The Fucking Book – Less Than Mystery – Part One – The Dwarf – Chapter Three(7)

The Only Books I’ve Read Before College! They were, by chance, brought from out of the village by my father. They were nicely bounded by blue cloths on inside-out math textbook covers,well-bended nails and strong threads, with patterns of holes that are made by insects. No idea how old they are. But they’re with me now.

 

Less Than Mystery

Heather Cai

Chapter 3


{Click here to read Chapter Three (6)}

I was touched deeply by its look and the way it behaved. The sound of its fluttering still echoed somewhere in my ears and the images rose before my eyes time and again. I smiled, so did my whole family. My aunt called it God’s wish. My parents called it a Spirit of my grandmother. By then, I was too amazed to give it a proper name.

Vividly, the images of her fresh fingerprints and the mysterious bound feet in gray shoes appeared in my mind when I thought of her now and then. Sometimes they blurred in my dreams, like an abstract photo or movie, replaying over and over again.

* * * * *

There, too many questions occupied my head. More and more question marks that I didn’t understand and couldn’t find the answers. If I asked my parents, they would just say, It’s your grandma, as they told my curious brother. No more talking, respect it and let your grandmother rest in heaven with your grandfather, they marked it by rapping with the chopsticks on their hands. So I buried all the questions deeply into my mind and believed one day, the books would tell me.

The books would tell everything as long as you study in the school, I muttered as I often did.

But the books just say, Don’t believe in any superstitions, don’t believe in any ghost. The books don’t explain, Why. The books just tell me Do this and do that, don’t do this and don’t do that. But the books seldom answered my questions.

After years of school life I found the textbooks were more useful for the countless examinations than what you need in reality. Apart from the textbooks and some other books good for the tests, no other books were allowed in the school before college. No library, no computer either. Oh, there was one room called a library in my high school, but all were rubbish propaganda with all forms of Maoism and Deng Xiaoping Theory. Such as “Long life Mao Zedong Thought” or “Capitalism is bound to perish, and Socialism will replace Capitalism” or “All reactionaries are paper tigers”.  No one ever bothered to borrow anything but some old, useless magazines. Until college, in the library there, finally I started reading some literary books which I found made me feel at home.

Since then, I would rather call the butterfly supernatural.

As through time passing, many complex feelings emerged in my mind and a simple light formed and reflected in my eyes. All told me, that a huge mountain was heavily falling and invisibly pressing down on me and my family.

And the only way that I could go out and see the other side of the mountain was, as I believed, Knowledge changes fate.

The End of The Extract!

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The Fucking Book – Less Than Mystery – Part One – The Dwarf – Chapter Three(6)

The sight of a butterfly’s back!

(Photo taken in Kuala Lumpur of Malaysia, 2015.2)

Less Than Mystery

Heather Cai

Chapter 3


{Click here to read Chapter Three (5)}

After cooking some dishes, with the warmth and excitement melted with the scents of smell from the food, the heat from burning fire and the sticky wetness from the sweats, I couldn’t help stealing some home-made wine. Almost each dish I cooked, I would swallow a mouthful of wine before adding to the food in the pot. The more I drank, the more excited I felt and the stronger waves of warmth kept my feet tipping and tapping time and again. As though I was going to pee very soon.

Meanwhile, my aunt was busily cooking in her kitchen. When she finished some dishes, she would ask me, How many more left to cook? Is the butterfly still there? Strangely, no matter how delicious the smell sent forth from my aunt’s kitchen, the butterfly never flew there. But my aunt was not surprised, not depressed. It seemed as if she was afraid that the butterfly would just fly away and disappear unhappily. As long as the butterfly was happy, she would do as it pleased, she thought.

As each dish was finished, I put it on the table at the end of a spacious hall in the open air with bright sunshine. Before that, my father already put some tobacco leafs and a bamboo pipe on one side. When all the steaming hot dishes were placed on the table, I poured the old sweet sour red wine into eight small red plastic cups, two on each side of the table.  By the time I returned to the kitchen to take off the cooking cloth which was tied to my waist, it was too late to run for the toilet outside the house. I couldn’t move, not even stretch my body. For half a minute, I had to bend my back, press my hands on my thighs and squish my legs tightly, trying to hold it a bit longer. With the thin loose trousers without any belt, I could easily have taken them off and pee into the ditch about five steps behind me.

