The Tale Of The Ghost Eyes - Chapter 75 The Savior Is Coming

We walked slowly down the steep slope towards the gravesite.

Zhao Laohei was panting in loud gasping breaths as he backed down the path. His arms continued to swing and dance in the religious rites, struggling to maintain the ritual. Wang Chunmei and I were also suffering, drained by the process.

Shang Haoming, though timid at first, wasn’t nervous at all. He smiled at the ghost now, guiding it with the stone and his voice. The small spirit followed happily, swaying from side to side, whichever way the stone went so did he.

The grave was mound of sand the size of a small ottoman. It was surrounded by ash remnants of burned prayer paper and burning candles that Zhao Laohei had set out one by one.

Shang Haoming peeked over his shoulder at the grave. He went back to guiding the ghost and called out, “What should I do?”

“Don’t move.” Zhao Laohei said, “The ghost won’t get close to you. I’ll perform the rites to send it away.”

A gust of wind followed his words, scattering the topsoil on the grave into our faces. Everyone covered his or her mouth and nose, squinting against the spray.

Through my mostly closed eyes, I saw Zhao Laohei raise the peach wood sword and shout, “Oh my god!”

“What?” Zhao Jie called out, fear pitching his voice unnaturally high.

The spirit stopped a few meters in front of Shang Haoming and dropped onto the ground. Its tiny red fists beat into the ground, leaving pockets of smashed dirt. It began to scream a low wailing horror of a noise.

“The candles!” Zhao Laohei yelled, pointing at the now flameless wicks. The sand had extinguished all of them. “We weren’t finished! It’s not under my control any more!”

The spirits scream seemed to amplify again, like a shockwave bursting from the grave. The locust trees around us shook.

Zhao Laohei began waving his hands wildly, motioning for us to run. He grabbed Shang Haoming and pulled him back towards us. “Go!” He shouted. Zhao Jie, Wang Chunmei, and I turned and began moving back up the mountain. We didn’t make it ten meters before we were all out of breath.

“I can’t,” Wang Chunmei puffed. “Its too hard!” She was crying again, tears leaking through the dirt on her face.

Zhao Laohei stopped ahead of us and turned back. He saw us stopped and moved to help. When he reached Wang Chunmei he took her off my shoulder and said, “It’s not following.” His voice was flat and hard, but not scared.

We turned to look back as one. The spirit was a blood red boy, no more than two years old. He stood at the base of his own grave and stared at us, crying. Ghostly tears flowed and fell down a slightly transparent red face. Tiny red fists were balled at his sides. He looked up at us, and cried.

“He’s just a baby.” Wang Chunmei said. “We can’t leave him.”

“Are you crazy?” Zhao Laohei said, after everything it did to you?

“Not crazy,” She said, “And not heartless either. I will stay and I will send it away.”