After my mom died in a car accident, I was in a mess, and the first day she came back and said she wasn’t dead.
And then she got weirder and weirder than a living man.
I want to live a normal life, so I’m sorry, Mom, but you should die again…
One.
The funeral was finally over.
The village’s people have returned, a few relatives have returned, the cooks have packed their pots and pots, and the singers have returned, and those who are more lamentable than a crying cryman have returned laughing.
I sat at the threshold, staring at the yard.
A courtyard of white paper, a wreath of wreaths, leftovers of leftovers thrown over the ground, leftovers of rags to be removed from the stage, and the black ash scattered after burning paper money and paper plasters.
What’s next?
I’m sitting there, and there’s nothing in my head.
There were no living things at home, and the only sheep were missing, and it was not clear if they had been stolen and the sheep were empty.
I don’t have a mother to help me with, but I’m done.
Mom is…
What happened?
I hold my head and meditate.
It’s like it’s been a long time since I’ve been trying to figure it out.
It was a car accident.
On the 8th of July, seven days before the ghost festival, my mother accompanied me to the top of the county.
I went to a high school.
That’s a high one!
Throughout the summer, Mom had a proud smile on her face, no matter how much dirt and black ash it was.
On her birthday, she cut a whole pound of beef and made me my favorite potato stew, which I can remember now.
I didn’t expect a car accident on the way.
I remember the moment Mom tried to hold me, but couldn’t pull it, and then he turned around and couldn’t see anything — and naturally, I couldn’t remember.
Remember only that when I woke up, I saw a car lying in the valley and a man with seven arms and legs.
I followed the adult in the fire suit to get in the car, got in the corner of the car and was transported to the neighbouring town, and soon returned to my village.
When we got home, we found that the funeral had already begun.
It must have been Mom’s relatives.
Knocking the drums and crying.
I feel like I have nothing to do with this loss, and there is a particularly weird feeling of disunity.
– It’s called alienation.
The language teacher has just given us a review.
Nobody talks to me.
People of the same age, elders, uncles and uncles seem to be trying to avoid me.
There was only one old woman who was too old to be, as if there was only a skinned old woman who looked at me for half a night with her dazzling eyes.
I sat at the threshold and looked at it in silence — looking at people who seemed to have nothing to do with themselves.
Sleep when you’re tired and wake up and do it again until it’s over.
What to do.
I stood up and moved like I didn’t belong to my leg.
Let’s clean up the garbage.
I went to a wreath on the ground, staring at the big words for a few seconds, and I was about to pack up, and I was screaming behind my back:
Seven? I’m sorry.
I turned my head and saw a man standing in front of the yard with a bag.
It’s my mom.
The moonlight was on her head, and her face was clearly visible and there was no shadow.
I looked around and I forgot to close my big mouth.
With the full moon, I looked at that familiar face in inch — it was Mom.
The wrinkles between her eyebrows, the tattoos of her mouth horns and the moles around her eyes are all identical.
How could I have mistaken my mother?
“Mom, Ma, you, how you…”
I shiver and look at the big coffins in the house.
“What’s going on? I’m sorry.
Mom went into the yard with a travel bag, sweated her forehead and frowned her in the yard.
“Who’s this funeral for? Your aunt doesn’t think I’m dead? I’m sorry.
“You, you’re not…”
“I was rescued by an ambulance, I fainted in the county hospital for a few days, I didn’t call — you little bitch, you didn’t think I was dead, did you? I’m sorry.
“I, I…”
I remember these days as if my soul had gone out of its way and I had to come back.
Yeah — I didn’t know Mom’s death, and I never saw her body.
It’s just a big dragon.
It’s just an empty coffin. She’s not dead!
My heart is full of ecstasy, and my eyes are full of tears, and I run to hold my mother, and I bury my head in the arms, so familiar, and cry and cry.
“Mommy, mommy, oh mama! I’m sorry.
Two.
Surrounded by warm arms, I fell fast and deep.
When we woke up, it was the rooster who looked to the east window, and the morning light came in, and the far sky had been full of fish.
There was a fire on the window heading south, and I walked up and down, and Mom burned things in the yard.
She piled all the wreaths, white cloths, tugs, supply tables, paper man’s money that had not been burned, and set a fire, all set on fire.
Almost two people were on fire, and Mom stood by the fire, standing still, and the fire was shining on her face with a strange feeling of stagnation.
“Mom! I’m sorry.
As she stood too close to the fire, I couldn’t help but shout.
Mom heard the screams and looked at me slowly.
She turned her head, like a door open by the wind after she pulled the door.
The stagnating look on his face has not changed at all.
She looked at it with that strange expression — as if she hadn’t seen me at all, or that I was a stranger.
After a few seconds, it was like a sudden reaction, with a familiar smile on your face.
“Seven, wake up? Are you asleep?”
“Mom, those things…”
“Oh, these. I’m sorry.
She looked back at the fire behind her and threw a piece of paper in her hand.
“It’s all bad stuff. Burn it. I’m sorry.
