CORPSE WHISPERER

The eyeball tumbling from the envelope sent a jolt through me. Could it be Grandfather's? Impossible. The letter arrived before he vanished. This eye belonged to someone else.

Only the sticky orb, nothing else. Utterly bizarre. What message was the sender trying to convey? Why had Grandfather disappeared?

My thoughts tangled. I clawed at my scalp, sinking into a chair, frustration boiling.

Grandfather's voice echoed: "See the essence through the phenomenon. When lost, return to the foundation."

I scanned the study. Tidy. Windows and door intact. He hadn't been taken by force. He'd left willingly… after receiving the letter.

This was a message. One only Grandfather could decipher. Therefore, I should be able to decipher it too.

The message was in the eye.

I switched on the desk lamp. Under its glare, I examined the orb. The lens opacity suggested removal within the last three hours. A short length of nerve trailed from the back. After a minute of scrutiny, two conclusions formed:

The victim was alive when the eye was taken.

The extraction was surgical. Flawless. No damage. Eyeballs are fragile. This precision spoke of a surgeon's skill… or something far darker.

Tiny particles clung to the eye. I scraped some off, rubbed them between my fingers: wood shavings. Lifting them to my nose: the distinct scent of pine resin.

...

...

Memory clicked. North of town stood the lumber processing mill. Where imported pine was planed into furniture wood. That's where this eye came from. The sender's message was clear: Someone at the mill was in mortal danger. A veiled threat. Grandfather had rushed there to intervene.

No time to waste. I grabbed a flashlight and bolted into the night. Dark streets echoed with sporadic barks. I sprinted north until the mill's hulking silhouette loomed against the black sky.

A perimeter wall. The main gate stood open, a heavy padlock discarded on the ground. A piece of wire protruded from the keyhole.

My deduction was sound. The sender was here. Grandfather likely was too. Fear prickled my skin. This sender wasn't benevolent. Should I find a phone? Call the police?

I had no mobile. Running back was impractical. Every second endangered Grandfather.

I snatched up a hefty length of wood from the ground and entered. Moving cautiously, I spotted light spilling from a warehouse window. I clicked off my flashlight, gripped my makeshift club tighter, and crept forward.

The warehouse was a canyon of stacked timber, reaching high under tarpaulins. Silence pressed in, thick and unnerving. Every rustle of my own feet sounded like a shout.

Rounding a stack, I saw them.

A middle-aged, heavyset man I didn't know sat slumped in a chair. Shirt open. A coiling blue dragon tattoo covered his chest. A rag stuffed his mouth. His eye sockets were empty. Horrifyingly, no blood stained his face, clothes, or the skin around the gaping wounds. He clutched a black plastic bag in his lap, something lumpy inside.

A few paces away, sprawled on the concrete floor: a figure in a crimson tang suit, feet clad in hand-stitched cloth shoes.

Grandfather.

I forgot the other man. Ran. Fell to my knees beside Grandfather. His skin was cold. No pulse. Pupils dilated and fixed. Holding my hand under his nose, I waited agonizing seconds… the faintest ghost of breath touched my skin.

Tears blurred my vision. "Grandfather! Hold on! I'll get help!"

His lips trembled. A whisper, barely audible: "Yang'er…"

"Don't die! I'll call an ambulance! The best doctors!"

"No…" The word was a ragged gasp. "Too… late."

Agony lanced through me. Hot tears spilled over. He spoke again, each word a monumental effort. I wanted him to save his strength, but dared not stop him.

"Yang'er… My time… has come… If you become a forensic examiner… I won't stop you… But if you ever hear… 'The Phantom Blade of Jiangbei'…" His hand, suddenly strong, clamped onto mine. His eyes locked onto mine, burning with urgency. "Hide. Hide far away."

My voice cracked with sobs. "Grandfather… Is that the bastard who did this? I'll avenge you!"

"No!" His grip tightened painfully. His gaze demanded submission. "Promise me."

I nodded, the motion jerky, desperate.

A ghost of peace touched his lips. Then… stillness. His hand went slack. I knelt beside him, wracked by silent sobs that shook my whole frame.

Amidst the tears, I saw it. A long, distorted shadow flickering on the concrete floor beside Grandfather's body. My tears froze. Instinct screamed: Position. Clarity. The light source. Someone was standing directly behind me.

And I hadn't heard a single breath. Not a rustle. As if it wasn't a living thing. A chilling thought: Had the eyeless man risen?

Impossible.

This shadow was tall and thin. Slowly, deliberately, its right arm lifted. Clutched in its hand was a blurred shape… like a curved blade, shimmering in the uncertain light.

I lurched to my feet. Instantly, something cold and lethally sharp pressed hard against my lower back, piercing through my shirt.

A voice, mechanically distorted, devoid of gender, devoid of warmth, scraped the air: "Don't turn. See my face… you won't leave here alive."

Fear and fury warred within me. This was the monster who'd lured and killed Grandfather. I was unarmed. Helpless. If I died here, no one would ever know.

"Your name?" the voice hissed.

"S-Song Yang."

"Song Zhaolin had a grandson." A pause, heavy with menace. "Did he teach you anything?"

"Nothing." The lie tasted bitter.

"Is that so?" A low, grating chuckle vibrated the air. "Do you… wish to live?"

I couldn't speak. I nodded.

"Good. A test then. Answer correctly… you walk away. Fail… you join your grandfather in hell."

A tremor ran through me. Shame burned – shame at my terror, my helplessness. My grandfather's killer stood inches away, and I was paralyzed, a mouse under a cat's paw.

But the will to survive was primal. I nodded again.

"Simple," the shadow-voice rasped. "Discern how your grandfather died. Do that… and you go free."