The Stryffs were an hour late for dinner today, but before that, Sasha got a small pot of sweet and sour spearberries as an extra appetizer, and Stryff baked him a small piece of bread.

That's enough for a kid, but by the time the pureed lettuce and fried shrimp dipped in cheese and savory sauce were brought to the table, he couldn't help but eat and eat a little, but he didn't touch the lamb chop, but the blueberry parfait that came up at the end was so appetizing to him (though it was only two or three tablespoons) that when the belated dinner was over, Sasha felt a little ...... Slight indigestion - this little trouble did not require a prescription, but the full stomach drew most of the blood for digestion, and the mind was inevitably insufficient, and the sandy eyelids drooped uncontrollably, and the head covered with golden-brown soft fur swayed over the shoulders.

Streiff put the dishes away and piled them into the kitchen sink.

Before being wrapped in a warm, fluffy bath towel, Sasha was almost asleep. Streiff brought the mouthwash: "Take a sip," he said, "but don't swallow it, dozens of times, and spit it out." The spicy taste of the mint mouthwash sobered Sasha for a few seconds, but soon he was stuffed into the soft, thick blanket that held him up like a cloud of heat, and the child happily closed his eyes and relaxed, his hair was still a little wet, his face tilted slightly to one side, his breathing was so soft that he could barely hear it. Stryff sat on the edge of the bed, quietly waiting, listening, waiting for the child's breathing to settle down—he prostrate himself so that his ears pressed against his tiny chest through the blanket, and he could clearly hear the egg-sized heart beating vigorously, pounding, pounding...... The child's abundant heat emanates from under the blanket and seeps into his skin and blood.

"Oh, Sasha," he said quietly, joyfully, "Sasha." ”

The child rubbed his teeth in his sleep, and Sasha already had this bad problem, which was exacerbated during the tooth change.

Stryff looked up, and after a moment's thought, dimmed the light.

He walked out of the room, not making a sound, and the dishes in the kitchen sink were consuming a little time, but not long, at least not too late for an adult by the time Stryff cleaned himself up, sat down in the little study, and added brandy to the boiling coffee.

The small study was on the ground floor with a double-open, framed-glass floor-to-ceiling door that opened onto the garden, but now it was tightly closed. Looking through the black wooden frame around the glass, one can see a marble fountain used to store water, and around it is a large canopy of wood hibiscus that has grown completely out of control, pink or red flowers trembling in the night wind, and two bull terriers sleeping under the sparse and cluttered stalks and leaves, they sleep not very well, scratching their faces and snorting from their noses every once in a while.

Stryff sat in a chair he had bought from an auction, a small armchair with an embroidered cover, the dark green cover was a little frayed at the edges, but it was clear that the man who had sewn it had put a lot of thought into it.

He didn't turn on the lights, and the darkness didn't get in his way. The mixed scent of coffee and brandy filled the nostrils, but it wasn't long before other scents in the study got involved—damp earth, bluegrass planted in the dirt, moth-infested books, new and old paintings, wood, cloth and leather on the ceiling and walls.

The events of two hours ago rushed up like a tide rising in the gravitational pull of the moon, and he carefully sorted and selected in his brain, sorting the useful things that he had to do once a day, lest he should take them out and use them when—and suddenly, the swamp that was churning in the golden light twisted, and it spewed an unimaginable stench, and at the same time it became black and deep, and it gradually became the cellar—stop, Striff said to himself, stop, but he couldn't get his hands on itThe lid of the cellar opened, and what was hidden inside squirmed and overflowed with a breath similar to that of a corpse fermented - he grabbed the arm of his chair, and the hard walnut rattled between the fingers of the madman, the criminal, and the psychiatrist. Once again, Hopkins heard the fawn wailing, the deserters eating it before they could eat Sasha—he was caught, and the soldiers were caressing him, face, arms, body, legs, to see how much flesh he still had on him...... His eyes were closed, and his eyeballs were rolling rapidly under his eyelids—it was Sasha who was being taken out, and he chased after him, only to have his arm snapped between the slamming wooden doors.

There was a sharp pain in his arm, and the ghoul slipped out of his chair, and he collapsed on the cold hardwood floor, a voice talking.

Aren't you happy? They didn't pick you, you won't be killed, you're still alive, you're not eaten.

But Sasha was eaten.

A shrill howl pierced through the glass, and the bull-terriers were startled, and they stood up and looked at the source of the sound, but it was so dark that nothing could be seen.

Streiff regretted it a little, maybe he should have put some music on it, and on top of the record player was a vinyl disc of Mendelssohn's works performed by the Vienna State Radio Symphony Orchestra in 1998, among which were the very famous "A Midsummer Night's Dream" and "The Hebrides Isles", and the light on the record package read "beautiful and quiet melodies and complete and rigorous forms rich in the most poetic fantasies of music" - they were light, cheerful, full of sunshine and stars, humorous, scherzo, they would guide him to a good place, For example, that day in the forest park, he hid in his car and watched Catherine with a ponytail running down a path covered with fallen leaves into the woods, a beautiful girl who could almost represent Valkyrie (the female god of war in Norse mythology), with strong muscles, smooth skin, and sparkling eyes, and a golden ponytail flicking above her gray hooded pullover, like a doe's tail...... Shake, shake, he was still her hunting target at that time - he carefully pulled the memory out of the room, he got into Catherine's car, the car was full of the smell of Catherine, he took a deep breath, he took Catherine into his lungs, and took it back.