I looked at the center of the fire, where there was a piece of black stuff, crushed by two supply tables that had been burned to the ground, and I looked very closely and found that it was a travel bag she was carrying when she returned last night.
It’s like Mom noticed my eyes and explained:
“It’s full of old clothes, broken blankets, etc. I’m sorry.
“Oh…”
The bag was very fire-resistant, and the fire was so long that it opened only one mouth, and I looked over it and I found a burning, black wooden frame.
That seems to be an angle of the frame.
When I wanted to see it again, Mom threw a piece of paper in the fire, and the fire went up.
It was only at full light that she extinguished the fire, and she dragged the ashes and debris into a sack, carrying her back to the back garden.
I followed and looked up under Tukan and found her digging a hole with her hoe.
She raised her head up, fell down, and she ploughed deep into the earth, reflecting a cold, flat blade, and then pushed hard towards the belt, with several green oils thrown aside.
She dug her garden for half her life.
I don’t know what to do, but I can only stand below the can.
She dug a big hole, threw a sack into it, filled it with grass, then went down in silence, and I ran back into the house.
And when I ran through the house, I looked at the dark, dark coffin, lying in the shadows.
It was only then that I found out that the remains and medals that had been left behind the coffin were missing.
I was lying in bed and I didn’t sleep at all.
The sun slowly rose to the tree tree at the door of the courtyard, and the monkey began to scream.
After a while, someone knocked on the door of the yard, and I rose up and looked, and she had a basket in her hand, and she had eggs, tarts, etc.
I jumped out of bed, ran out of my room, and Mom pushed out of my room, and she reached out and tried to pull me to the yard door, but she didn’t.
Seven, don’t go!
“It’s my aunt! I’m sorry.
I ran to the yard door and pushed the door.
Aunty, my mother is not dead! I’m sorry.
Aunty’s two steps back and sits down.
Eggs and platinum in the bamboo basket roll over and roll around.
She looked at me and my mom behind me with the horrors.
I looked back, Mom stood at the door and didn’t come over. Her face is cold and her eyelids are low.
“You, you… you…
“Not dead. I’m sorry.
Mom’s interrupting the crack aunt.
“Not dead. Wrong. I’m sorry.
She used the low-cold line to say.
My aunt got up and ran away, and I watched her three steps in the back and had doubts.
“Mom…”
Leave her alone and come back.
She dragged me into the house and left her breakfast on the table in silence, with two tumblings and a black sauce.
“Mom, Aunty has brought her. I’m sorry.
Even though it fell on the ground, the white and clean face looks better than anything on the table.
“Eat. I’m sorry.
Mom was staring at me, saying in unquestioned terms.
All I had to do was pick up a tweezer under her eyes and try to bite it, and when the cold face came into the mouth, it was an unspoken and disgusting smell.
It’s sour, bitter, spicy and unbearable.
“Ugh…”
I couldn’t help but throw up and there’s a pitch of black and thick concentrate on the ground.
“Mom, Ma, this is the hyena…”
Mom put the tarts and dishes away without saying anything.
She had a face I couldn’t understand.
It’s like seeing something gruesome and gruesome.
That look didn’t last too long on her face, and she quickly changed to the sweet smile of the past.
Mom and I grew up together.
My father left shortly after I was born, and I had no impression whatsoever of him.
Mom did not remarry — no one dared to marry her because, somehow, there were rumors in the village about her Kev, obscurantism, and that she had learned unclean witchcraft.
She grew me up on her own by farming, working and doing housework.
Life as a child had been difficult, and in order to get me to drink goat milk, she had borrowed money to hold young lambs that were sold cheap because they could not live with one eye on them, and had grown them up.
We can’t eat a few meats a year, one potato stew on our birthday is a rare meal, and potatoes are usually more than meat.
We played a game called “Geeking the Treasures” when we closed our eyes and caught meat or potatoes.
I’m very good at poaching. I can easily tell with chopsticks, and Mom always picks up potatoes and laughs.
When I grew up a little, I realized that Mom actually knew how to tell.
I’ll never forget that smile on her face, mixed with lovelessness.
I don’t know how different the smile on her face is now — it looks exactly the same.
But I always felt like there was something missing.
After day and night, I was wearing shoes, trying to get out of the house, shit and stop me again.
Seven, where are you going?
“I’ll go tell the people in the village that you’re okay. I’m sorry.
“Don’t go. I’m sorry.
Mom said immediately.
After a few seconds, it changed a little bit:
“Lately, the sun goes down. I’m sorry.
What difference does it make between going late and going now? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Mom didn’t follow, she stood at the door, waved at me, didn’t mean to leave.
My house was fixed on the slopes of the north-west corner of the village, and I ran down the slopes towards the centre of the village, and the sunset threw my shadow on the road and pulled a crooked line.
And I ran to the nearest Samping’s house, and he and his father were sitting in the garden at the door of his house, and they were saying something.
Sanping! Sam Ping! “My mother’s not dead! My mom and she…
His father moved his chair, dragged him into the house and closed the door to death.
I stayed there for a few seconds. Lifting his feet towards Zhang Wang’s house next door – before she had gone, she saw Zhang drag him into the house, also closing the door to death and pulling the curtains down.
