Unheimliches Tal

Kapitel 1

The complete version of "Xiao Tao's Ghost Stories" (reprinted)

Darkness, an endless expanse of darkness. Even nocturnal animals would certainly not be able to see anything in this absolute darkness.

The air was very stuffy, and the darkness felt like being in a very enclosed environment. If you listened carefully, there seemed to be a strange buzzing sound vibrating within, very faint and subtle, coming from somewhere unknown, perhaps the sound of an inefficient ventilation vent.

Besides that, there was a faint sound of someone breathing, very low and steady, as if they were asleep.

"Clang! Clang clang clang..." A strange melody suddenly rang out, startling everyone who heard it. The music was bizarre, with a rhythm that was sometimes fast and sometimes slow, combined with unknown, piercing percussion sounds, tugging at the heartstrings of every listener.

Just then, a man's voice, as if rising from the ground, slowly ascended and echoed in the murky darkness:

"This is about a friend of mine."

My friend's name is Feng Xiaoqi. Doesn't it sound similar to my name? My name is Feng Xiaotao, and his name is Feng Xiaoqi. But actually, we're just classmates. We were in the same year in the journalism department of the provincial university, and of course, we're good friends too. After graduation, he went to work at the city television station, where he's still working as a news reporter.

At that time, Xiao Qi had only been working for a short time and had little work experience, and he wasn't very familiar with the city. That day, Xiao Qi was on the night news shift, the late-night news program that everyone watched at 11 pm. Suddenly, Xiao Qi received a call; a hospital in the city had invited a reporter from the TV station to film a surgery using new technology. This task was urgent because it was already 9 pm, and to complete the entire process—from interviewing and broadcasting to editing and finalizing the program schedule—within two hours was quite difficult for a novice, especially since Xiao Qi's partner wasn't available. So he told the news team leader about it, who impatiently told him to decide for himself. Xiao Qi thought about it for a while, even talking to me on the phone, and finally decided that gaining some experience working independently wouldn't be a bad thing, so he decided to go alone.

This hospital—I apologize for withholding its name here to avoid any unnecessary impact—occupies a large area and is a well-known, long-established hospital in the city. The environment inside is beautiful, with courtyards scattered throughout. Instead of modern hospital buildings, it consists of Soviet-style houses from the 1950s and 60s, the tallest of which are no more than three stories high.

Xiao Qi was a local resident from out of town and had never been to this hospital before, so he had no idea where the operating room was. After giving instructions, the leader went off to a meeting without telling Xiao Qi the location of the operating room. So Xiao Qi arrived at the hospital alone, completely bewildered.

It was completely dark, and the night wind was howling. Xiao Qi had been wandering around the hospital for half an hour, not only unable to find the operating room but also lost himself. Because it was the weekend and late at night, there wasn't a soul in the hospital. Xiao Qi had no one to ask for directions and didn't even know how to get out.

Poor little Qiqi wandered aimlessly around the hospital like a headless fly, anxious that the filming wouldn't be completed on time. As a result, he wandered deeper and deeper into the hospital, becoming increasingly lost. Every time he came to a building, Qiqi tried to find its door, but most of the doors were locked, and some were completely indistinguishable, making one wonder how the hospital staff got in.

Perhaps because of its age, the hospital's streetlights, those incandescent bulbs, emitted a pale, bluish glow. A chilling night wind blew incessantly, making Xiaoqi feel increasingly afraid.

Just then, Xiaoqi suddenly saw a house at the end of the road ahead, with its front door facing him. Xiaoqi quickly ran over to try his luck.

The gate drew closer. Like all gates, a white light hung above it. However, this white light flickered incessantly, turning on and off, making the gate appear and disappear intermittently.

Xiao Qi walked up to the door. It was a yellow wooden door, and it looked like it hadn't been repaired or cleaned in ages. Cracks had started to appear on it, and it was covered with all sorts of dark red and brown marks, like bloodstains. Looking up at the door, a yellowed piece of paper hung down above the door frame, swaying in the wind, as if a hand was beckoning. Xiao Qi put down his camera and reached out to unfold the paper, but a cloud of dust fell down, making it hard for him to open his eyes for a moment.

Finally, Xiao Qi opened his eyes and saw three large, blood-red characters on the paper under the flickering, pale white light of the incandescent lamp: Operating Room!

Xiao Qi, who was already trembling with fear, almost collapsed to the ground. Although he was looking for an operating room, this gloomy and terrifying place, where even the lights were dim, didn't seem like a place where the latest technology was used for surgery. After thinking it over for a long time, although he was very scared, he had no choice. His livelihood was more important, so Xiao Qi gritted his teeth and forced himself to go inside.

