What the young black man said was so eloquent that it didn't sound like he was lying. It really terrified me.
But I didn't believe everything he said either.
Because the bearded man was white, the young man was black, and the two were at least 20 years apart in age, although they were cousins, I still felt a bit silly associating them together.
Just as I was thinking, the young black man said, "Believe it or not... it's up to you."
Then, the young man shook his head and walked away.
I subconsciously looked at the white house. The white house only had an iron door and no windows. It gave me strange feeling, and the more I looked at it, the more it looked like a mortuary.
Morgan said that the hospital was formerly a psychiatric hospital, how could a psychiatric hospital have a mortuary?
Was Morgan lying to me, or was the black youth fooling with me?
It's not hard to figure it out. Just ask someone from the hospital.
When it was time for dinner, I went to the hospital cafeteria. After getting the food, I saw a security guard sitting in the corner eating alone, so I walked over.
He was about the same age as me, and looked a little lethargic. The two dark circles under his eyes are telling of his lack of enough sleep. I deliberately made a noise and sat down opposite him, but he didn't even raise his head.
After I was smuggled into the United States, I was used to being despised, so I didn't care. After a few bites of food, I started to look for something to say, "The hospital's food is good, huh? Bro, what's your name?"
He looked up at me, then looked around and asked, "Are you talking to me?"
I smiled and said, "Sure."
He glanced around again and said, "You're new here? You don't look familiar."
"Yep. I came here yesterday, and I just started work today. Bro, do you know what kind of hospital this place was before?"
"A psychiatric hospital."
"I heard that the small white room at the back of the hospital used to be a mortuary. How can there be a mortuary in a psychiatric hospital?"
He was surprised and said, "Are you guarding the backyard?"
"Hmm. What's wrong?"
"It's okay, it's okay." He bowed his head and hurried to finish eating, seeming to be very repulsive towards me.
"Bro, you haven't answered me yet."
"The white house was not a mortuary."
"Morgan said no one can enter the white house. What's in there?"
He looked flustered, lowering his head to eat and whispering, "I don't know."
This made me more convinced that he knew something, but for some reason he didn't want to say it, or didn't dare say.
But since he didn't want to tell me, I couldn't do anything, so I changed the topic and asked, "Is there an electrician named Buck Jones in the hospital?"
"Yes, he died early last month, falling to his death from the white house."
My heart skipped a beat, and I quickly asked, "Was Buck in his 40s, with a big beard, square face, and big nose?"
He looked up at me and asked with a complicated expression, "You met him?"
"Yes, I saw him last night and talked to him."
He smiled lightly and said, "Then you must have met his soul. That backyard is haunted."
After that, he packed up his tableware and left the table. My heart was beating wildly and I was no longer in the mood to eat, so I quickly got up and left, but I was stopped by the cafeteria cleaning lady after a few steps.
"Young man, wait. You lost your work permit."
I turned my head and saw that the cleaning lady picked up a work permit from under the table where I sat by just now. She walked over and said, "look after your work permit. If you lose it, you will be fined."
I said politely, "It's not mine."
"How come. You were just sat there."
I took the work permit. There was no photo on it. The job title was Security, and Bill was written in the name column.
I smiled and said, "It's not mine. I just started work yesterday and I don't have a work permit yet. It must have been lost by the guy who sat across from me."
The cleaning lady was a little angry and said, "Young man, are you crazy? You were sitting here eating alone, just now."
"I was sitting here eating alone? Are you serious?" I was very surprised.
She was really angry, and vowed to say: "My eyesight is great. You were eating there alone, talking to yourself, like an idiot."
What she said shocked me. My hands trembled and the work permit fell to the ground.
The cleaning lady picked up the work permit and threw it to me, saying, "Not just an idiot, but also a butterfingers. How could the hospital recruit a security guard like you?"
I was completely panicked, and hurriedly left the cafeteria with the work permit. I thought to myself: what the hell is going on here.
