Lee hurried over and saw Jack standing like a statue, frozen under the moonlight. Following Jack's gaze, he noticed a vast expanse of grassland not far ahead, dotted with raised graves. In the center stood a grand tombstone, its surface boldly inscribed with the words "Lawrence Stamford" in golden paint.
"My goodness, seventeen graves," Jack said. "Are these the people who disappeared?"
"Most likely," Lee replied.
Jack turned around. "Do you feel like someone's been watching us? I've sensed it since I got here—it's as if someone's been observing us from the shadows."
Jack was accustomed to tracking and observing others as a private detective, so he was susceptible to such things.
"I've felt it too," Lee said, confirming Jack's suspicion.
A strange smile suddenly appeared on Jack's face. "Guess what I'm thinking of doing now?"
"You're probably planning to find the person who's been spying on us?"
Jack's smile grew even more unsettling. "I'm not sure if this will work, but it's worth a try. After all, it's something I've always wanted to do."
Seeing Jack's eager expression, Lee's expression changed. "You can't possibly mean..."
"You guessed it right!" Jack picked up the shovel they had used to dig the tunnel earlier and walked toward the graves. He began digging up Lawrence's tomb.
Lee stared at Jack in disbelief. He hadn't expected him to be so brutally direct. But would this really force the person spying on them to reveal themselves?
Jack wielded the shovel fiercely, digging into the softened yellow soil. Fortunately, the rain had made the task less strenuous.
Just then, a harsh, grating voice, like the howl of a demon from hell, rang out from behind them. "Stop!"
From the darkness emerged a short, hunched figure. The person was dressed entirely in black—black clothes, black shoes, and holding a black cane. As they stepped into the moonlight, it became clear that this was an elderly woman with disheveled white hair and a face full of wrinkles.
Could this be the person who had been living in the mansion's secret chamber? The woman in white who played the flute and possibly wore Chanel No. 5? Yet, no matter how you looked at her, she resembled more of a blood-sucking skeleton, a demon from hell.
"You've offended the mountain deity, and you'll die a terrible death!" the old woman spat with venom, her words dripping with hatred. "Even if you were sent by the young mistress, you won't be spared."
Hearing the old woman's vicious curse, Jack felt oddly reassured. He had never believed in ghosts or demons. If she were truly a supernatural being, she wouldn't just curse them without taking action.
"I'd like to see what this mountain deity looks like," Jack said, clearing his throat. He was about to engage the old woman in a verbal confrontation to uncover the truth behind Lawrence's disappearance when something bizarre happened.
The old woman's skeletal face suddenly contorted with terror. Her pupils dilated, and her toothless mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came out. She staggered backward, took a small step, and then collapsed to the ground with a thud.
Jack rushed over and checked her breathing, but she was already lifeless—she had been scared to death!
Could it be? Were there really ghosts? But why hadn't they seen anything? What could have happened to frighten the old woman, who had lived alone in the mansion with considerable courage, to the point of death?
Jack looked at Lee, and both men saw fear reflected in each other's eyes.
The surroundings were eerily silent, except for the sudden caw of a crow, its hoarse cry cutting through the air before it flew away in panic, as if being chased.
In that brief moment, it was as if nothing had happened, yet the old woman had died inexplicably. The two men stood frozen by the graves, feeling a chilling cold and an ominous breeze. Their limbs stiffened involuntarily.