that year
People's real lives begin at different times, contrary to their primitive physical bodies.
Stephen King: The Other Half of Darkness
She was seven years old that year.
Early summer oleanders bloomed unchecked on the edge of the road, a season when everything grows, when the petals of the faded flowers of late spring slowly decay under the soil, when these beautiful corpses nourish some mysterious life that slowly crawls out from the dark depths of the earth - both alive and long dead.
Seven-year-old Charlotte was quietly sticking her head out of the window and opening those mesmerizingly clear eyes to the oleander bushes at the other end of the road. She loved that red, a seductive color, even though her father had warned her many times that the flower was poisonous.
Father was taking a nap, the sound of even voices welling up from his throat. An hour ago her father had told her that if she didn't see her when she woke up from her nap, then she would be beaten. Charlotte believed her father's words. Still, she pursed her two little lips and poked her head out of the window again to look toward the clump of blindingly red flowers. Half a minute later, she walked out of the house without a sound.
Soon she crossed the road, passed through a deep alley, and dove headfirst into the crepe myrtle bushes. Those petals and branches gave off a peculiar smell - it was not a good smell. Little Charlotte suddenly had some nausea, knowing that the branches and leaves of these beautiful-looking flowers in front of her held some kind of venom.
A few branches of the oleander were broken by her touch, and murky mucus flowed out from the broken branches, staining her clothes. It was then that Charlotte felt scared, she didn't dare to touch the liquid that seemed to carry a magic spell with her hands, and even wanted to vomit.
So she began to run forward, the petite form of the seven-year-old girl weaving her way through the dense oleander bushes. The tall branches and leaves blocked out the light of the sky, forming another shadowy world among the trees. The tiny heart in her chest was beating so hard that she felt like a fawn running from a hunter in a dark forest.
I don't know how long she had been running, but Charlotte finally escaped from the Clipper Forest. A white light pierced straight into her eyes, and it took her a long time to let them readjust: before her was a silent alley.
She looked around blankly, everything in front of her was familiar and strange at the same time, her head suddenly hurt a little, and her father's words rang somewhere in her head: the darkness of the night ... absolutely don't ... honey... ...that wall ... don't ...
The girl closed her eyes and shook her little head painfully, but she continued on her way. A few dark clouds drifted in from the sky, and gloom obscured her face, which was so white that it was almost transparent. There was not a soul to be seen around her as she passed through the long alleyway. The wind was picking up, and she suddenly remembered her father's admonition - ghost children, just inside the walls.
Now she saw the black fence.
The wall was old, full of patches, and a few tufts of weeds at the top of it trembled in the wind. At the other end of the wall, a large chunk of the wall brick had collapsed. Crossing the gaping hole in the wall, Charlotte looked in, but could see nothing but a strange wisp of smoke rising.
What did father say? She struggled to recall her father s words, the words were somber and sullen, with a sizzling sound of gas, as if they came from another world: honey ... absolutely do not go near that wall ... ghost children, just inside the wall face ... didnt have a child who could get out of that wall ...
Her father's words frightened her. It was late one night when her father suddenly woke her up and spoke against her ear about the terrible legend about the wall. That night, her father droned on and on, his expression like that of a child, a child in fear.
The girl also vaguely remembered that the last word her father said that night was - death.
Ghost children? Walls? Death? All in front of her eyes?
Dark clouds had filled the sky, and the sky was all of a sudden gloomy like evening.
She was not a bold child, on the contrary, she was never meek as a lamb. Her father's words were always etched in her mind like a brand, he said that if she went out after dark, he would break her legs; if she talked to another child, he would cut out her tongue. Charlotte believed that her father would really do that, and it would be bad luck for her if he knew that she was now that close to this wall.
Suddenly, she heard a loud crash from above her head and it thundered.
That little heart thumped again, and she breathed heavily, looking around in bewilderment. Suddenly, her eyes landed on a clearing a dozen meters away.
A twelve-year-old was standing there.