However, once I tried to relax and move, the uncontrollable waves turned into a different warmth, running down through my thighs and my hands. It felt so good that I just stayed still. I found myself pissing right in front of the burning stove, relieved. I then tied the cooking cloth back to my waist and quickly cleaned the floor. Silently I withdrew to my bedroom to change the clothes. As soon as I joined my family in another room, everyone was ready to watch secretly through the gap in the small window.

Astonishingly, the butterfly appeared and fluttered first around the roof with a small sound. In a moment, it flew closer and closer above the table in an up-and-down circle like ballet dancing. With a certain slow speed, it flew and slightly touched the food on each dish and sometimes the plastic cup of wine, like a dragonfly skimming on the surface of the water.

Later on, peacefully, the butterfly rested on the edge of one side of the table, looking as if it felt full, satisfied and contented for a little while. Then surprisingly, it flew and fluttered again around the roof in circles. Sometimes low, sometimes high. For a few seconds, it stopped over the roof with eyes staring at the food on the table. It seemed as if the butterfly was saying goodbye, sadly and happily. Suddenly, again it circled around for the last time, flew away to the wild and disappeared in the distance.

Since then, nobody ever caught a sight of the butterfly again.

{Click here to read Chapter Three (7)- the end of the extract}

To be continued…

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The Fucking Book – Less Than Mystery – Part One – The Dwarf – Chapter Three(5)

The smokes rising from my home village!
(Picture taken on that early morning in December,2015)

 

Less Than Mystery

Heather Cai

Chapter 3


{Click here to read Chapter Three (4)}

As my grandfather was gone, my father spoke less than before. He looked shorter than usual as he stooped slightly. The words, the face, the eyes, the sighs, the horny hands, and the growing wrinkles on his forehead here and there, all showed that he was laden with heavy responsibilities.

He was a country man. He was not a hero, though. In one way or another, I respected him even though he kept crushing my little heart.

* * * * *

From the day of my grandfather’s death, all of my family had been praying for the special day to welcome the dead back home. It was the greatest feast of the year – the Ghost Day.

In the early afternoon of Ghost Day in July that year, my parents and siblings were watching dull TV shows on a black-and-white television in their bedroom upstairs. My father reckoned not to disturb the butterfly as he expected that it would appear like before. My mother was pleased by my interest in cooking this big dinner for the ancients. My siblings, except my old sister, who was absent, were all excited to watch what would happen during this dinner through the gap in a window. And I alone prepared lots of different food downstairs, as I wished, much more food than ever.

I enjoyed cooking by myself in the kitchen, maybe something to do with my very unusual youth playing with the wood-burning stove and the black charcoal. In the early afternoon, my mother already had offered all the materials and ingredients for the dinner and put them all over the small kitchen. Most of the food was dry home-planted vegetables like lettuce, potatoes, tomatoes, many kinds of beans and some wild plants, hand-made tofu to fry and white tofu to cook soup with the fish heads. Some meat like pork and fried pig skin, fresh fish from the farm lands, crisp fried small crabs and small shrimps caught from the river the day before, a chicken roasted by my mother in the early morning and other different kinds of home-made food which were typical for Ghost Day.  Looking at all these kinds of food with different colors, thinking of the beautiful butterfly, I felt so excited that a great wave of warmth was emerging between my legs. And that sort of warmth just made me feel even more excited.

I cut all into pieces and put them on each plate. I smashed, sliced, chopped and minced all the ingredients, then put them together on a big plate. I made sure that there was a full jar of home-made red wine, from which I used to steal some to drink while cooking. When everything was ready, I set the wood fire and started cooking. Soon after that, the butterfly flew over my head and circled around the kitchen under the roof looking as if it was happy coming home. Somehow, it calmed and comforted me.

{Click here to read Chapter Three (6)}

To be continued…

PS:

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The Fucking Book – Less Than Mystery – Part One – The Dwarf – Chapter Three(4)

 

 

The Dying, The Dead and The Rotten! (Picture taken in Fujian, 2015.12)

Less Than Mystery

Heather Cai

Chapter 3


{Click here to read Chapter Three (3)}

Maybe my father had immense fear of the tough life if my grandfather passed away. As he had been struggling to apply for a pension from the town government for my grandfather, the only source of income there was that needed no hard work or hands like the fucking farmwork.

