I cannot trace the origin of my appearance, because no matter my eyebrows, eyes, nose, mouth, hair or skin, I look nothing like my parents, not even close.
I have a rather nasty face. Not only do others think so, I myself also hate it.
My parents died very early.
Before they left this world, they looked at me with contempt, and then there was a lot of fear in their eyes. Needless to say, they died with their eyes open.
Late night of October 22, 2001.
I walked alone on the street. The street was empty at this time, and a blue taxi was parked in front of the closed KFC.
There was no light in the taxi, and it was as dark as the surroundings.
For me, my life is the same. It is completely dark, without even a ray of light for a moment.
Others can snuggle with beautiful girls in the sun, but I can only peek at them from the dark corner with jealous eyes.
I leaned against the body of the taxi, feeling the coldness of the car, and a trace of bitterness surged in my heart like a spring.
I saw my own face in the taxi's rearview mirror. It was a face I couldn't avoid. No matter how disgusted I was with the old man telling ghost stories , I couldn't avoid it.
"Hey, what are you doing?" a man's voice came from behind me. Then, a hand patted my shoulder.
I was startled and turned around and said, "I didn't do anything." I am not a good talker and have never spoken more than three sentences to anyone. Just as I was saying no, the other person bounced back at the fastest speed, and with a "ouch!" he stumbled and fell to the ground. His thin face had lost all color, and his pair of eyes, as small as green beans, had widened to an incredible degree.
"Don't kill me." The man's voice trembled violently.
I knew he saw my face. That was inevitable. In such a quiet night, in the long, empty street, he suddenly saw my face, of course he would be scared.
I sighed and turned away.
When I got home, everything was in tatters, just like the ruined temple in the movie. This is my home, just like me, a poorly evolved home; just like my personality, dark, damp and cold.
Turn on the radio (it was the only decent device in the house)
The radio was humming and whirring, and the female announcer was reporting on the US attack on Afghanistan. As usual, I fell onto the collapsing bed with a feeling of dejection and kicked one of my shoes onto the floor.
The female voice on the radio suddenly raised her voice: "Now reporting urgent news. The vampire who caused three headless bloody cases appeared again tonight. A taxi driver escaped by chance, and the police are currently questioning him.
Regarding the series of vampire murders in this city, relevant experts have pointed out that it is very likely to be man-made. Our station has produced a special feature on vampires and invited technical experts from the public security department and experts from relevant departments to discuss the recent horrific cases. Welcome to listen to it at 12:30 tonight.
"Vampire?" I repeated softly, and suddenly burst into laughter. "I never thought vampires really existed. I thought I was the only one who was called a vampire."
I stood up and stood in front of the mirror, looking at myself in the mirror carefully and tremblingly. I was a pale self, a self without any human color, a self with bloodshot eyes, a self with dry and yellow hair, and a self with a nose as sharp as an ice knife.
I have looked like this since I was young. Because of this appearance, I have often become the laughing stock and the target of insults. Because of this appearance, I have never received the love of my family since I was young.
When I was about to graduate from elementary school, a son of a high-ranking official in my class beat me up and gave me a nickname that would remain with me forever: "Vampire"!
To this day, I think I am most likely a reincarnated vampire. But when I heard that there are real vampires killing people, I found it really funny. Then, I felt kind from the bottom of my heart: it turns out that vampires really exist in this world, and they have become news figures. It's really amazing.
I stared at myself in the mirror and suddenly felt that I was not so useless. I could find something to do. Deep in my heart, I felt that I was no longer as lonely as before.
I smiled grimly at myself, bent over to pick up the worn-out black boot, and grinned as I began to think about my plan.
I decided to listen to the cold wind tonight with the vampire.
At 23:38 on the night of October 22, 2000, I put on my dark grey trench coat that had been patched three times, turned up my collar, and walked out of the house. The wind was whistling, the shadows of the trees were swaying, and it seemed like a night that was very suitable for me.
My shadow was unusually long and slender on the ground, and my windbreaker rustled in the wind like a pair of gray wings.
It took a long time for the target to appear.
He was a thin middle-aged man. Rather than a middle-aged man telling ghost stories , he looked like an old man in his 50s. But he was dressed very elegantly. Although his hair was almost gone, it was still neatly combed and did not flutter even in the wind.
"That's a lot of hairspray." I sneered and touched my dry and yellow hair that looked more like weeds than hair.
The old man was walking hurriedly, carrying a black bag. I rushed forward bravely like a rocket with gunpowder lit.
I didn't want to kill him. I just wanted to take his bag. I think I had that impulse for a long time. And this time, it was because of the vampire murder that the evil buried in the deepest part of my soul broke out on this night full of weird cells.
My steps were so fast that I seemed to fly into the air.
The old man suddenly turned around and shouted, "Who is it?"
I desperately stretched out my hands and grabbed the old man's neck, pressed my face in front of his eyes, and hissed, "I'm a vampire!"
As soon as I said this, I was suddenly stunned. The old man in front of me turned out to be my middle school class teacher. While I was stunned, the old man had already pushed my hands away with his backhand, shrank his body, and rolled and crawled towards the new village in the distance.
In the midst of the lightning and thunder, the evil in my heart deflated like a punctured balloon. I collapsed to the ground, and saw the black bag on the ground.
"That was the bag that the teacher dropped. The teacher was very kind to me when I was in middle school. I never thought that he would target the teacher today." I looked at the bag. The black bag lay quietly on the ground, the zipper was half open, and a dark red liquid was flowing out of it.
What is that? I crawled over and touched the red liquid with my hand. What is it?
Needless to say, you all know that it is blood.
Since then, I never dared to go out at night again.
I stayed in the house for seven days without leaving my dark and cold room. I also never looked at myself in the mirror again.
On the eighth day, when the police found my body, my blood was still hot.
Until I die, I want the world to know that I am not a vampire.
But am I really like that?
—All the wonderful ghost stories are in the Ghost House: guiguaiwu.com—