On the first day I entered the village, the village chief said to me:
"After dark, no matter what you hear, don't make a sound."
I thought it was local superstition.
Until midnight, there was a sound of footsteps outside the window - very light, one after another, stepping on the mud.
Footsteps stopped outside my window.
Then, I heard someone calling my name.
That voice was exactly the same as my own.
---
My name is Lin Mo, a graduate student in folklore.
After receiving a distress letter without a sender, I came to this village blocked by thick fog. Everyone here seals their mouths with cloth strips and communicates by gestures. The doors and windows are covered with copper bells, and the ancient locust tree in the center of the village is covered with bloody symbols.
The village chronicle records: A hundred years ago, the villagers signed a contract with the "thing" in the fog - to exchange their voices for a good harvest.
Those who break the contract will have their tongues eaten by the fog.
I thought I could survive until dawn if I just shut up.
Until last night, the kid next door said something in his dream.
All the bells suddenly rang. The fog poured in through the crack of the door, like a living thing.
I saw the child's father kneeling in the yard and cutting off his own tongue with a knife.
And this morning, no one mentioned it.
It's like nothing happened.
---
Now I can't get out either.
Because I discovered a secret in the cave:
The sounds of being eaten were all locked in the fog.
They are waiting for a chance... To speak again.
---