Each autumn, after the harvest, my father would walk for mile after mile on the mountain path to the town government. But for years the government either gave poor excuses or simply ignored my father without any excuse or regard.

By my father’s sheer persistence, my grandfather got his first pension of thirty-eight yuan per month. Due to my father’s greater persistence in his efforts, the next year, the pension rose to more than one hundred. Thanks to my father’s continuous struggling efforts, two years later my grandfather got about three hundred as his final pension. And the local newspaper came to interview him, wrote and published an article as the headline of the week. Less than half a year after that, he died of the suffering diseases, peacefully.

At his funeral, it was my father who shed the most tears in despair among the whole family as though he had become an orphan who wanted love from parents the most. The others just took it ritually as if his death was only a part of nature. And the villagers were emotionless and silent as usual as though my grandfather never existed. Throughout the whole funeral I was too sad to cry. Moreover I was thinking of him and the old days when we were so close to each other. He never died in my heart. Never will, I thought.

It was a must to hold a big ceremony for the dead. However, any superstition activity would cost a big fortune at that time and when my grandmother died, no one in the family could really afford it. Now that my grandfather had died this ceremony could be performed for both. It lasted three nights and four days, hosted by a master. Throughout the whole of the activity all the daughters knelt down and cried out aloud till they lost their voices or just fainted onto the ground. And the sons, like my father and my uncle, one held a wooden board with the full name of my grandfather carved on it and the other held one for my grandmother. It was said that only with such a ceremony would the dead have their spirits joined to heaven. So every single family would help the dead to do so, no matter how much the cost.

* * * * *

No more grandfather, no more pension, no more extra living but all primarily relied on small farms with the terraces, no machines, but only by hand, and never ever entirely self-sufficient.

{Click here to read Chapter Three (5)}

To be continued…

PS:

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The Fucking Book – Less Than Mystery – Part One – The Dwarf – Chapter Three(3)

Less Than Mystery

Heather Cai

Chapter 3


{Click here to read Chapter Three (2)}

Since then, there was a big beautiful butterfly flying in the open air above the kitchen when we cooked dinner at the usual time. Then when the cooking was finished, it would fly away as carelessly as it appeared. On the first day, I thought it was just a normal butterfly. But the following day at the same evening cooking time, the same butterfly appeared with its wings fluttering around, as if saying hello. In the same area, it happily circled around above the steaming heat of the cooking pot.  How amazing it was!

Then the next day, and the next, the next and next, the butterfly would appear and disappear at the same time, same place, naturally.  Though the butterfly never visited my grandfather, just like my grandmother never spoke to my grandfather. Not in my memory. Not even a look.

* * * * *

Unfortunately, when I thought I could talk to my grandfather about the butterfly, he was suffering from the terrible illness which made him blind, deafer and mentally crazy. Also the cough made it quite difficult for him to speak for long. Day by day, he looked older, thinner and weaker with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes. Gradually, he turned sad and depressed like a sickened crow in the graveyard, powerless and fruitless.

Is he waiting for something like death? I wondered.

Especially, when fetching his diary regarding his medals from an old wooden box under his bed, and reading quietly beside him, now and then, I sadly glanced at his colorless face and heard his heavy breath from his half blocked nose. Sometimes, I caught some teardrops stealing out of his eyes and falling to his ears across his face. And that too gave me tears in silence.

After my grandfather was unable to live as he had done before, one evening, my father beat him twice in my sight when feeling frustrated from heavy farm work, while my grandfather was groaning noisily and painfully. One time he punched him in the shoulder and the other he kicked his legs with great anger. In half a minute, my father shouted out in a tone like a sudden thunderstorm, Why not die?! Old sickened thing! Burden! Die! Better we all go to die!

The room was dead silent and the air was frozen like a burial chamber under the snows. All of a sudden, my father burst out with floods of tears and cried like a helpless baby in the wild rocky desert. 

{Click here to read Chapter Three (4)}

To be continued…

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The Fucking Book – Less Than Mystery – Part One – The Dwarf – Chapter Three(2)

The one carrying two buckets…

Less Than Mystery

Heather Cai

Chapter 3


{Click here to read Chapter Three (1)}

For the sake of the boy, unconditionally and silently, my grandmother did anything willing and unwilling, happy and unhappy. Until at seventy-three, she died by falling from the path where she was trying to hold a big bucket of piss and shit to water some green vegetables in the plot behind the house under the hill.

