Hugh Thompson sat on the sofa, munching on sunflower seeds, grinning as he watched TV. I stood beside him, wanting to call out to him, but I realized I didn't really know Hugh Thompson all that well.
But when I recalled the scene of his wife crying at the bathroom door just moments ago, and then looked at Hugh Thompson now, I couldn't help but feel uneasy. Something was definitely wrong here.
I decided to keep watching for a while. I drifted over to the window. Outside, it was pitch black, nothing to be seen except for a few scattered lights glowing in the darkness.
At that moment, Hugh Thompson stood up and walked into a small room. I hurriedly floated after him. Inside, Hugh Thompson lay down on a small bed—it looked like it was meant for a child. By the faint light from outside, I saw the room was filled with toys and there was a desk with first-grade textbooks on it.
Hugh Thompson crouched by the little bed, his hands moving as if tucking someone in. I stepped a bit closer, and my heart skipped a beat. Hugh Thompson, smiling broadly, was pulling up the blanket over a cloth doll, his expression disturbingly unnatural.
Cold sweat broke out all over me, and I shouted out in alarm.
"Thompson, what are you doing? It's me, Ethan Zhang."
I called out, but Hugh Thompson didn't react at all. He kept gently patting the cloth doll and murmured softly.
"Son, go to sleep now. You have school in the morning. You've been naughty lately—your teacher says you keep misbehaving. You can't do that, you know. Daddy's getting angry. You need to be good, understand?"
I sucked in a cold breath, watching Hugh Thompson's expression. He looked as if he'd lost his mind, his vacant eyes fixed on the cloth doll. Yet, in his gaze, there was an occasional flicker of fatherly love, as if he really were talking to his child.
I reached out and patted Hugh Thompson on the shoulder. He reacted, turning his head—but he wasn’t looking at me. His gaze went past me, so I turned around in surprise. There stood his wife, sorrowfully lingering at the doorway.
"Look, your mom is angry too. From now on, you mustn’t be naughty anymore, understand? If you keep misbehaving, Daddy will spank you."
Hugh Thompson spoke as he stood up and walked toward the door. His wife stared at him, lost in her own thoughts. For a moment, their eyes met—Hugh was full of smiles, but his expression was utterly devoid of emotion, hollow to the core.
His wife’s face was filled with sadness as she murmured a few words.
"Tianshuo, that’s enough. It’s already enough, please don’t keep doing this, okay? Let’s see a doctor, alright? Tianshuo."
Hugh Thompson kept smiling, only patting his wife’s shoulder.
"Go to sleep now. Tomorrow morning, you still have to take our son to school!"
Witnessing this scene, I felt a profound shock inside. I couldn’t tell if this was reality or a dream. It was cruel, for both Hugh Thompson and his wife.
During the day, Hugh Thompson went to work at the police station. I watched from the side as he interacted with others and discussed work matters—he showed no difficulties at all. He seemed no different from a normal person.
He was meticulous at work, which puzzled me. Watching him work so diligently, I wanted to speak to him, but it was as if he couldn’t see me at all.
Helpless, I could only leave the police station and find a quiet spot outside, trying to turn my body back into human form. Strangely, it was impossible.
The sky darkened. To my surprise, I was already on a bustling street, bright with lights and full of people coming and going. Hugh Thompson had finished work.
I hurriedly floated in the air, following him. Again, I felt those strange glances. I quickly turned my head, looking around. At the top of a tall building, I saw that same mass of darkness staring at me—this time, I was sure I hadn't imagined it.
With a whoosh, I flew up toward it. This time, my speed was incredibly fast. I reached the shadow and saw it clearly: it wore black-rimmed glasses, surrounded by swirling black mist, but now I was certain—it was Hugh Thompson.
"Hugh, is that you?"
"Feels like I just had a nightmare."
The black mist faded, and Hugh Thompson took off his glasses, revealing his true face.
"But it's morning now, Ethan. Did you run into trouble in your dream? Try again tomorrow night, when I'm asleep."
I nodded right away. Suddenly, my consciousness snapped back, and the Nightmare Stone slipped from my hand, falling to the floor. I was back in my own Core Dream.
