door

Chapter 17
A certain publishing house has a batch of new books that have just been printed.

That night, the guard was patrolling the building and saw a light in an office, so he opened the door and walked in.He saw a person holding a carbon pen, drawing something on the cover of those new books, sweating profusely from exhaustion.

The man heard the door knock, turned his pale face, looked at the doorman, and said, "They forgot to put a black box on my name."
Yes, I have to make up one by one. "

He was the author, who had just died.

Writers tell horror stories on TV, written works are published by publishing houses, disseminated on the Internet, and downloaded on mobile phones... in all directions.

The day after he met the "little man", an old editor surnamed Zhang died in a car accident.

The next day, Editor Zhang was dragged into the crematorium.

Originally, a writer would be most reluctant to attend someone else's funeral, but this person is the editor in charge of his latest book "Dead", so he has to go no matter what.

In the morning, he drove that Santana to the funeral home in the suburbs.

The narrow farewell hall, portraits, elegiac couplets, black and white wreaths...

Before the ceremony started, his cell phone rang, it was a text message.

He took out his mobile phone, looked around, and opened it quietly. It turned out that it was from the secretary of the company's office: Teacher, "The Late" has been printed, and the publisher just sent a sample book.

The farewell hall was quiet and solemn, and it was inconvenient to talk, so he replied a text message: Put it with you first, and I will go back to pick it up in the afternoon.thanks.

The secretary sent another text message: Now, you'd better come back and take a look... The secretary was outspoken, but this time he hesitated to speak.

He frowned and sent back a question mark.

The secretary added hesitantly: Only when you come back can you make some remedies...

This day is April 4st, April Fool's Day.However, this secretary never joked.

The writer quietly exited the farewell hall and drove back to the company.

As soon as he stepped into the office, he asked the secretary, "Where are the books?"

The secretary pointed to the corner.

He walked over, picked up a book and looked at the cover, his eyes widened - his name was surrounded by a heavy black frame.

As we all know, a black box around the author's name indicates that the person has just died.In this sense, when a name gets into the black box, it is like walking into a door of death.

He threw the book down and shouted, "Who did this!"

The secretary said cautiously: "You can call the publisher..."

He grabbed the phone, dialed it angrily, and shut down.Dial again, or stop.

The secretary stood aside and asked in a low voice, "Teacher, who are you calling?"

The writer said: "The publishing house."

The secretary said, "You dialed... Editor Zhang's cell phone number."

He subconsciously called a dead man!
He slapped his forehead hard, hung up the phone quickly, and dialed the editorial department of the publishing house again.

No one answered.Everyone in this office went to attend Editor Zhang's funeral.

After thinking for a while, he dialed the switchboard of the publishing house: "Please transfer to the printing department."

The call was quickly transferred and someone answered.

"Did you send the sample book of "The Dead"? I am the author!"

"We sent it, is there any problem?" Suddenly, the other party realized something: "You...are the author?"

"I'm the author! Let me ask you, who put the black box around my name?"

"Oh, the editor in charge of this book has passed away, and there is no one to take care of the finishing work... The leader once instructed us that as long as there is a new book that has not been printed, as long as it has his name, it must be marked with a black box, including yours. The book... Could it be that they got the wrong name because they were too busy?"

"No matter how much the loss is, you must immediately order them to stop printing! Otherwise, I will sue you!"

"Okay, we'll contact the printing house now. Sorry sorry!"

In the middle of the night, the writer fell asleep very late.

In the house, he was alone.He finally stopped tossing and turning and became quiet, with only slight breathing.

On the wall hung a painting of an alien woman smiling quietly in the dark.

The door of the white closet was quietly closed in the dark, and it had remained upright for such a long time without moving.

The books on the bookshelf were quietly crowded together in the dark, and one of the authors' names had a black frame around it.Only this book, seems to have twisted left and right.

The mouse on the computer desk, which is used to moving, lay quietly, like a mouse, seeing something in the dark, hunched over, curled up there motionless...

The woman in the painting, the wardrobe door, the book, the mouse—they all don't move much.

The person on the bed suddenly sat up.

He was panting heavily, as if someone had stuck his neck and just broke free.After a long time, he turned around and got out of bed, and turned on the computer.

Everyone slept.

Only Mijia is still online.

He clicked on her dialog box and started typing.

He said: Just now, I had a dream...

The other party didn't respond.

He said: I dreamed about that funeral home...

The other party didn't respond.

He said: It was very dark, and I followed a group of people wearing white flowers, walked slowly to Editor Zhang's body, and bowed farewell.Surrounded by dirges and music, crying loudly...

The other party didn't respond.

He said: When I bent down, I suddenly realized that the body was not Editor Zhang! ... Guess who?
The other party didn't respond.

He said: It was me.That me lay flat in the middle of the farewell hall, my mouth was as white as my face, without a trace of blood.The hair is neatly combed, unrealistically black, it seems to be dyed with ink...

The other party didn't respond.

He said: "I winked at him and smiled a bit.His eyelids twitched and slowly opened. Inside, they were stuffed with bloody cotton.He also rolled his eyes and smiled at me...

The other party didn't respond.

He said: When I woke up, the more I thought about it, the more scared I became...

At this time, his tone was like a homeless child, looking for his mother to rely on.

It is estimated that Mijia is not in front of the computer at all.Or, she has fallen asleep and forgot to turn off the phone.

Finally, the writer stopped talking to himself.He sat there for a while, then turned his head and looked around.

He sees the TV.Usually, he likes to lie on the bed in the bedroom and watch his own programs, so he moved the TV to the bedroom.

The TV set was sitting upright, like a face without facial features, facing him numbly.

Every weekend at midnight, his image would appear there.

The TV is just a black frame.

(End of this chapter)