13 Mink Street

Chapter 7 Mutation!

Reaching out,

he found the switch,

turned it on,

with a click,

the light came on.

Karen continued downstairs, arriving at the basement.

The perception of "horror" often stems not from the actual object, but from one's own imagination.

When the Immelases' basement was renovated, they certainly weren't so foolish as to design it to be "gloomy" or "depressing." But at night, even if the walls were painted Barbie pink, if you knew there were two bodies lying inside, you wouldn't feel "warm" or "lovely."

The crying continued.

It came from Aunt Mary's studio.

Karen reached the studio door. It was unlocked... because you couldn't imagine it needed to be locked.

Karen paused, not turning the doorknob hastily, but looking back.

The hallway behind him wasn't pitch black thanks to the lights, but the spiral ramp leading from the basement to the first floor was still dim, making it hard to see clearly.

Closing his eyes,

taking a deep breath,

Karen hoped to smell the sweet aroma of warm milk,

but unfortunately, he didn't have a dog's nose.

Thinking of the dog,

Karen looked down.

The golden retriever, who had seemed so enthusiastic when he let it into the house, hadn't followed him down to the basement.

What a dog that wasn't worthy of deep love.

Reaching out,

grasping the doorknob.

In an instant,

as if the "channel" had suddenly switched, a sense of trance came over him, not intense, but distinctly aware of existence.

Then,

the "crying" in the studio abruptly ceased.

Karen turned again. The light bulb in the hallway above him remained at its normal brightness.

"Click..."

Twisting the handle,

Opening the door,

He reached out again, quickly finding the switch next to the door, and immediately pressed it;

"Snap..."

The lights in the studio came on.

Light,

Abundant light,

It can bring great psychological comfort.

On two stretchers in the studio, Jeff and Mr. Mossang lay, respectively.

Jeff's face was painted with makeup, "radiant."

You could tell it was a bit heavy, and his hair was combed into a middle part and smeared with hairspray, making him look... exceptionally energetic, probably more energetic than Jeff had ever been in his life.

Mr. Mossang looked much more "normal," less heavily made-up and more attentive to detail and naturalness, looking like he was truly asleep.

Aunt Mary was fully "partial" at work; the difference between welfare bills and normal bills was clearly evident here.

Of course, if Aunt Mary had known in advance that Mr. Mosang's children planned to cremate him, Mr. Mosang would have been outshined by the young man next to him, Jeff.

Karen walked past Jeff. His earlier cries had a sense of age, clearly not coming from a young man like "Jeff." It could only have been... Mr. Mosang.

But after standing before Mr. Mosang,

Karen saw only Mr. Mosang lying there peacefully, without any other "heretics."

She reached out, pulled a round stool with wheels next to her, sat down, and rested her feet on the lower railing of the stretcher.

Karen tilted her head slightly,

and just stared at Mr. Mosang.

At the same time,

she kept her eyes on the hallway,

through the open office door,

and the slope at the end of it.

A quarter of an hour passed.

For that quarter of an hour, everything was quiet.

Is it a human or a ghost?

Show yourself!

Show some reaction!

Karen sighed and prepared to leave. Late at night, a warm bed was more appealing.

Standing up,

As he passed Mr. Mosang,

Karen noticed the button on Mr. Mosang's neck was undone, and he instinctively reached out to fasten it.

However,

As his fingertips touched the skin of Mr. Mosang's neck,

Karen suddenly felt dizzy.

It felt like smoke dizziness, and his body stumbled.

Karen quickly steadied himself and leaned against the wall.

"Wuwuwu..."

The sobbing sounded again.

Karen quickly raised his head.

Directly in front of him, Mr. Mosang still lay there;

But off to the side, another figure seemed to appear, huddled in a corner, hugging his knees, crying.

Karen didn't scream in fear upon witnessing this scene. He had already prepared himself mentally.

And for Karen, seeing a "ghost" was far better than not seeing one.

The latter would have made him question whether something was wrong with his "brain" and "mental" self.

So, rather than "I'm insane," Karen preferred to accept that "this is a world of insanity."

"Mr. Mosan?"

Karen questioned the figure huddled in the corner.

But the figure seemed to hear nothing, offering no response, continuing to sob uncontrollably.