On the day of her funeral, my aunt cried loudly under the sun, leaning over the gray wooden coffin every now and then. All the relatives, the neighbors and the other villagers had left the grave but my aunt still knelt down with sobs and sighs. Probably, I guessed, she was regretting what she had done to my grandmother and the way she had treated her. Nobody knew what she was thinking except herself. And a flood of rain poured down on her on the way home after the funeral. All of a sudden, she looked much older with wrinkles climbing over her forehead and her eyes. Later on, with the housework and farmwork, her hands were covered with wrinkles like any other peasant women, like my mother.

On the next morning, my aunt was shocked and screamed out loudly when she went to the fireplace. It was all fingerprints with fresh dirt all over the wall above the wood-burning stove in the kitchen, where my grandmother was supposed to make the fire and cook, if she were still alive. And the dirty fingerprints just haunted my aunt like nightmares.

Madly, she washed them away with buckets of water. Unreasonably, she shouted to my uncle, Why would this happen after her death? No answer was made because nobody was sure, but all believed the fingerprints were of my grandmother. As the nightmares continued my aunt kept moaning every single day, strongly asking the whole family to invite a channeler to find the reason as soon as possible.  So no one in the house could sleep and no one in the house could stand her moaning any longer.

A month later a channeler was invited. As he requested my family found a regular woman, whose family name was Wu, from the other side of the river. When everything was ready he commanded, Nobody make a sound, not even fart. First the channeler made her sit with her head lowered on the table, while the others sat around her and watched in silence. As the air froze he threw out some words that nobody understood. Soon he started chanting and her body, especially her head, began to move more and more violently. When she talked it was with exactly the same tone and same voice as my grandmother. Everybody listened carefully to the heavy conversation between the channeler and the shaking woman, my ghostly grandmother.

Why did you come back to the kitchen? asked the channeler carefully.

I just wanted to cook as usual. It’s my place, with a scary windy voice and a slow ghostly tone, she answered like a real human being.

Do you know that your daughter-in-law will take that place and cook for you, your son, your grandson and maybe the next generation, like you did?  His voice was completely solemn, as if each word was formed by a piece of metal, heavy and clear.

How do you know my second son’s wife will take good care of the family while she regarded me as a slave, she asked back, with a sharp long weightless voice.

Don’t worry. I have talked to her and she so regrets that she hardly slept at nights. She promised, from now on she will take good care of your son, your grandchildren and the whole family, again, the channeler spoke like a holy man.

Alright, I will leave the house immediately. Tell her, I would come back again one day if she broke her vow, her voice turned as thin as the air and sounded relieved but with a somewhat threatening tone.

Your soul can rest in peace now. She will keep her word as she promised. Don’t need you to come or worry. What’s your biggest wish now?

To eat at my elder son’s side and say sorry to his wife. I have done many things wrong to her and her children, her sound was sad and full of regrets.

Your elder son’s wife never blamed you. And you are more than welcome as the family will cook food for you in the near future. Rest in peace please!

Okay, I am leaving. Wish you all well, in a slow speed, her voice dissolved little by little.

The channeler mumbled strangely, then the woman gradually stopped shaking, lifted her head and opened her eyes, recovering and returning to reality. With a great relief, everyone in the family took a deep breath. My aunt, at once, kowtowed thankfully to the channeler nonstop.

 {Click here to read Chapter Three (3)}

To be continued…

PS:

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The Fucking Book – Less Than Mystery – Part One – The Dwarf – Chapter Three(1)

 

Too bad, my grandma died too early, so no portrait of her at all. But her shadow is everywhere in my home village house.

Less Than Mystery

Heather Cai

Chapter 3


{Click here to read Chapter Two (9)}

Ever since my grandmother had chosen to stay with my aunt’s family, she helped with almost all the housework of that family. She became like a labor slave as my aunt told her to do everything. Especially, when my aunt gave birth to a boy, as my grandmother expected, she used the boy as a sort of excuse or sometimes even a weapon to tell my grandmother to do this and to do that. She treated her like shit.

I remember vividly, it was my grandmother who gave me the first small piece of candy I ever had. Gratefully, I wanted to cherish it and didn’t want to eat it up quickly. So I just held it on my little palm and licked it now and again when sitting on a rock outside the house. Suddenly, a naughty boy of a neighbor took it from my hand and ran away immediately with just big laughter left behind, without a shadow, like a little ghost.

