Chapter 2 Father's Strange Behavior

I carefully recollected the times when Grandpa photographed me, recognizing nothing particularly odd about his demeanor apart from his refusal to show me the pictures. Everything else about him was entirely normal.

Just then, a distinct hissing sound caught my attention, prompting me to instinctively glance in its direction. A jolt of fear coursed through me as a rat emerged, Rat voraciously gnawing on the remnants of my cigarette butt, displaying unmistakable pleasure.

I instinctively shouted, causing the rat to dart away in fright, having consumed the entire cigarette butt. This sight pushed my tolerance to its limit, compounding the unease I already felt due to the mysterious circumstances surrounding the photographs. The appearance of a rat, while not uncommon in our old house, only added to my distress. I began to suspect that Grandpa's death might have involved other factors beyond natural causes.

Despite my growing unease, I resolved to unravel this mystery, knowing that without clarification, it would continue to haunt me. Having a relatively bold disposition, I was determined to get to the bottom of things.

Retrieving the photographs once again, I attempted to view the enigmatic figure as merely my shadow, scrutinizing the images anew.However, the small size of the camera made it impossible to discern any details clearly. Consequently, I carried the camera back to my own room.

Upon exiting, my father noticed my ashen complexion and assumed it was due to overwhelming grief. Patting my shoulder, he shared, "Your grandpa expressed great concern for you before he passed, mentioning your name repeatedly." His words only intensified my emotional turmoil. Acknowledging my parents' status as humble office workers, I realized they were already grappling with the bizarre situation and didn't wish to involve them further.

In my room, I powered up my desktop computer, connected the camera via a data cable, and set out to identify the child in the photographs. My heart pounded as I decisively imported the data to the computer. To my bewilderment, the anomalous figure was conspicuously absent from the images on the screen.

Perplexed, I retraced my steps, checking the photographs both on the camera and in the computer multiple times. The inexplicable entity remained visible on the camera display but vanished when transferred to the computer. After several fruitless attempts, I hit a wall of confusion. This phenomenon defied my understanding, considering my university education and basic knowledge of image processing. Simply copying an image should not alter its content.

Suddenly, I remembered Er Gouzi, a childhood friend who had constantly tagged along and copied my homework, addressing me as "Brother Sheng." Now running a photography studio in town, he might be able to help by developing the photographs and revealing whether the mysterious figure would appear on the prints. Although it was late, I hesitated to venture out. Instead, I rested in my room for a couple of hours before taking my turn to keep vigil by Grandpa's side. Observing my father, busy with various tasks yet appearing significantly aged and grief-stricken, I realized he must be the most devastated among us.

Silently, I offered him a cigarette, which he accepted, only to pause before lighting it. "No smoking tonight," he said unexpectedly. Confused, I asked if there was a specific taboo against smoking during vigils. He dismissed my query with a weighted "Don't ask," leaving me sensing that he was withholding information from me. Given my lifelong respect mingled with fear for my father, I refrained from pressing the issue further. As the night wore on, he noticed my exhaustion and suggested I retire to bed while he spent some private time speaking with Grandpa.

Entering my room, I struggled to find sleep, eventually drifting off only to be awakened by the urge to use the bathroom. On my way, I passed the mourning hall and heard a series of crackling noises. Curious, I peered inside to find the electric lights extinguished, replaced by an antique oil lamp—Grandpa's preferred source of illumination during power outages.

I watched in silence as my father sat on a stool, muttering softly to himself. Due to the distance and his hushed tone, I couldn't decipher his words. Intrigued, I continued observing as he manipulated something out of my line of sight. Suddenly, he produced a rather large wooden puppet, proceeding to dress it. When the puppet's face turned toward me, I was met with a ghastly white visage, blood-red lips, and perfect teeth, causing me to nearly lose control of my bladder. Before I could cry out, I felt as if someone had clamped their hand around my throat, rendering me mute and immobile. Helplessly, I watched as my father adorned the puppet in a black garment, which eerily resembled the attire worn by the ghostly figure in the photographs.

Puzzled and horrified, I witnessed my father tenderly kiss the puppet's face before consigning it to the flames of a brazier. In what seemed like a hallucination, I saw tears welling up in the puppet's eyes as it stared directly at me. Overwhelmed, I fainted.

When I regained consciousness at dawn, everything appeared normal. The oil lamp and brazier were gone, as if the previous night's events had never transpired. My father lay asleep on a table. I gently draped a blanket over him, and as he stirred awake, he inquired if I had slept well. Hesitantly, I broached the subject of the previous night, asking if anything unusual had occurred. He claimed there had been nothing out of the ordinary, simply spending the night keeping vigil and burning some spirit money before dozing off.

I sensed that my father was concealing something from me, but when I pressed further about burning anything besides the spirit money, he reiterated his earlier account. Doubt crept in as I questioned whether the terrifying experience was merely a dream. However, the vividness of the memory made it difficult to dismiss. Concerned about my well-being, my father asked if I was feeling unwell, to which I attributed my unease to fatigue.

Later, as the day progressed, the funeral rites resumed, and my father and I busied ourselves receiving guests paying their respects to Grandpa. Around 9 o'clock, I seized an opportunity to inform my mother that I needed to step out for a while. With the digital camera in tow, I rode my electric scooter to Er Gouzi's studio, eager to uncover the truth behind the mysterious photographs and the unsettling events of the previous night.