"Smells amazing."
Old Zhang gnawed on the dog leg with relish. The meat was chewy and greasy, and he alternated between bites of meat and sips of Sprite, thoroughly enjoying himself.
"Mm, not bad at all," Lin Fan muttered, ravenous.
He devoured his food in great, desperate gulps, barely chewing, not even sparing the bones. His teeth crushed them with a crack, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed everything down.
Room 666.
The lights were out. It seemed the patients had already fallen asleep.
Ever since the incident, Li Ang suspected the fault might lie with him. His colleagues had reassured him: the two patients in Room 666 were fine. Despite being considered the most severe cases in the asylum, they had never harmed anyone.
"If they frightened you, it only means you don't understand them yet," he'd been told.
He wanted to understand them—not to become friends, necessarily, but at least to know them better.
Approaching the window, he spotted two vague silhouettes inside. By the faint corridor light, he could just make out their outlines. It appeared they were eating.
Li Ang paused, intending to step in gently and remind them that late-night snacking was bad for the stomach and that they should get some sleep—but he hesitated.
The fear he thought he'd overcome stirred once more in his chest. The moment he approached, it returned like a phantom.
"Stay calm. You must stay calm. There's nothing to be afraid of," he whispered to himself.
Those who could work in a psychiatric hospital all possessed a certain resilience. Steeling his nerves, he stepped to the door and slowly pushed it open.
He stood in the shadows, like a benevolent angel, the beam of his flashlight piercing the darkness to bring light to their night.
He turned it on.
"You two…"
Li Ang meant to scold them gently—something along the lines of: "It's late, you should really be sleeping."
But the sight before him froze the words in his throat.
In the dark—
The flashlight fell on Lin Fan's face. He was cradling a dog's severed head in both hands, his mouth agape, ready to devour it whole.
As the light touched him, Lin Fan lifted his gaze slightly. His face was expressionless. Behind the blank stare, the dog's grotesque head, twisted in a snarl, still bore traces of grievance and wrath.
Gulp.
Li Ang's throat tightened, his feet turned to ice. An illusion. It's all just an illusion.
He jerked the flashlight toward Old Zhang. Under the beam, Zhang's complexion appeared ghostly pale.
Li Ang's heartbeat quickened. His expression froze, sweat beading on his forehead. He slowly moved the beam back to Lin Fan.
Lin Fan was smiling now—grinning, even—as he lowered his head to tear into the dog's skull.
Swish.
The light swung back to Old Zhang. He, too, was smiling—and tearing into the dog leg like it was a delicacy.
Drip.
Drip.
Li Ang's trembling hands held the flashlight under his chin, his eyes wide with fear. His legs shook. A warm liquid trickled down his thigh.
He had wet himself.
And yet, he didn't realize it.
"Would you like some?" Lin Fan asked politely.
"Ahhh!"
Li Ang let out a panicked shriek, flailing as he threw the flashlight and scrambled backward, half crawling, half stumbling, as he fled the room.
"Help! Somebody help!"
He ran madly down the corridor, slamming into walls. Even when he fell, he leapt back up in terror. He looked behind him—Lin Fan was standing in the doorway, waving at him gently.
For reasons he couldn't explain, Li Ang began to hear a voice—low, eerie, and sinister—whispering in his ears.
"Come here… come here…"
Lin Fan picked up the fallen flashlight, gazed calmly at the panicked figure disappearing down the hall, and shook his head in mild confusion. Then, slipping the flashlight into the front of his pants, he returned to the room to resume his meal.
From the hallway, Li Ang's screams echoed, hoarse and despairing.
A male orderly saw him in this state and rushed to intercept him. "What happened?"
Seeing his colleague was like seeing a savior. Li Ang gripped him tightly, gasping for breath, and pointed toward the end of the hall.
"There's a ghost… a ghost down there…"
"Ghost? What ghost?" the orderly frowned. "You were fine during the day. What's gotten into you?"
This was a psychiatric hospital, not a funeral home. Even if something was wrong, it would be due to mental illness, not the supernatural.
"There really is one!" Li Ang cried, flailing his arms and hopping in place. "I saw it, I really saw it! You've got to believe me!"
"Sigh…" The orderly sighed. "Alright, alright. You say there's a ghost? Fine. Where is it? Take me to it."
"Room 666! It's Room 666!" Li Ang babbled.
The orderly lifted a foot—but hearing that room number made him pause. His expression hardened, and he reached for the walkie-talkie.
"Director, Director, this is Xiao He. Something's wrong in Room 666. Xiao Li's lost it—he's in a bad mental state. We need backup."
In the duty room—
The director was sipping tea, eyes glued to his phone. The drama My Sister-in-Law was reaching a spicy climax.
He replied absentmindedly into the radio: "Copy that."
Then, as the words registered, his expression changed.
Grabbing the radio, he asked again, "Which room? Did you say which room?"
Crackle.
"Room 666."
Crash!
The director jumped to his feet, now deadly serious. Any other room wouldn't warrant this reaction. But Room 666… those patients were dangerous. Something major must have happened.
He dialed.
[Dialing: 120]
"Hello? This is—"
Before he could finish, the person on the other end cut him off.
"We know. Qingshan Psychiatric Hospital. We're already en route."
The drivers who handled this route knew the drill. The hospital was notorious. They had the number saved. The moment it lit up, they dispatched help.
Li Ang, meanwhile, was curled in a corner, hugging his knees. Terrified beyond reason, he pulled out his phone and, sobbing, sent a voice message to his girlfriend, desperate for comfort.
After a long pause, she replied.
Her voice did soothe him—until he heard her slurping ice cream in the background.
"Sweetheart, don't eat ice cream at night. It's bad for you," he whispered into the mic, calmer now.
Soon after, the director arrived, flanked by several staff members he'd summoned.
He didn't believe in facing Room 666 alone.
They reached the door.
The director peeked inside through the window. It was quiet. Both patients lay in their beds.
He opened the door and flicked the light switch.
Nothing.
How odd.
"Turn on your flashlights."
Click.
The room lit up with beams—but none of the horror Li Ang had described was visible.
Yet something still felt… wrong.
The room was disheveled.
And then the director noticed it—faint light glowed from under Lin Fan's blanket.
(To be continued.)