Abyss Express

Chapter 824 Introduction Latia Morian’s Doctor Bag

[Part①·Pressed goods]

"Next, you need to be mentally prepared."

When I stepped into the door of the newspaper office and talked straight to the point with the editor-in-chief of The Sun, I said this sentence——

——The young man in his twenties with oily hair and pink face didn’t seem to realize how important this matter was. He didn’t recognize me, he didn’t recognize David Victor, and naturally he didn’t recognize Latia Morian.

He doesn't remember my face, let alone the pen name I used.

Until I crossed the shelf of publications with proofing coated paper and sat down in the editor-in-chief's office in a familiar manner. Boy Green invited his father in, and the family business finally got off the ground.

"Ms. Latia Morian?" Mr. Green asked anxiously.

I responded immediately: "Yes, I used that name in 1961."

Mr. Green immediately corrected his attitude: "Mr. Victor, do you want to pick up the stories you have written before this time? Do you want to re-publish them?"

"No, the content of these stories has never been officially published." I immediately corrected: "Not long ago, they could only be regarded as scattered materials. Leftovers left to rot and smell in the kitchen were no longer fresh enough. ”

With that said, I opened the doctor's bag and took out a few yellow pages document bags at the bottom.

"It may be better than the previous manuscript."

For a while, I couldn't find the right adjectives to describe these materials.

I thought about it for a long time and finally said it firmly.

"Evil door, yes, it is evil door."

"Magical stories like Weird Tales, Lovecraft? Or Frankenstein? It almost lives in the previous era - most of them are told from the first-person perspective."

Just like the quote I leave you now, these works belong to Latia Morian and another alter ego of David Victor - I will never publish these stories in newspapers under a male pseudonym because of their There is a difference in style, which may be difficult for my readers to accept.

"Does it need to be corrected again?" Mr. Green was very cautious. After the previous lesson, his strategy for soliciting papers became more conservative.

Come to think of it, send a draft to the front page without anyone's consent?

This kind of behavior made me furious. Last time, I went to the newspaper office to beat his son. If it happens again, I will step on his lifeblood.

"Please help me, my assistant. I didn't write the header and footer of the page, and I'm missing some annotations and explanations." I responded: "If possible, try not to modify the original content."

"The first story." Mr. Green rang the summons bell and called for the little helper——

——A freckled girl with glasses and a puzzled face came in through the half-open door. I recognized her. She was a reporter from the Sun. She had been working in the field for more than six years. She had only been hired as a new employee in the past few months. Ms. Yunqing takes over. Her name is Cotana and she is Spanish.

"Mr. Victor! Hello!" Kotana asked to shake hands when she came in. I don't understand this inexplicable enthusiasm, but I can accept it.

"Hello to you too." I didn't want to say any more nonsense and transferred the manuscript to Kotana's arms——

——Then he took the girl away and went to the editor's office, asking her to start working quickly.

To be honest, I hate the working model of Sun Newspaper, including this big and crowded office, with fifty-six people on the first floor and thirty-two people on the second floor. They are like worms hiding behind the telephone wires, taking the written information sent back by field reporters as nourishment, then processing it over and over again, modifying what they pull out, and then turning it into chocolate-flavored shit for readers.

The Internet self-media in the new era seems to be even worse. People put forward an opinion, and then circulate it and repost it from forum after forum, revise it repeatedly, eat it from the mouth and pull it out of the butt - the story changes again and again, but there are still users. Pay the bill.

Just like a simple announcement, you need to ponder it over and over again, study the code words in all aspects, and start to evolve different versions of conspiracy theories, creating anxiety and confrontation. It seems that if we don’t do this, media people will no longer be able to live and work in a stable way.

"Mr. Victor?" Kotana was already ready.

I finally came to my senses, opened the WALKMAN, and inserted an empty tape into it to record the audio version of this story.

"The protagonist of the story is named Sam Walker."

"The main title of the story is "The Beheading of My Lovely Wife in Sixteen Pieces"——"

——When talking about this, Kotana's expression obviously changed slightly. She was a little surprised. Maybe she didn't expect that I would use such a big topic like a street stall story.

