My name is Lin Yuan, and I am a genuine rural villager. Due to my excellent grades in junior high school, I was admitted to a key high school in the city and am now in my second year of senior high school.
Just after finishing my meal after school this morning, I received earth-shattering news: my entire family had been struck dead by lightning!
The one who told me this news was my second uncle. He said in a hurry on the other end of the phone, "Xiao Yuan, your whole family was struck dead by lightning! Come back and take a look quickly. We'll talk about anything else after you return." Then he hung up.
After hearing this news, I was completely stunned. It was winter, with dry weather and little rain. Not to mention thunder, even a light drizzle was a rare occurrence. Where could the thunder have come from to strike my entire family dead?
If my second uncle hadn't called me himself, I wouldn't have believed it even if I was beaten to death. However, my second uncle is usually very serious and hardly ever jokes, so I immediately asked for leave that day to go home and see what was going on.
When I got home, tears welled up in my eyes at once. My knees went weak, and I fell heavily to my knees on the ground.
There were four coffins in the house, each containing the bodies of my grandfather, grandmother, father, and mother. Their corpses were pitch-black, and a scorched smell lingered in the air—it looked exactly as my second uncle had said, as if they had been struck dead by lightning. Moreover, their eyes were wide open, even bigger than eggs, and no matter how I tried to close them, they remained open, giving off an eerie aura. Could this be what people often call "dying with eyes unclosed," unable to rest in peace?
I never expected that four of my closest family members would leave me so suddenly in just one day. I couldn't bear such a blow and collapsed to the ground, wailing uncontrollably.
My second uncle sat on the threshold with a frown, smoking a dry tobacco pipe. His eyes were slightly red and swollen, and he must have cried a lot before I returned. He looked at me without speaking, letting me lie on the ground and cry.
After crying for a long time, I sobbed and asked my second uncle what had happened. How could there be lightning in this weather? How could they have been struck dead by lightning?
My second uncle's voice was somewhat hoarse. He exhaled a long smoke ring before slowly saying, "I'm not entirely sure either. This morning, I suddenly heard a clap of thunder coming from your house. There was neither lightning in the sky nor any signs of thunder, which made me feel that something was amiss. When I arrived at your home, sure enough, something had happened to your grandparents, father, and mother. They were all lying on the ground, looking as if they had been struck by lightning."
"This is too strange," I muttered softly, feeling that something was very off. Old folks say that if someone has done nothing but evil, they will be struck by lightning. Could it be that my parents had committed some heinous act against their conscience during their lifetimes, which led to our entire family being punished by heaven?
After a moment, Second Uncle continued, "When I came in, your grandfather was still breathing. He said something to me before he took his last breath."
"What did he say?" I asked nervously, staring at Second Uncle.
Second Uncle said, "Your grandfather said that on the night of the first seven-day mourning period, you must dig up their bodies, cut off their heads, and bury them again."
"Ah? W - what does this mean?" I looked at Second Uncle in surprise, feeling at a loss.
"Just do as he said. Your grandfather naturally has his reasons." Second Uncle stood up, rapped the smoking pipe to knock out the ashes, and then got up to leave.
I am the only son in my family, so I took care of most of the funeral arrangements alone. My second uncle would occasionally come to help, but he didn't say a word to me. He just sat on the threshold with a furrowed brow, constantly smoking a dry tobacco pipe, as if he had something on his mind.
On the day of the burial, my parents' eyes were still wide open. I tried every possible way to close them, but to no avail. With a sigh, I had to give up.
At the last moment when the coffin lids were being closed, I wondered if it was an illusion, but I seemed to notice their eyes had turned green. It was somewhat creepy to look at, and I couldn't help but shudder involuntarily.
I buried them on a hill, with their graves close to each other. I cried my heart out that day, but my second uncle didn't show up. I had someone look for him, but he was nowhere to be found in the entire village, which puzzled me. Where on earth could my second uncle have gone on such an important day?
At night, I had to wear mourning attire and keep vigil in the mourning hall. This is called "keeping vigil for the deceased" in the countryside, and it lasts for seven days until the first seven-day mourning period concludes.
Although my heart was heavy, I was so exhausted today that by the early morning during the vigil, my eyelids felt as heavy as lead balls and I could hardly keep my eyes open.
Just then, the white candle in the mourning hall suddenly flickered, as if a cold and eerie wind had blown in, making me shiver involuntarily.
I tightened the mourning clothes on my body and then looked up towards the door, only to find four figures flickering in and out of sight standing outside. Due to the dim candlelight and the pitch-black darkness beyond the door, I couldn't make out their faces clearly. I could only shout sharply, "Who's there?"
The four people did not respond and remained motionless, standing there like several pieces of wood.
I checked the time and found it was already 2 a.m. Who on earth could be so idle as to stand in front of my house? My family has just experienced a death—aren't they afraid of inviting bad luck?
I shouted again, "Who are you? What are you doing standing there?"
There was still no answer. Growing impatient, I stood up directly and walked toward the door.
When I reached the door and saw the faces of the people standing there clearly, I was so terrified that my legs went weak and I collapsed heavily onto the ground, sitting down hard.
