Meng Mo heard that voice again.
It wasn't the buzzing tinnitus in my head, it was really coming from the end of the corridor - it was like someone scratching the wall with their fingernails, once, once, so slowly it made one's teeth ache.
He opened his eyes and stared at the familiar water stain on the ceiling. The water stain looked like a human face. He had been looking at it for two years. Every night when he couldn't sleep, he stared at it, watching it change from a human face to a horse face, and then from a horse face to an abstract painting that was completely unrecognizable.
"Here we go again," he muttered, his throat as dry as sandpaper.