I immediately asked, "What's the problem?"

"No! No!" Kotana read on.

Along with the sound of tape recording and the bright and cool blue light in the office, my thoughts went back to twenty-six years ago in this sleepy hot afternoon.

I returned to Bratislava Castle, one of my ancestral homes.

Walking 18 kilometers towards Vienna's international airport, we passed a floating hotel and the road along the river became increasingly foggy.

When we arrived at our destination, it was almost noon, and it was also the time for the anniversary ceremony to be held at the pizza shop near the ruins of Hansberg Castle.

I remember very clearly that Sam Walker was driving a classic Alfa Romeo car and had just returned from St. Stephen's Cathedral. I found him and we talked in the car for four hours -

——Then the story begins here, from this man’s mouth, unbelievable and terrifying bits and pieces of the past are revealed.

The next perspective will switch to the first person of Sam Walker.

These words belong to him, they are Sam Walker's experience, and they are the ins and outs of Hell's Highway seen through these haggard eyes and this haggard skull.

[Part②·Trough]

The weather in Vienna always rains, and in spring and summer - this dog is like an orphan whose parents have just died, and will be mourning for six months.

There was hot and humid moisture coming from the forest, and the saw blade of the cutting machine left in the backyard was fucking rusty!

I can't find a job. This damn place like Little New Sider doesn't seem to need a postman. There are not many living people at all - except for some ancient ruins and a rotten castle made of piled stones, there is nothing!

Apart from the rangers and the foxes, there seemed to be no good people to be found besides these beasts.

My name is Sam Walker -

"—Hey! Sam! Anything else good happen in the past half month?"

I said to myself, to myself hanging in the air——

——Be calm and hopeful.

It's just a trap, I'm fine, I'm fine.

I have set traps myself. Squirrels often eat the grains in the bird feeders, and many red foxes will suddenly visit my cabin.

So I got caught in my own trap - which makes sense.

"Think about it, Sam." I want to continue to cheer myself up: "Remember, Margaret has taken yoga classes to keep her body flexible."

"Hey!"

Trying my best to curl up, I slowly turned my waist around and touched the damn rope.

Then

Yes, yes!

Grab it!

"Hey!~Hey!~"

I almost breathed like a dumb cow. As a child, asthma took away most of my strength and left behind terrible sequelae.

I don't want to die here, I don't want to die so stupidly, I don't want to say goodbye to Margaret like this.

We were just engaged, just engaged—

——With no tools at hand, I can only hope that this diamond ring is sharp enough and hard enough.

Grab the upper, cut it hard, and pull it repeatedly to cut the twine!

right! I'm going to be saved!

No, no, no, I saved myself! I must live!

"Plop!——"

I could hear the crisp sound of bones hitting the mud. I didn't know what that meant. Maybe a broken rib?

I couldn't breathe in pain, my whole face started to steam, and I burst into tears - Oh my God, Sam.

Sam Walker, are you really going to be a good husband?

Can you do it? You seem to have just grown up, as if you have just crawled out of the nursery.

I found a foothold next to the fence, grabbed the strong wooden wedge, and slowly stood up in a rotten maple leaf.

The clothes were smelly and wet, and it was hard to imagine that Margaret would want to live here with me, in this secluded countryside, and spend the rest of her life with me.

I have no parents and no house.

This is the only thing I can give Margaret -

——This is our future home.

I slowly walked back to the dining room from the backyard door, my mind a mess. When I saw the nameless letter on the table, I started to feel agitated for no reason.

For more than half a month since I lost my job, I have received this kind of letter almost every two days. There were only two tickets inside, and there seemed to be endless pranks and endless harassment.

I am the postman from Little New Sidel and I have just been fired from the post office. Maybe I offended someone at work before, and they wanted to torture me in this way.

As for the specific content of the ticket?

Sky Station? London, UK?

Oh my gosh! I can't even pay for gas. How am I going to travel to the UK?

"Margaret."

This girl is almost the only thing left in my heart. It seems that as long as I think of her, I can accept any pain. There is still hope in life, Sam Walker, Sam Walker is getting married.

