Chapter 7: Mutation!

Chapter 7 Mutation!

Reaching out,

feeling the switch,

turning it on,

with a sharp click,

the light flared.

Karen continued his descent, stepping into the basement.

The perception of the terrifying was, more often than not, born from one's own mental embellishments rather than actual objects.

When remodeling the Inmeles basement, they certainly wouldn't have been so foolish as to intentionally design an eerie or oppressive atmosphere, yet at night, even if you painted the walls entirely in Barbie pink, the mere knowledge that two corpses lay within would strip away any sense of warmth or charm.

The weeping continued.

It echoed from Aunt Mary's workshop.

Karen approached the threshold; the door was unlocked, for no one could conceive a reason to lock it.

Karen halted, making no immediate move to turn the knob, but looking back over his shoulder first.

The corridor behind him was bathed in light and far from pitch-black, but the winding ramp leading from the basement to the ground floor remained swathed in gray shadows, obscuring the view.

Closing his eyes,

taking a deep breath,

Karen hoped to catch the sweet fragrance of hot milk,

but unfortunately, his nose lacked the acuity of a hound's.

Thinking of dogs,

Karen cast a downward glance,

the golden retriever that had seemed so affectionate earlier because he let it inside had not followed him down here;

truly a miserable creature unworthy of profound affection.

Reaching out,

gripping the handle;

in that split second,

as though a channel had suddenly been switched, a wave of lightheadedness struck, not overpowering, yet distinctly perceptible;

immediately following,

the weeping in the workshop ceased abruptly.

Karen turned his head once more; the bulb in the corridor ceiling behind him maintained its steady, normal brightness.

Click...

Twisting the knob,

pulling the door open,

reaching inside again to find the switch by the door frame with utmost speed, pressing it instantly;

Snap...

The lights in the workshop flared to life.

Light,

abundant light,

offered a profound sense of psychological solace.

Upon the two gurneys in the workshop lay Jeff and Mr. Mason.

Jeff's face was coated in powder and rouge, radiantly bright.

One could tell it was laid on thick, his hair parted down the middle and slicked with gel, making him look... exceptionally spirited, likely more spirited than Jeff had ever been in life.

Mr. Mason appeared much more normal, spared from heavy makeup with a greater focus on detail and natural tone, looking as though he were truly fast asleep.

Aunt Mary had fully demonstrated her playing of favorites during her work; the distinction between a charity case and a regular client manifested clearly here.

Of course, had Aunt Mary known beforehand that Mr. Mason's children intended to cremate him, Mr. Mason would likely have had to vie for gaudiness with the young lad Jeff beside him.

Karen walked past Jeff; the earlier weeping had possessed an elderly quality, obviously not produced by a young man like Jeff, meaning it could only be... Mr. Mason.

Yet as he stood before Mr. Mason,

Karen saw only the man lying there in serene stillness, free from any other abnormalities.

Reaching out, he dragged over a wheeled round stool, sat down, and rested his feet on the lower bar of the gurney.

Karen tilted his head slightly,

staring unblinkingly at Mr. Mason like this.

Meanwhile,

the periphery of his vision occasionally drifted through the open workshop door to watch the corridor... well, primarily the sloped ramp at the end of the hall.

Time ticked away, a quarter of an hour passing in a flash.

During these fifteen minutes, all remained tranquil.

Man or ghost,

show yourself,

give me some sort of reaction, won't you?

Karen let out a sigh, preparing to leave; on a late night like this, a warm bed was far more appealing.

Rising,

as he walked past Mr. Mason's side,

Karen noticed that the button at Mr. Mason's collar had come undone, so he instinctively reached out to help fasten it back.

However,

the moment his fingertips brushed the skin of Mr. Mason's neck,

a sudden dizziness rushed into Karen's mind,

a sensation akin to a nicotine rush, causing his body to stagger.

Karen steadied himself immediately, pressing his back against the wall.

Wooo... wooo... wooo...

The sound of sobbing rose once more.

Karen raised his eyes instantly,

and right before him, Mr. Mason still lay there motionless;

Yet there in the shadowed corner, as if conjured from the dark, appeared the silhouette of a figure curled tight with knees to chest, weeping.

Beholding this sight, Karen did not shriek in terror; truth be told, he had long since fortified his mind against such horrors.

Indeed, for Karen, encountering a phantom was far preferable to encountering nothing at all.

Had it been the latter, he would have had to question the integrity of his own intellect and sanity.

Thus, rather than concluding himself a madman, Karen was far more inclined to accept that the world itself was mad.

"Mr. Moissan?"

Karen cast his query toward the trembling shape huddled in the corner.

But the figure seemed utterly deaf to his voice, offering no response whatsoever, continuing only to sob in its solitary misery.

