Vico Roland had recently begun to feel like he was going mad, because every night at midnight his right eye would ache. Naturally, he would press his hand over it, and the pain would stop. The problem was not his right eye, but rather what he saw with his left.
Every time this happened, his open left eye would see ghosts—figures in bizarre clothing walking past him.
They spoke English and did things that seemed utterly incomprehensible. For example, they tormented that father and son at Number 4, Privet Drive. In truth, that family called Dursley was extremely annoying, practically like two fat pigs. Vico Roland once thought that such obese people might not even need to relieve themselves, because everything they ate seemed to be completely digested and absorbed.
That, perhaps, was how they grew so disgustingly fat.
He did not know when it began, but during the daytime Vico Roland had no memory of Number 4, Privet Drive at all. When he walked past, he saw only Number 3 to the left and Number 5 to the right. Though it puzzled him why there was no Number 4, he never pursued the matter. He had plenty of other things to do. And whenever he stood between the two houses, he would suddenly feel full of energy to do everything he wanted.
But at midnight, Vico Roland would hear miserable wails coming from a house not far away. That was the forbidden Number 4, Privet Drive. Like a haunted house, it appeared in his sight precisely at twelve, and terrifying things were always happening there.
"I must never go there! I must not take the risk. In so many horror films it is curiosity that leads people to investigate, only to drag themselves into trouble or even danger. That is not what a rational person would choose."
Every time this occurred, Vico Roland told himself the same thing. He felt it had already happened several times before. Each time he thought the same, and each time he refrained from venturing closer.
So Vico Roland continued living his little life. By day, oblivious, he would glance curiously at the space between Number 3 and Number 5, then devote himself to his work with tireless passion. But once night fell and midnight struck, as soon as the wails began, Vico Roland would crouch behind his window and carefully watch toward Number 4, Privet Drive.
From his own house he could see its front and part of the side. To prove to himself that the haunted house really existed, Vico Roland bought a camera and a video recorder, hoping to capture midnight photos—even if by day he completely forgot the house's existence.
But in truth, neither camera nor video recorder worked. Even when he remembered the haunted house at night and set the recorder to film on a timer, after a whole day of forgetting, when night returned and his memory came back, the recording still showed no trace of Number 4.
Yet by watching the footage, Vico Roland was shocked to discover that every day he would walk to the space between Number 3 and Number 5. It had become a habit. If he did not go there, he felt restless, unable to work with any passion. But after spending time at that spot, each day's work became pure enjoyment.
Because of his outstanding performance and enthusiasm, his boss praised him repeatedly, and next month he was set to receive a promotion and a raise.
As for becoming a general manager, rising to CEO, and marrying a beautiful rich woman—those were goals for the future.
For now, staying grounded in his work was better.
Since he had no intention of entering the haunted house, he decided to record it from outside instead.
For this, Vico Roland learned to draw. His subject was the haunted house. Each midnight, a twisted, shadowy image of it appeared on his canvas. Painting it from home was no longer enough, so Vico began parking his car at different spots nearby. Each night, he awoke from the pain in his eye, then sketched with intense focus until, past one o'clock, exhaustion pulled him back into sleep.
From midnight to one a.m.—that was the golden hour, his only chance to observe the haunted house.
By morning, if not for the sketches and notes at his side, he would have no memory of what he had done the night before.
Then naturally he would go stand between Number 3 and Number 5 again, curiously observing the area, before diving into another day of passionate work.
Vico Roland's life became so orderly that he began to see this strange ability to see ghosts as a blessing. He even hoped the haunted house would remain forever, so he could observe it for an hour each night, then return the next day to work with vigor.
Only when doing what one loves does true passion erupt. Though Vico Roland's source of passion was bizarre, what he gained was undeniable enthusiasm, and it made him happy every day.
The haunted house appeared under mysterious circumstances, and the ghosts within it were no less strange.
Often, Vico Roland saw varying numbers of "ghosts" emerge, only to vanish in an instant, or transform into a serpent of black smoke that streaked through the sky. Such sights were so incredible that they nearly broke his self-imposed rule never to venture inside.
What reminded him to keep his distance was a single moment of eye contact with one of them.
A short, fat "ghost" in a tattered suit actually smiled at him after stepping out the door. That clearly meant it had noticed him all along. And because Vico Roland had never dared to enter, the "ghost" merely pointed at him with a twig. Yet that alone made Vico Roland suffer an agony so sharp it pierced his very soul.
It was horrifying beyond words. For days he was plagued by nightmares, always haunted by the waving twig and the ghost's silver right hand.
Only a week later did Vico Roland dare resume his observations of the haunted house.
But he never again saw that small, sinister figure with the silver right hand.
Its appearance had been strange, and its disappearance just as strange.
To remember that peculiar silver hand, Vico Roland planned to use it as inspiration for a series of ghost stories. He even came up with some titles:
The Silver Right Hand and the Magic Dog
The Silver Right Hand and the Chamber Snake
The Silver Right Hand and the Three-Legged Toad
The Silver Right Hand and the Bloodflame Cup
The Silver Right Hand and the Phoenix Egg
The Silver Right Hand and the Blue-Blooded Woman
The Silver Right Hand and the Resurrection Stone
Suddenly inspired, Vico Roland wrote down all seven titles at once. This would become a whole series of novels.
Who knew in what form the will of the world might be projected outward, revealing its existence in another world?
Vico Roland was certain he would one day become a great literary master, worth billions. Well, even fifty billion would be enough, as long as he could marry a beautiful young woman—and if she brought along a pretty daughter, that would be acceptable too.
Every day would then be filled with book signings and encounters with female fans. Such a life would be a glorious reversal of fortune, far more rewarding than hard work alone.
He was already prepared. He kept his manuscript draft on him and planned to visit the spot of Number 4, Privet Drive tomorrow. With his current passion for work, he would surely find the same passion for writing.
He now had his own private office, so secretly writing was no problem. Once he became famous, his current job would no longer matter. He could sit in a café, order a coffee, and spend the whole day immersed in writing under the air conditioner.
With these fanciful thoughts, Vico Roland passed the happiest night since discovering the haunted house.
When dawn broke, he crawled out of his car, his body stiff from curling up all night.
Not far away, the house at Number 4, Privet Drive awaited his visit.
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