Folklore: A Record of Calamities and Strange Tales

“Dr. Zhang, I think I’m dreaming.” “That means the hypnosis worked. What do you see?” “A dilapidated red-brick house at night. One half of the green glass window in its wooden frame is broken. It’s a little dark inside. Standing outside, I can see an altar table with a red candle burning on it, and a blurry portrait.” “That’s the source of your problem. What does the photo look like?” “They’re wearing white. It looks like they’re laughing, with their mouth stretched wide.” “Your subconscious seems fairly happy. Take a closer look.” “That’s strange. Why are their eyes completely black? Is there blood running from the corners of their mouth?” “Wait... They’re not grinning. Their mouth has been torn open!!!” “And, Doctor... why is it you in the photograph?” Bai Qian jolted awake. In the pitch-black consultation room, Bai Qian saw his psychiatrist by the light of the moon. The psychiatrist’s ink-black eyes stared blankly at the floor. His mouth stretched open to his cheekbones, and his withered, corpse-pale hands held a red candle, pushing it into his mouth. Blood and candle wax smeared his chin... My name is Bai Qian. I was born to bring calamity. (This story is entirely fictional.)