He built a room for Catherine that day, far from the cellar.

The woodwinds play syncopation, and the rising tones of the chords set off the brass instruments to replay the theme with a grand, full-bodied sound. And then that central C under the D key reappears.

Stryff reluctantly recalls the bolt that pierced Catherine's head, and it was exactly the same bolt that pierced the fawn's head.

The ghoul curled up on his side, his cheeks pressed against the floor, the part of the wood in front of his nose damp with the heat and the cold from the ground, the slippery feeling extending all the way to his cheekbones.

A desire that grew and spread from his heart like moss in a swamp, it had not appeared for a long time, it smelled of dust and mildew, but Anthony as a criminal. Hopkins welcomes this - he plans to kill someone and then eat him/her.

He could have chosen Mr. Henry, they had just talked, the man was healthy and strong, but Hopkins was able to hold him, and unknowingly—Mr. Henry had to jog along the asphalt road separating the park from the housing area every morning, with his dog, snorting, and when he turned back, he would have become so tired that Hopkins could have caught him from the woods if he wanted to. Those two dogs? No problem, Hopkins hidden inside Stryff could tell at a glance that they were two cowards with huge bodies, and he had noticed that the dogs had a strong instinct to avoid bad luck when he first entered the Henry family yard, and that the dogs would run away and roam the highway wailing instead of pounce on their masters, and they might have attracted others into the woods, but by that time he should have taken care of everything and walked.

Much to the ghoul's annoyance, he couldn't cut off the part he wanted to eat as clearly as he used to, if it was the ribs or the thymus, the liver, something like that—it was easy for the police or the FBI agent to make some unpleasant associations—and the coroners were so clever and careful that they would investigate the body for mutilation almost as soon as they got started, and it was impossible to hide it...... Or he could fake the whole thing as a dingo attack. There are many wild dogs here, and they are also very ferocious, and there have been accidents in the past few years where people who fell to the ground due to poison or drunkenness were attacked by wild dogs and ate a part of their body.

Where do wild dogs prefer? They rarely tear human clothes, especially the heavy winter sweatshirts and jeans, and they gnaw on the face, hands and feet of their victims, but if the other person has an open arms, that's another matter.

The ghoul's long, pale fingers crawled like spiders on the floor, the door to the little study swayed, and his eyes were dark red in the darkness, like lumps of coal that the devil had picked up from hell.

The door opened, and the dark red eyes saw first a clump of hair that appeared softer and hazy in the light, then deep purple-blue eyes, and a somewhat pale face.

"Sasha?" The sound echoed through the house, buzzing, like a big bee flying around.

"Yes." The child said.

There was a dark, ominous atmosphere around the ghoul, but it wasn't a big deal for Sasha, who looked serene, holding a glass of water in one hand and clenching his fist in the other.

"Sasha?"

"I'm here." Sasha said the night wind passed through the hallway and pierced his pajamas. He got goosebumps on his neck and arms.

The ghoul hung his head, his eyes reflecting the shadow of Sasha, "Oh," he said, "I'm sorry I woke you up." ”

"It's okay," Sasha said dryly, "but I'm a little cold." ”

The ghoul immediately picked him up from the ground, the slippers were left on the floor, he held the child's feet firmly with his other hand, Sasha was not wearing socks, and his heels were cold. He walked back to his study and sat down in the armchair, Sasha resting on his lap.

"Would you like some water?" Sasha said.

"Yes," said the ghoul, "yes, I need it." He took the glass from Sasha's hand and took a sip of fresh mint leaves.

"Yes," he said, "anything else?" Sasha raised his hand and stretched out his little fist, the soft little fingers touched his lips, the ghoul meekly opened his mouth, a pill was placed on his tongue, he closed his mouth and tasted it: "A little sour, a little nose rush, it feels like a soda tablet, it's like nail polish, honey, it's aripiprazole (a mental illness medication) - okay, give me two more tablets, I think, three copies." He swallowed the pill and took two more sips of water, "Yes," he said, "Now that we need to wait, will you stay with me for a while?" ”

"Wow." Sasha said.

They snuggled up like this for a while.

Sasha could feel his chest slowly (but exactly) loosen and the arms around him were no longer so tight.

The ghoul's head was tilted back, the drug was working, all senses became a little dull, and he said, "Are you still hungry?" Sasha? The voice seemed to float down from the water: "Do you need food?" ”

What was he asking about that Sasha? It is very likely that Sasha did not grow to the stage of tooth change, Sasha once saw her in her father's palace of memory, her father's little sister, the fat baby, the sun, the copper basin, the purple eggplant.

The cellar had never been opened in front of him, but he had seen the white baby teeth.

"No," Sasha said calmly, "I'm not hungry anymore." ”

(To be continued)

Here's an explanation:

Anthony. Hopkins is the original name of the ghoul, and Streiff is his pseudonym.

The previous Sasha, that is, the female, Sasha who did not live to change her teeth was the ghoul's younger sister, and in the later stages of the war, she was eaten as food by the rout.

The latter Sasha, our Sasha, was born to the Ghoul and Catherine, and was considered by the Ghoul to be the reincarnation of the previous Sasha. Catherine was killed by ghouls before she was a month old, and she was an FBI agent before that.

Catherine has a twin sister of the same name, who is a member of the "Agency" (a semi-civilian, semi-official organization that hunts down perverted criminals for profit) and is currently trying to track down ghouls and scatter in the sand.

Also, it's really not easy to write about madness......