Deep Sea Embers

Maurice's wife Mary stared at the cover of the letter for a long time before taking the letter opener from the side and carefully opening it.

A thin, folded piece of paper fell out of the envelope. Before opening the paper, the first thing Mrs. Mary noticed was the uneven marks on the back of the paper.

That's handwriting - it's written with so much force that the strokes are clearly visible on the back of the paper.

The person who wrote this letter was probably extremely emotional at the time.

The old lady sitting in front of the fireplace slightly adjusted her sitting posture, put the letter she had read on the small round table next to her, and at the same time glanced at the date stamp on the cover of the letter from Frost in her hand.

The letter was sent on December 5th.

The second letter was written by the late "Brown Scott" three days after the first letter was sent—three short days.

Mrs. Mary opened the folded letterhead, and a few lines of scribbled and messy text came into her eyes—they were not at all as elegant and neat as the first letter sent by the folklorist a few days ago. In just a few lines of text, the author is full of anxiety and fear:

"My friend, the situation... is not right, I don't know how to explain it to you, I am very confused now, I can't even think, my mind is being disturbed by something, the memory... don't be frosty! In short, don't Come to Frost! Even if you read other things I wrote to you in the future, and see other forms of invitations, don’t come to Frost!

"There's a huge conspiracy here.

"Don't come to Frost!"

There was no signature at the end of the letterhead, and even the stamp on the envelope was crooked.

Mrs. Mary looked at the scribbled words, as if she could imagine a folklorist who had a mental problem under the huge cognitive tear, wrote these words with the last of his reason, and then struggled into the frost. The scene when the letter was delivered to the post office with difficulty in the cold wind.

She slowly refolded the paper and stuffed it back into the envelope.

It was a disturbing letter, and the whole thing had an air of dread throughout that, under normal circumstances, would have been enough to send the person concerned to seek refuge in a church.

Mrs. Mary's eyes glanced over the small round table beside her, and over the letter home from the Lost Home——

"...The heir of the deep sea really has a unique taste, which is more delicious than ordinary fish. The captain has a special cooking skill, and anomaly 099—that is, Miss Alice, has learned the essence of it, maybe I should try it too ..."

Silently, the old woman threw the letter from Frost into the nearby fireplace, and watched it burn quickly in the bright flames, turning to ashes.

"They've already gone..."

She grunted softly, then got up and took the ink, pen and letter paper from the shelf next to her, and began to write a letter—the letter would be sent to the antique shop in the downtown area.

...

The church personnel in black coats walked around the cemetery, checking all the remaining traces here—every path, every coffin, and every street lamp was marked and sampled, in order to restore what happened here last night. Things that happened.

"Gatekeeper" Agatha stayed in the caretaker's hut, and opposite her sat the old guard with a gloomy temperament and a stooped back.

After an unknown period of time, the young woman whose body was mostly covered with bandages raised her head, glanced at the sky outside the window, and saw that the sun had gradually sunk, and a layer of reddish rays of light began to float over the entire city-state .

As evening approached, the guards she brought had been busy in the cemetery for several hours, while the old guard in front of her was also silent for several hours.

Strictly speaking, the old guard was not just silent—he maintained a state of close-mindedness, not moving, not speaking, and not responding to external stimuli, since the church guards came here after receiving reports , he has been sitting quietly on that chair, like a breathing sculpture of flesh and blood.

A guard in black pushed open the wooden door of the guard's hut, came to Agatha, bent down and whispered something, the latter nodded slightly: "I see, send the samples to the cathedral first, the scene remains the same , tonight may be critical and needs to be guarded."

The black-clothed guard nodded, but before he left, he still couldn't help but glanced at the old man sitting motionless on the chair. When he saw the old man's cloudy eyes that seemed to be frozen, the young guard's face was obviously a little pale. Uneasy: "How long will he maintain this state? Is it really okay?"

"Protective mental closure, he is using this method to fight against and clear the pollution he has suffered, and he may also be protecting us by the way," Agatha said in a low voice, "The grave guard must have come into contact with something far beyond imagination last night He seems to be struggling back from the brink of madness... But don't worry, he is an experienced fighter, he has successfully stabilized his situation, and nothing will happen."

