The Evil Spirit Who Tells Stories?

Chapter 211 The Evil Spirit Who Tells Stories?

Old Murphy's words were like a draft, instantly lowering the temperature in the living room. Constanze looked sharply at Qin Jin and blurted out, "An evil spirit? Attached to the radio signal? Or, a cursed frequency?"

Before Qin Jin could answer, the old policeman, Old Murphy, slowly shook his head, the wrinkles on his face appearing even deeper in the shadows.

"If it were just a haunted radio station, that would be simple, Inspector Travin." His voice was dry. "That's what I thought too. But things—aren't that simple."

He picked up the coffee cup on the table, took a sip of the already cold coffee, as if he needed the bitterness to suppress some uncomfortable memory.

"Following this lead, I went to find the other people the deceased had been in contact with before their deaths. There weren't many people taking the last bus at that time. Besides the nurse, I found the friends of two other people and asked them for clues about the horror story."

He pulled another piece of paper from the box and handed it over: "One of them was a bank employee. His colleague recalled that he was always engrossed in a newspaper at that time, saying that it contained a series of horror stories that were extremely gripping and chilling. He also strongly recommended that his colleagues read it, saying that they would regret it if they didn't."

Old Murphy raised his eyes, a sense of helplessness in them: "But that's the strange thing. My colleague was curious, so he went to look for the same newspaper from the same day, flipping through it over and over, but he couldn't find the story he was talking about. The pages were filled with financial news and community gossip. My colleague just assumed he had misremembered the newspaper's name, and being busy with work, he didn't pursue the matter further."

“The other one,” old Murphy continued, “was an editor at a small publishing house. His friend said that during that time, he would receive an anonymous submission almost every day. There was no signature, no address, just a printed horror story. He said the story was very eerie, and there was a chill in every word. Of course, he didn’t dare to use it, but—he read them all anyway.”

The living room fell completely quiet. Yuanxiao finished eating her apple and started sniffing around Alessa.

Old Murphy concluded, his tone somber: "Now you understand? It has nothing to do with the radio; it's related to this terrifying—collection of horror stories!"

He paused, a hint of fear flashing in his eyes: "Anyone who has heard of or seen this story will eventually become the protagonist, appearing silently in an accident and dying in the story's ending—like a premonition."

"A curse from an evil spirit? Or a notification from Death?" Constantine rubbed his temples, which were throbbing from lack of sleep. "I remember a case, something about people who were supposed to die but didn't, and then Death caused them to have accidents one by one—"

Yes! Final Destination! It looks like it!

"I've seen the movie, Inspector Travin," Old Murphy said, leaning back in his chair with a hint of helplessness. "This movie is actually based on this case, modified by the screenwriter—they're bound to be very similar, because the movie is essentially a remake of the case!"

Now Constantine was speechless—you can't apply a fabricated movie to reality, that doesn't make sense.

"Back then, I investigated for a long time but couldn't find the root of the case. As time passed and the incident stopped happening, I thought it was over and gradually gave up the investigation, until—until 04, when a series of unexpected events occurred again!"

Old Murphy's voice carried a fatalistic desolation: "When I discovered this, I immediately began investigating, and sure enough—at least four of the victims had mentioned terrifying stories to friends or family, and some even said that the protagonist of the last story was themselves!"

After the old policeman finished speaking, he let out a long sigh of relief, as if a huge boulder that had been weighing on his heart for many years had been lifted. But the coldness and heaviness left by that boulder spread out and enveloped everyone present.

At this moment, Qin Jin slowly spoke, asking a seemingly logical question: "Did you follow up on the later cases? In all of these cases—was someone forced onto the subway? And then a large number of unexpected incidents started occurring?"

"Yes!" Old Murphy nodded in confirmation: "After the case in '97, I paid attention. Every year, the victims saw two people helping an unknown person onto the subway."

"So, all the people brought up here look the same?"