I look down at the high climbers, the Stars, the Zhao Hong family on the other side of the road, and the four uncles at the far end of the pond — their doors and windows are locked, as if they were hiding from something terrible.
I was standing in the middle of the road, looking at the village of the dead.
It’s usually the hottest moment of the day — the cooks, the serials, the fights, the narcs, the chickens back in the house, the puffs in the sheds… ..it’s always going on until the 8 o’clock TV show.
I looked at the shadow under my feet, and after a long time, I realized.
It’s about Aunty.
Must be because she said something to the people in the village.
I’ve got an unspoken sense of distress in my chest.
It’s like something’s blocking it.
It’s bitter, bitter, it’s sour, it’s stuck in the chest.
I recall what happened when I was a child — when I remembered that Mom was taking me out of the village, pointing fingers and whispering. Reminiscent of the fact that she had been closed by the butcher when she went to buy meat and secretly shed tears.
They say she’s a witch, cursed Dad.
Now they’re starting again!
I turned around and ran home. Mom stood at the door of the house, wearing the first moonlight, smiling at me.
I jumped into her arms and her collar was wet by tears.
“Mom ow ow they don’t believe you’re not dead! They’re bullying us again! I’m sorry.
“All right, all right. I’m sorry.
Mom softly covered my hair.
“What do you want them to believe? Let’s just have a good life. I’m sorry.
“Hmm! I’m sorry.
“Seven, this time we’ll die, we’ll live and never part again, huh? I’m sorry.
“Well…”
She calmed me again, and she led me to the house, and I walked down to my face to wipe the tears out, unwittingly looking at the ground below my feet.
Fifteen moons of sixteen, cold moons of light shined the whole yard, and I found the ground below my feet — where Mom had just stood at the door — with two and the surrounding ground footprints.
The two marks are clear, and the raisins on the soles of the shoes are clear, but there are no other shoes around. Suddenly, I had a kind of ridiculous idea:
Has she been standing here for hours without moving?
3
In the middle of the night, I woke up in my urine and I climbed up.
The hut is behind the house, and I go to the house, turn on the light, then push the back door and go to the hut.
When Mom’s room was passed, he suddenly heard a little talk from a closed window.
It’s Mom’s voice.
But it’s completely different from the usual tone.
It is as if there are some rhythms and it seems to be reading or poetry.
On the dark night, I couldn’t see the sights in the windows, but I felt that the readings were slowly entangling me like snakes, and then coming into my head through my ears.
I had a chill — I don’t know if it’s because of the urine or because of the cold readings.
When I touched the toilet, I had to pee, I went back to the bedroom, turned off the light, and walked towards my room.
When I passed through the closet, I held my foot and slowly turned my head and looked towards the mirror that was embedded in the old closet.
I saw the man in the mirror with the faint light of the house, which was dark, except for the emptiness of the security door and a little moonlight leaking from the skylight.
I’m not in the mirror.
In the mirror, there was a dark shadow with a cape, a long body, and twisted.
It twitches, murmurs, twitches, twitches, squeezings, as if they were cold and painful.
I turned around and went back to the lights, turned on the lights, looked back and the people in the mirror became myself.
I turned off the light and there was that twisted shadow again in the mirror.
I turn the light on, and the person in the mirror turns back to himself; the light turns off, and the shadow comes back; and the light turns on, and the mirror is itself.
I’m surrounded by fear.
What’s that?
Who is it?
I look back at the house, paint the coffin and lie still in the corner, with the breath of nothing.
I look in the mirror myself.
The same inexplicable curiosity is slowly entangled.
I want to see it very carefully.
But I’m afraid it’s coming out of the mirror.
And I washed the door of my eyes, and it was bright, and I walked down to the wall, and I took it to the mirror, and turned it on, and turned it on, and turned it on.
There’s only one person in the mirror who is standing in the dark with a stick.
I’m relieved and I want to light the light with the tip of the pole and stand behind me as soon as I see the dark shadow of the cape.
“Aah-aah-aah! I’m sorry.
It took the pole from me and walked over to turn on the light.
“What are you doing, Seven? What the hell is that? I’m sorry.
It’s Mom.
In a pyjamas, a mother with hair.
“Go to bed, get up early tomorrow, I’ll make you something to eat. I’m sorry.
I had to go back to my room and lie on my bed.
But the confusion in the heart has not been reduced at all.
If that shadow in the mirror was Mom — why was she only in the mirror and not me?
Why is she so strange in the mirror? Why does she have to twitch while she snores?
Why didn’t I see her in the house?
Where is she hiding?
The dark, dark coffins in the shadows slowly surface in their minds and grow larger.
I’m strangling, strangling.
The cold wind pours out of the window into the room, pacing the curtains. It appeared that the women’s squealing cries had been poured in together in the wind and resonated in the room.
I had a terrible dream.
I dreamt that it was not a cry that came in through the window, but a decomposition corpse.
It wanders around in the room.
He climbed up to my bed and cried out in the crumbs and maggots:
“Seven… seven…”
Seven! I’m sorry.
