Chapter 28: Their Secret (2)

  When I got home, it was already very late. My mom saw that my face didn't look good and thought something had happened to me. I was too lazy to explain, so I just said I was tired and locked myself in my room, quietly thinking about everything that had happened today. It seemed like nothing could be explained.

  I don't know how I fell asleep, and the next day at noon, I was woken up by a ringtone from my phone. It was another unfamiliar number. My heart involuntarily skipped a beat as I carefully answered: "Who is this?"

  Fortunately, it wasn't the voice of that old woman this time. The voice on the phone was crisp and pleasant, probably a young woman. As soon as I spoke up, she said: "Mr. Mao, your article is really great! Even if I read it during the day, I got goosebumps all over my body. Our magazine has decided to publish your article as a key recommendation. We hope you can submit more articles to us." She paused for a moment and continued: "If you only contribute to our magazine, we can offer you a higher payment for your manuscripts."

  I doubted whether I had misheard, as it's been a long time since I last submitted an article. The ones I published before were just some trivial pieces, and I was even ridiculed once as "an amateur selling tofu". Just as I was about to speak up and say that the other person was mistaken, my heart skipped a beat as I suddenly remembered the text message from the Dream Club: "As you wish."

  Is it just like this as I wish?

  I coughed a few times and said that I had written too much recently, my brain was a bit messy, and I didn't remember which magazine the other party was from. That very pleasant voice immediately reported a name, it was a very famous magazine company, I had submitted manuscripts to them before, of course, in the end, not even tofu could be sold. I stammered for a few moments, saying that I found this article had some minor flaws and needed to be revised, but my computer hard drive was broken, no data was left, could she trouble herself to send me this article again, then I promptly reported my own email address.

  The other party agreed without hesitation, I quickly got out of bed and opened the computer. There was a new email, which must be that one. I felt my palms sweating as I downloaded the attachment and carefully clicked it open with my mouse. After finishing reading, I sat in the chair speechless because this is a story I'm very familiar with, and the prototypes inside are all familiar to me.

  The name of this article is "Green Bricks". Xiaorui once asked me to write one using these existing materials at Erliang's home, and she had even thought out the plot for me at that time. At that time, many things happened continuously, and I didn't have the experience or mind to write it. But unexpectedly, after many days, someone submitted this article to a magazine under my name.

  This must be Xiaorui, because this story was thought up by her. I immediately took out my phone and dialed a number, but it kept ringing with no one answering. I tried again, still the same. I don't know why Xiaorui isn't picking up my call, but at least I know she's okay, and she's still concerned about me. Maybe she's trying to motivate me in this way.

  Just then, a message arrived. I quickly opened it, but it wasn't from Xiaohua, rather the mysterious number from the Dream Club: "Your ideal has taken its first step."

  I went back to the past: "This wasn't written by me, where is Xiaorui?" From the tone of the other party, I could tell that this matter was done by them, but this story was clearly thought up by Xiaorui for me. How did they know? So at first, I immediately thought of whether Xiaorui was also there with them, or... a notion hidden deep in my heart that I didn't dare to think about: could Xiaorui also be a member of the club?

  The other party replied: "Without you, there would be no such story. This is another way of writing it out for you. Congratulations."

  If I look at it from another angle, without me, I wouldn't have been able to find these materials anyway. But the fact that she refused to tell me about Xiaorui always made me a bit uneasy. I sent her another text message, but she never replied again. I had no choice but to give up on getting news about Xiaorui from her.

  It didn't take long for that issue of the magazine to come out. Originally, when I submitted the article, it had already passed the deadline for that month, but because it was so excellent, the editor-in-chief asked me to work overtime to revise and re-layout it immediately. Finally, it made it into this issue and met with everyone. At the same time, the magazine company also paid me the manuscript fee in advance, with the only requirement being that I could write another article just as excellent.

  That was a 5,000 yuan manuscript fee, an amount I never dared to imagine before. My mom was overjoyed and gave me a big kiss on the face, saying that I had finally made it. Although my dad didn't say anything, he would smile whenever he saw someone and say: "My son has started making money from writing." But only I knew that this wasn't something I wrote.

  By the time next month's issue comes out, there is another one of "mine", this time writing about a pervert who takes pleasure in raping women and finally gets haunted by ghosts. Although the plot is very clichéd, it wins in creating an extremely eerie and terrifying atmosphere. This time it's 4000 yuan in manuscript fees, and my parents are even happier, but my heart is getting more and more fearful, because I suddenly thought of it, Sun Xiaohong was also like this when she started writing stories for Wang Qiang.

  After more than two months of living on tenterhooks, fortunately nothing happened, and the person who signed as Mao Rui still sent it to the magazine on time. From the investigation by the magazine, I found out that I have almost become a spokesperson for the new generation of horror, and everyone's impression of "me" is only one feeling: real.

  I tried to get the magazine company to reveal how they got in touch with them, but the answer was disappointing. They just sent a manuscript to the magazine's email address, leaving my phone number and name, and couldn't ask anything else. The editor-in-chief even asked me curiously why I used a different email address, under his curious gaze, I felt guilty and gave up the idea of continuing to investigate.

  Fortunately, the editor didn't have a habit of pursuing things to the end, and I gradually got used to these effortless days. Just then, the editor suddenly called me and said that the deadline was approaching, how come my manuscript wasn't finished yet?

