I am a collector of folk ghost stories. I travel in the countryside and record those strange stories that have been forgotten by time.
Old people say that some stories should not be memorized indiscriminately, as they themselves contain "dirty" things. I didn't believe it until that time in a deserted village, a dying old man held my hand tightly and left a whisper on the old tape recorder I brought that should never exist.
Since then, weird things have continued one after another:
· There are always extra breathing sounds in the recording that don't belong to anyone.
· The people I interviewed began to die one after another in the way in the story.
· When I was sorting out my manuscript late at night, I always felt like someone behind me was reviewing it word for word. Occasionally, there would be a cold chuckle...
Until I was playing back a blank interview, I clearly heard my grandma's familiar and distorted voice: "My dear grandson... You record the story, and the story is also recording you... Now, the 'audience' lying behind you, do you want to look back?"
I turned my head stiffly. Under the light beam of the flashlight, I was the only shadow. But that cold breath with the smell of grave earth actually sprayed on the back of my neck.
I thought I was just the porter of stories, but now I know that I am the "door" that opens for them. The story you are reading may be... My final collection.