I woke up screaming and saw Mom’s face.
She seems to be trying to show concern, but her facial muscles are being held back by another, more lopsided mood.
“How can you sleep under a blanket so hot? I’m sorry.
She’s covering her nose.
Probably sweaty — I’m sweaty.
“I, I… It’s cold at night. I’m sorry.
I was whispering, and I got up and ran out of the room and went outside to wash my face and brush my teeth. After brushing his teeth and looking after his mouth, he discovered that the mirror, which was normally hanging in the crack of a brick outside the house, was missing.
I walked back to the house and found that the clothing mirrors in the closet had also been removed.
More than that, Mom used the dresser and didn’t see that elliptical dresser. Even the mirror glass on the security door was missing.
I turned to Mom.
“It’s bad luck to put a mirror at home, so I threw it away. I’m sorry.
She’s cold.
– Why not?
Isn’t that a mirror?
I am in doubt, but I am afraid to ask because the look on her face is so unquestioned. And since she came back, I’ve noticed that she has less and less time to smile.
The look on her face seems to be getting colder, stiffer, and even…
She dragged me to the kitchen to eat, and the pot with the lid attracted me, because it was usually used for big dishes, and at this point it was slowly fragrance.
Mom’s lid is full of potatoes and stew — and meat is much more than potatoes.
“Wow! Mom, what holiday is it today? I’m sorry.
“Just think of it as the anniversary of our mother’s death. I’m sorry.
Mom smiled and said.
I took out the bowl, first filled her with a bowl, then filled myself with a bowl full of food.
I don’t know if it’s because Mom’s good, or because she didn’t eat much yesterday, or because the meat is so delicious that I can’t eat enough.
It’s so fat and fat that almost some weird fragrance fills the house, I immerse in it and eat.
I looked up to Mom in the emptiness of the meat, and the meat in her bowl was completely intact, and the soup was gushing out of the oil on the edge of the bowl.
“Mom, why don’t you eat? Eat. I’m sorry.
Mom shakes her head and shows the kind of loving and helpless smile that used to appear.
“Mom’s not hungry, you eat.”
I was watching her smile and I ate a whole pot of meat.
She stopped her when she tried to pack it.
“I’ll do it, you rest. I’m sorry.
I had to cover my stomach, go to the yard, sit on a chair and eat, and look at the clouds and find Mom in the corner.
I went over my head and looked at my mother’s back and ate what was in my hands.
Hey, what’s not hungry? Looks like it’s still hungry.
Is she eating my leftovers?
I can’t help but think about it and feel guilty.
After a while, Mom walked back to the house from the back door, and she sat in the middle of the bedroom, staring at the coffin in the shadow.
And her face slowly became dull.
“Mom”?
She’s not responding.
“Mom, why don’t we move this coffin and put it in the house? I’m sorry.
I’m talking to her.
Think it’s a lot worse than a wreath mirror or something?
But Mom still hasn’t responded, just staring at the coffin with his dead eyes.
“Mom! I’m sorry.
The scream finally activated her and she turned to me.
I took a step back.
There were no black eyes in her eyes, but white, scary.
Those are indeed two eyes without dark eyes, and I saw not wrong.
After a second or two, two eyeballs turned like bells, turning the black eye through the inside of the eyelids… slowly turning around.
I slowly retreated in cold sweat and suddenly realized what was going on:
The moment she twisted her head, the eyeballs did not come with her head immediately — they remained in place, staring at the coffin under the eyelids.
Mom seems to have noticed herself, rubbing her face and laughing, “Mom’s probably tired, I’m going to bed. I’m sorry.
I went into my room.
I walk back to the chair and sit down.
What the hell is going on?
What happened to Mom?
The more I get cold on my back, the more I get scared, the more I start to feel a little bit of stomach discomfort, and I think it’s probably because I’ve just eaten too much and it’s not digestive.
So, standing up, trying to go out and eat, and just emptying your head, making the horrors inside your head stop a little.
I didn’t want to go to the village — I didn’t want to see the villagers’ faces like ghosts again, so I walked out of the yard door, turned north-west and headed for the back hill.
The rear mountains shall be a forested land with a quietness, and shall be, in addition to the tea trees that have been planted throughout the mountains, gardens which are either abandoned or neglected, and gravestones which may be placed on earth.
I walked for a few minutes and saw a gravestone hidden behind thin leaves, the grave of an old woman who had died in the village just last month.
Mom was supposed to be buried in a grave like this.
– The idea jumped out.
Instead of being buried, she stood in the yard, sitting at the table — is that an anomaly?
That’s why people in the village look at me like that.
I removed the wrong leaves from the road and the sight, and went to the grave, where I was planning to worship and suddenly found two legs on the other side of the grave.
Those legs were on the ground, dry and thin.
My heart is pounding.
I went around the grave bag, held my shaking legs, and walked slowly to the legs.
It was a highly corrupt body, different from what was common in the village, wearing strange white clothes.
There is also a large hole in the surrounding ground, which is clearly not a normal grave.