Hugh Thompson said tomorrow night—so that meant more than ten hours until he'd sleep again. All I could do was wait. Luckily, I had an alarm clock in my room, but strangely, it wouldn't tick; time was frozen. I sighed and decided to wait it out, relying on my instincts.
In the apartment building, I had nothing else to do but float helplessly in the air, waiting. Gradually, my mind grew more and more restless—I was running out of patience.
I had no idea how much time had passed—maybe five or six hours. I returned to my room, gripping the Nightmare Stone. For a long while, my consciousness didn't fade away like before, nor did I enter that other space.
I stared in surprise at the Nightmare Stone in my hand.
"Is it that I can't get in, or did that damned ghost do something?"
Helpless, I just kept holding on to the Nightmare Stone. After an hour or two, still nothing happened. Instead, as I waited, my mind grew tired, but I couldn't fall asleep.
That guy from the Ghost Burial Squad never showed up again either. I glanced around the house in frustration—nothing had changed. Thinking back, my life these past years really had been monotonous, unchanging.
This chapter isn't finished yet ^.^, please click next page to continue reading!
I started missing Rachel Lan. Ever since we made things official, we never really had time for a date, or to see a movie—always tangled up in matters between the living and the dead. I smiled a little, thinking that once I got out, after I handled my cousin's situation, I'd take her out somewhere nice.
But right now, I was even more worried about Hugh Thompson. I hadn't expected him to be like that before—he must have gone through the pain of losing a child. I could tell from what I saw in his dream. I thought about asking him, but quickly let go of the idea.
No matter what Hugh Thompson had been through, everyone has their own pain they don't want to mention—buried deep inside. Last night, Hugh said he'd had a nightmare. It makes sense; for him, that kind of dream was a nightmare.
After I'd wandered bored through the walls countless times, I finally felt something—the Nightmare Stone in my hand reacted. I hurried back to my room.
My consciousness began to fade, and gradually, I sank into that space again. Once I found Hugh Thompson's location, I realized Rachel Lan was nearby. The screen she was on radiated warm sunlight, and as I drifted closer, I felt the warmth of her dream.
But Hugh Thompson's screen was, as always, shrouded in black mist—cold and gloomy. I glanced one last time at Rachel Lan before entering Hugh's dream.
Fine rain drifted down from the sky. By a riverbank, I saw a young Hugh Thompson, his back to me, standing motionless in the rain.
I called out, but Hugh couldn't hear me. Along the riverbank was a neat row of roadside trees. I could just make out a primary school—its sign read 'Dongming District Third Primary School.' The other buildings were blurry.
I rushed to Hugh's side. Then I was startled—he was holding a child in his arms. That child looked familiar, but I couldn't remember from where. Eyes closed, skin pale, face bluish—the child was clearly dead.
"Hugh..."
I called out again, moving to face him. That was when I saw Hugh's face streaked with tears, standing motionless by the river, holding the child. Police lights flashed nearby. I turned and saw a black van—it was the Ghost Burial Squad.
A swirl of smoke drifted among the people approaching. I still couldn't see who it was.
"Hello, I'm Chief Stone, director of the Special Operations Department. You're Hugh Thompson, right?"
A hand reached out, then a large umbrella shielded Hugh's head. I saw the man clearly—it was Chief Stone, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He looked ten years younger than now, maybe in his forties, his face clean, not as scruffy as he is these days.
Hugh stood still, and Chief Stone slowly lowered his hand.
The other members of the Ghost Burial Squad wanted to comfort Hugh, but Chief Stone stopped them. He just quietly stood beside Hugh, holding the umbrella for him. Chief Stone was a head shorter than Hugh and had to raise his arm high.
"This is your son, right? It's cold now—let's take him back to the van. We need to investigate for a while."
By morning, Chief Stone had already tossed away quite a few cigarette butts. He yawned, but still kept the umbrella raised. Hugh seemed frozen, staring blankly at the river.
Chief Stone stared seriously at the river, then spoke in a grave tone.
"Do you believe in ghosts, Officer Hugh? If you do, then we know exactly what caused your son's death."
Hugh's head turned mechanically toward Chief Stone, staring at him.
"Let me put it this way—your son may be dead as a human, but he's still alive in another form, somewhere in this world."