Horror licked his mind, and his trembling hands could barely grasp the white glowing flat box.

From the shape of the hand to the fluorescence, it was shaped to be familiar to Kraft. It is strange and unfamiliar, only the hollow form is imitated, and the inner void can only provide enough white light to illuminate the surrounding body.

Kraft slammed the glowing surface upside down on the ground and kicked it open, and with a slight friction sound, the strange thing that looked like a mobile phone slid against the wall with a low, crisp "click".

All that was left of the light source in the room was a glimmer of moonlight.

He slowly stepped back, his hands behind his back, and pressed against the rough, cold wall. The brain was working, thinking about what it was in its hand and why it was here.

The so-called familiar and strange things are probably like this, and the familiar parts make the object appear more abnormal, obviously having a similar form, but in fact it is a completely different thing, like cutting corners because of the limitations of ability.

The undesirable resemblance gives Kraft a great sense of unreality about everything, suspicion grows, and denies the reality of the scene.

He felt that he should have realized his situation in some bizarre dream, but he couldn't wake up and was temporarily trapped in the illusion. It feels so real, whether it's the frosted texture of the walls or the sound you hear, the details are full and full.

It was too reckless to kick it away, Kraft thought, and it should be quiet in an unfamiliar situation.

This was also part of my grandfather's teaching. The unusual fright disrupted the pace he should have, and he should have been more careful.

But it wasn't too bad, he forgot to get rid of the scabbard at his waist as he lay down on the bed, and his most trusted weapon was still by his side.

Holding the metal buckle with his left hand and his back against the wall, Kraft moved quietly towards the doorway. A place that can quickly shift and create obstacles should be the first thing that comes to mind in any situation.

The outstretched right hand was the first to touch the deadbolt, the position did not change, if an accident occurs, the best choice is always to open the door and run away when everything is unclear.

Vision gradually adapts to the environment, and it takes time for the cells on the retina to switch to scoretic vision, from a detailed picture in the light to a pattern that is not clear but adapts to the dim environment.

The outlines of the tables, chairs and wooden beds emerge, and the whole room does not seem to have changed, and there is no bloody plot such as "strange ceiling".

It's just that it's so quiet, so quiet that Kraft can hear his own drum-like heartbeat, deliberately suppressing the sound of his slow breathing. Blood carries oxygen through the body, awakening a powerful locomotor system to deal with unknown threats lurking in the anomaly.

It stands to reason that even if it is late at night, there will be some voices from other rooms that are not suitable for all ages, and the boss who keeps vigil downstairs will adjust the position of the tables and chairs.

If Old Wood had been there, he would have lowered his voice and said in the deep voice he had always used to tell mysterious stories, "Dead people don't have a sound......

Kraft had long since passed the age when he would be frightened by the silent night, but it was still creepy to think about. The strange objects that suddenly appeared on his body, the quiet and unusual hotel, almost made it clear that something was wrong.

Holding the deadbolt, he stopped all his movements, calming his heart and breathing in place, waiting for anyone or something lurking in the darkness and silence to reveal his feet.

Patience, this is an important thing that Kraft learned in military training. You will never lose time in exchange for your life.

In the silent darkness, silence responds to silence, this is an instinct engraved in genes, from the grotesque stories of impulsive kinders in ancient times who disappeared into the darkness, and there is a reflex in human instinct to remain quiet in silence.

He waited, nervous, and his sensitive senses retrieving endless information. The sense of time is deceived, and seconds and minutes are difficult to judge in stillness.

After a long wait, and as if it had only been a short moment, he noticed that the moonlight on the floor was different from before. The white light grew brighter and stretched longer on the floor, first some distance from the bed, and now at the foot of the bed.

It seemed that the light source was adjusting its position, approaching his window, slowly and firmly approaching him.

[That's not the moon]

Consciousness comes alive and reveals the nature of the light source.

[You've seen it]

The white, gentle light approached so softly that it was impossible to detect the magnitude of its movement without careful observation, indulging in the illusion of peace.

Kraft slowly pulled the bolt out of his right hand, and he couldn't stay in the room any longer.

The light continued to intensify, passing through the gaps, and the white light on the ground widened, turning from faint lines to bands of light, and the floor was almost dazzling.

But that softness and softness, paranoid, remained, like a camouflage-colored fur that could not be taken off, unable to change with the change of the seasons, and appeared in any occasion out of place.

The deadbolt was pulled out completely, and Kraft felt for the doorknob and pulled the door inward little by little with the utmost gesture.

The light source was closer, and at its peak brightness, there was a slight creaking sound, and the leaking light jittered and changed, that it was something exerting force on the outside, and the weak plank was deformed.