The body was thin and swollen in high heights, and the naked decomposed meat presented a melting, semi-liquid form of maggots.
Countless fat maggots crawled on her face of rotting flesh, crawling happily in and out of her mouth, ears and nose.
Her thighs and stomach were marked with cutting marks, decomposed as Jell-O meat was cut off in large quantities, and her mouth was tremors with a large number of maggots split in two.
It was apparently excavated and cut after death. At a very close point of time — perhaps this morning.
I know what I ate this morning.
I bend down, and my stomach is spasming in the most intense extent, and I squeezed all of its contents over Haiti.
The slime of black mud spreads on the ground and inside it appears to be a beating maggots.
I’m almost dizzy.
I ran down the hill, went back to the yard, washed through the mouth with the water in the jar and threw up again. Turning around inside, Mom came out of the room and stood at the door looking at me.
“What did you feed me? I’m sorry.
“I gave you that cut in Zheng Shui.”
“You’re lying! You give me, you give me food I see on the back hill! I’m sorry.
The expression on her face is frozen.
The tiny twitch under the skin — it’s like a maggots crawling down there.
I remember when she turned her back to me and ate something, and she flipped in her stomach, turned around into her room and picked up her bag and packed her clothes.
Seven, what are you doing?
Mom stood at the door and asked with a quiet voice.
“I’m… I’m going to school, right? Where are my textbooks and stationery? I’m sorry.
“Burn it. I’m sorry.
There’s a chilling sound like a chord coming from behind.
“It burned together the day before yesterday. I’m sorry.
I slowly turned around and looked at Mom’s face.
It’s a… ..silent, stupid, as if the nerve had died and could not see a living face.
“Seven, it’s hard for our mother and son to die and never to be separated again. I’m sorry.
And the fucking black eye shuddered at the corner, staring at me with white eyes.
“You’re not going anywhere. You’ll stay with me forever. I’m sorry.
4
Late at night, I woke up from a sleep on the back side.
The cold wind is still pouring in from windows, as if it were weeping and as if it was reciting a woman’s voice in the wind, wandering around the house.
I’m holding on to the covers, and I’m on the bed, and I’m gonna have the courage to look at the window.
A dark shadow was set on a window, and a drape in motion covered its face, and a wind blew through it, and the drapes were lifted, and I saw its face.
The dead are usually stiff.
The zombies are generally godless.
As if the mouth and eyes were dark and dark.
I buried my head in the covers, and Cersei shivered, and then, after a while, I found half an eye and looked out.
The shadow on the window is missing.
No sign of them inside.
There was a fire on the window.
I walked out of the bed, walking along thin ice, looking out the window, and I found my mother standing next to the flames of burning bears.
She’s burning again.
She threw paper, wood and other fuel into the bonfire and walked slowly around the flames.
Although slow, her pace was not random, but rather stomped on a sort of non-existent drum.
Her body swayed with the flames, and her limbs pulled a strange trajectories.
She danced a primitive dance that she could not speak, and she read words.
It’s like reading and singing.
I covered my mouth, bowed my back, lay down under the window and carefully identified her singing.
“Go ahead…
Forward…
Vagina…
The Vulture…”
As she sang and walked around the fire, she quickly reached a position near the window of my room, as if she had seen me hiding under the window and slowly turned her head in a ghost position.
Her head was like a door open by the wind after she pulled it off.
There’s a rusty crest of the neck and it’s squeaky.
And her face was a bonfire, and the face of that face,
And I ran back to my bed, and I was wrapped in it, and I would never look out again.
I’m sure of something.
That’s definitely not the expression my mother could make.
That’s absolutely, absolutely not my mother.
That’s it, after a few days.
The look on Ma’s face over time has become stiffer, stiffer, ungodly and foolish, as if a piece of meat was losing its temperature.
As if the true face would no longer be hidden under that skin, and it would break out.
It’s okay in the daytime. She can still make a few smiles.
At night, she almost became a bonfire-side walker, singing, marching, moaning and crying all night long.
She’s still gonna make me that smelly meat, but I’ll never touch it again — I’ll never kill her.
I know it was cut off from the dead, and I could even hear her at night chopping and laughing.
So every time I ate, I ate only a few of them with their hairs darkened, and then I endured their stomachs and their hunger, and left the table.
At that point, Mom used that stiffer face to squeeze out the expression of disappointment.
“You’re going to eat, Seven.” I’m sorry.
“How can we not eat? I’m sorry.
I was looking for an opportunity to escape from my home, but she closed the yard door and kept watch.
One night, I heard her lying down at the window and whispering.
“Sorry, Seven, sorry…”
“Mommy’s sorry, Mom can’t let you go, Mom doesn’t want to leave you…”
And that sad cry almost covered my heart with a little fear.
So, the next day, he tried to talk to her sitting in the middle of the house and staring at the coffin.
“Mom. I’m sorry.
I whispered, and she did not respond — as I expected.
“Mom! I’m sorry.
I yelled, and she turned around and looked at me.
It’s still a stupid face, and the dark eye is beating at the edge of its eyes, as if the eye had no idea what to do with the head.
