His head was groggy, and everything in his vision seemed veiled by a thick curtain of fog. The sound of traffic from the distant main road drifted in and out, unclear and dreamlike, as if it belonged to another world.
He walked in this dazed and uncomfortable state for who knows how long before his mind slowly regained the ability to think. Darian finally stopped, hesitantly turning back to look at the path he had taken.
The sky had nearly gone completely dark, and the streetlights along the way had long since lit up. He was walking down a narrow street near his home. On either side were low, aging apartment buildings, hunched like beasts lurking in the night. However, the warm light spilling from the makeshift ground-floor shops—converted from residences by the tenants themselves—chased away a sliver of the cold that had taken root deep in his heart.
Cold?
Suddenly, Darian felt again that bone-piercing chill, as though icy rain were cutting into his skin like blades. He could feel two cold, slimy eyes watching him—frog-like eyes, staring straight into his soul.
His breath caught in his throat. It took more than ten seconds before he remembered how to breathe again. Gasping for air, he quickly lowered his head and looked down at his chest.
For a brief moment, he had the illusion that there was still a gaping hole in his chest, that his heart was gone, and that his torso was as cold and silent as an extinguished furnace. But in the next instant, he felt his heartbeat again. He even thought he heard a clear thump echoing in his ears.
Yes, a living person has a heartbeat.
He was still alive. He hadn't had his heart eaten by a monstrous frog.
But the surge of chaotic memories rushed through his mind like a tsunami. No matter how hard he tried to ignore them, they refused to be pushed aside. Darian remembered the rain. He remembered the door painted on the wall. He remembered the enormous frog.
He tried to convince himself it was just a hallucination, but that thought was rapidly eroding under the relentless pounding of memory, growing clearer with each wave.
He had died once. And for some unknown reason, he was alive now, walking the road back home for just two intersections away.
This was the strangest of all the strange things that had happened since he came to this bizarre city.
A nearby gaze pulled him back to the present. Darian realized that his odd behavior had attracted the attention of a passerby. Someone nearby seemed hesitant, perhaps considering whether to come over and ask if he needed help.
He quickly waved them off, avoiding further interaction, and hastened his pace to leave that spot.
He didn't know what had happened to him, but standing in the street lost in thought was clearly not helping him find answers.
He hurried through the alley and left behind the last street near the old residential area, heading toward the place he now called "home" in this city.
Though it was only two intersections, the surroundings noticeably became more desolate and quiet as if he had stepped into a forgotten corner of the city. There were fewer and fewer pedestrians, until eventually, the only thing accompanying him was the cold glow of streetlights. After walking a little farther, he finally saw the house standing silently in the dark, a building that seemed to remain slightly detached from everything around it.
It was an unremarkable large house and an old three-story residence with peeling walls, a sloped roof, and worn doors and windows. Though outdated, it was still relatively clean and intact. It looked like one of those "self-built houses" that had sprung up decades ago in village-urbanized zones when building regulations were still lax. Over time, it had become a relic caught in the loopholes of city development policies.
Darian didn't fully understand the urban planning regulations of this "Boundary City" that was so different from the one in his memories. After all, he'd only been here for two months. Excluding the early days he'd spent cautiously indoors, he had just started adapting to life here and getting a grasp of the surrounding area.
But one thing was certain.
This old house was the only relatively safe place he had in this eerie, dissonant city. At least while inside, he hadn't seen any of those terrifying shadows.
Though even this house had some unsettling aspects of its own.
Taking a shallow breath, Darian, still holding the supermarket shopping bag in his hand, stepped into the pale pool of light under the streetlamp and reached for his keys at the door.
The creaky old door opened, and Darian stepped inside and switched on the lights. Though this house was nothing like the "home" in his memories, the moment the lights came on, he felt something unmistakably solid - real.
He turned and closed the door behind him, shutting the city's night out.
Then he tossed the supermarket bags onto the shelf by the kitchen entrance to the right and quickly crossed the somewhat empty living room. He stepped into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, yanking open his shirt.