Speaking of this, Agatha paused, and added: "As for how long this state will last...it's hard to say, it may recover in the next second, or it may have to wait until this time tomorrow. Find out how long he's been in contact with that terrible pollution."

The guard in black thought for a moment, then looked up at the window. Through the slightly dirty glass window, he could see the busy church personnel on the path outside.

He looked back and looked at the two corpses in the hut—the two intruders, who had been verified as Annihilation Cultists, apparently died at the hands of the old guard, because the situation is still unclear, and for the sake of protecting the scene, this The two bodies remained where they were.

They can't be the reason why the old guard's mind is closed, even if the demons behind them are out of control, they don't have this level.

What would that be? Is it a more powerful deep demon? Annihilate the upper priest of the cult? Or something else?

The black-clothed guard expressed his doubts, but Agatha just shook her head: "No, it should be a more weird and dangerous situation."

"Why are you so sure?" the black-clothed guard subconsciously asked.

"Because there are really only traces left by a few heretics at the scene, and a pile of remains of corpses suspected of being 'restless' without any supernatural reactions," Agatha said lightly, "There are no observable traces left, mean……"

"It means that the visitor last night didn't do anything. He just existed in this cemetery for a moment, which is enough to make me, an old guy, mentally critical."

The old man's voice suddenly sounded in the hut, interrupting the communication between the black-clothed guard and the gatekeeper. Agatha immediately looked in the direction of the sound, and finally showed a faint smile on her expressionless face: "You recover?" Yes, very good."

"I dare not say that I have fully recovered," the old guard said slowly, gradually stabilizing the various perceptions that were slightly shifted after reopening his mind. He looked into Agatha's eyes and consciously blocked the jumping weight behind her. "But at least you can tell which part belongs to reality and which part belongs to madness."

"Enough," Agatha nodded, "What happened yesterday?"

"The corpse you sent suddenly became agitated and said a lot, sober like a living person, then four Annihilation Cultists entered the cemetery, trying to take away the agitated person - they used the power of the deep demon Disguising himself, skillful, a seasoned summoner, hidden from my eyes, but not from my intuition.

"I lured two people here, killed them, the two on the floor, and was about to go to the cemetery to kill the other two, and an accident happened."

The old guard raised his head and looked in the direction of the door.

"An indescribable... visitor came to visit. I stared at him for a while, maybe only a few seconds. There was a problem with my time judgment and I couldn't do it accurately."

"An indescribable visitor?" Agatha couldn't help frowning, "Can you be more specific?"

The old guard tried hard to remember.

All he could think of was a mess of lights and shadows, and overwhelming noise.

The hasty mental closure eliminated the temporary pollution he suffered, but also cleared some useful memories.

"No, I just remember that there were chaotic lights, shadows and noises," the old guard shook his head, "and even if I can accurately describe what I saw, it doesn't mean anything to you—what I see may not be real, Even if it is real, it is not necessarily real in the eyes of other people, as human beings, the way we perceive is too limited."

"Well, that's the whole answer," Agatha nodded, "An unnamed visitor visited the cemetery in the final stage, but did not initiate any damage... Are you sure you want to use 'Visit' in the report ' Is that word? It's neutral, even friendly."

"Sure," the old guard replied calmly, "I had a conversation with him, although it was almost unsuccessful to communicate anything - the visitor has tried to communicate, which is a signal of neutrality and friendliness."

"Understood, it's recorded," Agatha nodded again, "And then? What else?"

"After the visitor left, I vaguely saw that he left some... things on the path at the gate," the old guard said while recalling, "but I couldn't see it clearly. At that time, my vision was already serious. Traumatized, and there is a big problem with cognition, I'm not sure..."

"If you're talking about a pile of wreckage that was burned back by the ghost demon, then we found it," Agatha interrupted the old guard calmly, "If it's correct, it seems to be the visitor's. ...'carrier'."