“Mom, this coffin what are you going to do? I’m sorry.
I tried to ask.
Her dry lips were open and no sound.
“This casket, it’s too bad at home…”
I’m talking while I go to her.
She still has no words, only to follow my tracks with her head.
I went to the other side of her, and I looked at her neck, and I twisted it. Together, wrinkled, and suddenly there’s an extremely crazy thought.
I keep walking around her body.
Her head is still following me.
Her neck squeals, twigs, twigs, as if the gears had died, wrinkled around her neck, and slowly squeezed out a layer of flesh.
I stopped and the cold sweat of my forehead fell on the ground.
Her head turned almost 270 degrees after me.
My last hope has been dashed — it’s not my mother.
She’s been another thing.
I went backwards and wanted to leave, but she suddenly broke up, so she wringed her head into a plume, reaching out to me in the right hand.
Let go! Let go!
I screamed to rip off that hand, and my fingernails drew five blood marks on her pale arm.
That afternoon, the arm died at an extremely fast rate, turning into black and purple.
That night, I heard her screeching and laughing.
The next day — the sixth day after she “returned” — I found her right hand missing under her shoulder, and the wounds were covered with filthy and rotten grass.
The table is full of fresh stew.
I didn’t eat any of it.
5
That night I heard the door open.
When I looked out of the window, I saw “Mom” pushing the door out of the yard and walking out the door, and then disappeared in the night.
I was so happy that I pushed the door out of the yard.
She probably thought I was asleep, so she left the door.
I was going to run away overnight, as far away as I could from this horrible home, but I looked at the mountains wrapped up in endless darkness, and I hesitated at a moment — just as I saw the distant “Mom” slowly moving towards the rear.
An unstoppable weird impulse took control of my legs.
I followed her in the woods.
And We hanged far behind the shadow of the shadow, and followed her through the tea and a grave bag.
I thought she was going to dig someone’s grave again, but she didn’t. “Mom” was just walking around like some kind of force, and we went halfway down the hill and into the forest.
This is no longer a tea forest. It’s surrounded by ancient trees, and the moonlight is covered with a giant crown above its head. It’s not coming in at all.
The light is derived from some of the strange iridium or apricot plants around it. With the light, I turned around and looked around, and there was a black, naked shadow under each of the old logs in the pristine forest.
They all have a foolish face and their bodies are decomposed to varying degrees.
Somehow I can’t feel much fear.
I saw the “Mom” in the front, and she walked into a little puddle covered in twigs and leaves, where candles were lit.
There was talk.
I hid in the bush and waited until the conversation was over, the lights went out, Mom came out of the hut and swayed down the hill, and I went out, pushed the bamboo door and walked into the mag.
The candlelight was lit again.
On the mat deep inside the house, an old-fashioned, yellow-eyed wife sat on the mat.
I met her — the old lady who was staring at me at the funeral.
She looked at me with her grotesque eyes, and her dry mouth opened up slowly and showed a toothless and terrible smile.
Her head was so strange — big and flat, almost triangulated, and her eyes were almost divided on both sides of the face because of the strange structure of her skull. Gives one the illusion of a reptile.
“Kids, little devils. What are you doing here? I’m sorry.
“I… what’s my mom doing here? What the hell happened! I’m sorry.
My old lady whispered, staring at me for a few seconds, and then he sniveled like a snake.
“That’s your mother. Don’t you know what’s going on? It’s the spirit! I’m sorry.
“Return the spirit? I’m sorry.
She opened her mouth, used half a snake and half a man’s dumb voice, and said:
“Go ahead and move on.
It’s a good idea.
The Stonegate 12th Floor,
It’s the 12 ways.
The north side,
“The south of the vagina…”
“This, this is…”
It’s Mom’s reading at night.
The old lady was staring at me with a golden eye.
“It’s called the Guide Book. I’m sorry.
“It’s about sending people back to their homeland. I’m sorry.
“The dead body outside the house, can you see it? Those are the poor children who have no voice after their death and do not know where to go. I’ll gather them up and be the head of a corpse. I’m sorry.
“But if, on the other hand, a living person doesn’t want a dead person to leave, standing outside the house on the seventh night of his death, so that the dead person can see him, the dead person will stay with the living — that’s the first seven home, you know? You’re from Han, you know that, right? I’m sorry.
“I, I…”
I got it.
That night I didn’t want my mother to die and I sat outside and let her soul see me!
“So the guidebook becomes the one that guides the dead to the living. Ha ha ha! I’m sorry.
The old lady was staring at me and laughing.
“The dead, who do not know that they are dead, remain in this half-and-half-yang zone, but the dead cannot eat the sun, so it is necessary to eat from the vagina — to get rotting meat, rotten roots, maggots, etc. — in order to hang the dead half. I’m sorry.
I see.
Mom made those meats.
She swallowed something.
Doesn’t she know she’s dead?
Is it because of me that I left her in the sun?
“Amama, what happens if this continues? I’m sorry.
“What’s going on? It’s natural that the living are slowly being sucked away by the dead, that the dead are slowly being taken away by the living, that in the end both of them become dead, half dead, and two alive. I’m sorry.
