“Done copying yet?”

“Wait a bit! Almost there!”

Damn my luck. I lost the game, and the punishment turned out to be—

copying gravestones.

Because of that one stupid thing, I got tangled up with five “men” and nearly lost my life.

My name is Melody Sinclair. I’m a university student. It was summer break, nothing much to do, so I came to Fenghuang Mountain with a few schoolmates for a trip.

At night, we were bored stiff in the guesthouse. Marcus Weatherwax was the one who suggested a dare game. They spun a beer bottle, and whoever it pointed at had to do whatever challenge the others gave.

I lost five rounds in a row.

Clara Harrington got all excited and said she had the perfect punishment, something thrilling.

On the way here, our coach had passed a graveyard. Clara Harrington said that if I went and copied down a whole row of gravestones, every punishment before that would be wiped clean.

I refused on the spot. Hard.

I was scared to begin with, and it was the middle of the night. Who wouldn’t be?

But the others were fired up.

Clara Harrington even slung an arm around my neck and said, all bold and righteous, “What are you scared of? It’s not like we’re making you go alone. We’re all going.”

“Yeah, yeah! You only get to go crazy once in life. Copying gravestones—how cool is that? Later, when we get back to school, we can brag about it for years.” Marcus Weatherwax was just as eager.

And just like that, they dragged me to a graveyard two li away from the guesthouse.

By then, it was already past midnight.

There were no lamps in the graveyard to begin with. Worse, the sky was overcast that night, the air wet and heavy. Time dripped by, slow and cold. Fog spread through the whole burial ground like a damp shroud. Then a gust of wind swept over me, and I shivered on the spot.

It was freezing.

That place was empty and far off from anything alive, and the cold there was strange, the kind that didn’t stay on your skin. It burrowed inward, like it wanted into your bones.

I could barely see. Marcus Weatherwax used a flashlight to shine on the gravestones for me.

The beam from his phone fell near my hand, and for one instant, it looked blue-white.

I jumped and rubbed my eyes, then looked again.

Gone.

So I really had seen it wrong.

I forced myself to read the words on the stones. Some were still clear. Some were buried under broad patches of moss, mottled and hard to make out.

I pulled out some tissues and wiped the stones as I copied, apologizing under my breath the whole time.

Evening, brothers. I’m cleaning this up for you, all right? Please don’t blame me.

“Hurry up, hurry up! Done yet?”

Marcus Weatherwax’s voice suddenly turned sharp, urgent.

I was already scared out of my wits. Him pushing me only made my heart pound harder. I snapped, “What are you rushing me for, trying to kill me? I’m already going as fast as I can! If you’re so brave, you wipe them!”

That finally shut him up.

I wiped and copied, wiped and copied. I had no idea how long it took. At last I reached the final gravestone in the row.

But this one was strange.

There was no name on it.

I froze.

Poor soul, I thought. Dead, and not even a name left behind. No one knew him. No one came to mourn him.

Just as that thought crossed my mind, a drop of water landed on my forehead.

Pat.

“It’s raining!” Clara Harrington sounded like she was close to breaking too. Her voice shook as she urged me on. “This place is creepy as hell. If it really won’t work, then... then let’s just stop here.”

So we left in a hurry.

Back at the rental house, everyone was worn out. We washed up however we could and collapsed straight into bed.

That night, I had a dream.