The Secret Code of Monsters

Chapter 203 Ch.202 Castanets and Brooms

A cemetery is never a forgotten place.

At least in this country where the sun is shining now, everyone has compassion and everyone is willing to take time to bring relatives and friends to this resting place to accompany the deceased.

They would bring servants, and servants would bring lunch.

In worse cemeteries, visitors are left to help themselves; in better cemeteries, tables, chairs and tableware are provided (but most visitors do not use the tableware provided by the cemetery).

The men drank and talked in this secluded secret place full of green plants and wild roses, talking about old friends who had passed away, family members or loved ones who had left, their children and careers, their country, and their future.

Ladies in twos and threes carrying baskets, followed by servants, wearing soft-soled cloth shoes, strolled on the soft turf - or occasionally bent down to pick a few wild flowers that looked bright but could never be named. .

At this time, when the parents have their own entertainment, the children get together and start playing hide and seek in the cemetery or harassing some of the deceased who are sleeping.

The tombkeeper just reminded him with a straight face.

The laughter of children brings happiness to the deceased.

——Of course, if it is too outrageous: for example, the children insist on playing with the iron bars of the tomb or doing something to the sacred elephant sculpture in front of the tomb...

The gravekeeper would still pick up the unfortunate guy's collar one by one and take him back to his parents.

Then he went to a distance to watch him receive a solid beating.

Usually those who dare to do this are the 'castanets'.

——This has to mention the ‘difference’ of the tombkeepers.

There are two types of gravekeepers:

castanets, and, brooms.

Castanets are the latter's joking name for them - these unsmiling men in black robes are always covered with white bone pendants and clatter when they walk, hence their nickname.

They come from the Ring of Eternal Silence, and they are ‘gathering bones, guarding tombs, and keeping silent’—the second year of the three-year trial.

These people are assigned to various tombs, and they will leave on the Winter Festival a year later, and will be replaced by a new batch of members who have completed the 'bone collection'.

The 'broom' is much simpler.

They are employed.

Ordinary people employed by the Circle of Eternity to handle trivial matters - such as cleaning the tombs, cleaning up the garbage left by visitors, replenishing the daily necessities of the castanets, and cooperating with the gardeners to mow and tidy the lawns and woods.

These rough guys, who are mostly illiterate and have low morals, have their own circles and have almost no communication with the castanets.

They worked, then retreated to the cabin to play cards and drink cheap beer. When the money is paid every week, find the cheapest woman and have fun.

What goes around comes around.

But today is different.

Today the castanets are gone.

Before Christmas comes the Winter Festival.

"This time of year, they disappear all night long."

A small stove burned in a wooden house near the edge of the woods.

The oil lamp was hung on a rivet drilled into the wall panel, and two palm-sized pieces of bread were placed next to the stove, smeared with a streak of milky white grease from an unknown animal.

Old Henry was lying on the wooden bed with his head on his hands.

The bed was covered with a soft blanket that wasn't too dirty (he bought it from a prostitute). He took off his shoes, crossed his legs, and rubbed his toes endlessly, smelling the scent of grease from the bread.

Little Henry was sitting on the gray floor, with his legs crossed and a cigarette butt in his hand.

There are many fathers and sons in this business.

"I heard from my friends that it is a festival." Little Henry bit the butt of the cigarette, put the cigarette butt into the stove and lit it, pinched it with his thumb and index finger, and took a beautiful puff: "...it seems like it's not in the same place every year."

Old Henry glanced at his son: "...You'd better stay away from your group of bad friends."

Seeing that little Henry was disapproving, he put down his leg and gave him a kick.

"Don't talk about the castanets, you idiot! Do you know how many friends I have brought in for you to visit? Every day, I trim the weeds, clean up the garbage, and occasionally stay overnight, and my salary is as high as that of a worker in a steel factory - if it's because of you! You lose your job by opening your mouth..."

"Just get out of the house!"

Little Henry held a cigarette and said with a smile: "...They are nobler than us, right, father."

This means you are still not convinced.

"...You'd better shut your stinky mouth." Old Henry sat up from the bed and lowered his voice: "You will understand when you get to my age. That is the 'Ring of Eternal Silence', You know? A real, special organization.”

Little Henry pouted.

"Oh, they don't have to pay to go to Flower Street, right?"

"They can twist your head off without being held accountable by the police." Old Henry slapped the cigarette butt out of his son's hand and stared at him for a few seconds. Seeing that he was still laughing shamelessly, he had no choice but to take out a cigarette from his pocket. The crumpled cigarette was thrown over.

"...I should spend some money to send you to school."

Old Henry muttered.

He regretted a little bit, not gritting his teeth and sending this kid to learn something - at least the school would keep him away from the gangsters on the street, and prevent him from becoming such a lawless person.

At that time he was reluctant to part with money.

"Are you..." Old Henry moved his lips, and his voice was almost muffled by the cold wind outside: "...are you... attracted to that..."

His son has been leaning close to a castanet lately.

The girl is young and beautiful.

He just had a droopy face every day—Old Henry was also a man, and he knew that this style would arouse the pursuit of a certain kind of people.

If it were another goal, Henry Sr. might have to praise his son and give him some advice.

But that's a castanet.

Even the pendant on his waist is a black robe castanette made of human bones.

"You stay away from that woman."

"I just want to have a casual chat with her." The son said. "Don't you want to see me-"

"Shh..." Old Henry suddenly interrupted.

He seemed to hear some movement outside the door, accompanied by a cold wind.

"shh——" He picked up the shovel standing at the corner of the door and quietly opened the door a crack.

The cemetery was quiet.

Old Henry lay on the crack of the door and listened quietly for a long time.

Nothing happened.

This isn't right.

There were two other groups of people patrolling in the first half of the night. Logically speaking, they would always pass by once in a while - but now...

The cemetery was dark.

The two... or four oil lamps that should have been there seemed to be dragged into the flames of the deep sea.

Beast?

Grave robber?

Old Henry didn't know.

But definitely not normal.

"...You stay in the house." He held the shovel and his chest rose and fell several times. After taking a breath, he suddenly opened the door and jumped out!

"Who's out there!"

He roared loudly and made a whirring sound with the shovel in his hand!

"Who! Here!"

"Get out! I've seen you—!"

The cold wind whistled silently.

There are footsteps stepping on the turf, and the rustling ground is approaching...

"Who... who's there!"

He squinted his dimmed triangular eyes, trying to identify the owner of the footsteps in the night.

Then, he saw something...

Some flying light dust.

The shiny, white fireworks-like dust flew away from the cemetery in the winter wind. The owner of the footsteps walked through the darkness, covered with hazy white gauze.

"...Margaret."

Old Henry's throat started to swallow for no reason, and his hands were shaking so much that he could hardly hold the shovel.

A chill ran down his spine, and a thin layer of cold sweat broke out.

That's his wife.

My wife of fifteen years has been dead.

"Margaret!!" He lost strength in his fingers, let go of the wooden handle, and stared blankly at his wife who died of illness standing in front of him vividly - as beautiful as she was fifteen years ago.

He wanted to say something, but couldn't find the topic.

He looked greedily at...

Watch her approach...

near…

Then the 'wife' gave him a left hook.