The crescent moon slants to the West. The dead walkings in the cemetery were like sea crabs returning home. The land rustled and rolled back. There was no trace of being turned over. Everything that happened was erased under the silver moonlight.
Benjamin only wore a pair of loose shorts. His white blouse was used by him to wipe off the yellow and white traces on his body. Finally, he crumpled it into a ball and discarded it. The werewolf had a smile on his mouth. It was a pleasure to see Papa Midnite leading Anderson's 'eldest son' by the nose.
"You are gloating." Ryan looked at his brother helplessly.
"Yes," Benjamin admitted with a smile.
Papa Midnite, who never showed up, seemed to have forgotten the existence of the Werewolf in this 'dialogue'. But is this a joke? I mean, werewolves are basically made by Papa Midnite to deal with the vampires! I mean, what would I think if I had a dog to look after the house and found that the fierce dog that should have bitten the robber's throat was playing happily with the robber?
So, even I know what the two people here have neglected! When the vampire dug for his 'offspring', they encounter Papa Midnite? Coincidence? But since the parties didn't find out, I just shut up in silence and said, "don't spoiler, it won't be fun."---Papa-Midnite.
The sleepy Anthony was awakened by Ryan, and the night was not long. The Mayor also needed to work for Porto. Ryan took out the funeral records of the Anderson family about 'Ian Anthony' and dismissed the Mayor who had countless words to say about the mummified body in the trunk of the truck.
Before dawn, the Mayor returned to where he should be, and Benjamin's van returned to Anderson's house. A new day, abandoned everything last night, started again.
Ian Anthony was put into the basement, and Ryan was not ready to wake him up now. Alice had been woken up by the big Dane dog and was preparing breakfast in a daze. Benjamin also went to sleep.
In Anderson's office, the light of the morning had been sprinkled on old Hank's arched back through the window. There was a desk lamp on the workbench. Old Hank didn't know how late he worked last night. He was still asleep on the workbench with a smile of memory on his face. These documents were all his past in Anderson's house.
Ryan patted old Hank, took him back to his room on the second floor to have a rest, then returned to the office, threw these old Hank's 'past' into the iron bucket, and burned them.
If you guess right, Wells will come again with a search warrant today. In order to 'revenge' the difficulties of Anderson's family, he will not give notice in advance.
Ryan stacked the materials on the side of his desk again, gave up going to rest, added some 'food', and walked east along the road in front of Anderson's house while the sun was not so dazzling. Old Hank sorted out the materials for Ryan, and Ryan also went to get today's newspaper for old Hank. This is a simple job exchange.
On the path in the morning, standing on the wooden poles on both sides of the earth rock road, the sign of Anderson's house across the air reflects the early sun. The font on the sign is still the popular style ten years ago, complex and gorgeous, and some mottled ink colors reveal a sense of solemnity. Ryan squinted, not knowing what he was thinking. He opened the mailbox on the roadside. It was still empty. He decided to wait.
The clear bicycle bell rang from far to near. Ryan walked out of the shade of the tree and watched the young boy with a green linen package on the back seat approaching on his bicycle.
It was still chilly in the morning. The boy, wearing heavy gloves, stopped the bike in front of Ryan and looked at Ryan. Some hurriedly took off his gloves, took out a subscription list from his backpack, and looked for 'Anderson'.
"Porto Daily." Ryan kindly reminded: "there will be "Urban Legend" tomorrow."
"Oh." The young man replied dully, but he found Anderson on the list before turning around and pulling out a newspaper.
Ryan watched him clumsily turn over the bike, kicked over the package in the back seat, and blushed in embarrassment. Then he chose to open the mailbox on the side of the road, checked it again, and stuffed the newspaper in. Ryan smiled and took out the newspaper directly in front of the teenager, put it under his arm, and helped the teenager clean up the scattered newspapers: "are you new?"
"Well, yes, sir." The boy was a little nervous.
"Where's the original postman, eh --" Ryan thought for a moment, and old Hank seemed to mention his name. "Matthew, right, has he been transferred?"
"Oh, he quit half a month ago." The boy relaxed and introduced himself: "I'm Nick."
"Hehe, I'm Ryan Anderson." Ryan introduced himself with a smile, but he was a little surprised at Matthew's resignation. This is a very stable job. It is not wise for young people in Porto south district with generally low education to give up such a job. This shift of attention led Ryan to ignore the time point, "why did Matthew resign?"
Nick's eyes became tense and hesitated for a while, but Ryan seemed to be a very friendly guy, and it would take some time to sort out the scattered newspapers, so he answered this gossip question: "I heard, I just heard that he broke a lot of emails when he was delivering them and was dismissed."
Ryan raised his eyebrows with some regret. It turned out that his resignation was only a euphemism, "maybe it was just an accident."
"That's what he said." Nick answered, holding his hands in front of him, bending his fingers, making a gesture of quotation marks, rolling his eyes, "attack, he said he was attacked by something."
Ryan asked curiously, "attack?"
"Who knows? It's just an excuse not to make compensation." Nick said casually, and then his face flushed because the newspapers on the ground were stained with soil, which was a kind of damaged mail. Nick shouted, "no, no, no!"
Ryan looked at Nick sympathetically and comforted him: "don't worry. People won't care about this little problem."
Do you want Ryan to contribute his clean newspaper? How could it be? Ryan is not a saint.
It's that close! Please ignore my self-talk.
Watching Nick leave in frustration, Ryan stretched out and went back to Anderson's house.
As the car engine buzzed close, Ryan turned slowly and looked at the people in the car. James Lance, with a sullen face and a lack of sleep, greeted Ryan standing on the porch by raising his chin and sounding the horn. Ryan nodded back, waited for James to turn off the fire, got out of the car with a pile of information, and they entered Anderson's house together.