After leaving the cafeteria, I threw Bill's work permit into the trash can.
As the old saying goes, a coincidence does not happen three times.
One strange event after another shook my faith.
Are there really ghosts in the world, and did I coincidently meet one?
Back in the backyard of the hospital, the more I thought about it, the more weird it felt, so I called Morgan to figure it out, but after several calls, I couldn't get through. I was upset and looked up to see a cigarette on the table, so I picked it up and lit it.
But as soon as I took a puff, I choked so much that I almost coughed out my lungs, and my throat was hot, just like having taken a puff of pepper!
Why was the cigarette so fucking acrid!
I looked closer, and when I saw the brand on the cigarette, I frowned.
Camel cigarettes.
That young black man gave me that cigarette in the afternoon, and I threw it on the table without smoking it.
But,
This…
Something was wrong!
Camel cigarettes were a type of popular cigarette in the United States. It tasted mellow and slightly fragrant, the smoke was soft and mellow, and the quality was first-class. It had a very good reputation in the market.
But the taste of the one I smoked just now was totally different, as if it was mixed with something.
I took another puff. Although there was a slight fragrance, it was definitely a fake cigarette. I cut it off and saw that the cut tobacco was not only black, but even a little bit moldy and damp.
Looking at the fake camel cigarette, I fell into confusion.
Counterfeit goods are rare in the United States. It is not because Americans are more noble and the businessmen are more virtuous, mainly because it is too risky and costly to break the law. When consumers complain of fake goods, the merchant may lose money or even go to jail, especially for food and drug products.
In addition, Camel cigarettes are very popular and inexpensive, and there is totally no need to fake them.
Just then, as I was stunned, the door opened and someone walked in. It was Buck, the electrician!
I bounced off the bed like being shocked by electricity and looked at him vigilantly.
Buck seemed to be in a good mood today, with a smile on his face, and said, "What's wrong? Never seen a handsome guy before?"
I asked nervously, "What… what… what are you doing here?"
"Didn't you want me me connect an electric wire for you and install a lamp in the courtyard?"
I remembered the appointment I made with him last night, but when I thought of the rumor that he was dead, I was heart was trembling and I asked, "Why are you here at night?"
"I'm on the night shift. When did you think I would come."
Buck took out electrical wires, pliers and other electrical tools from his work bag, and put them on the table, but when he saw the half fake cigarette I put on the table, the smile on his face suddenly solidified. He picked up the cigarette as if facing a formidable enemy and asked, "Who gave you this cigarette?"
"A young man came this afternoon and give it to me."
"Did you smoke it?"
"Two puffs, it's a fake cigarette."
Buck put the shredded tobacco under his nose and smelled it, and said in a deep voice, "It's not a fake cigarette, it's just been stored too long and is moldy. What did the young man look like?"
I told Buck what the young black man looked like, and told the story in a terse way, but I didn't say that the young man told me that Buck was dead.
Buck's face changed greatly when he heard it, and he said, "Did he also tell you that I died, falling from the white house."
I was stunned, speechless, and just nodded.
Buck said bitterly, "Screwed! Screwed! You are screwed! I wanted to persuade you to leave tonight, but now it's too late."
I asked nervously, "Why am I screwed?"
"Don't you understand? You saw a ghost, and you have used something from a dead person, even if you leave the hospital, you will be haunted by ghosts."
Then Buck grabbed my wrist and said, "Come on, come with me!"
I panicked and asked, "Where are we going?"
"To save your life!"
Buck's hand was warm, and with my shallow understanding of ghosts, since his hand was warm, he couldn't be a ghost.
Buck led me to the gate and asked me to open the gate. I didn't hesitate to open the gate, closed it again when we left, and followed Buck along the path to the east.
The night wind was slightly cool, blowing in bursts, and the reeds on the side of the road rustled as high as a person, and the end of the road could not be seen in the dim light of the stars and moon.
I followed Buck and asked, "What the hell is going on? Why is the hospital haunted? Where are you taking me?"