Karen stood up and walked toward Mr. "Mosan," but his "sight" formed a kind of "isolation" from "reality." As he approached Mr. Mosan, the distance between them remained constant, not closing.

When Karen's face was almost touching the opposite wall,

Mr. "Mosan" was still huddled in the "far" corner.

The "ghostly" scene hadn't frightened Karen yet, and this "supernatural constant distance" had only inflamed his desire to explore.

"So, what I saw wasn't real?"

After saying this, Karen bit his lower lip.

"I was just talking nonsense."

Then,

Karen tried to spread his hands and slowly shift his stance.

Then,

Mr. "Mosan"'s huddled figure began to move with him—no, it shifted horizontally.

It felt like a projector was hanging on his head.

Is this... a soul?

Karen wasn't sure what it was made of. After all, from this distance, he couldn't reach out and touch it.

But,

Karen suddenly had an idea.

As Karen kept turning, the sobbing Mr. "Mosan" and the Mr. Mosan lying on the stretcher were directed in the same direction.

After adjusting the direction,

Karen began to "focus" again,

moving back and forth, trying to bring Mr. Mosan and Mr. Mosan closer together.

In truth, Karen himself didn't know why he did this, but it seemed natural. Of course, the "ghost" should be placed next to his corpse. At least try, right?

As the two overlapped,

Karen clearly saw Mr. "Mosan," who had been curled up, suddenly stop crying. Then, bewilderedly, he stood up. As Karen watched, Mr. "Mosan" lay on top of Mr. Mosan.

The whole process was swift, incredibly smooth and fluid.

And as the two completely overlapped,

Karen felt as if a hand suddenly grasped his "head." Yes, that very "head." Not his forehead, not the back of his head, not his scalp, but deep within his brain.

With a "click,"

it tightened,

and yanked outward!

"Ouch..."

Karen groaned in pain and fell to his knees. Fortunately, he subconsciously braced himself on the tiles, otherwise he would have paid tribute to Mr. Hoffen during the day.

But even so,

Karen clearly saw drops of blood dripping onto the blue and white tiles in front of him.

Nostrils... bleeding again.

Covering his nose with one hand, Karen began to stand up again with great difficulty.

As he rose,

Mr. Mosang, already fully made up, lying on the stretcher, also slowly sat up.

Their movements were almost synchronized, a silent synchrony.

"Hmm..."

Karen let out a low cry.

Although he knew that all of this "suicidal" behavior was his own initiative, the sight of a corpse sitting upright before him still couldn't avoid the shock it wrought.

Within that shock came a touch of panic, a touch of confusion, a touch of bewilderment, and... sheer excitement.

Mr. Mosang gradually shifted his posture, from sitting on the stretcher to kneeling on it. His eyes were open, but devoid of color, a monotonous grayish-white.

"Please... please... don't burn me... don't burn me... cremate my body... no forgiveness... cremate my body... no forgiveness..."

Karen swallowed,

watching Mr. Mosang, who was "worshipping" and "begging" her with religious rituals.

Aunt Mary had told her that Mr. Mosang's doctrine forbids cremation of one's body. For a devout believer, demonstrating one's devotion to the faith hinged on two things: life and death.

Life is the moment of initiation, while death marks the end of oneself and the continuation of one's religious life.

The "crying" she had heard earlier was Mr. Mosang's lament.

"Mr. Mosang? Mr. Mosang?"

Karen tried to call out to him.

"Please... don't burn me... please... don't burn me..."

Mr. Mosang continued to pray.

Oh,

Is it that there's no way to have equal communication, only a kind of "instinct" remains?

Or, to use the explanation I was used to in my previous life, it's... obsession.

But how did all this happen?

Aunt Mary, Uncle Mason, and Mina had never mentioned that corpses could "mutate." In other words, this world should be normal to normal people.

But the first time was with "Jeff," and the second time was with Mr. Mosan.

Having encountered these two such mutations stemming from corpses in a row,

Karen couldn't help but suspect... no, almost certain, that all of this was inextricably linked to him, that the triggering factor must be within him.

Was it the original "Karen"'s fault, or was it due to his own "awakening"?

"Please... don't burn me... don't burn me... don't burn me! Don't burn me! Don't burn me!!!"

