Devil? " The old woman was stunned when she heard the word. She then sneered, "Aren't people like you devils who enter other people's homes without permission and pretend to be service staff?"
"Even so, it's much more normal than imagining his aunt living with him," Zhang Heng said calmly.
"Are you saying that she's being imagined?" Agatha was a little surprised, but the queen of reasoning immediately reacted and said, "Yes, this manor only invites the authors, and each of them has their own room. Since the owner of this room is someone else, then his aunt can't be here. This is the most reasonable explanation."
When Zhang Heng said that, the old woman on the opposite side fell silent, as if someone had pressed the pause button. She no longer moved or showed any expression.
When Agatha finished speaking, her figure became fainter and fainter until she completely disappeared.
However, when she disappeared, the gloomy and depressing atmosphere in the room did not improve. Instead, it became even more intense. It was so intense that the other authors who lived in the same building also felt it.
Some of the authors who had some mental problems were affected by the atmosphere, and they suddenly became depressed. Some terrible thoughts flashed through their minds uncontrollably. The pilot began to pace in the room. Fitzgerald rolled up the love letter he had written halfway, threw it into the wastebasket, and then held his head in frustration on the bed. Even Hemingway, who had always been a tough guy, looked at the shotgun in front of his bed several times, his expression changing.
Agatha, who bore the brunt of it, felt it more strongly. Her expression changed. "How could this be?"
After a long silence, Zhang Heng said, "I might have guessed wrong. I thought his aunt was the culprit behind his mental problems. That's because this room is most likely a replica of the place where he used to live with his aunt. This is the only way to explain why this place is so dilapidated, and at the same time, there are illusions of his aunt. The Hobbit housekeeper once told me that every guest room was designed to meet the needs of its guests. He chose to transform his guest room into the place where he used to live, probably because it gave him a sense of security. "
"You're right. He has been in the manor for so long, but no one has seen him leave his room. He should be an extremely introverted and autistic fellow. Such a person is most likely to choose the place where he has lived before when choosing the style of the guest room, even if it is very simple and shabby. He could have chosen a better living environment."
Agatha paused. "Wait, you … seem to know someone who lives here?"
"Yes, he is its creator," Zhang Heng said.
"Who is whose creator?"
However, Zhang Heng did not answer this question.
So Agatha asked again, "What's the matter with the aunt you mentioned before?"
"It was my first impression. The old auntie we met before showed a strong desire for control. I thought it was because of his mental problems, but now it seems that his auntie has been working hard to help him solve his mental illness. The reason why he also imagined his auntie here was to help him stabilize his mental state. This is also the reason why there has been no problems in the manor for so long until we burst his illusion just now."
"Wait, I still don't understand. Why is his mental problem affecting everyone in the manor?" Agatha wondered.
"It's hard to explain this in a short time. I have some history with him. Can I be alone with him for a while?" Zhang Heng asked.
"Okay." Agatha could see that Zhang Heng seemed to care about the guests in this room, so she did not hesitate and agreed decisively. After that, she left.
After she left, Zhang Heng closed the door and walked to the study room. He could feel that the gloomy and depressing atmosphere was the strongest in the study room. If he was not mistaken, it should be coming from there.
Zhang Heng did not expect that he would come to room 515 to find the owner of the manor. Instead of finding the owner, he accidentally found the initiator of all this.
Zhang Heng knew that the person in this room was the creator of the monster in the city under the ice. Since the blood of the monster also flowed in his body, in a sense, the other party was also half a creator to him. So, the next meeting was going to be very interesting.
Zhang Heng put his right hand on the faded brass handle of the study room, took a deep breath, and slowly turned his palm.
The door of the study room was not locked. This was normal because the owner of this suite usually closed his door tightly. Naturally, the study room that was used for work did not need to be locked.
After opening the door, the scene in the study room became clear at a glance.
This room was as simple and shabby as the reception room outside, but the number of books was not small. It was like a small library. There were also many old newspapers, arranged according to the date, piled in the corner of the room.
In the middle of the room, there was an old table. A tall, thin man was quickly typing on a black typewriter on the table with his back to the door.
The clatter of the typewriter was particularly piercing in the quiet room.
The tall, thin man at the table seemed to hear the footsteps behind him, but he did not turn around. He just said, "Aunt Annie, you eat first. I will go to the living room after I finish writing this."
However, the person behind him did not continue to urge him as usual.
The tall, thin man seemed to notice something. He turned his head from the desk and saw a strange man standing behind him. The man was squatting down and picking up a piece of paper from the ground.
It was the end of the article. Zhang Heng noticed the signature at the bottom of the paper — Howard Philip Lovecraft.
After that, he quickly scanned the rest of the words on the paper and handed it back to the man opposite him.
The latter took the manuscript and stammered his thanks. After hesitating for a while, he asked nervously, "Who are you? Aunt Annie's friend?"
"No, I'm here to see you," Zhang Heng said.
"See me?" Lovecraft looked surprised, then a little shy. "But I don't know you. Usually, I communicate with my friends through letters. They rarely come to see me. "
"Yes, this is our first meeting. Although I have always admired your talent. "
"Really? This is the first time someone has said such a thing to me." Lovecraft seemed a little excited when he heard this, and a touch of excitement appeared on his originally dull face.
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