Those four people were none other than my recently deceased grandparents and parents. Their faces were deathly pale, their eyes were like those of dead fish, especially eerie. The corners of their mouths seemed to be split open, tilting upward slightly as if they were giving you a strange smile. Most importantly, I could also smell fresh earth on them.
At this point, a terrifying thought popped into my head—could they all have climbed out of their graves?
Although they were all my relatives, I had never experienced such a horrifying scene. Terrified, I immediately knelt down in front of them and kept kowtowing, knocking my head so hard against the floor that it made loud thudding sounds. But they seemed dissatisfied, surrounding me and then stretching out their charred, icy hands to choke my neck.
Just then, I suddenly woke up at the table—it turned out to be a dream! I guess I was so tired earlier that I fell asleep lying on the table!
But when I woke up, I seemed to find that a pair of hands had really moved away from my neck. I rubbed my bleary eyes and saw an old woman standing in front of me, which immediately scared me into falling off the stool.
"Wow! Who... who are you?" I asked, clutching my chest and gasping for breath.
The old woman smiled and said, "Young man, I'm an old friend of your grandparents. I came all the way from a distant village to pay my respects. Did I startle you?" After speaking, she came over and helped me up, muttering under her breath, "Those damn old fools actually came to make trouble!"
"Ah? What kind of trouble? Who?" I thought she was saying someone was coming to make trouble in my family's mourning hall.
The old woman laughed a few more times and shook her head, saying, "No, when one gets old, they like to mumble nonsense."
The old woman had lost all her teeth, and her smile appeared rather strange. Her white hair was scattered untidily, making her look like a beggar. She was dressed in a black jacket with floral patterns. Her skin was as wrinkled as old tree bark, and her emaciated hands resembled thin vines, as if they could strangle someone at any moment. Her eyelids sagged, and her eyeballs were so sunken that they were almost unseeable.
I looked at the pitch-black weather outside and felt something was odd. How could an elderly woman like her have traveled such a long distance in an environment so dark that you couldn't see your own hand in front of your face? It was simply incredible.
But since she had come with sincere intentions to pay her respects, I didn't feel right doubting her. I took a few sticks of incense from the offering table, lit them, and handed them to her.
After the worship ceremony, the old woman didn't intend to stay longer and turned to leave. But she stopped just as she stepped over the threshold, then looked back at me and said, "Young man, could you walk with me for a bit? Just until we cross the railway in your village. At my age, my reflexes are slow—if a train comes, I'm afraid I won't be able to dodge it in time. Plus, with it being so dark out, my legs and feet aren't nimble either!"
There is a railway in our village, and you have to cross it to get to the next village. Fortunately, it's not too far from my home—only about a ten-minute walk.
I didn't agree immediately. Instead, I tried to persuade the old woman to stay overnight and leave tomorrow. But she refused stubbornly, insisting on leaving right away. She even said that if I wasn't willing to escort her, she'd make her way back alone.
I was a bit worried, so I had to nod in agreement.
Despite her advanced age, the old woman walked swiftly, as if her feet were carried by the wind. Supporting her, we quickly arrived beside the railway.
The railway was already decades old, with the rails on both sides heavily rusted and never repaired. Every time I saw a train pass by, I felt a surge of trepidation.
When I was a child, my grandfather told me the story of this railway, saying that a woman and a little girl had been killed by a train shortly after it was built.
Someone witnessed the incident, recalling that when the mother and daughter were crossing the tracks, a train suddenly approached. They could have escaped if they reacted quickly, but their feet seemed to be tangled in something on the rails, leaving them struggling desperately in place, their faces contorted with terror.
By the time the train roared past, their bodies were shattered beyond recognition. Limbs flew in all directions, and only their heads were found on the tracks—horrifyingly deformed, with their faces caved in and blood oozing from every orifice, staining the rails crimson.
After someone reported the incident, the police searched everywhere for their remains, hoping to piece together the bodies. But bizarrely, after three days of searching, no limbs were found—they seemed to have vanished without a trace. Eventually, the police had to give up.
The land beside the tracks was once a rapeseed field, often tended by villagers. But after the tragedy, every evening at sunset, people claimed to see a mother and daughter crawling along the tracks in unnatural postures, as if searching for something. Whenever someone approached, they would vanish into the rails. Terrified, villagers avoided the area altogether.
Later, people even stopped daring to approach the rapeseed fields, and now the areas on both sides of the railway have become overgrown wastelands. The grass is as tall as my chest—if someone crouches down and crawls in, they disappear completely.
Because of this incident, Grandfather never allowed me to go near the railway when I was a child. Once, I came here with friends out of curiosity, and when I got home, Grandfather hung me from a tree and beat me.
When I grew older, Grandfather didn't monitor me as strictly, but he still forbade me from crossing the railway at night. I'd agreed to help the old woman on a whim, but now that I was here, I began to regret it. The area around the railway was filled with cold, eerie winds, and there was a strange rustling sound, as if someone were whispering in my ear. Under the flashlight's beam, the rusted rails looked as though they'd been smeared with blood.