This strange question startled both Constantine and old Murphy. He thought for a moment and began rummaging through the interrogation records in the box. After a long while, he finally found this sentence in one of the interrogations: "—The person in the middle, his head looked like it was cut off, hanging straight in front of him, swaying slightly—"

"Hmm!" Qin Jin narrowed his eyes, clicked his tongue, and continued, "Mr. Murphy, have you investigated the source of this story?"

"I checked, I checked everything!" Murphy said confidently. "I checked the radio stations, and they didn't broadcast any stories like that around that time. The newspapers didn't serialize any horror stories, the postmarks are blurry, and the letters can't be traced—"

A deep look of doubt crossed his eyes: "The source of this story is like an invisible fog, permeating the air, seeping into the lives of its prey through various cracks, silently carrying out its curse. I spent a long time on it, and in the end—I gained nothing."

It seems that's pretty much how it is —

Qin Jin stood up and shook hands with old Murphy: "Thank you very much for your information, Mr. Morse. This has saved us a lot of time. This information is very useful to us."

Old Murphy quickly got up to see them off, and handed them a USB drive: "The electronic files of the data are all in here. Take your time to look at them when you get back. Sigh! I'm glad I could be of any help. This case—it's been tormenting me for far too long."

The three men and the bear walked to the door, and old Murphy opened the gate for them. The afternoon sun shone on the quiet street, completely out of place with the eerie topics they had just been discussing inside.

Just as Qin Jin was about to step out, Old Murphy suddenly spoke, his voice carrying a barely perceptible plea: "Team Leader Qin—please wait."

Qin Jin stopped and turned to look at him.

Old Murphy's weathered eyes were fixed on Qin Jin: "Team Leader Qin, do you... already have some clues? I've been a policeman my whole life, I can tell if someone has a plan or not."

Qin Jin raised an eyebrow: "Why do you say that?"

"Intuition, the intuition of an old policeman."

Murphy sighed, a sigh that contained years of resentment and confusion: "This mystery has plagued me for nearly a decade, haunting me from my prime until my retirement. I really want to know where I went wrong, or rather, where I was right back then. If possible—after the case is solved, could you please let me know?"

At least let me get a good night's sleep.

Qin Jin looked at the almost obsessive longing in the old policeman's eyes, remained silent for a few seconds, and then nodded.

"Okay," he said. "First of all, your initial judgment was mostly correct. This horror story is the core of it."

He paused, organized his thoughts, glanced at Constantine who was also listening intently, and continued, "Our initial assessment was a dead end. We took the scene of those three people getting on the bus as the cause and the beginning, but that's not actually the case. It's more like a result, or rather, a side effect."

Constantine frowned, his cigarette trembling slightly. "What do you mean? He didn't die from encountering a ghost?"

"The cause and effect might be reversed," Qin Jin said calmly. "It's not that they died because they saw something they shouldn't have seen on the train, but rather that they were chosen to die, and that's why they happened to be in that carriage. To put it bluntly, this might be part of the story itself—the entire horror novel series. At first, it adapts to the dead; later, the dead follow it; until finally—the dead are completely replaced by it!"

Old Murphy listened, somewhat bewildered, yet seemingly grasping at something.

Constantine was even more puzzled: "Then what about our initial guess that the gates of hell open on the Ghost Festival, and those three things in the car? Are they completely unrelated?"

"We can't rule out the possibility that there's a connection."

Qin Jin gazed into the distance: "This might be a distorted result of mixing Eastern and Western elements, the core of which is that story," but it's also connected to the Ghost Festival—I don't know why it's like this yet, I just feel that this thing should be related to the East, but it has undergone some kind of mutation."

Old Murphy seemed to understand, but having finally heard a guess that was close to the truth, he nodded heavily, the wrinkles on his face seeming to smooth out a bit: "Thank you for telling me this, Team Leader Qin. This is closer to some kind of truth than all my previous wild guesses. So, what are your plans for the investigation next?"

Qin Jin turned to Constantine: "Jack, your next task is to find a story."

"Looking for a story?" Constantine was clearly taken aback.