“…”
I’ll be sucked out slowly by Mom…
I’ll be the one who doesn’t die.
“Well, how do we get the dead to leave, Grandma? How do you make my mother rest in peace? I don’t want to be picked up by her, I… I want to live! I’m sorry.
The old lady was staring at me with a golden quiet.
It’s like weighing and thinking.
In the end, she turned her back on her mouth and laughed.
“If only the dead knew they were dead. I’m sorry.
She shows the most gruesome and ugly smile of the night and continues:
“The dead don’t know they’re dead, so just let them know they’re dead — let them see what proves it’s dead. The dead will die again, forever! Ha ha ha ha ha! I’m sorry.
“Thank you, Grandma! I’m sorry.
I was covering my ears in her deafening laughter and I got out of the maggot. The bodies in the forest also opened their mouths like black holes and made a silent laugh at the fly-flying.
I speeded up and ran down the hill.
I’ve identified what I should do.
I want to make up for my own mistakes.
I’m gonna… kill Mom again.
Six.
I ran out of the pristine forest and returned to the tea forest, and just a few steps from it, I heard a terrible cry coming down.
“Seven! Seven! I’m sorry.
“Ooh, ooh, ooh! Where are you? Come back! Come back! I’m sorry.
The whizzing wind, covered in the whirring of the heart, resounding between the valley and the dense forest, the whirlwind is deforming and becoming more and more like the whirlwind of the beast — what shape would the beast that makes that noise be?
I’ve been afraid to think.
I saw a light in the village below the hill, and it was Mom’s howling that woke up the people in the village.
I dare not delay, draw my feet and run down the hill.
I was afraid to go that way and went around the village at the foot of the hill.
The lights in the village were bright, but no one dared to walk out of the house, but only to see the grown-ups standing by the door or the window, with their farming and cooking tools.
I ran to the back of the climber, and I saw the climb in the backyard and his brother, who was my age-old playmate.
I went to the court walls where I usually called him out to play, whispering to the climber, saying, “Climb, climb!” I’m sorry.
He turned around, saw me and immediately showed his horror and held his brother.
“Big up, my mom’s crazy… she’s, she’s not alive! She wasn’t supposed to be alive. It’s my fault I got her back from the shadows! Tell the grown-ups to get a monk and a godmother and give my mother to town.”
“Go on, paint.”
High to break my word.
Staring at me with shivering eyes.
“You’re not supposed to be here. Go away, or I’ll scream. I’m sorry.
The fear on his face made me feel dizzy.
I realized that the fear of the villagers was not only against my mother, but also against me who brought her back.
– Didn’t you know that evening?
I left the climber, ran into the alley and ran all the way to my home.
Can’t count on the village.
I had to take Mom back on my own.
The closer you get to your home, the clearer you can hear howling and whizzing.
Fortunately, it’s coming from a little bit closer, which means Mom’s still looking for me in the woods in the mountains.
I can run into the house and find something that proves she’s dead and send her back to where she belongs.
I ran into my house under the cover of screeching, afraid to turn on the light, only to find it in the nearest dark house, so that my house was familiar, and I quickly touched the paint coffin in the corner.
I worked hard to open the coffin.
As expected, there’s nothing in the coffin.
However, on the bottom of the coffin there was a black, suspected immersed in liquid, and even sporadic dry maggots.
It’s body water.
In other words, there must have been bodies lying here.
If Mom sees this, will she understand?
The key is how to get her…
“The Seven Woo-hoo!” I’m sorry.
Screams are coming from behind.
I turned around, my nose and my nose were bleeding and my mother was standing behind me.
She’s been like a ghost in three, seven, with a full mouth and eyes just like the dead in that forest.
She held me in her left hand and put me in a coffin.
“Mom sorry-Mom shouldn’t do this-Ooh-ooh! I’m sorry.
She sheds blood from the eyes of a black hole.
“Mom doesn’t want to be without you! I’m sorry.
“Mommy, Mammy!” I’m sorry.
I screamed and howled, scrammed her with my legs, turned and ran away, ran into her room and closed the door.
Turn around while your feet are soft and you slide against the door.
Rotated meat, bones, fats, baskets of meat, bloodbaths.
The piles of meat and the bones are still scattered like fur.
The ground has been laid on a thin blanket.
Her room has been turned into a bloody purgatory.
What makes my legs softer is that in this bloody hell, pictures of my childhood are scattered in pieces, as well as some fragrances, bells, red candles, jokers, talismans, etc.
What does she want?
My mother, what does she want?
She wants to turn me into her, and she’s “forever,” right?
There’s a bang coming in the back.
Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock!
More than the most violent drums, the terrorist impact is thicker.
Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock!
I held it against the door, but it didn’t work at all, and in less than three seconds, the doorboard was blown into a big hole, and Mom’s bloody face came in from the hole.
I sat down screaming.
I can’t believe she hit the hole with her head like a sticker.
After she knocked the door open, her head was still inert and still strung like a woodpecker.
That charade finally caused me to lose my last hesitation, to pick up a small knife on the ground and to cross her head.