Thus I never liked what my grandmother did, not hated either, but more I think I understand as time passes. Even though it was her idea to send me away, to choose to stay at my uncle’s side, to show more favor to my uncle’s son and daughter than anyone in my family, to be mean to my mother, and to complain she should have more sons than daughters, and to leave the family when my grandfather joined the army.

She was a traditional Chinese woman with bound feet. Like most of the other women in the village of her age, some feudal ideas were stamped in her mind. She was a victim of Feudal thinking, I thought. Look at her bound feet all wrapped up with the white cloths! Look at her, she could not even walk properly or stand still. What to blame? What to complain? 

So I used to help with her dirty clothes, wash and comb her long white hair. But she never allowed me to see her bound feet when changing the cloths, even though I begged many times when I was young. So I never got a chance to see the mysterious bound feet without cloths and the dark world under the mysterious bound feet. Not even when she died. Because my mother and aunties never opened the cloths. It seemed as if they had been told as well not to do so.

{Click here to read Chapter Three (2)}

 

To be continued…

PS:

If anyone who simply likes reading the words, the language, the story, or wants to know more about the character, the mysteries and my world, please feel free to like or comment. Any kind of remark will be highly appreciated.

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The Fucking Book – Less Than Mystery – Part One – The Dwarf – Chapter Two(9)

Less Than Mystery

Heather Cai

Chapter 2


{Click here to read Chapter Two (8)}

A sudden wind blew my hair to my mouth. He must have gone to heaven, right?

My grandfather did not answer me right away. He gave a start when I tapped him on the shoulder. I emphasized the words, Did he rise to heaven?

Yes, I guess he did. Do you want me to? laughingly, he asked back.

Yes, I want all the good go to heaven and the bad to hell, I burst out in answer.

Well said, Little Lotus! See? You are a good talker now. You told the ghost story very well. Don’t be afraid to talk more in the future, okay?

I nodded at his meaningful smile and his look of deep significance.

Why would you like to wash your body with that cold water in the river, even in winter? All of a long sudden, this curious question burst out of my mouth, uncontrollably.

Because of the war, I have to clean the blood, the flesh, the dirtiest, the most cruel part, the most horrific memories and many many nightmares, as I did before. Then I can purify my soul and sleep better.

He paused at some point and then added, I bet you too young to understand what a soul is. Don’t worry; you will understand when you grow up.

I was eager to grow up. So eager that once I even put on a white bra of my mother’s and stared at my flat chest in the mirror. Grow up, grow up, when are you going to grow up? I muttered.

When looking far into the high mountains in the distance, my mind always wandered and wondered, What’s on the other side of the mountains?

Lake? Sea? City? Park? Zoo? Bridge? Rainbow? Or just another mountain?

Is it day or night? Sunny or rainy? Clean or dirty?

Are there many different villages and people?

Is there still a war or fighting happening?

Is there any invisible soul hiding behind there?

Is it belonging to another world?

Or the end of the world?

{Click here to read Chapter Three (1)}

To be continued…

PS:

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The Fucking Book – Less Than Mystery – Part One – The Dwarf – Chapter Two(8)

Picture taken in Yunnan – 2014.3

Less Than Mystery

Heather Cai

Chapter 2


{Click here to read Chapter Two (7)}

I took a long deep breath and asked my grandfather to sit down so that I could reach his ears and make sure that he could hear clearly, so I didn’t need to repeat my words. With a trembling voice, finally I managed to speak out loudly and slowly.

It was an early peaceful evening. Half way up the mountain a sudden, sharp wind blew up. The cold air chilled my bones and nerves. I found myself shivering uncontrollably though my young sister was on my back. The other little girls of my age suddenly stopped pulling up the weeds for pigs and ran away like the rats and mice seeing the hunting cat. While I just stood there shilly-shallying and with my eyes fixing on the opposite side of the mountain which was full of graves, like a lost deer in the dark wet forest.

