In one area of the UK, there was once such a rumor. Pen "Fun" Pavilion www.biquge.info

The death of the Riddle family was caused by Frank.

Frank Bryce is the gardener of the Riddle family. He lives alone in a dilapidated log cabin on the grounds of Riddle House. Frank returned from the battlefield with a stiff leg and an extreme aversion to crowds and noise, and has been working for the Riddle family ever since.

Yet in the neighboring town of Greater Hangleton, in a dim, gloomy police station, Frank stubbornly repeats over and over again that he is innocent. On the day the Riddles died, he said, the only person he saw near the house was a teenage boy he didn't know, with dark hair and a pale face. No one else in the village had ever seen such a boy, and the police believed that it was made up by Frank out of thin air.

Just when the situation was extremely dire for Frank, the Riddles' autopsy report returned, and the situation was reversed at once.

The police have never seen a more bizarre report. A team of doctors examined the body and concluded that no one in the Riddle family had been injured by poison, sharp weapons, or pistols, nor had they been suffocated or strangled. In fact, (the report goes on in a tone of obvious bewilderment), the Riddles all three appeared to be healthy—except for one point, when they all died. The doctors had noticed (as if they were determined to find something wrong with the corpses) that everyone in the Riddle family had a look of horror on their faces—but, as the already helpless cops said, who had ever heard of three people being scared to death at the same time? Since there was no evidence that the Riddles were murdered, the police had to release Frank. The Riddles were buried in Little Hangleton's church cemetery, and for some time afterward, their graves were the subject of curious interest. To everyone's surprise and suspicion, Frank Bryce actually returned to his cabin in the Riddle House garden.

But Frank didn't leave, he stayed, tending the garden for the next family who lived in Riddle House, and then working for the next family, neither of whom lived long. The new owners said that perhaps it was because of Frank, who had always felt that the place had an eerie feel. Later, because it was uninhabited, the house gradually fell into disrepair and became dilapidated.

The rich man who recently owned Riddle House neither lived here nor used the house for any purpose. The villagers said he kept it for "tax reasons," but no one knew exactly what was going on. However, the wealthy homeowner continued to pay Frank to work as a gardener. Frank was now approaching his seventy-seventh birthday, and he was so deaf that his bad leg was stiffer than ever, but he could still be seen working in the flower beds in good weather, even though the weeds crept around him.

Besides, Frank has more than just weeds to deal with. The boys in the village always liked to throw stones at the windows of Riddle House. Frank struggled to keep the grass level, but they rode their bikes on it. On one or two occasions, they broke into the old house in order to bet with each other. They knew that old Frank was devoted to the care of the house and the garden, almost to the point of obsession, and they were willing to see him limp through the garden, wielding his cane, and shouting at them in a hoarse voice, and they were especially happy at this time. As for Frank, he believes that the boys tortured him because they, like their parents and grandparents, thought he was a murderer. So, on that August night, when Frank woke up and saw something unusual on top of the mansion, he thought the boys had come up with a new trick to punish him.

Frank was woken up by the pain of that bad leg, and now that he is older, the leg hurts even worse. He got out of bed and limped downstairs into the kitchen, trying to fill the hot water bottle and warm his stiff knees. He stood by the pool, filling the kettle with water, and as he looked up at Riddle House, he saw a glimmer of light in the upstairs window. Frank immediately understood what was going on. The boys had broken into the old house again, the glimmering light and the darkness of the light was uncertain, and it was obvious that they were still on fire.

Frank didn't have a phone in his house, and he had developed a deep distrust of the police since he was brought in for interrogation about the Riddles' sudden death. He quickly put the kettle down, dragged the bad leg, and went back upstairs as quickly as he could, got dressed, and went back to the kitchen. He removed the rusty old key from the hook by the door, picked up the cane leaning against the wall, and stepped into the night.

There is no sign of a forced break-in at the front door of Riddle House, and the windows are intact. Frank limped to the back of the house, stopped at a door that was almost completely obscured by a creeper, pulled out the old key, inserted it into the keyhole, and opened it silently.

Frank walked into the large, cavernous kitchen, which he hadn't been in in years. Still, despite the darkness in all directions, he remembered where the door to the hallway was. He fumbled his way over, and the smell of decay came to his nose. He pricked up his ears, catching every trace of footsteps or speech above his head. He came to the hallway, where there was a little light coming in because of the large mullioned windows on either side of the front door. He began to go upstairs, thinking to himself that thanks to the thick dust that had accumulated on the stone steps, the sound of his footsteps and crutches was muffled and undetectable.

On the landing of the staircase, Frank turned to the right and immediately saw where the intruder was. At the top of the hallway, a door opened a crack, and a shimmer of light shot out of the crack, casting an orange-yellow light on the dark floor. Frank leaned sideways, cautiously approaching little by little, his cane clutched tightly in his hands. A few steps away from the doorway, he could see the room in a narrow slit.

He saw it now, and the fire was born in the hearth. This came as a surprise to him. He stopped, pricked up his ears, and heard only the voice of a man in the room.

"I, I can't drink, damn it, can you feed me for a while." This is the first sound.

"Stay a minute." Another voice said. It was a man, too—but in a very strange voice, as cold as the wind. Somehow, the sound made the thin hair on the back of Frank's neck stand on end.

Frank pressed his right ear to the door, trying to hear better. There was the beep of a bottle on something hard in the room, followed by the cacophony of a heavy chair dragging across the floor. Frank caught a glimpse of two figures in the room.

"Where's your pet?" The cold voice asked.

"I don't know." The voice sounded, annoyed and angry, "I think, maybe around the house......"

"Take care of your brute, if you want less trouble."

Frank frowned, pressed his ear to the door again, and listened hard. There was a moment of silence in the room.

"Why, wait until the Quidditch Cup is over?" The second voice said. (Frank plucks his ears harder with his fingers, wondering at the strange word)

"Because at this time, wizards are pouring into this country from all over the world, and the nosy guys of the Ministry of Magic are all out there, and they stand guard, watch for unusual activity, and check everyone's identity repeatedly. They were all about safety, safety, for fear that the Muggles would notice something. So we have to wait. ”

Frank doesn't pick his ears anymore. He heard the words "Ministry of Magic," "Wizard," and "Muggle" with unmistakable accuracy. Obviously, these words all have mystical meanings, and as far as Frank knows, there are only two kinds of people who speak code words: spies and criminals. Frank gripped his cane tighter and listened more intently.

"Of course I'll wait, but you? What you look like.... Do you have to wait? ”

"Humph! Don't think I don't know what you're thinking! The angry, yet jealous voice said, "If you resurrect me the way you do, I'm sure... I'm sure you'll be able to control your body! ”

For those few seconds, Frank could only hear the crackling of flames.

"If you want to extend your influence here..... You'll have to do it according to my plan! ”

"I use that boy for my own reasons, and I've already explained to you that I won't use anyone else's. I've been waiting for thirteen years, and it wouldn't hurt to wait a few more months. As for the tight protection the boy was undergone, I'm sure my plan would work. I need your help now..."

The second voice said a lot of things in a row, as if it made him very tired....

"The disappearance of the woman named Bertha Jorkins will soon be noticed." The first voice said

"No!" The second voice whispered, "No, according to my plan, the Ministry of Magic will never know who else is dead." You help me do it, don't worry about it. I wish I could do it myself, but in my current situation...... With one more death, there will be no obstacles in our path to Harry Potter. Then my faithful servants will join us—"

(To be continued.) )