the drunkard was hesitating, he saw the cleaver that had been left on the chopping board. Blood and bone chips were stuck to the blade. He looked up at the hole and looked down at the cleaver. A strange idea appeared in the drunkard's mind like everything so far had been cleverly arranged by someone.

The hole was too small for a normal adult, but if one chop off their scapula and sheared off their hipbone, they should be able to fit through the hole easily. Holding the cleaver in his hand, the handle was sticky, and it made the drunkard uncomfortable. As if trying to rush him, he heard the sound of the doors behind opening in the corridor like someone was opening every single room to check them one by one.

"If I escape from here, who knows what kind of crazy thing I'll run into next. Only a real idiot would harm themselves." He held the cleaver in one hand. He bit on his lips, and suddenly, an idea popped into his mind. "I could pretend to have escaped from the exhaust fan, but actually, I'll be hiding somewhere else. When the owner comes to check the room, I'll use that opportunity to escape."

The drunkard looked around before walking to the fridge.

The kitchen was not big, but there was a very large double-layer fridge. The drunkard opened the top layer, and it was stuff full of various deodorants and air-fresheners-some unopened, some used.

"What's with these things?" This was the first time that he had seen such things being stored inside the fridge. He bent down to open the bottom layer, and it was filled with several black plastic bags.

"These couldn't be dead bodies, could they?" Alas, there was no other option for the drunkard-the only hiding place large enough to fit a man was the fridge. He moved the black plastic from the bottom layer to the top layer. During the moving process, a dog's head fell out from a gash in one of the bags.

"These are carrying dog meat?" To cover his trail, the drunkard picked up the dog's head, but when he shoved the head into the fridge, he accidentally glanced at the head. The pupils were frozen in fear, and the longer he looked at it, the more he felt the head looked like a human. He could not really explain why, but it just felt he was not staring at a dog's head but a frozen human head.

"F*ck this!" Unable to stare at the dog's head anymore, the drunkard slammed the door shut after he finished moving all the black plastic bags.


He was just finished with his work when the doorknob of the kitchen was being turned. When the person noticed that the door refused to open after giving it multiple tries, the shaking became more violent.

"I've been discovered!" The drunkard placed the chair under the exhaust fan, grabbed the cleaver, and crawled into the lower section of the fridge before closing the door. The kitchen door was slammed into multiple times, but it held. The monster outside the door seemed to have given up already. The footsteps moved away, and the room instantly became quiet.

The drunkard was shivering due to the chill. He did not dare leave his hiding spot, afraid that this was a trap. About half a minute later, the footsteps reappeared, followed by the key being pushed inside the lock. The locked door was opened, and the table was pushed aside.

"It's here!" The drunkard had no idea what the owner looked like, but the thought of the pictures that it had taken chilled him to his core. Footsteps echoed in the kitchen. Soon, the chair was moved around like the owner was inspecting it.

"Hopefully, that'll be able to fool him..." That was the drunkard's wish, but not a moment after that prayer began in his heart came the sound of the fridge door being pulled open. The door of the top section was opened, and the black plastic bags that he had stuffed hurriedly into it earlier tumbled out like an avalanche.

The drunkard's face paled instantly; he knew that he had been discovered!

"I need to leave this place!" Perhaps holding the cleaver gave him courage because the drunkard slammed the door open from inside. The whole floor of dog meat entered his eyes, and the dog's head that had a human expression was placed right before the drunkard.

Even though he had already mentally prepared, the drunkard was still given a great scare when he saw this. His eyes darted to the side, and he saw an ageless person standing amid the strewn dog meats.

A sheath of dog fur was dangled over his body, and the expression on his face gave the drunkard a sense of familiarity.

"That face is the smiling dog from the pictures!" His body felt soaked in cold water. Using every ounce of his energy, he crawled out from the fridge and charged toward the door.

"The dead dog's expression is like a human, but the living human has the smiling face of the dead dog in the pictures." Such a conclusion appeared in the drunkard's mind. If he did not see that in person, he would not have believed such a thing. "The dead dog has taken over the living person's body, or have they exchanged souls? Could this be some kind of curse, the curse of the smiling dog?"

The drunkard could not explain the thoughts that flowed through his mind. He charged toward the first room that he had jumped into like his life depended on it. In comparison to a scarier thing, the thing that scared him earlier became less scary. As the drunkard raced into the room, at the corner, he turned to look behind him. The strange man landed on his four limbs and chased after him like a mad dog. The folds of skin on his face were scrunched together to reveal a smile that was all too similar to that of the dog in the picture.

Slamming the door shut, the drunkard jumped out the window. Without turning back to look, he escaped from this two-story building. Energized by fear, the drunkard did not stop running even after he left the compound. He raced for about ten meters down the road and only stopped when he confirmed that no one was chasing him.

"What are these monsters? How come it feels like every single building here is harboring at least one of them?" The blood fog rolled through town. The drunkard stood in the middle of the road. He looked left and right and realized that the bus that was supposed to be parked there had disappeared.

"Did I run in the wrong direction? Was the bus the other way?" The drunkard stood by the roadside, not daring to wander too close to the buildings. "Compared to the buildings, it feels safer out on the road. I should try to move down the street and remember any landmarks on the way. The bus should be around here somewhere."

The drunkard followed the road, but it did not take long for him to run into someone standing ahead, waving at him. The blood fog lowered the visibility greatly, and he could only just make out the shape of a human.