Yeah, yeah, yeah!
She lamented over an eye and turned back.
And I climbed out of the house from the window, and ran to the back of the hill, looking at the garden of the eye, and I realized it.
I remember — I remember where she died.
In the big pit she dug on the first day.
She puts everything she can prove to be dead — a photograph, a medal, a tutelage, a eulogy, etc. — all in the bag, into the fire, and then burys the rest of the burning in the rear garden.
That’s why I looked all over my house the other day, and I couldn’t find any leftovers and places.
There must be something in there that proves she’s dead! Just dig up that hole and dig up the residue…
And We pushed the door of the garden, and went step by step towards the pit of the garden.
I must, I must send her away.
Six.
I’m…
I love my mom.
I love her so much.
I miss the potato stew she made me.
I miss her sweet smile, her warm arms…
Blood mixed with tears fell from my face.
But she’s dead!
The dead can’t be reborn, only briefly.
And I want to live. I want to go to the county to study and live my whole life.
I’m sorry, Mom.
I ran to the big pit, and I fucked up and threw it on the side of the hoe, and I tried to dig.
It was a long time ago, when the crotch hit something hard, and I pulled the grass out of my hand — it was a mirror.
She buried a mirror that showed the face of the dead.
I threw the mirror over the side, and I kept digging hard, and Mom’s figure was down there and was crawling up along the slope.
I tried to dig out that snake-skin bag, shake out the ashes and the rest of it, and look inside.
Don’t! Don’t! I’m sorry.
She’s in the garden and she’s screaming.
Her squealing and begging, and she’s starting to get scared — she knows there’s something in there that’ll make her go away!
I touched a hard corner.
That’s the photo frame, the photo frame.
And I touched the black-burned frame, and most of it was burned, but I could still see the small faces.
Don’t look! Don’t look! I’m sorry.
I turned my back to the moonlight, and the face of that man was covered by my own back, and I couldn’t see it very well — but the mother behind him certainly could see it.
I turned around and raised my frame to her crying.
“Mom, you’re dead! See? We’ve already done your funeral! This is your last photo! Mom! Mom! Go back. – Leave me alone! I want to live! I want to live! I’m sorry.
Mom’s whistling with the heart.
Holding his head, weeping in a state.
But she didn’t disappear in any way.
No ash, no smoke.
“Seven, seven…”
Even her face recovered from the moonlight.
It’s a scarred face of a sad mother.
“Don’t look at the frame, don’t look at the frame…”
She preached with a plea, while reaching out the rest of her left hand, shaking as thin ice approached me.
Don’t … see?
Don’t look at what?
My panic and panic have gradually been replaced by strange curiosity.
Why isn’t she gone?
Seeing what proves to be dead — shouldn’t it be dead?
Why isn’t she dead?
Why is my movement starting to get stiff and my mind starting to get stiff?
My feelings of bad fortitude have become clearer.
As if even the wind was screaming to stop me.
Yet the heart-eating, inexhaustible curiosity once again dominates my body, stretches my mind and controls my hand slowly through the frame.
There’s no mother’s face in the dark.
It’s a half-sized boy with short hair, a red scarf and a smile.
Who is this?
This guy’s face. Why is it like me?
“Seven, seven, it’s Mom’s fault. It’s Mom’s fault. I’m sorry.
Mom’s kneeling on the floor crying.
I looked down and looked at the clothing mirrors by the foot.
The cold moonlight, in a mirror full of cracks, I saw that — the image that was almost visible a few days ago.
The cape is spread, the body is long and naked, and the shadow is twisted.
It’s not hair, it’s skin torn in a car accident.
It wasn’t a long body, it was a broken spine in a car accident.
The twisted shape — the body that was hanged in a car accident.
I opened my shivering mouth.
The one who opened his mouth like a black hole,
The filthy blood came out of our mouths together in the mirror.
I made a snivelled laugh.
I finally got it.
At last, I realized everything.
For days I’ve been enveloped with grief and fear.
Why did the funeral begin when I got home?
Why is everyone turning a blind eye to me in the funeral?
Why did Mom burn the things in the bag, and why did she sing at night the instructions to return the dead to their homes?
Why do people in the village look at me with fear, why do they see me lying on the floor?
Why would Mom cook with rotting meat?
The white-dressed “cub” is a sheep whose family has been selling for years!
The old lady’s words were echoing in my ears.
“Kids, little devils. I’m sorry.
“Don’t you know? It’s a return! I’m sorry.
“… cannot eat from the sun, so it is necessary to eat from the vagina — from rotting meat, rotting roots, maggots, etc. — in order to hang the body. I’m sorry.
“The living are slowly being sucked away by the dead, the dead are slowly being taken away from the dead, and in the end both of them become immortal, half dead and two dead.” I’m sorry.
“Just let the dead know that they’re dead — see what proves it’s dead. The dead will die again, forever! I’m sorry.
I stretched out my fingers like ashes, to my crying mother.
– It’s me.
It was me who died in a car accident.
Document number: YX11DLbgxlp
I don’t know.
Keep your eyes on the road.