It took place more than half way up the thick dark damp grave mountain behind my family house. It was a sudden exploding sound like a thundering that scared my playmates and they all disappeared out of my sight immediately. Then an incredible image appeared as the moon moving after my shadow. Both the coffin made of wood and the roof made of tiles broke into pieces, flying around with the sound of bombing. A tall male figure in white Chinese styled long gown all over his body with long straight black hair down to the feet rose up from the coffin. He stepped forward a little like the astronauts landing on the moon, as if he had no weight at all. I tried to recognize the horrific face but the face was the same color as the dress and somewhat covered by the black hair. All I could see was only black and white.

Surprisingly, he started walking towards a big pine tree with big branches and there he started rising up a bit, like the one playing Ch’ing Kung on the wall. He just kept walking to the tree at a sharp angle without his hands touching the tree. It looked as if his hands were crossed behind him or hidden under the loose floating gown in the chilling wind. When he climbed to the top of the tree, he turned left and strode in the air towards another tree without a backward glance. Then one tree after another, with one big step after another, the black and white shape naturally moved to the top of the mountain and disappeared over the skyline.

However, I knew who he was. He was the most respected man in our village. He did all the artistic paintings and handwriting for our wooden furniture like closets, bed frames and cabinets which attracted my eyes all the time. Everyone in the village who could walk joined his funeral, so did I. It was the biggest funeral ever in the village, in my memory. I watched his daughters washing his body and changing his gray Qi-pao into a white one. The most fancy one in the village that he seldom wore before he died, I guessed. He was a kindly old man and a sort of artist in my memories. Every aspect of him would show that he was a supernatural being, a creature of a more supernatural world.

{Click here to read Chapter Two (9)}

To be continued…

PS:

If anyone who simply likes reading the words, the language, the story, or wants to know more about the character, the mysteries and my world, please feel free to like or comment. Any kind of remark will be highly appreciated.

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The Fucking Book – Less Than Mystery – Part One – The Dwarf – Chapter Two(7)

The only photo of my grandfather sitting on a rock outside our house.

Less Than Mystery

Heather Cai

Chapter 2


{Click here to read Chapter Two (6)}

It was not funny. It was sad. I knew and I could tell from his long heavy breathless voice.

Years later, he got sick, the same as the other old men in the village. He coughed a lot with sputum and many feelings of discomfort. He not only lost his usual strength but the color on his face and the light in his eyes. Did he surrender to age or did time defeat him? With great sadness I wondered.

Gradually, no more hero could I see from his figure.

Now all that he did was just plant tobacco, only enough for himself to smoke every year, and sometimes, still proudly, mention those glorious days in the wars. Also, during each Spring Festival, he would buy several kilos of fat pork with his pension as a retired soldier and hang it on the beam under the roof with the wind blowing. Then he would stew it by himself on the wood-burning stove and eat alone.

He didn’t like to share it with the family. But no one would like to eat it as it was too fat. Sometimes, I would ask him for one piece to taste and satisfy my curiosity. Generously, he would choose one piece with a little lean meat on it. It tasted good, I told him. And he smiled. Every time, the pork would last two days and he would just cook no more, no less. There was no meat to eat every day, not even every month. So he used to save some for more days and at last, the final meal of the pork got stinky and with maggots on it. But he still would stew it and eat it as usual. He’s not a hero, but probably he’s an iron man, I thought.

Once I asked my grandfather curiously, Do you believe in ghosts?

Impressively, he exclaimed and asked back with a wide smile.

Ghost is ghost. It comes without a shadow and goes without a trace. You cannot tell where it does exist. But only the people who have seen it do believe in the ghost. And if you have seen one, it would just stick in your mind till death. Have you seen any one?

For half a second, I boggled at the thought of telling the ghost story that I had never mentioned to anyone before. I grunted, When speak of the devils, the devils shall come; when speak of the ghost, the ghost shall come. Should I tell my grandfather? Would he believe in what I had seen?

 My grandfather stared at my eyes filled with fear, looking as if he already had read my mind. With a loving smile, he cleared his throat and encouraged me to talk.

Don’t be afraid, tell me Little Lotus. You have done nothing wrong. The ghost would only knock on the door of someone who had done something terribly wrong.

{Click here to read Chapter Two (8)}

To be continued…

PS:

If anyone who simply likes reading the words, the language, the story, or wants to know more about the character, the mysteries and my world, please feel free to like or comment. Any kind of remark will be highly appreciated.

If any agent or publisher, or anyone who has any connection with any agent or any publisher, would be interested in this Fucking Book, please contact this email:

FB.Heather@Outlook.com

Thank you so much!