My House of Horrors

The old lady was hospitalized and the house was rented to the salesman.

The salesman was a foreigner, in his thirties, and he wore a white shirt every day as required by the company. He was very polite in his words.

The superficial and exasperated salesman, who actually has a thorax in his heart, is a very unlucky man.

Whatever you do, it always fails for some strange reason.

Sometimes strange things happen around me, such as having nightmares at night, dreaming that my wife had been mutilated into a drawer, tangled, worried all night, and woke up in the morning thinking that she had no girlfriend at all.

Out in the clear sky, it rained heavily just halfway through, clothes were soaking wet, I thought of the breakfast shop to shelter from the rain and had a breakfast while I touched my pocket and found my wallet missing.

Couldn't catch a car, walked to the company, was scolded by the boss when he was late, the customer who had been hosting him all day did not see him. The worst part was when he came home and found the door broken open and the house went into the thief.

A rough day for others, just routine for salespeople.

What really makes him desperate is that he seems to be haunted by the house he lives in!

He lived alone in the old house, watched TV at night, wanted to relax, and whenever he saw a happy place, he was not happy, laughing behind him.

A lot more like that, half the time in the shower, someone would pass him shampoo, go to the bathroom without paper, a roll of toilet paper would roll in from outside the bathroom itself.

He was a resolute atheist, but this rental was slowly overthrowing his world view.

To prove he wasn't mentally ill, he bought a camera and shot it in the house.

A week later, he found that there really seemed to be a ghost in the house, and that ghost was hidden in the drawer!

The salesman tried to seal all the wardrobes and drawers in the house with planks and the ghost never showed up again. But he was getting worse and worse. About a month later, he was fired by his boss and there was a car accident on his way home.

After the salesman died, he learned that he had an evil ghost who had been helping him suppress the ghost in the apartment. Later, he sealed the drawer and wardrobe. The evil ghost had no other ghost checks and balances, and eventually killed him.

The fourth story featured an old host, an old lady, whose houses had been rented by several consecutive guests who felt terribly guilty and stubbornly believed that it was all her fault.

Slowly, the spirit of the elderly was troubled, and she always felt that neither her children nor the first two guests had left, and that everyone was still living in the old house.

She repeatedly questioned the neighbors and those around her, making it clear that the old house's past neighbors had been too shy of the old lady to think she was an ominous woman and deliberately alienated.

Some were more like fleeing, moving directly, fewer and fewer tenants in the building, and the old lady was becoming more silent.

Slowly, the neighborhood didn't know when some room haunted legend appeared, and the old lady herself became synonymous with ghosts and anomalies.

Everyone was far away from her, and no one wanted to go out with her.

After a while, the old lady met a poor painter under the bridge.

The painter's nasal bluish face seemed to have just had a fight. The old lady had some sympathy for him and wanted to draw a painting for her deceased son.

Originally, she just wanted to find a reason to fund the painter for a meal, and who knew that the painter had painted the characters at random, and his son was very much alike, not only in appearance, but also in the same temperament and eyes.

The old lady kept the painter's painting and hung it in the house.

What surprised her was that the next evening, someone came to rent the house, and the new guest was the painter.

Nor did the painter expect the landlady to be an old lady, but he looked all over the old town and found the house the cheapest.

Life is a combination of myriad coincidences, the painter meets the first person in his life to appreciate him, reaps the first fan, and the old lady meets a person who is not afraid of her and is willing to talk to her.

The painter became a new tenant in the old house, and the old lady just symbolically charged the painter some fees. She saw the painter as her own child, and her favorite thing to do was listen to the painter talk about her dreams.

After a month or two, the old lady gradually discovered something strange about the painter.

Painters often talk to their paintings, and every night late, strange sounds are heard in the painter's room.

In the third month, the old lady was so curious that she snuck into the painter's room while he was out contributing.

Turns out, in the drawer at the painter's desk, she turns up a handmade comic book with four stories.

Weird paintings, horrible plots, everyone seems to have survived.

What's even more ironic is that the first three comic book stories correspond to the old man's son, the English teacher and the salesman.

The more the old man looked at it, the more scared she was, and then she turned over the fourth story, and what she didn't think was that the hero of the fourth story was actually herself, telling exactly what had happened since she met the painter.

That concludes the fourth story, and then the last.

The fifth story is short, similar to outside, and the protagonist is a cartoonist with a standard middle-aged lost face and a very depraved look.

Comics introduced him to his day's life, getting up at 5: 20 in the morning, cheering himself up in the mirror with energy, then removing the drawing paper from the drawer and proofreading the script.

Busy until 8: 20, he packed all his manuscripts and took his bag to a local publishing house in Jiujiang to recommend his comics to the editor.

As a result, it took him a month to be denied within fifteen minutes, and the whole person walked out of the office like a walking corpse.

He sat on the side of the road with the paintings, watching the city of Watermaroon, and waited until it was getting dark before coming home with a crying face.

Walk through the noisy city and enter the pitch-black corridor, then he opens the door to room 304.

Warm light on him, the landlady cooked for him, the old man said he saw his painting this morning and it was very good.

The painter had forgotten how many times he had been returned, and he apologized to the old man, who would probably not continue to paint in the future.

Back in his room, the cartoonist locked the door and sat alone on the corner of the cottage with his legs.

He looked at the return letter filled with a drawer and buried his head deep in his chest.

After failing again and again, he rubbed the rejected paintings into pieces and threw them in the trash.

He constantly complained and felt aggrieved, saying that he had no talent for painting, decided to give up everything, even if he jumped from upstairs, he would never paint again.

Speaking to himself until 12 pm, the exhausted cartoonist fell asleep in the cold seat.

The lights in the cabin flashed and suddenly went out.

The rubbed drawing paper in the trash can ran out, spread out a little bit, was seriously placed in the cabinet, and the desktop was repacked.

The last part of the cartoon turned black and white, forcing the cartoonist to fall asleep in the cabin, but there were a few "people” floating around him.

Headed by a tall, skinny man, he grabbed a bed quilt with his only remaining right hand and covered it with a cartoonist's mouth.

Next to him was a woman whose body was about to break apart like a building block. The woman looked beautiful, frowned upon, and made a very small part of the cartoonist's painting. Throw away the human footage and carefully lay out all the scrap.

There was also a man standing at the table in a black shirt, while he was holding a pen to refine the cartoonist's draft.

The night soon passed and the next morning at 5: 20, the alarm clock rang punctually and the cartoonist suddenly woke up from his dream.

He turned off the alarm clock, picked up the mirror and looked in the mirror at his face and started pumping himself.

“It's another energetic day, try harder! Poor as it is, it always comes out! ”