Lightning cut through the sky and also illuminated the face of the teenager, who was looking at the seven-year-old girl, Charlotte .
The girl's face was horribly pale, but the teenager's face was paler than hers.
A moment later she spoke, her voice soft and thin, "Who are you? What are you doing?"
"I don't know." The teenager remained standing, but his eyes were on the legendary and terrifying wall, "I wonder what's in that wall."
"There are ghost children in the walls." Just after saying that, Charlotte was also startled by her own words.
The teenager nodded and said, "The man in the wall is calling me."
"There's no one in the walls." She didn't want him to go in.
"No, he's calling me. I'm going in, I have to go in."
The rain began to fall.
The teenager slowly made his way towards the large gaping hole in the wall, he climbed up easily as he climbed his hands on the bricks.
"No, you can't go in there." Charlotte was horrified by the teenager's bold move, and her voice had never been louder. Maybe he didn't know way the terrible legend about the wall, and maybe his dad didn't either. Should have stopped him, seven-year-old Charlotte thought subconsciously. She had a bad feeling: something would happen to him.
Charlotte screamed at the top of her lungs, "You'll regret this."
Unfortunately, it was too late, the teenager jumped into that wall and was never seen again.
There was another loud bang in the air, and Charlotte tilted his head up, only to see a bolt of lightning, flaring with white light, flying down in his direction-
"No!"
She let out another scream. She was seven years old that year, and seven was not the end of her life. Luckily for her, the lightning didn't hit her, but hit the inside of the fence.
Absolutely not ...honey ... That wall ... Don't ... die... ...flute sound ...
Charlotte almost fell over, her mind echoing back to her father's words, that terrible legend from so many years ago. She turned and ran backwards, once again through the long alleyway as the rain grew heavier and heavier, wrapped up in the storm and slammed into her head.
Big thunderstorm.
She ducked back into the grove of oleander, where poisonous branches and leaves hit her coldly, and some of the beautiful petals withered in the rain, melting on her face. For a moment, one word swept through the seven-year-old girl's mind - death.
Will you die yourself? Charlotte asked herself softly, that year she didn't understand what the word really meant, she had only attended the funerals of her relatives and seen the crystal coffins of the dead at the memorial service. Tears welled up in her eyes, mixing with the rain and oleander petals running down her face.
Finally, she sprinted like a deer out of the oleander forest and ran back home in one breath.
The father was still asleep, perhaps only the collapse of the house would wake him. The frightened seven-year-old girl suddenly became calm and realized that she must never let her father know, she had to keep her mouth shut. So she carefully changed her clothes and wiped her hair and face all clean, fortunately the venom of the oleander did not work on her. Then she climbed into her crib, wrapped herself in a blanket and closed her eyes.
Thunder rumbled outside the window.
It was a long time before the father woke up from his sleep. He saw his seven-year-old daughter lying on the bed, her tiny body shivering a little. The poor child had lost her mother at a very early age. He stroked his daughter's face with pity, and the careless father did not notice her somewhat wet hair.
After dark, the rain stopped.
Charlotte didn't get up, her body continued to tremble, her eyes closed tightly in the darkness, but the shadow of the wall always swayed before her eyes. She thought of the teenager who jumped into the wall again, what happened to him now? Perhaps, he had already turned into a corpse, or disappeared into the ground forever, just like that horrible legend that her father had told.
That night, she had a nightmare.
She dreamed of the midnight flute.
After waking up the next day, the girl remained silent about the events of yesterday, as if she had never left her room ...
More than ten years had passed, and she had slowly grown up, from a girl to a woman. Many nights, Charlotte repeatedly dreamed of the summer when she was seven years old, an afternoon of thunderstorms, the poison-laden bushes that bloomed so beautifully, the scary fence, and, the eyes of that teenager.
It was a nightmare she could never get rid of, tucked deep inside her head, consuming her bit by bit.
She had never spoken to anyone about it.
Including the father.
She never went back to that place either, the wall was like a tomb, never to be approached, never to be touched.
Until--