The door led to a long corridor, and the further Xiaoqi went, the more uneasy he felt. There were doors on both sides of the corridor, all secured with the oldest kind of locks, seemingly covered in rust, indicating they hadn't been used in a long time. Moreover, there was no light inside, only the flickering lamp outside the doors illuminating the way. Was it time to close? Xiaoqi checked his watch; it wasn't time yet, so he continued walking.

Finally, he reached the end of the corridor, the darkest part, where the flickering light from outside could only illuminate a vague outline. Xiao Qi instinctively recognized a door in front of him; since it was the last one, he reached out and pushed it open.

Later, Xiaoqi told me that he would have preferred that door to be locked like the others, so he could have gotten home smoothly. Pushing the door was just an instinctive reaction; he actually had no intention of going in.

The door creaked open; it was ajar.

Xiao Qi broke out in a cold sweat. The room was dark, and he could only vaguely make out the location of the window, as a faint light from an outdoor streetlamp shone through the curtains. With this meager light, Xiao Qi could roughly make out the layout of the room. In the center of the room was a large bed, which was probably an operating table. To one side of the bed were a sink and several large cabinets, on which were some medicine bottles and jars. The other side of the room was empty, except for a coat rack in the corner, on which hung a white coat.

There was no one there, and no surgery using new technology. Xiao Qi realized he was lost and had gone to the wrong place. So he turned to leave, but then looked back one last time, reluctant to give up.

This was a breathtaking glance. Ladies and gentlemen, the most terrifying thing in this whole affair happened in that one glance Xiao Qi gave when he turned around!

Xiao Qi glanced back and suddenly realized, strangely, that the coat hanger, the one with the white coat hanging on it, was no longer in its original place!

That clothes hanger was actually moving on its own!

No! At this moment, Xiao Qi realized that it wasn't a clothes hanger at all, but a person wearing a white coat!

In the dim light, it was impossible to see what people looked like, and Xiao Qi didn't care to look. He exclaimed, threw down his photography equipment, and ran out.

As soon as Xiao Qi found the way, he went straight home, not daring to go anywhere else. The next day, Xiao Qi went to the hospital, hoping to retrieve the camera equipment he had lost the night before, only to be told that the operating room building had long been abandoned and couldn't be renovated in time due to insufficient funds, so it was just sitting there idle. He was even told that no one had called, and there had been no surgery using any new technology. Unsurprisingly, Xiao Qi was severely reprimanded by his boss, not only losing his bonus but also having to compensate the TV station for the camera equipment.

That concludes the story. What are your thoughts after listening? Now, we have a five-minute commercial break. Listeners, please relax, have some water, and catch your breath. If you have any thoughts or comments on my story, please call our hotline in five minutes: 1977120. Perhaps you just turned on the radio; this is Xiao Tao's Ghost Stories program on Dadi Entertainment Radio. I'm your host, Feng Xiao Tao. See you in five minutes.”

I turned off the microphone and background music, pressed play on the advertisement, and with a "click," switched on the lights in the live broadcast room. The intense light made it hard for me to open my eyes. I squinted, lit a cigarette, wiped the cold sweat from my brow, and sighed, looking at the ventilation vents on the ceiling.

Telling stories with the lights off is my habit; I can only find inspiration in complete darkness. I don't like reading from a pre-written script, perhaps because of my own arrogance, but I feel that's a pathetic approach and doesn't suit my taste.

Today is Thursday, and this is already the eighth episode. Although the ratings have risen rapidly since the show started a month ago, I feel like I've run out of ideas. Listeners these days have increasingly sophisticated tastes; ordinary stories simply don't scare them anymore, to the point that I have to ask my friends for help finding material. Like the story I just heard, it was told to me by my old classmate Feng Xiaoqi, and I basically copied it verbatim. Although he assured me it was true, I didn't care at all. Whether it's true or not is irrelevant to me, as long as it scares people and allows me to continue making a living. I really don't know what to do if things continue like this. Sigh, I sighed inwardly, thinking back to my ambitious self a month ago, and now my disheartened state, and couldn't help but laugh helplessly.

Telling ghost stories is my hobby, or more precisely, it was a hobby I had back in school. Now I still tell ghost stories, but it's my job; it's how I make a living. Back then, a story I could casually conjure up could scare a whole bunch of people, and if I was lucky, I could even get a girl to run into my arms. Because of this, every single teaching building, dormitory, and even the cafeteria at the provincial university fell victim to my "magic mouth," each guarded by three or five vengeful ghosts—all born from my stories. Even now, the stories I made up back then are still widely circulated at the university, giving younger students a chance to use their charm to win over girls. This is one of the few things I'm truly proud of.

