Rule Horror: My Brother Is the Rule

I can understand ghosts. The price is years of my life. The first time I passed on a message, it was just three words: “I’m sorry.” The son wept when he heard them. A black ring appeared around my wrist. The seventy-third time, the message came from a ghost from the Qing dynasty that had waited thirty years. It said, “Thank you.” The black mark on my wrist had spread to my shoulder. Later, I met two brothers. The older one had a cold face and kept a battered notebook filled with 372 old sayings and the names of forty-nine dead people. The younger one was a little dim, and his brother had him tied to a chair to feed him. Later, we entered Fengmen Village. The Ghost King sat in that grand armchair. The younger brother said to the older one, “You’ve protected me for twenty-four years. Now it’s my turn to protect you.” The older brother was rooted to the spot, unable to move. I heard the Ghost King say, “You brothers are quite interesting.” It’s never the ghosts who are interesting. It’s the people.