The images in his memory were far too vivid and intense. He couldn't help but check again.
There were no wounds on his chest. No blood. It was as if "death" had never occurred.
Darian frowned, checked that his clothes were intact, and pressed against the spot where, in his memory, the frog had gouged out his heart and lungs. Only then did he feel certain that he wasn't a man "missing a heart."
"This city is cursed..."
He muttered under his breath and turned to leave the bathroom, heading back to the living room.
Behind him, the surface of the mirror above the sink silently cracked, fine fissures spreading across it. only to silently and swiftly vanish, as if nothing had happened.
Seated on the living room sofa, Darian sorted through the mess of thoughts in his mind. He didn't know how much time passed, but eventually, his utterly exhausted mind finally drifted into a groggy calm.
Sleep overtook him.
The grogginess lingered for what felt like an eternity, until a sudden thud exploded in his mind like someone striking stone with a shovel right above his head—jerking Darian abruptly awake from his slumber.
He opened his eyes in the dark and froze for a moment before realizing what had changed the living room lights were off.
But he distinctly remembered leaving them on before he fell asleep!
A sudden jolt of unease shot through him. Instinctively, Darian reached for the baton beside him. It was the first thing he had prepared for self-defense upon arriving in this strange and unsettling city. Though it hadn't been used yet, having a stick in hand at least offered some psychological comfort—something primal, something reassuring for a scared, upright ape.
Then, cautiously, he began to sit up slowly, listening carefully to any sound in the darkness.
In such a desolate and remote place, a break-in wasn't entirely unimaginable. In fact, Darian found himself hoping it was a thief—at least a thief could be dealt with using the baton. A frog over a meter tall, on the other hand, could not.
But the living room was silent. There were no signs of forced entry and no sounds of a burglar moving around.
The good news - no sounds from the frog either.
Using the dim light spilling in from the streetlamp outside the window, Darian crouched low, moved cautiously, and made his way to the wall where the switch was. He raised his hand and turned the light back on.
Light immediately filled his eyes as he scanned the living room from the shadows.
He blinked a few times. Something in his field of vision felt off, though he couldn't quite say what. Still, the room was now lit, and he could clearly see his surroundings again.
Slightly hunched and gripping the baton, he began inspecting every corner of the house.
The first floor had only the living room, kitchen, dining room, and a temporarily unused spare room. Everything appeared normal.
He stood at the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor, hesitated for a moment, and then started climbing.
There were three rooms upstairs: one was his current bedroom, another was used for storage, and the third at the end of the hallway was locked.
When Darian had first moved in, that room had already been locked. He had searched the entire house but never found the key.
He checked his own room and the storage room across from it, then approached the locked door.
As always, it was tightly shut.
In fact, Darian had already tried some... less subtle methods to open it. His techniques included, but weren't limited to, a power drill and a handheld electric saw. Yet none of those attempts had worked. Sparks flew, drill bits and saw blades dulled to useless nubs, but the seemingly flimsy wooden door remained completely unscathed.
Of course, he also tried more professional methods like calling locksmiths. He contacted three. The first two got lost trying to find Wutong Road No. 66 in the old part of town and gave up. The third one made it just past the intersection before getting hit by a motorcycle. He'd only just been discharged from the hospital last week...
It was as if some mysterious force was actively preventing Darian from opening this locked room in his own home.
Yes, even though this old house was the only place in the city where he felt relatively safe, it too had plenty of things that felt... off.
Darian reached out and grasped the doorknob in front of him, giving it a twist. As expected, it didn't budge.
There was no unexpected twist of fate. It was still locked.
But then, perhaps it was just his imagination—in the moment when he futilely twisted the handle, he thought he heard something. A faint, almost inaudible laugh.
It came from the other side of the door. A young woman's voice, it seemed, quietly mocking his inability to deal with a door.
Darian froze, every hair on his body standing on end.
In the one place in this entire city that he considered safe, in the house where he had lived for the past two months—inside this room that had always been locked—someone was in there.
...How the hell hadn't she starved to death?
(End of Chapter)
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