48 Hours a Day

"The devil?" The old woman froze at the word, then scoffed, "Aren't you guys the devil who enter people's homes without permission and pretend to be service workers?"

"Even so it's more normal than imagining that Auntie is living with herself." Zhang Heng said calmly.

"You said she was imagined?" Agatha was a little surprised, but this Queen of Reasoning whirled around and reacted, saying suddenly, "Yes, this manor only invites the author in, and each person has a room, and since the owner of this room is someone else, it's the most logical explanation that his aunt can't be here as well."

When Zhang Heng said that, the old woman on the other side fell silent, as if the pause button had been pressed and there was no more expression of movement.

And when Agatha also finished speaking, her figure faded more and more until she completely disappeared.

However, when she disappeared, the gloomy and depressing atmosphere inside the house not only didn't get better, but became more and more intense, so intense that the other authors who lived in the same building also sensed it.

Fitzgerald crumpled up his half-written love letter, threw it into the wastepaper basket, and then held his head up on the bed in frustration, and even Hemingway, who was always a tough guy, turned his gaze to the shotgun in front of his bed several times, looking shifty.

Agatha, who had borne the brunt of it, felt it even more strongly, her face changing, "How did this happen?"

After a long silence Zhang Heng spoke up, "I might have guessed wrong before, I thought that his aunt was the cause of his mental problems, because this set of rooms is most likely a reversion of the place where he lived with his aunt before, only this can explain why it is so dilapidated while having visions of his aunt at the same time. The hobbit housekeeper once told me that each set of rooms would be maximally suited to the needs of its occupants, and he chose to transform his own rooms into a place where he once lived, probably because it gave him a sense of security."

"You're right, he's been at the manor for so long but none of them have ever seen him leave his room, he's probably an extremely introverted and autistic guy, such a person would indeed be most likely to choose the style of guest room where he's lived, even if it's shabby and shabby, when he could have picked a better place to live."

Agatha paused at this point, "Wait, you ...... seem to know someone who lives here?"

"Yes, he is its creator." Zhang Heng.

"Who is the creator of who?"

However, Zhang Heng did not answer this question.

So Agatha asked again, "What about the aunt you were talking about earlier?"

"I was preoccupied, the old aunt we met earlier exhibited a very controlling personality and I thought that was the cause of his mental problems, but now it seems that his aunt has actually been trying to help him and deal with his mental illness, and the reason why he also assumed that his aunt was here was to help him stabilize his mental state The reason why nothing was happening at the manor for so long, until we just punctured his illusions."

"Wait, I still don't understand why the entire manor is affected when his spirit is in trouble?" Agatha was confused.

"It's hard to explain at the moment, but I have some history with him, can I have a moment alone with him?" Zhang Heng asked.

"Good." Agatha could see that Zhang Heng seemed to care extraordinarily about the occupants of this set of rooms, so she did not hesitate and decisively agreed, before retreating out.

And when she left, Zhang Heng closed the door and walked towards the study room, he could feel that the gloomy and oppressive scent was strongest in the study room, and if nothing else, it was coming from there.

Zhang Heng did not expect that he had originally come to room 515 to look for the manor master, but as a result, the manor master did not find him, but he unexpectedly found the person who had started it all.

Zhang Heng knew that the person in this room was the creator of the monster in the city under the ice, and given that he also had that monster's blood flowing through his body, in a sense, the other party was also considered half of his creator, so this next meeting was going to be fantastic.

Zhang Heng placed his right hand on that faded and worn brass handle in the study, took a deep breath, and slowly turned his palm.

The door of the study room was not locked, which was normal because the owner of this suite had kept his door securely closed on a regular basis, so the study room used for work naturally did not need to be locked.

And after pushing the door open, the scene inside the study was clear.

This place was just as humble and shabby as the meeting room outside, but the number of books it contained was not small, like a small library, and there were many old newspapers, arranged according to dates and piled up in the corners of the room.

In the center of the house was an old table, and a tall, thin man with his back to the door was typing rapidly on a black typewriter on the table.

The sound of the typewriter's clickety-clacking seemed particularly harsh in the quiet room.

The tall, thin man at the desk seemed to hear the footsteps behind him, but did not turn back, merely saying, "Aunt Annie you can eat first, I'll finish this and go to the living room."

The man behind him, however, did not continue to urge him on as usual.

The tall, thin man seemed to have sensed something and turned his head from the desk to see a strange man standing behind him, and that man was now squatting down and picking up a piece of manuscript paper from the floor.

It was the end of a novel, and Zhang Heng noticed the signature at the bottom of the paper - Howard Philip Lovecraft.

He then quickly scanned the text elsewhere on the manuscript paper and handed it back to the man on the other side.

The latter took his own piece of paper and stumbled over it with a thank you, then hesitatingly and somewhat apprehensively asked, "Who are you, a friend of Aunt Annie's?"

"No, I'm here to see you." Zhang Heng.

"To see me?" Lovecraft looked surprised and then a little shy, "But I don't know you, and I usually communicate with my friends by mail. They rarely come to see me either."

"Yes, this is our first meeting. Although I've always admired your talent."

"Really? It's the first time anyone has ever said that to me." Lovecraft looked a little excited at the words, and a glow appeared on his face that had been somewhat wooden.