625: 144.
Maybe tonight or tomorrow morning 625: 144.
Maybe tonight or tomorrow morning An exhausted Jonathan returned ho.
“Daddy!”
The little boy cheered and lunged into Jonathan’s arms, while the dog they had picked up a few months ago also ca over, wagging its tail.
Besides the familiar sll of tobacco from the factory clinging to his clothes, the little boy slled sweets on his father.
lting away the weariness with a tender smile, Jonathan took out a pastry wrapped in leather paper from his pocket.
“Hooray!”
The little boy held the pastry and with the dog returned to the table to unwrap it.
“Did the factory decide to keep hiring people?” Jonathan’s wife, spotting a hint of joy in the creases of her husband’s brow, ca over to help him out of his coat.
“Several more carts of raw materials have arrived; I’ll be able to work for a few more weeks,” Jonathan said as he took off his hat and placed it on the coat his wife had taken off.
“People can barely afford food, who is buying tobacco?” his wife asked, puzzled.
“That’s not for us to smoke,” Jonathan pointed at the long-empty pipe on the table.
“Those rich folks and noblen want to stock up.
Us commoners only buy it if we’re desperate for a smoke.”
Despite life being incredibly tough, expensive tobacco that could montarily make one forget their troubles hadn’t decreased much in sales.
“Still, don’t waste money.
That pastry could have bought several pounds of sawdust bread,” the wife murmured gently as she took her husband’s coat and hat to the bedroom.
As usual, she slapped the dust off of the clothing, but when she brushed the hat, a sudden pain shot through her palm, and she cried out.
“What’s wrong?”
The husband, rolling up his sleeves and about to eat the now-ward breakfast, looked towards the bedroom.
The wife turned her body to let the dim light from the living room into the bedroom.
She opened her palm, and in the gloom, it seed as though sothing as ethereal as wadding burrowed into the center of her hand.
She rubbed the painful spot, but it didn’t hurt any longer.
“Just a prick, it’s nothing,” she said, hanging the felt hat on the coat rack and returning to pat the coat, though now her movents were much gentler: “Mrs.
Paler ca by earlier and ntioned her husband is returning from the neighboring county and might visit us.”
“When?” Jonathan called from the dining room.
“Perhaps tonight or early tomorrow morning.”
“I have the night shift.” Jonathan said helplessly.
“You’ll have to host them for .”
With that, Jonathan placed today’s wages, 15 shillings, on the table.
There was no response from the bedroom, but he continued eating, unconcerned.
The little boy knelt on the chair and placed the pastry on the windowsill to untie the string.
Upon unfolding the leather paper, the pastry, sowhat burnt and more biscuit-like, was revealed.
The little boy carefully broke off a piece and put it in his mouth, the cheap saccharin dissolving, yet it was the most delicious sweetness a child of his era could taste.
“Woof…”
A whimper sounded beside him; the dog, envious, pawed at the little boy, wagging its tail non-stop.
The little boy glanced back at his father to see if he was watching, then broke off another tiny piece for Andy—who, to his surprise, suddenly leaped off the chair and ran to the bedroom door.
“Andy?” The little boy called softly, but the dog paid no attention, staring intently into the darkness of the bedroom, its wagging tail now starting to tuck between its legs…
Odd, indescribable whispers emanated from the bedroom.
They were like water pouring on soft earth, or like sprouts breaking through the soil…
In the vague darkness where details were hard to discern, a figure lay motionless on the ground, and a surface that seed like fuzzy fur, like animal hair, appeared on the figure…
“Woof…”
Andy, with its tail between its legs, fled from the door, burrowing into the little boy’s arms, trembling violently.
The wind perceived everything.
The insignificant breeze stirred up by the dog’s movents turned into a draft that swirled towards the prostrate figure.
The “fur” on the surface of the figure, like grasses on the plains, swayed low and then, like dandelion seeds carried by the wind, lifted into the air, tacitly drifting like a boat on the sea, and wafted into the living room.
“Awooo—Awooo—”
The animal’s danger perception made the puppy more aware of danger than humans, emitting pitiful screams.
The little boy looked confused, and Jonathan frowned as he asked, “Did you bully Andy?”
He hadn’t noticed the snow-white dandelions drifting in from behind, settling on his clothes, his hair…
and on his exposed skin.
“Hiss—”
Snap!
Jonathan reflexively slapped the sudden sharp pain on the back of his neck and scratched his neck curiously.
Are there still mosquitoes now?
In the corner of his eye, Jonathan dimly saw many phantom-like little things flying past him, drifting toward the little boy and the puppy by the window.
Dandelions?
When did so many dandelions get here inside the house?
He wondered curiously.
…
“Ten Royal City children, off to work for food to eat; one choked to death, beyond all help, ten now left at nine.
Nine Royal City children, staying up late, truly beat; one falls asleep never to wake, nine now left at eight.
Eight Royal City children, into the fog for wonder seek; one left behind right there, eight now left at seven…”
The eerie children’s rhy echoed carelessly with the children’s unrestrained shouts over the streets.
Lu Li, who was quietly flipping through books, shifted his gaze to look outside the window.
The children chanted in unison, running past the inn down below.
“Seven Royal City children causing trouble, broke the wall; head explodes, life is stalled, seven now left at six.
Six Royal City children, toying with spirits calling wrath; cos a soul-suck, with a whoosh, six now left at five.”
People on the street murmured among themselves, instinctively avoiding the children chanting these terrifying rhys.
“Should we go investigate?” Anna said to Lu Li as she pushed him toward the window, a frown on her face.
Lu Li gently shook his head, soone was already on it.
“Two Royal City children, sighing deeply ‘neath the beam; down drops a noose, oh how they grieve, two now left at one.
One Royal City child, returns alone whence he ca; hangs himself and ends his days, not one of them remained!”
The children recited the unsettling rhy over and over again, making adults anxious as they ran from one end of the long street to the other, until a man in a tailcoat with a cane stopped them.
“Who told you this…
rhy.”
The man’s serious expression frightened the children.
The grave man scared them more than the catchy rhys they recited without understanding.
“Who are you!” a little boy mustered the courage to shout back, looking upward.
“Exorcist,” the man didn’t brush them off because they were children.
He took out his investigator’s badge to show them, which brought exclaid gasps from the kids.
The brave little boy said weakly, “We heard it in a little wooden cabin.”
The children all spoke at once to tell the Exorcist the address of the cabin, then hastily ran off, leaving him standing there, pondering.
…
Four patches of dandelion blood inside the cabin.
The beautiful snow-white dandelions fell gently, like snowflakes.
Puff—
A few dandelions got too close to the oil lamp on the table and lted away instantly like snowflakes.
Outside the window, the street was bustling with activity, and so children were playfully chasing and running across.
The dandelions quietly waited in the field, waiting for the mont when a gentle breeze would co.
Maybe tonight or in the early morning tomorrow.
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