Karen rose to his feet and advanced toward the likeness of Mr. Moissan, yet his gaze was severed from reality by a strange isolation; though he walked forward, the distance between them did not diminish, remaining obstinately fixed.

By the time Karen’s face was nearly pressed against the opposite wall,

Mr. Moissan remained curled in that distant corner.

The ghostly apparition itself had failed to frighten Karen, but this supernatural, unyielding distance kindled within him a desire to investigate.

"So, what I see is not a true, physical presence?"

Having uttered the words, Karen bit his lower lip, muttering,

"I am speaking nonsense."

Immediately following this,

Karen spread his hands experimentally and began to slowly shift the direction of his stance.

In the next instant,

The huddled form of Mr. Moissan began to move in tandem, sliding smoothly along the periphery.

The sensation,

Was akin to having a projector strapped directly onto his own forehead.

Could this be... a soul?

Karen could not be certain of the substance of this thing; given the immutable distance between them, he could not reach out to touch it.

Yet,

A sudden notion struck Karen's mind.

As Karen continued to turn his body, the weeping Mr. Moissan and the Mr. Moissan lying upon the gurney were gradually brought into the same line of sight.

Once the alignment was precise,

Karen began to adjust his focus,

Stepping backward and forward to blend the phantom Mr. Moissan and the corporeal Mr. Moissan together as perfectly as possible.

In truth, Karen knew not why he was driven to do this, yet it felt altogether natural; a ghost, surely, ought to be reunited with its corpse, or at least it was worth the trial.

The moment the two forms overlapped,

Karen clearly saw the huddled phantom suddenly cease its weeping, rise to its feet in utter bewilderment, and, under Karen’s watchful gaze, lie down upon the physical body of Mr. Moissan.

The entire sequence was swift, incredibly smooth and fluid.

And at the exact instant of their perfect convergence,

Karen felt as though a hand had violently seized his brain—yes, his brain itself, not his forehead, nor the back of his head, nor his scalp, but deep within the recesses of his mind.

With a sickening squelch,

The hand clenched tight,

And wrenched outward with savage force!

"Ugh..."

Karen let out a low groan of agony and collapsed to his knees, managing by instinct to catch himself with his hands upon the floor tiles, otherwise he would have paid a clumsy tribute to old Mr. Hoffen's daytime stumble.

Yet even so,

Karen clearly watched as drop after drop of crimson blood splattered against the blue-and-white porcelain beneath him.

His nose... was bleeding once more.

With one hand staunching the flow, Karen forced himself to stand upright with great effort.

As he rose,

The made-up body of Mr. Moissan lying upon the gurney also began slowly to sit up.

The movements of the two men were nearly identical, a silent synchronization.

"Ah..."

Karen let out a soft gasp.

Though he well knew this courting of disaster was born of his own volition, the sight of a corpse sitting bolt upright before him still dealt an unavoidable shock to his soul.

Amidst the shock came a tremor of panic, a touch of confusion, a dash of bewilderment, and... an absolute thrill.

Mr. Moissan gradually altered his posture, shifting from a seated position to a kneeling prostration upon the gurney, his eyes open wide but devoid of color, fixed in a dull, monotonous gray-white.

"Please... I beg of you... do not burn me... do not burn me... cremation of the flesh... brings no forgiveness... cremation of the flesh... brings no forgiveness..."

Karen swallowed hard,

Staring at Mr. Moissan, who was now bowing and pleading to him in the manner of a solemn religious ritual.

He recalled Aunt Mary mentioning that the doctrine Mr. Moissan followed strictly forbade its adherents from cremating their earthly remains; for a devout believer, demonstrating loyalty to one's faith amounted to two things: life and death.

Life was the birth into the faith; death was one's earthly end, which simultaneously ushered in life in the spiritual sense.

The weeping he had heard earlier was the manifestation of Mr. Moissan’s grief and resentment.

"Mr. Moissan? Mr. Moissan?"

Karen attempted to call out to him.

"Please... do not burn me... I beg of you... do not burn me..."

Mr. Moissan merely repeated his supplication over and over.

Ah,

So meaningful dialogue is impossible, leaving behind only a primal instinct?

Or perhaps, to use a term from his past life, it was simply... an obsession.

But how had all of this come to pass?

Aunt Mary, Uncle Mason, and Mina had never once spoken of corpses undergoing such mutations, meaning that to ordinary eyes, this world was entirely normal.

Yet first it was Jeff, and now Mr. Moissan,

Having encountered this anomaly born of a corpse twice in succession,

Karen could not help but suspect... no, he was almost certain that this phenomenon was inextricably linked to himself, and that the catalyst resided within his own being.

Was it because of the original "Kallen," or was it due to his own "awakening"?