However, the window is stuck on the inside and is opened outward.

Kraft had pushed the door open enough to pass through it, and squeezed sideways out of the door, he was moving to the first floor, where there was more room to maneuver, and the tables and chairs placed horizontally and vertically favored the agile.

The body deftly squeezed through the gap, without making a sound. Before leaving, he took one last look at the window, where the light source was still outside, unchanged.

"Tuk-tuk."

The rhythmic sound of percussion sounded from the window, and the sound alone would have been perceived as a polite visitor. The gentle and polite strength reminds Kraft of Romeo's visit to Juliet in the middle of the night. Restraint, but also a desire to attract attention, makes people can't help but trust.

However, this is the second floor, and only the half-asleep victim will take care of the visitors outside the window.

The deadbolt was slipped into the pocket, and the piece of hardwood was weighty enough to be used with a quick speed to get in the way.

"Tuk Tuk!" Another round of tapping sounded, and it became rapid.

Kraft closed the door and retreated down the stairs, not yet sure how to walk through the staircase that was so unstable that he didn't make a sound.

There was a tooth-aching creak in the room, it was supposed to be the window, something was exerting force on it. As you can imagine, the weak planks are bent and on the verge of breaking.

The thing clinging to the outer wall had far less patience than Kraft, which was good news, as it was closer to acting on instinct than to possessing human-like intelligence, or even inferior to some of the cunning beasts of the forest.

As he retreated to the top of the staircase, the sound of squeezing and deformation was suddenly joined by the crackling of wood fibers, and the splinters splattered, hitting the false door panel, and rolling on the ground.

It chose to crush the whole piece with increasing force rather than hitting it repeatedly, and its counterintuitive pattern of motion led Kraft to speculate that it did not have a musculoskeletal resemblance to a mammal.

The sound showed that the power was still mounting, and more pops rang out, and the overwhelmed window frames were torn off the walls and smashed to the ground.

The sound of small crumbles pervaded, no longer the sound of crushing wood, but some kind of familiar and indiscernible murmur, produced by the vibrations of an unknown vocal organ, reverberating through space.

A white glow spilled through the crack in the door, and it entered Kraft's room through the window, making a viscous sound like a paste brush hitting the wall. It's not so much about getting in, it's about pouring something soft into it.

This disgusting sound is like a bucket of stinking soft seafood, stretching out its own rotten wrists and feet, slapping the walls of the barrel, mixed with the diffuse whispers, and exuding an incomprehensible spiritual temptation.

Kraft gritted the tip of his tongue, endured the nausea and vomited nausea, and gripped the railing and stepped back. Hopefully it won't realize it's going to open the door for a while.

The first floor, where the braziers were usually lit, was pitch black, and the hosts of the vigil were nowhere to be found, and the wooden steps of the building could only be stepped lightly, and the small half weight leaned on the handrails to prevent any loose planks from making a screeching sound.

The dozen or so steps have never been so painful, and it takes all the steps it has learned to keep pace and silence at the same time, so as not to attract its attention.

The light between the cracks in the door flickered, and the light source lingered around the room.

Consciousness uses the auditory information it gathers to describe it as a large, soft-bodied creature, the mucus on the surface annihilates the friction of its movements, and the soft moving organs assist it in crawling against the plane.

There are sharp objects scraping on the ground, either sawdust or the fangs of predatory organs, embedded in constricted and wriggling tissue.

Kraft didn't know how it found itself, perhaps remembered from the light dreams of the salt tide during the day, and quietly came out of the window at night.

Did it enter the realm of reality, or was it hunted down in some dream that it couldn't wake up from? He bit down with his teeth, and the pain on the tip of his tongue came, and it was impossible to distinguish the real from the fake.

There were nineteen steps, and Kraft counted down in his mind, he still had the last two steps. Away from the dangerous second floor, once on the first floor, he can hide in the kitchen, or escape through the door.

The body that has mastered the technique is skillfully leaning back, and the last two levels are not high, and according to memory, you can directly step on the floor in one step.

The blockage came from the soles of his feet, not the floor as expected, and he came into contact with a layer of liquid. The cold, flowing sensation came from the feet, seeping into the boots through the stitched gaps.

Kraft realized he had stepped into knee-deep water, but it was too late. The delicate balance was broken, and Rao took two steps backwards in the water with his balance to stabilize his body, and the water splashed on his face.

The sound of water is clearly audible.

After two seconds of silence, the sound of squeezing and breaking broke out from the second floor in an instant.

Kraft turned and ran.