"I remember him, the unlucky thing." Toby stood nearby dusting off his hands, saying: "This morning the coachman in the city brought him over, both deaf and dumb, didn't hear the bell, rushed into the street to pick up half a moldy loaf of bread, and got run over by a tram. The newest model steel wheels directly cut him in two. But being dead is good too, less suffering, living is just being social trash..."
Alex glanced at Toby, a sharp look full of warning causing the teenager's rambling voice to gradually quiet down then fall silent.
Alex pursed his lips, looking at the small shadow not far away; in his pitch-black eyes, there was a bit more pity mixed with a hint of mockery.
He suddenly felt a little pity for this little ghost, or more accurately, pity for himself.
He was the same, no relatives, no friends, shunned by people because of his eyes and the curse; perhaps one day, he would also die in a place no one knew like this, be thrown casually in this yard full of foul smells, wait three days, the whole body stinking, then be thrown out to the mass grave as bait for crows and wild dogs.
How pitiful, like a little dog with no home to return to.
Dying in solitude, without a sound, with no one to mourn.
He walked over, picked up that severed leg, the cold and stiff sensation transmitting into his hand.
"Go find the other leg and bring it here. If a piece of toe bone is missing, I will settle the score with you." He said, his voice hoarse, sounding unpleasant to the ear.
Although Toby was not resigned in his heart, wanting to swear a few sentences, thinking of the thing hidden under this teenager's scarf, he could not help but obey Alex's order.
He spat on the ground, mumbled curses, and reluctantly walked towards the pile of corpses to dig and search.
Alex sat down flat on the cold ground next to the corpse, taking out the specialized needle and thread from the cloth bag he carried with him. The sturdy beeswax-coated thread and the peculiar curved needle.
As a Corpse Collector, he also grasped the skills of a mortician. Stitching up corpses so they looked a bit more "decent" when meeting relatives.
These were all self-defense skills, the rice bowl for him to exist in this harsh city.
However, Alex rarely served others for free; of course, there were not many payers either, they feared the thing on him, feared bad luck spreading to themselves.
Tonight he would definitely get home late, darkness had begun to spread to the foot of the wall. Alex threaded the needle, movements skillful, looked up at the sky once, then bowed his head to look at the skinny child on the ground.
"Hope that when I die, there will also be someone to collect my corpse like this." He mumbled a sentence, bowing his head to pierce the silver needle in his hand into the boy's cold flesh.
Gradually, following the teenager's nimble needlework, each stitch even and firm, the little ghost's severed body was sewn back together. The jagged tears were gradually closed.
The boy floating there gradually gained ethereal legs, his face relaxed, lessening some of the pain.
Alex packed his tools, wiped the blood off the needle, put the boy's skinny body into the thick burlap body bag he usually used, and fixed the bag tightly onto his back.
He wanted to bring this child home for burial, in the small garden behind his house, the only place he felt safe.
At least, not letting its body rot in the desolate wilderness, torn apart by wild beasts.
...
After receiving three copper coins today from the difficult fat manager, Alex carried the body bag on his back and walked out.
It was completely dark. Streetlights in the city in the distance had started to light up, but his way home was submerged in thick darkness.
In the shadows, countless black shapes were lurking; the bushes by the road with strange shapes were like ghostly arms reaching out. A gust of wind blew past, leaves making rustling sounds, embellishing the silent night with weirdness.
Alex's body stiffened, a chill climbing up his spine as if an ice snake slithered past.
Someone was staring at him. A gaze that was ravenous, greedy, and full of evil.
No, perhaps it was not a human. Humans did not have that kind of gaze that penetrated the darkness and exerted pressure on the soul.
Still couldn't avoid it. No matter how careful he was, the smell of death on him still attracted them.
Alex's expression was serious, one hand clutching the coin pouch at his waist, feeling the hard coins inside.
It was a small cloth bag washed until faded; vaguely, one could see the sun pattern embroidered with expensive gold thread, though faded with the years, it still retained a dignified look.
That was the relic of the priestess, one of the few items she left behind; because it bore the symbol of the Goddess of Light, it was granted a little exorcism ability, just a tiny bit, enough to make weak evil spirits flinch.
Inside the purse rang a clinking sound; that was Alex's entire fortune, also the only weapon he had to fight against the night.
Alex clutched the purse, his steps becoming faster and faster, almost a trot.
He had to quickly return to the small house not far from the mass grave, light the oil lamp; the firelight from holy oil would create a small barrier, only then could he safely pass through tonight.
Wind blew his hair, blowing away the dark clouds obscuring the moon; a bright round moon hung in the ink-like sky, emitting a cold silvery light. The originally beautiful scenery was now shrouded in weirdness; tree shadows stretched long on the ground like monsters waiting to pounce on prey.
Far away rang out sharp, prolonged wolf howls echoing from the cliff; the rustling sounds nearby grew louder in his ears, the sound of dry branches breaking under the feet of invisible creatures. Those unclean things were stirring to raise their heads, smelling the scent of fear.
Alex stared at the ground beneath his feet, forcing himself not to care about the weird changes around him, focusing on every step.
But the more he didn't look, the more he forced himself not to think, that fear which couldn't be driven away became even more intense. Chaotic ravings carrying an indescribable sticky feeling crashed into Alex: sharp, illusory, seductive, crazy, interwoven, forming a kind of indistinguishable whisper but attracting people to listen, dragging his soul down into the abyss.
"Don't listen, don't listen, I can't hear, I can't hear."
Alex mumbled like chanting scriptures, Alex's steps became faster, even starting to run slowly, his breathing began to rush, but the body bag on his back delayed him.