"Please... don't burn me... don't burn me... don't burn me! Don't burn me! Don't burn me!!!"

Kallen noticed that Mr. Mousse's speech was beginning to quicken, his shoulders trembling slightly, his eyes—previously devoid of any luster—now gradually filling with bloodshot veins.

In the air,

A dangerous atmosphere began to permeate.

"Mr. Mousse?"

Kallen called out again tentatively, shifting his body at the same time;

The beginning of this matter was somewhat bizarre, but its development seemed to be proceeding according to the "normalcy" he could understand, such as... what a corpse would do after suddenly "shocking" back to life.

However, just as Kallen rounded Mr. Mousse's side,

Mr. Mousse abruptly snapped his head up:

"You actually want to... burn me!"

In a sudden flash,

Mr. Mousse's eyes were completely flooded with a bloody hue, and his body violently flung itself upward;

Yes, flung up, as if muscle, bone, and the coordination of his entire body were completely nonexistent at this moment, yet he rigidly managed to prop himself up, leaping like a fish cast upon the shore!

"Thud!"

Kallen felt a heavy blow land squarely on his back, sending him tumbling forward.

Upon collapsing, Kallen immediately planted his hands on the ground to flip his body over, but by then, Mr. Mousse had already lunged upon him, his hands clawing rapidly toward Kallen's neck.

Kallen raised his knee, driving it toward Mr. Mousse;

But this body was, for one, truly somewhat weak with a naturally poor constitution, and for another, Mr. Mousse's current weight could be said to be even heavier than when he was alive.

Instead of driving him off, Kallen's knee... flattened completely under the pressure Mr. Mousse exerted.

"You actually... dare to burn me!!!"

Mr. Mousse opened his mouth,

Biting down directly into Kallen's chest.

"Thump!"

It felt as if Kallen's chest had been struck by a cobblestone, a sharp pain, but the expected bloody mess did not occur because Mr. Mousse had already lost most of his teeth in life, requiring dentures to eat.

Thus, Mr. Mousse had merely gnawed on empty air.

Yet Mr. Mousse's hands had already latched onto Kallen's neck, beginning to exert force, his legs and torso wrapping around Kallen tightly like an octopus.

Kallen strained with his hands, trying to break free, but his struggles at this moment seemed utterly futile.

Nearing the absolute brink,

Pinned against the tiles, Kallen could only turn his head toward the studio doorway;

"How dare you burn me!!!"

Mr. Mousse was completely frantic!

"Snap!"

It sounded like the strike of metal, or the shattering of a lightbulb,

Or perhaps,

Like a snap of fingers?

Kallen could no longer clearly distinguish the sound, but a wave of relief washed through his heart—phew... saved.

However, after that sound echoed,

"Ahhhhhh!!!!!!! Burn me! Burn me! Burn me!"

Mr. Mousse, who was already "completely frantic," now plunged entirely into a violent frenzy.

Kallen suddenly felt the grip on his neck tighten far beyond before; this was truly a state where his neck was on the verge of being snapped.

Like a sausage being twisted in opposite directions by two hands, waiting for one end to... burst;

Kallen's current "eyes," "ears," and "nose" all shared the illusion that they were about to explode.

"To actually dare... to burn me!"

"To actually... me!"

"To actually..."

"Burn..."

Suddenly,

As if reaching a critical threshold, Mr. Mousse's body stiffened and slumped down.

Once the constriction on his neck vanished, Kallen began to gasp for air; the basement air could hardly be called fresh, but at this moment Kallen found it extraordinarily sweet;

This was no hyperbole, for his throat was bleeding, and blood from his nose was spilling into his mouth.

Kallen pushed Mr. Mousse off him, propped his hands on the ground, and slowly shifted his position, stopping only after resting his back against the wall.

Turning his head,

He glanced outside the door once more,

Nearby was the dim yellow light of the corridor, while further away remained pitch black;

Kallen propped his face in his hand,

A brief moment later,

Using his palm stained with his own blood, he lightly tapped his forehead a few times,

"Heh heh heh..."

He laughed,

And after laughing, he took another deep breath,

Using the Chinese language that did not exist in this world,

He cursed this world over and over again:

"Motherfucker, what kind of bullshit world is this anyway..."

...

On the slope leading from the basement to the first floor,

Dis stood there,

Beside his face was the black cat, Pure, crouching at the same height as the first-floor staircase;

Dis turned his head, looked at Pure,

And asked:

"Was that last thing he spoke the language of the alien demons?"

The black cat raised her head,

Looking at Dis,

And in the very next instant,

She actually brought forth the voice of a woman, speaking human words:

"I have lived for two hundred years, and I have never yet heard of any alien demon... capable of inventing its own language."

Immediately afterward,

Pu'er added:

"And one so... complex and obscure, at that."