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墨書 Inktalez
Suddenly, a photograph caught my attention. It was a blurry surveillance screenshot showing a hunched figure pushing a cart filled with Lychees. Despite the poor quality, I recognized her immediately—it was the Grandma I had encountered last night. What was even more bizarre was that in a report from twenty years ago, she looked exactly the same.
I decided to return to that intersection tonight.
As night fell, I hid in the shadows of a street corner. The rain continued to fall, and the air was thick with humidity. Just past eleven o'clock, the familiar figure appeared. Grandma pushed her bamboo basket and walked slowly under the streetlight.
I noticed her movements were somewhat stiff, like a marionette on strings. Soon, the first customer arrived—a man in a black trench coat who bought a large bag of Lychees. As he turned, I caught a glimpse of his profile—his right eye was a prosthetic.
Next came a woman wearing sunglasses; she tilted her head as she walked, seemingly using her left eye to survey her surroundings. When she received the Lychees, I heard Grandma say, "Freshly picked, just for you. I guarantee your satisfaction."
My heart raced. These customers seemed to be missing an eye.
After the last customer left, I quietly followed Grandma. She pushed her bamboo basket and turned into a narrow alleyway. There were no streetlights in the alley, and I could only make out her silhouette in the moonlight.
Grandma stopped in front of an old bungalow. I hid behind a wall, watching as she pulled out a key to unlock the door.
The moment the door opened, I was hit by a pungent smell of formaldehyde.
After Grandma entered the house, I slipped around to the back.
Through the dust-covered window, I witnessed a scene that would haunt me for life.
The room was filled with glass jars, each containing a single eyeball submerged in liquid. In the dim light, those eyeballs seemed to be staring right at me.
The walls were plastered with photographs of young faces, some smiling, others crying.
My gaze suddenly fixed on one particular photo.
It was of a girl in a white dress, smiling at the camera. A tear mole marked the corner of her right eye, identical to the eyeball I had discovered in the lychee last night.
"So it was you."
Grandma's voice came from behind me, and I spun around to see her standing in the moonlight, holding a pair of scissors stained with blood.
"My lychee, was it tasty?"
She grinned widely, revealing a mouth full of yellowed teeth.
"Those children all volunteered. They signed organ donation agreements; I merely took their eyes ahead of time."
I turned to run, but Grandma moved with an astonishing speed.
She grabbed my wrist with a grip stronger than that of any elderly person.
A putrid odor wafted from her.
"Your eyes are beautiful," she said, leaning closer to my face. "They would make perfect special lychees."
I struggled desperately and, in my panic, my hand found a flowerpot on the windowsill.
I seized it and smashed it against Grandma's head; she let out a piercing scream and released her grip.
I stumbled out, hearing Grandma's shrill laughter behind me: "Run, run! You can't escape! My lychee stall will always be waiting for you!"
I stumbled into the depths of the alley, the rain blurring my vision. Grandma's sharp laughter echoed behind me, like a dull knife scraping against my nerves. Suddenly, my foot slipped, and I fell into an underground passage. The damp cement floor was covered in moss, and the air was thick with a heavy smell of mildew and formaldehyde.
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