Horror revival: I Own a Ghost Bus

As soon as Jiang Yan stepped onto the rope bridge, a sudden sense of dread halted his steps.

"What's wrong?" asked the man in the black hat, turning back to glance at him. He seemed completely unaffected by any unease.

"It's nothing," Jiang Yan replied, shaking his head. "Just a little uncomfortable all of a sudden. Maybe a side effect of controlling the ghost bus."

The black-hatted man's expression turned serious. "You'd better be cautious," he warned. "It sounds like you barely understand the ghost you're wielding. In the international ghost-tamer community, paranormal incidents are classified into five levels: S, A, B, C, and D."

He continued, "Class D incidents are usually tied to a specific location, with a strict killing rule and only a few casualties. Class C incidents can occur across various places, with a relatively straightforward killing rule. My coat ghost, for instance, is typical of a Class C ghost."

"A Class B incident, like your ghost bus, covers a larger area. Left unchecked, it could wipe out an entire town," he explained. "Class A, though, is even more dangerous, powerful enough to devastate a whole city. Luckily, I haven't faced one of those yet."

"Classification only represents the level of social danger the ghost poses," he added. "The terror it instills is something else entirely. In fact, a D-level ghost could be more terrifying than an A-level, and some ghosts even grow in strength."

The black-hatted man shared all this with Jiang Yan because he sensed Jiang Yan was bound for the ghost-handling world—and perhaps even a powerful position within it. A bit of goodwill now couldn't hurt.

Jiang Yan listened carefully. Understanding a bit more about the ghost bus's nature reassured him somewhat. But he couldn't shake a deep unease: the bus felt more powerful than a mere B-level, considering he only controlled a fraction of its power.

Before he could dwell further, Zhang Tiantian impatiently interrupted, "Can we go? Talking about ghosts out here in the wilderness is giving me the creeps."

"Right, let's move." Jiang Yan nodded, setting aside his worries for the moment as they continued across the bridge.

As they pressed forward, a chill wind swept through, making the old, rotted boards creak ominously under their feet. To either side of them, the mist thickened.

The bridge wasn't long—about a hundred meters across—so they reached the other side quickly. Ahead of them loomed a pitch-black forest, with a narrow, winding cement path leading into its depths.

"Hey, college kid," the man in the black hat scoffed, "is your girlfriend from some hidden mountain tribe or something? Who even lives out here? At least they've got a cement path. Otherwise, I'd be thinking we were on a survival show."

Jiang Yan couldn't help but defend her, "It's just a rural area. You get used to it."

They followed the path for about ten minutes before a village came into view.

It looked like an ordinary village, with low, squat houses, a few scattered lights, and the faint sounds of a TV drama echoing through the stillness. A large, imposing gate marked the entrance, with three red characters spelling out "Gong Yue Village" across the top.

Jiang Yan studied the first character, wondering if it might actually be "Hong" (red) instead of "Gong" (work). But the plaque clearly read "Gong Yue Village," with no sign of a radical to the left of the character.

The man in the black hat seemed to catch Jiang Yan's train of thought, chuckling, "What's wrong? Don't psych yourself out. Calm, rational thinking is an essential skill for a ghost-tamer. Besides, we've got two ghost-tamers here—if anything strange happens, we should be fine."

"You're right," Jiang Yan replied, though his nerves remained taut. "But I keep feeling uneasy—it's probably just a side effect from controlling the ghost bus."

"Don't worry about it. It takes time to adjust to wielding a ghost," he reassured him. "But we should get moving—your girlfriend's already way ahead."

Pulled back to the present, Jiang Yan realized Zhang Tiantian was nearly out of sight and hurried after her, the man in the black hat trailing close behind.

Past the village gate, they came to a two-story red brick house with a dim light glowing on its second-floor balcony, casting a yellowish glow over the front yard.

"This is the village chief's house," Zhang Tiantian explained.

They nodded. It made sense that the chief's house would be near the entrance. What was odd, though, was the hour—close to three in the morning—yet a light was still on, and on the balcony of all places.

The yard, enclosed by a black iron fence, looked normal enough, with a few neatly trimmed palm trees.

But as they passed, a strong scent of blood hit them.

Jiang Yan instinctively looked through the bars, with the black-hatted man following suit, curious about the source of the smell.

What they saw left them both bewildered.

In the center of the yard, bathed in the dim light, was a white-haired old man, perhaps seventy, slaughtering a chicken. The chicken's throat had already been slit, and he was now plucking its feathers after dipping it in hot water.

Jiang Yan felt a sense of foreboding. Why would the village chief be killing a chicken in the middle of the night?

The man in the black hat voiced his unease. "Your village chief is a bit odd, isn't he? Killing a chicken at this hour…and the smell is pretty strong."

Zhang Tiantian seemed unfazed. "Oh, that's perfectly normal. It's the Double Ninth Festival—it's a tradition to slaughter chickens for the ancestral rites. Otherwise, I wouldn't be in such a rush to come back. Don't you have the same custom?"

"Yeah, but it's not just the chicken…" The man trailed off, his expression skeptical.

Her explanation seemed reasonable, but Jiang Yan was less convinced. He couldn't help but feel something was off.

When he had glanced toward the house, his gaze had drifted up to the second floor. Most of the windows were dark, but the one closest to the balcony was faintly illuminated. In that dim light, he'd glimpsed something unusual.

In the shadowy room, a tall, pitch-black figure stood perfectly still, facing him.

For some reason, the sensation of being watched by that figure made Jiang Yan's skin crawl.

"Tiantian," he called out, "does the village chief live here alone?"

"The village chief? I think he has a son, but his son works away from home and rarely visits," Zhang Tiantian replied, after a moment's thought.

"What's he like? Is he tall?" Jiang Yan asked, trying to probe without raising alarm.

"Oh, come on," she said, rolling her eyes. "I haven't seen him since we were kids—I don't know how tall he is now." Her tone grew impatient. "Stop asking so many questions and let's get home. Mom always says we shouldn't wander around at night or there'll be trouble."

Jiang Yan and the man in the black hat exchanged a wary glance. Her words left them with an uneasy chill.

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