Karen noticed Mr. Mosan's speech picking up speed. His shoulders began to tremble slightly, and his eyes, once dull, were gradually filled with bloodshot.

A dangerous atmosphere began to fill the air.

"Mr. Mosan?"

Karen called out again tentatively, shifting his body.

The beginning of the incident seemed a little strange, but the development seemed to be following what he understood as "normal," like... what a corpse would do after suddenly "faking" awakening.

However, just as Karen had just about skirted Mr. Mosan,

Mr. Mosan suddenly raised his head:

"You're actually going to... burn me!"

Suddenly,

Mr. Mosan's eyes were completely bloodshot, and his body jerked up.

Yes, jerked up. Muscles, bones, and the coordination of his entire body seemed to vanish completely, yet he perked up like a fish thrown onto the shore, leaping!

"Bang!"

Karen felt a heavy blow to his back, and he fell forward.

After falling, Karen immediately braced himself on the ground and turned over. At this moment, Mr. Mosan scrambled up, his hands swiftly reaching for Karen's neck.

Karen raised his knees and thrust them against Mr. Mosan.

But this body was indeed somewhat frail, its constitution already weak, and Mr. Mosan's weight was now even heavier than when he was alive.

Karen's knees failed to lift, and instead, under the pressure of Mr. Mosan... they collapsed flat on their backs.

"How dare you... burn me!!!"

Mr. Mosan opened his mouth and

bit down directly on Karen's chest.

"Bang!"

Karen's chest felt like it had been struck by a stone, painful, but the expected bloody mess didn't appear. Mr. Mosan's teeth had long since fallen out, forcing him to eat with dentures.

So, Mr. Mosan's earlier bite had been in vain.

But Mr. Mosan's hands had already clasped Karen's neck and began to exert force. His legs and torso, like an octopus, clung to Karen.

Karen struggled with both hands, but his struggles seemed futile.

Nearing despair,

Crushed against the tiles, Karen could only turn his head and look toward the studio door.

"How dare you burn me!!!!"

Mr. Mosan was going berserk!

"Snap!"

It sounded like metal colliding, or like a lightbulb exploding,

Or perhaps,

like a snap of fingers?

Karen could no longer clearly discern the sound, but a sense of relief washed over him. Phew... he was saved.

However, after that voice rang out,

"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!! Burn me! Burn me! Burn me!"

Mr. Mosan, already "crazy," now went completely berserk.

Karen suddenly felt the grip of the hands around his neck grow even stronger than before. He felt his neck was truly about to be strangled.

Like a sausage, two hands grasped each end and began twisting it in opposite directions, then waiting for one end to... explode.

Karen's "eyes," "ears," and "nose" now felt as if they were about to burst.

"How dare you... burn me!"

"How dare you... burn me!"

"How dare you..."

"Burn..."

Suddenly,

Mr. Mosan seemed to have reached a breaking point, his body stiffening and collapsing.

With the restraints around his neck released, Karen began gasping for air. The basement air wasn't exactly fresh, but it tasted strangely sweet to Karen.

This wasn't an exaggeration; it was simply blood in her throat, and blood from her nose was seeping into her mouth.

Karen pushed Mr. Mosan away from her, supporting herself with her hands, and slowly maneuvered herself. After her back rested against the wall, she paused.

He turned his head,

and glanced outside again.

A dim hallway light shone nearby, while the distance remained pitch black.

Karen propped his face up with his hands.

After a moment,

he tapped his forehead a few times with his blood-stained palm.

"Hehehe..."

He laughed.

After that, he took a deep breath.

In a language that didn't exist in this world,

he cursed the world over and over again:

"Damn it, what kind of bullshit is this..."

...

At the ramp leading from the basement to the first floor,

Dis stood there.

In front of him was Pu'er, the black cat, who was crouching on the same level as the first-floor stairs.

Dis turned his head, looked at Pu'er,

and asked:

"Was the last thing he said the language of the Other?"

The black cat raised its head,

and looked at Dis.

The next moment,

A woman's voice suddenly emerged, speaking human language:

"I've lived for two hundred years, and I've never heard of a demon... inventing its own language."

Then,

Pu'er added:

"And it's so... complex and obscure."