But things are different now. Campus ghost stories might scare some naive young girls in school, but they're simply not presentable in public. On the first day of the show, I aired a few of the more classic stories from back then, and a young girl studying at a provincial university called in and berated me. She said she'd heard the story from her boyfriend before and accused me of plagiarizing his work. I was speechless, utterly exasperated, and in my heart, I cursed that brat who used my name countless times. Afterwards, I had to sheepishly explain to the furious station director that I was the true original author. My feelings were beyond words—I was simply furious.

Although I've transitioned from an amateur to a professional storyteller, my skills haven't improved much. In fact, since starting work, I'm constantly busy, and I no longer have the inspiration and free time I had in school. After the awkward first day of the broadcast, I don't dare to search for ghost stories online and rewrite them for the audience. I can't help but start to doubt whether applying to start this column was a wise decision.

The "Xiao Tao's Ghost Stories" segment was a sudden idea of mine. The first half consists of me, the host, narrating a story, and the second half is a call-in session where listeners can comment or share their own stories. I brought it up half-jokingly during a meeting, and to my surprise, the station director approved it. After two trial episodes, the results were good, so the program was scheduled for the midnight slot of 11:45 PM every Monday and Thursday. To my astonishment, although I already felt overwhelmed by the workload during those two episodes, the listenership actually increased, rivaling the popularity of the music encyclopedia segment hosted by the popular NJ Wei Wei.

Actually, Wei Weiwei and I co-hosted the "Music Encyclopedia" column, but we didn't get along. We were both attention-seeking and competitive, so hosting together not only lacked coordination but also resulted in us interrupting each other, which led to a severe reprimand from the station director. Fortunately, we were separated on stage later, otherwise, we might have ended up sabotaging each other.

It wasn't a cold war, because there wasn't one at all. I didn't have any deep-seated hatred for her; it was just a work-related disagreement that led to a bad ending. Actually, it would have been nice to be friends with her. But at the time, this incident caused quite a stir; everyone in the city's media industry knew about it. It ended with me voluntarily leaving. Surprisingly, after I left, "Music Treasure Trove's" ratings skyrocketed, and it's now our station's top-rated program. Meanwhile, I've been languishing aimlessly in the news team for half a year. So, although I'm increasingly losing confidence in "Xiao Tao's Ghost Stories," I still have to grit my teeth and keep going.

The commercial break was almost over. I put out my cigarette, took a sip of tea to moisten my throat, turned on the microphone, and tried to speak in the most approachable, charming, mature, and sexy voice I could muster:

"Hello, Xiao Tao is back. In the previous program, I shared an experience of one of my friends. I wonder what you, the listeners, thought about it? If you have any thoughts or comments, please feel free to share them with me and our listeners. Of course, if you have any good stories or real experiences, please don't keep them to yourself! Please call our hotline immediately. Our hotline number is 1977120 (repeated 1977120). The following segment will be our hotline time. In this segment, we will share with our listeners—okay, a friend has already called in. Let's hear what he has to say! Hello—"

"Hello..." It was a girl's voice. The voice was unfamiliar; it wasn't one of those middle school students who used to sneak into bed at night to make phone calls, hiding from their parents.

"Um, hello. May I ask how this lady is addressed?"

"I...I..." The girl seemed shy and uncomfortable with this kind of phone call that could be heard by countless people. I quickly replied, "Okay, it seems that this young lady is unwilling to reveal her name to everyone, but that's alright, I think everyone will not mind, right? I just wonder what this unknown young lady will say to everyone?"

"I...I...I'm scared, I can't sleep, my parents aren't home..."

Oh my god—another student girl looking for thrills in the middle of the night. I quickly laughed it off: "Haha, this friend seems to be quite timid. But if you're really scared, please turn off the radio, close your eyes, and get under the covers. We don't want you to have any unpleasant feelings because of our program."

"kindness……"

I quickly hung up the hotline: "Thank you for participating, Miss Unknown. Actually, this is an entertainment program. Our aim is to add a little excitement to everyone's mundane lives. If any of you feel overwhelmed, please turn off the radio immediately. Also, our program airs late at night, so if you have busy studies or work the next day, please don't continue listening to avoid affecting your normal studies and life." I'm probably the only NJ who tells listeners to stop listening, and of course I don't want to, but I have to say it to avoid any trouble from education departments or parents later. "Okay, another call came in, hello—"

"Hello, Xiao Tao."

"Hello. Is this Xiao Zhang?" Judging from the voice, it was one of the middle school students who often called. I could recognize all their voices accurately after just one "hello".

"It's me." Xiao Zhang was a boy whose voice had just changed. "Xiao Tao, today's story was pretty scary, is it true?"

"This is what my friend told me about his own experience. Whether it's true or not, only he knows for sure. So, what stories does our old friend Xiao Zhang have to tell us tonight?"

"Um...no, I wanted to ask you something."

"Okay, may I ask?"