I have no parents and come from the countryside in Portsmouth, a small, remote fishing village. The wedding can also be kept simple, with few friends, and the only ones who can talk are bad gamblers.

Margaret is almost a world away from me. She volunteers at church and is a nurse—and occasionally goes to the fire station to visit the heroes.

She has two dogs and often takes them for morning runs on the riverside road in Little Neusiedl.

That's how we met. I was driving a three-wheeled car delivering letters, and she and I accidentally glanced at each other.

Every time I say -

"Dog-walker wife! You are so beautiful!"

She will also respond: "Mr. Postman! You are so handsome!"

At this moment——

——The sudden ringtone woke me up from the warm and sweet memories.

That feeling of depression and restlessness is back! The new postman has already taken my job, and now he wants to destroy my peaceful life.

I was almost furious and rushed out of the door!

I grabbed the man's collar and pulled him towards me. Suddenly, an inexplicable chill surrounded me.

Look at him -

——Look at what he looks like.

This gray-black poncho looked like it was fished out of the water, and his wet skin had no color at all.

The new postman seemed to feel no pain, even though he had just climbed into the driver's seat of the tricycle and was pulled towards me - his earlobe seemed to have been cut open by the helmet, revealing a little bit of dark brown viscous liquid.

I don't understand, I don't understand, this guy seems to have a very serious skin disease - his face is like a ball of squirming mud, and there is no change in expression.

"Mr. Walker." The new postman spoke: "You have a new package."

I was horrified by the scene and started coughing violently again, the hot midday humidity flooding into my lungs - seeming to awaken painful memories of my childhood asthma.

The new postman climbed into the car and walked away silently without saying a word.

I took out a wet and sticky square paper package from the rusty mailbox. Judging from its outline, it looked like a book.

I'm a little glad in my heart, at least this time it's not an inexplicable ticket. Taking it back to the living room, the sunshine outside seemed to be getting brighter and the weather gradually became sunny.

As I was cleaning up the kitchen, I was thinking about the picnic with Margarita a few days ago. We exchanged rings by the lakeside woods.

Pull open the brown cover of the package and carefully identify the sending information of the envelope.

"Portsmouth Harbour, Chaderton Castle"

This sending location makes me break out in a cold sweat——

——This is a bad memory from my childhood, a lingering shadow of terror.

The dark yellow stamp seemed to be partially stained with blood. I don’t know if it was mud, or maybe I was hallucinating and mistook the fishy-sweet smell for blood.

But I remember, eight or nine years old? Or when you were younger?

I followed the Red Cross Society of the fishing village to Chadderton Castle, where I was going to the church to listen to the scriptures. I was able to exchange for some food and candies, and if I could recite a few sentences, I could receive eight pounds. I didn’t understand this strange ritual – but did it anyway.

The owner of the castle is a beautiful and graceful baroness. She has a pair of eyes as beautiful as rubies.

I couldn't forget those eyes, but later it turned into a horrifying instinct. Every time I think of this, I can't help but tremble - I seem to have lost part of my memory about this castle, maybe because I'm too old. Small, maybe I forgot.

"What is this?"

I opened the cover, revealing the book case with the pentagram seal inside, and smelled a more familiar smell!

"this"

I can hardly believe it, I'm going crazy

It seemed that the cracks in the oak boards of the wooden house were beginning to melt, and the mountain breeze blowing through the holes in the door became stronger.

Opening the first page of the book, there is a bloody hand hidden in the thick book.

I remember the taste of Margaret, I remember her smell-

——This hand touched the elm rosary in the church and held up the Holy Rosary. It smelled of pet dogs, hospital disinfectant, and a little bit of tequila.

I still can't believe it, everything seems to be falling apart, except this hand. This evil book begins to tremble, and the tables, chairs, and rooms will gradually collapse.

I couldn't maintain my standing position and my legs felt weak.

"Margaret!"

The sun shone on her severed limbs and on her diamond engagement ring.

"Margaret! Margaret!"

It suddenly moved! Slowly crawling out of the book, like a zombie stretching its fingers from the grave.

In my almost collapsed eyes, the last bit of blood slowly drained away

"Oh my God!"