  I was stunned: why didn't anyone continue writing in my name? But I didn't dare say this out loud, and quickly found an excuse to brush it off, saying that the manuscript would be ready in a few days. After hanging up the phone, I sat in front of the computer, but looking at the blank screen, I found that I couldn't write a single word.

  What's wrong with the person who wrote for me? Why did he stop writing?! I slammed a cup to the ground fiercely, but it was all in vain. I can smash a cup, but I couldn't force out a good piece of writing.

  My mother heard the noise in the room, came over worried and asked me what was wrong. I waved my hand and pushed her out of the room. Just then, my phone rang again. I opened the message, it was from the Dream Club's number.

  For the past two months, I haven't contacted this number and neither has the other party. Although I still miss Xiaorui in my heart, I tried hard to write a real one of my own, but each time I gave up halfway because I couldn't find that feeling from those published articles of "me".

  The content of this message is very simple, just a few words: "From now on, you're on your own."

  To me this was undoubtedly a lifeline, which proved that these articles were indeed written by the Dream Club on my behalf. I immediately replied: "I don't know what to do".

  "Remember this feeling."

  These were the words Xiao Rui said to me. At that moment, many things she had said before flooded my mind. Just as I was feeling moved, another text message arrived from the same number. She said: "Because it's real, so it's real."

  It sounds like nonsense, but I somehow understood it, which means that those stories that have been told are actually true? Thinking about the plot, I couldn't help but shudder, and sent another text message, but the other party didn't respond again.

  Just as I was spacing out, someone gently knocked on my door. Then mom gently pushed open the door and came in, holding a small box, saying: "This is really strange, it was just delivered by someone who knocked on the door and said it was for you. I asked her to come in and sit down, but she refused and wouldn't let me call you either."

  "What does this person look like?"

  "Wrapped up tightly, can't see clearly, but judging from the voice, it should be a young girl. Ari, confess honestly, did you do something wrong to this girl outside?"

  My heart suddenly sank, because there was once someone who had also sent a letter to Wang Qiang. I hastily pushed my chattering old mother out of the room and carefully opened the box. Inside was a small black coffin with strange little flower patterns carved on it. The shape of this coffin was all too familiar - it was just like the small black house in the depths of the mountain where our family's old mansion stood.

  After hesitating for a long time, I finally carefully opened the small coffin. Inside were two pieces of paper. I unfolded them and on the first one was written: "Use their secrets to write out the true story."

  It's not something terrifying as I imagined, just a simple sentence that left me bewildered, wondering what effect it would have. Needless to say, this must be the Dream Club's doing, but I didn't have time to think about it too much. I continued reading the second piece of paper, which had small writing recording some unknown deeds done by someone. I don't know who that person is, but if you were to use those things as material and process them a bit, you could really write a good article.

  There's no more time, and after some deliberation, I thought it wouldn't be a bad idea for me, so following the prompts on the paper, I started brewing my first piece after putting down my pen, and it wasn't until dawn that I finally finished, but I think this is the most satisfying one I've written in all these years.

  I immediately sent it to the magazine, and then went to bed. This sleep was unusually sweet until I was woken up by the editor-in-chief's phone call. He said: "Little Mao, not bad, many people write about crime and murder, but few can write like you, very good, keep writing more."

  My sleepiness was completely gone, although this material was provided by others, every word and sentence were thought out by myself. I think Xiaohua would like it if she saw it. I took out my phone and sent her a text message. Unfortunately, she hasn't replied to me for such a long time, but unexpectedly, this time there was a reply very quickly. It was from Xiaohua. I was overjoyed, opened it, and she said: "I know you can do better."

  I called her, but she didn't answer. I thought Xiaorui was still mad at me, so I had to give up the idea of hearing her voice and continued sending text messages, but she never replied again.

  Write the real story with their secrets, this is the most reasonable sentence I've ever heard, but I really don't know where to find so many secrets. Maybe I can ask my aunt and mom for help, women always like to gossip, I told my mom about my idea, she naturally didn't have any problem, agreed immediately, even my dad said he would help me find materials everywhere.

  Unfortunately, my mom was busy for several days and all she got were things that weren't useful to me. Just as I was feeling disappointed, my dad walked in carrying a bag and said it was full of treasures he had gotten from a friend who loved detective stories and had been collecting newspaper clippings of crime cases for nearly twenty years.

  I was overjoyed, now indeed many people find inspiration from some criminal cases that have occurred. If I want to be different, of course it's best to find some ordinary cases that everyone can't see. This nearly twenty years of collection, I don't know how much good stuff I can write about. I hastily snatched it and hid in the room to start studying.

  Can't help but say, these materials really took some thought from my dad's friend, not only cutting them out, but also categorizing them one by one. I flipped through them casually, and many cases gave me a spark of inspiration. It seems that this time the harvest is really not small. I smiled to myself as I flipped through them.

  At this moment, my eyes were suddenly attracted by a report. The report said that a family's son was pushed down the stairs and killed, and then the daughter was hanged from the ceiling, and the deceased was extremely cruel, not only killing the child but also digging out the girl's eyeballs. I looked at the time, it was 20 years ago, and there was a photo attached to the newspaper, which was said to be the victim's photo.

  As I looked at this photo, my pores stood up immediately, and a cold sweat broke out on my entire back. Because I had seen this photo before, it was a childhood photo of Xiaohui, wearing a black nightgown with long hair draped over her shoulders.

  I thought of the doll hanging from the ceiling in Old Chu's house, swaying back and forth, and those empty greyish-white eye sockets. Then I heard a voice coming from my room: "Squeak, squeak."