Dark and eerie Room 4, with walls covered in scars like wounds, peeling off the surface white paint, revealing the blood-stained walls underneath, is a shocking sight.
Holding a dagger, I sit on the edge of the bed, just like Red Sister did before. Although my body is tired, my eyes remain wide open, fixed on the door.
All around is a dead silence.
As time passes slowly, exhaustion and drowsiness gradually engulf me, and my eyelids become unbearably heavy. But just as I am about to drift into sleep, I suddenly hear a strange sound, and I jolt awake.
Clang, clang, clang —
Bang, bang, bang —
Like a knife chopping on a cutting board, accompanied by the crisp sound of plates and bowls clattering.
This sound is common in many kitchens, but hearing it at this time and place sends shivers down my spine.
Chopping meat!
The sound of chopping meat is coming from downstairs, sounding like it's right below Room 4.
Is the old landlord chopping meat in the middle of the night? The tension in my mind tightens again, and my eyes widen, dispelling any trace of sleepiness.
It is now past 3 a.m., and the live broadcast room is quiet. It seems that the viewers have gone to sleep.
With the absence of the companionship of the viewers and only a mysterious sleeping woman by my side, deep-seated fear rises in my heart.
Imagine a rumor of a bun shop selling human barbecue, and the sound of chopping meat rings out in the eerie silence of the hotel at this time. What would you think?
Clang, clang, clang —
Bang, bang, bang —
The sound of chopping meat in the gloomy and silent hotel is unusually clear, hammering on my fragile nerves.
In my mind, a terrifying scene unfolds.
An eerie old man, holding a blood-drenched cleaver, chopping meat on a cutting board. The meat on the board suddenly shivers, and I dare not let my imagination go any further.
Perhaps this old man has some special preference, enjoying making meat buns in the middle of the night?
Having just escaped one danger, I'd rather not get involved. As long as the old man doesn't do anything to me, I won't bother to find out what he's up to.
Though comforting myself in this way, I find it impossible to fall asleep. With more than two hours until dawn, I decide to tough it out.
Looking at Red Sister, who is breathing steadily, I assume she won't cause any more trouble.
Getting up from the bed, I pace around the room, moving my numb limbs, and then there's nothing left to do.
The room is so small, and I don't know if the ghostly thing is still lurking outside. I dare not open the door recklessly.
Staring at the empty live broadcast room, I suddenly miss the viewers.
With them chatting and joking, not only does it dilute the oppressive atmosphere of fear, but time also passes more quickly.
"Is anyone still here?"
The number of viewers in the live broadcast room is dwindling, but there is no response. They seem to have fallen asleep with their phones in hand.
Clang, clang, clang — The chopping sound continues. The old man seems to be pounding away downstairs. When will it stop?
Feeling annoyed, I sit back down and take out tissues from my bag, stuffing them into my ears. Finally, the situation improves a bit.
Luckily, after about an hour, the hair-raising sound of chopping meat finally comes to a halt.
The bun shop returns to silence, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Endure a little longer, and it will be dawn. I hope nothing terrifying happens again tonight.
But according to Murphy's Law, the more afraid you are of something, the more likely it is to happen.
As dawn approaches, the creaking of footsteps on the wooden stairs outside the corridor can be heard.
Is the old man coming upstairs? What does he want at this hour?
A foreboding feeling creeps up on me. I cautiously get off the bed and press my ear against the door.
Faint footsteps echo in the corridor, getting closer.
The old man is coming!
Feeling a bit panicked, I glance around and finally slip under the bed.
With my phone on silent, I cover the screen and try to remain as quiet as possible.
Although the other party is clearly an old man in his twilight years, I don't know why I'm so afraid. My heart is pounding.
Click —
The locked door is opened again, accompanied by creaking sounds. The door is pushed open.
"Honey, don't worry; the dipping sauce will be ready soon." It's the old man's hoarse and gravelly voice. He seems to be talking to someone.
What does he mean by dipping sauce? Snap, the light turns on.
Dim light fills the room, and from my perspective, I only see a pair of feet in black cloth shoes, entering the room.
Only the old man is here, so who is he talking to? The black shoes stop by the bed, less than a meter away from me. My heart pounds relentlessly.
"Darn it! Why is there nothing?" The old man's shocked voice echoes; he seems frustrated and quickly moves around the room, stopping by the bed after a while.
"No dipping sauce. My wife will be unhappy." The old man speaks again, and his voice sounds eerie.
My heart shivers inexplicably, and a sense of unease spreads instantly.
Originally, I thought Red Sister was strange enough, and tonight's experiences were horrifying, but the fear these two combined give me is nothing compared to the present old man.
The old man stands by the bed, seemingly performing some actions that I can't see as I hide under the bed.
Intense anxiety grips my heart; I can't stay hidden any longer, or the consequences will be unimaginable!
Biting my lip, I grab the old man's thin ankle and give it a strong pull.
Caught off guard, the old man staggers, falling to the floor.
Clang!
At the same time, a blood-drenched cleaver falls beside the old man.
Exactly as expected!
Seizing the moment before the old man can react, I quickly crawl out from under the bed and grab the cleaver.
The old man looks astonished, his weathered face twisted in anger. His murky eyes glare at me.
Red Sister, awake now, holds the blanket, looking at the scene in the room with a pale face, seemingly contemplating something.
"Come over here; the boss is not a good person!" I urgently shout to her.
Understanding my words, Red Sister swiftly slides off the bed, running barefoot behind me.
The old man gets up from the floor, his face full of surprise. His wrinkled face wrinkles even more, and his cloudy eyes angrily scrutinize me.
"Don't come over, don't think I won't hit an old man!" I brandish the cleaver at the old man a few times.
Unfortunately, it lacks the threatening power, and the old man is not scared. On the contrary, he strides toward me.
With a sinister expression, his old face begins to contort, giving an eerie feeling as if something is about to emerge from his body.
At this moment, a thin beam of light penetrates the window and falls on the white floor tiles.
