Their heads’ shadows tilted 90 degrees, slowly turning toward the living room.

　　By the dim green candlelight in the living room, George Miller finally saw what those things looked like. They resembled run-over beasts—stray cats, stray dogs, that sort of thing—their bodies flat, four limbs long and thin, but with human faces. They crouched, peering in from outside, black smoke coiling around them, drifting and lingering like tangled water plants.

　　George Miller’s heart nearly stopped. In a whisper, he asked, “What are those???”

　　William Clark said, “The drummers you found.”

　　George Miller: “……”

　　The thought that he’d been sleeping with these things for days made his scalp tingle!

　　George Miller was on the verge of losing it. “W-what do we do?”

　　William Clark showed little expression, but his fingers began to roll up his sleeves, one fold at a time.

　　“Mr. Clark, you can handle this, right?” George Miller asked tentatively.

　　“I don’t know,” William Clark replied.

　　George Miller: “???”

　　William Clark said nothing more.

　　He truly didn’t know. If it were long ago, these things wouldn’t even be enough to get stuck in his teeth, but now, he really couldn’t guarantee it. After all, he wasn’t truly alive, had no spiritual form, and even reaching a tenth of his former strength would be dangerous.

　　Most importantly… he was very hungry.

　　He hadn’t truly eaten in twenty-five years and was extremely weak.

　　Just as he was cracking his knuckles, about to make a move, a sudden ringtone startled George Miller so much he nearly jumped out of his skin.

　　He fumbled in his pocket for the culprit—his phone—almost dropping it to pieces. He meant to hang up, but his trembling finger accidentally swiped to answer, and at the same time, somehow turned on the front flashlight.

　　A pale, blinding beam shot out, sweeping across the faces of the three monsters.

　　The next second, a man’s low, slightly hoarse cough came from the phone, his voice tinged with sickly fatigue: “Is this Mr. George Miller? I’m Henry Baker.”

　　Maybe the light was too strong, or maybe the sudden call disrupted their rhythm. The three monsters suddenly lowered their heads to sniff the ground, circled in place twice as if searching for something, then dashed away.

　　William Clark hadn’t expected this turn of events, and for once, his calm face showed a rare trace of confusion.

　　George Miller was even more bewildered.

　　The man on the other end of the phone, hearing no response, waited a few seconds, then softly said, “Hello?” Only then did George Miller swallow and say, “H-hello, this is George Miller. Um…”

　　He hesitated, then asked, “May I ask who you are?”

　　“I’m the tenant who contacted you. I said this afternoon I’d call you later,” the man replied. “I adjusted my schedule a bit. I’ll come by around 5 p.m. tomorrow. Is that okay?”

　　George Miller nodded mechanically. “Sure, your call just saved my life. You could come at 5 a.m. and I’d be fine with it.”

　　Of course, he was just saying that.

　　Who knew the person on the other end would chuckle lightly and say, “That works too. I happen to be heading out then. Let’s do that.”

　　After George Miller absentmindedly agreed, hung up, and collapsed onto the sofa like a sleepwalker.

　　A long while later, he suddenly sprang up, exchanging glances with William Clark.

　　Five in the morning???

　　Is he crazy???

Chapter 4 Henry Baker

　　“Forget it, I’d better call that Baker guy back.” George Miller had just called him a lifesaver, and now he’d already forgotten his name.

　　He muttered to William Clark, “Who goes house-hunting at dawn? And at 6:45 I have to take Grandpa’s burial box up the mountain. When he comes, do I put down the box to show him the house, or take him to the grave with me? Right, Brother—”

　　“Brother?” Halfway through, he realized that ancestor hadn’t heard a word, just sat there frowning in thought.

　　“Mr. Clark?”

　　“Big Brother Clark?”

　　“……”

　　“Dad!”

　　William Clark was finally snapped out of it by “Dad.” “What?”

　　George Miller: “……”

　　My damn mouth.

　　“Nothing, just curious what you’re thinking about,” George Miller said clearly. “The tenant?”

　　William Clark: “No.”

　　That tenant was certainly odd, but his attention was on something else—just now, when the flashlight swept over those three monsters, he’d faintly caught a certain scent.

　　People’s memory for smells lasts longer than anything. He couldn’t quite describe it, but it felt so familiar. So familiar… it was as if it was a part of himself.

　　William Clark suddenly stood up, pulled a few sheets of yellow joss paper from the desk, and casually tore two long threads from the edge of the mourning cloth. “I’m going out for a bit.”

　　With that, he strode out the door.

　　George Miller: “???”

　　He slumped on the sofa for two seconds, then suddenly sprang up, scrambling after him. “Mr. Clark, wait for me!”

　　“Didn’t you say you don’t go out at night?” William Clark didn’t slow down, glanced around, and headed straight east.

　　George Miller, short and with short legs, had to run like mad to keep up. “We just had a haunting—I’d be crazy to stay home alone. I have to go with you. I’m scared.”