Is that hospital the provincial hospital?

"Oh, I'm really sorry, I can't answer that question. I've already made myself clear. To avoid any unnecessary complications, I have to omit the hospital's name. I'm very sorry, I really can't answer this question. Is there anything else you'd like to say?" That hospital is indeed the provincial hospital. If Xiao Qi isn't lying to me, only the provincial hospital in this city has that kind of environment. Everyone who lives in this city knows this, but I really can't say.

"Um, no, that's all."

"Okay, thank you for your enthusiastic participation, Xiao Zhang. Let's take the next call, hello—"

A series of sounds of conversation assaulted my ears.

"Hello, hello, friend, could you please turn off the radio?"

The conversation quieted down, and I chimed in, "Hello, listener, can you hear me?"

"Hello..." A slightly hoarse voice came from the other end of the phone; it was a woman's voice. A real woman's voice is different from a little girl's voice—I can assure you of that with my four years of experience working in radio. Having heard so many children's voices, hearing an adult's voice suddenly made me a little excited: "Hello?"

Hello.

"May I ask how this friend is addressed?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone, and I was slightly disappointed: "It seems to be another lady who doesn't want to reveal her name. I wonder what this unknown lady has to say to us?"

"I have something to say." The voice sounded cold, which dampened my enthusiasm to some extent.

“I would be delighted,” I said, deliberately raising my voice to sound genuinely happy. “I wonder what kind of thing this is? Is it a story, or an experience?”

"You could call it an experience."

"I don't know—I humbly request that you allow me to take a little of your time to satisfy my personal curiosity—I wonder if this is based on your own experience?"

"I suppose so." The voice remained cold, and my interest vanished instantly. So I said, "Okay, please let this lady tell everyone about her own personal experience."

"Okay, shall I begin?"

Yes, please go ahead.

"So, I'll just say it like that?"

"Yes, that's how it's said."

"So, shall we begin?"

"Yes, let's begin." I was getting a little impatient.

“Alright, I’ll begin then,” the woman paused, and seemed to sigh softly.

“Before I tell you this, let me introduce myself. My surname is Qiu, the Qiu of hatred, and my given name is Qiu Hong, the Hong of red.” I cursed inwardly. She wouldn’t tell me earlier, but now she’s doing it herself. Isn’t she deliberately trying to embarrass me? Qiu Hong continued, “When I was a student, I loved listening to ghost stories. Oh, right, I used to study at the provincial university, majoring in journalism.” No wonder the name sounded familiar; we were alumni.

"I don't know why I like listening to ghost stories. Maybe it's because studying was so boring back then, and listening to ghost stories was exciting. But later, I wasn't satisfied with just listening to ghost stories anymore. After being scared by others too many times, I started making up my own stories to scare people, hehe."

I don't know why, but she suddenly laughed twice for no apparent reason. I suddenly felt a little uncomfortable, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what was wrong.

“In the beginning, the stories I made up were very popular, and a story could often be passed down for a long time.”

"I've always been very timid, so when I make up stories, I often scare myself half to death before I've even finished telling them, while the listener hasn't even had a chance to react."

"Other people get bolder the more they are scared, but I get scared more and more. Before I can even figure out the plot of a story, I often get so scared that I can't move for a long time."

"As a result, my story gradually became less scary, and fewer and fewer people were interested, but I found it more and more terrifying. I don't know why."

"One day, a group of us were bored in the dorm. So I started making up stories again."

"But before I could finish telling the story, everyone scattered, saying that my story was too old-fashioned and not interesting at all."

"They all went out shopping, and I was left alone in the dorm, wondering what was wrong."

I suddenly realized why something felt off, why Qiu Hong had laughed—she was talking to me! Oh my god—she was talking about me! She continued:

"Just then, a phone call came in. It was a man's voice."

“He said he enjoyed listening to my stories. But he said my stories were too old-fashioned and unchanging. He said that having creative motivation alone is not enough; you also need to discover your own inspiration.”

"I find it strange, hehe, how does he know everything? It's like he knows everything about me!"

She was laughing again; she was laughing at me! Yes, how did she know everything? I blurted out involuntarily, "And then?"

"Later, he said that to find inspiration, you have to have firsthand experience, and he told me to deliberately go to scary places. For example, go to the hospital morgue alone at night..."

Good heavens! I gasped. Clearly, she was describing my current situation and even pointing me in the right direction. But that wasn't important. The important thing was, who was she? How did she know my thoughts and my current predicament? I had never told any of this to anyone. This woman named Qiu Hong was using this story to communicate with me! I felt a chill emanating from the speaker.

As if knowing what I was thinking, Qiu Hongxiang said casually, "It's obvious he understands my current situation and has even pointed me in the right direction. But that's not important. The problem is—"