The Last Breath Chapter 5

I held the paper balls up, but in my nervousness couldn't even find my own nostrils. Just as I switched to breathing through my mouth, suddenly the farmhouse's front door creaked open.

Then footsteps echoed in the hallway outside the bedroom—rhythmic sounds like someone walking barefoot, only slower.

These didn't sound like human footsteps. The sounds grew closer—that thing was just one wall away from me.

Besides footsteps, I could even hear claws scraping against the wall.

My hair stood on end, my scalp felt electrified, every pore aching with tension.

What kind of thing was this? Human feet but also claws?

The hallway led to the kitchen. Soon the sounds returned—clearly it hadn't found what it was looking for in the kitchen.

Suddenly the footsteps stopped outside the bedroom door.

I forced myself to suppress my pounding chest. My heart rate was frighteningly high. I realized I was having trouble breathing, but I was powerless to help it.

The door hinges made a teeth-grinding noise as a crack opened, revealing dense blackness beyond.

The next second, that black mass grew larger and taller.

Suddenly, like liquid, it squeezed through the narrow gap.

Floating in the air, that black thing had a face at the top—wrinkled and aged, white hair everywhere, a pair of round eyes glowing gold and darting around before locking onto me.

It grinned, as if smiling, its mouth grotesquely red, teeth broken and uneven.

"Who are you?" It was Grandma's voice.

It moved closer. That face became clearer, but unlike Grandma in life, the skin had holes left by maggots.

I finally understood why Uncle Samuel had changed his mind mid-sentence when describing what that thing looked like.

Its voice resembled Grandma's but was more shrill and distorted.

"Who are you?" It kept repeating that question, each word scraping against my eardrums.

I was too scared to speak. Even though Uncle Samuel had told me how to answer, I truly couldn't get the words out.

"Who are you?" The voice had reached the bedside. I could feel that ghastly pale face less than two meters from me.

I tried to open my mouth but couldn't make any sound.

Getting no response seemed to make it even happier. Its smile grew more exaggerated, the corners of its mouth stretching to its ears, nearly splitting its face in two.

The blackness instantly surged to the bed's edge. It was trying to get on the bed but hadn't noticed the coffin nails Uncle Samuel had left.

The instant that black mass touched the coffin nails, it recoiled as if electrocuted.

It tried several more times, but the coffin nails continued blocking it from the bed.

Its smile vanished. The corners of its mouth immediately curved downward into a mournful expression impossible for a living person to make—even more terrifying than before.

It looked down at the coffin nails, seeming to recognize them as an insurmountable barrier.

I secretly rejoiced—I was saved! Thank God for Uncle Samuel, or I'd definitely have died here tonight.

But strangely, it never left.

The next second, two claws suddenly emerged from that black mass—covered in coarse hair, larger than wolf claws, sharper than eagle talons. It was using the claws to dig at the wooden boards along the bed's edge.

The boards were old and rotten, long since decayed. The sound of flying wood chips bored straight into my heart.

In just a few strikes, the boards couldn't withstand its sharp claws.

With a clatter, one board section fell to the floor along with the nails hammered into it. A pathway onto the bed had been cleared.

With no obstacles remaining, that white-haired old woman's face immediately opened its blood-red maw and lunged at me.