Zombies? Three zombies? What was Philip talking about? These were my grandfather and parents - what did they have to do with zombies?
Seeing my displeased expression, Philip quickly explained that the three corpses he'd dug up in the deep forest looked identical to the people in the photo.
"That's impossible!" I shouted, pointing at my grandfather in the photo. "This is my grandfather, who just left the house yesterday! How can you say he's some corpse from the forest?"
"That's old Mr. Rhett?" Philip studied the photo thoughtfully, his brow furrowing deeply.
At that moment, the gloomy wind grew stronger. The doors and windows rattled violently, no longer able to stay shut. An eerie whistling sound came from outside, like ghostly wails. Dark shadows crowded against the windows - their shapes neither human nor animal, but something indistinct and oozing.
Cold sweat drenched my back as fear gripped me. "Forget about that for now!" I urged Philip. "Deal with these...things first. As long as I survive tonight, I'll definitely give you that Tattoo of Gods and Ghosts."
"Deal," Philip agreed. "As long as I'm alive, I'll keep you safe." He pulled out a stack of yellow talismans from his shoulder bag and began pasting them on the doors and windows.
The talismans worked - the gloomy wind could no longer enter, and the outside grew quiet once we secured the doors and windows. Yet the dark shadows still lingered outside.
Philip explained, "During Ghost Festival, when the spirit gates open wide, hungry ghosts who've starved for a year won't leave easily. They're determined to devour you."
"Why don't I burn offerings for them?" I suggested. "If they're satisfied, maybe they'll leave."
Philip shook his head. "Useless. Without knowing their names, they can't receive what you burn. And there are too many - not enough to share. Our only choice is to stay inside until dawn."
But how long could we hold out? Midnight approached, and the ghosts outside multiplied. Their shadows now covered the windows like a solid wall. Piercing wails filled the air - sharp, eerie sounds that stabbed at my ears like needles. In my dazed state, I thought I saw my grandfather returning outside, and felt an overwhelming urge to open the door.
Philip immediately forced open my mouth and shoved in a copper coin. "Hold this!" he commanded.
The coin tasted foul - that metallic, salty stench of old copper - and I nearly vomited. Yet strangely, once I held it, the ghostly cries ceased and my mind cleared.
"This is a consecrated copper coin," Philip explained. "Holding it calms the mind and wards off evil spirits. Those ghosts were trying to cloud your judgment and trick you into opening the door."
Philip truly was a master. Without him, I would have died long ago - there's no way I could have held out until now. Grandpa was right; this man might really be my savior.
As midnight struck, Philip's expression darkened. His eyebrows furrowed deeply as he muttered, "This is bad. In all my years, I've never seen so many ghosts."
Though I couldn't see much through the doors and windows, I could feel the tattoo parlor had turned into an ice cave - bitterly cold despite it being summer. Countless eerie ghosts surrounded us outside. Dark shapes covered every surface like geckos clinging to the windows. Through the glass, I glimpsed pale, twisted faces pressed against the panes, their features mashed together like rotting meat.
The doors and windows trembled violently. The yellow talismans began sparking, their power seemingly insufficient to suppress the ghosts outside.
"How...how many are out there?" I gulped, nervously asking Philip.
"Rough estimate? About a thousand," Philip replied, his face growing grimmer.
A thousand? A thousand ghosts surrounding the house?
My jaw dropped speechless. Cold sweat drenched my back and forehead.
Suddenly - BANG! The talisman on the door ballooned outward before disintegrating into ash. A terrible gloomy wind blasted the door open.
Outside stood a solid wall of shadowy figures - countless ghosts packed together. Their grotesque faces all turned toward me, grinning horribly.
"Oh no!" Philip cried. Immediately he began spinning his hands, ringing a bell with his left while chanting incantations. But facing so many ghosts, even his expression showed little hope. My heart sank watching him.
Just then, a familiar figure appeared - Grandpa had returned!
But Grandpa didn't enter. Instead, he closed the door from outside and called to Philip: "I'll trouble you to protect my grandson tonight. Don't come out!"
Philip didn't respond, instead staring at Grandpa's face in shock. "No mistake...it's one of those three zombies. But why...?" His brows knitted in confusion as if puzzling over some inconsistency.
"Grandpa!" I called out, but the figure outside didn't acknowledge me. Instead, he roared: "The mistakes made by my grandson Roger shall be answered by me, Rhett alone! If any of you dare harm a single hair on his head, I'll reduce you all to ashes - be you a thousand ghosts or ten thousand phantoms!"
The moment Grandpa's voice fell, complete silence descended outside. The gloomy wind ceased. For over an hour, not a sound could be heard - as if every ghost had vanished.
I carefully cracked open the door to peek outside. All the shadowy figures had indeed vanished, leaving only one person standing not far from the doorway. Horrifyingly, that person was headless, with blood pooling on the ground around him. His tattered upper garments hung in shreds, revealing an enormous tattoo covering his back.
"Nine Dragons Pulling the Coffin! And each with five claws - all black dragons!" Philip exclaimed, his face registering complete astonishment.
As any tattoo artist knows, the Nine Dragons Pulling the Coffin design represents the ultimate taboo. Simply tattooing a single dragon invites misfortune - let alone a four or five-clawed dragon, which guarantees catastrophe.
Nine Dragons means nine separate dragons! What mortal could possibly withstand such overwhelming destiny? Even ancient emperors who called themselves Sons of Heaven wouldn't dare bear this tattoo.
There's another crucial rule about dragon tattoos - you may ink any color except black. The black dragon symbolizes ultimate evil!
Yet here stood someone who'd not only gotten the Nine Dragons Pulling the Coffin, but every single dragon had five claws and was the forbidden black evil dragon! How could we not be shocked?
What kind of unimaginable fate must this person possess to survive such a tattoo? For anyone else, this would be suicide!
While Philip studied the tattoo in awe, I collapsed to my knees with a thud, crying out in anguish, "Grandpa!"
Though the body faced away from us, I recognized immediately - it was undeniably my grandfather.
Had I...had I killed my own grandfather? I...
Tears blurred my vision as my heart seemed pierced by a thousand needles, the pain beyond description. Staring at that headless corpse in the darkness, my entire body shook with grief.
"Don't cry, grandson. I'm not dead!" Suddenly, the headless body spoke words that made both Philip and I gape in terror.
How could any person speak without a head? Even knowing it was my grandfather, the unnatural sight made every hair on my body stand on end.