(Time: Dusk on the second day)

  I fled, almost literally, from the temple radiating an ominous aura and the dilapidated wooden door that seemed to conceal the entire village's secrets. Though I had turned and was retracing my steps along the muddy path, the feeling of being watched by cold eyes clung to my back like a persistent maggot, making my scalp tingle and my skin crawl with every step.

  The image of the withered, hunched old man, like an ancient statue, and his hoarse, broken warnings ("Sky dark... door... will close... cannot leave...") echoed relentlessly in my mind like a nightmare. They intertwined with the scene before me—the dead silence, the decay, the swirling fog—creating a suffocating sense of oppression.

  I quickened my pace, the trekking pole thudding rhythmically on the muddy ground, the only clear sound belonging to me in this space. I didn't dare look back, forcing myself to focus on the path beneath my feet and the fog ahead, but the fear and chaos within me churned like the thick fog itself, showing no sign of dispersing.

  The sky was darkening rapidly, visibly so.

  Back in the central area, though the light was dim, I could at least make out shapes and colors. But now, as the sun struggled below the rolling western mountains, the last vestiges of warmth were completely drained away. The entire sky took on a bizarre, deep purplish-red hue, like congealed blood pressing heavily overhead. This light offered no warmth; instead, it coated the decaying village in an even more sinister and unreal color.

  The fog grew thicker, stickier. It was no longer the milky white, gauze-like mist of the morning, but had transformed into a grey-black miasma, like dense smoke, rolling slowly across the ground, between the broken walls, and among the twisted branches. Visibility dropped sharply; where before I could see ten meters, now it was likely less than five. The thick fog swallowed light, sound, and any sense of direction. I felt lost in a boundless labyrinth of grey gloom and silence.

  The temperature plummeted骤然下降. Damp coldness, like invisible tentacles, relentlessly seeped into my collar and cuffs, penetrating my skin, stealing the little warmth I had left. I instinctively tightened my windbreaker, but the chill seemed to emanate from the land itself, impossible to ward off. My teeth began to chatter uncontrollably.

  The ambient sounds also changed strangely. The earlier suffocating silence was broken, replaced by more unsettling noises. The wind seemed to rise again, but it was no longer the mournful whine through empty houses. It became a low murmur, like countless people whispering secrets in the distance—fragmented, indistinct, intermittent, as if the wind carried countless secrets and resentments.

  From the distant mountain forest, occasional shrill cries of unknown birds (or perhaps not birds?) pierced the night. The sounds were sharp and distorted, unlike anything I'd heard in cities or normal forests, carrying an unnatural, bone-chilling terror, like the desperate wail of a dying creature.

  The crack of stepping on dry twigs sounded exceptionally jarring in this environment, each snap making my heart jump as if I'd disturbed something lurking in the darkness.

  Most unsettlingly, amidst this cacophony, I thought I heard it again... that drifting, ghost-like children's song.

  It was fainter than at dusk, more distant, like a single thread of sound woven into the wind's whispers and the night cries, barely there, appearing and disappearing. The innocent yet eerie melody pricked me again like a cold needle.

  Was it an auditory hallucination? Or... was something truly wandering and singing in this fog-shrouded village at dusk?

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  I didn't dare stop to listen closely, only quickening my pace, almost breaking into a run, desperate to shake off the haunting sound.

  Visual anomalies began to appear too.

  As the light faded further, the surrounding scenery started to look distorted and unstable. The already dilapidated houses, framed by the dim light and thick fog, cast immensely long shadows that writhed like monstrous beasts crawling on the ground, ready to pounce. Broken eaves and crumbling walls merged and morphed visually, forming vague, menacing faces; the black holes of windows became their empty eyes, silently watching me, their frantic prey.

  The trees lining the path also took on bizarre shapes. Vine-choked trunks resembled twisted muscles, bare branches swayed in the gloomy wind like skeletal ghost hands struggling to reach me. Tree shadows flickered in the fog, elongating and shortening as if alive.

  For a fleeting moment, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a blurry white figure flash past the pitch-black doorway of a half-collapsed house just ahead.

  My heart nearly leaped out of my chest. I stopped abruptly, staring intently.

  But there was only swirling fog, the black void of the doorway, and the deeper darkness beyond. Nothing.

  Was it my eyes playing tricks? A trick of light and shadow? Or...?

  I didn't dare dwell on it. I forced myself to look away from the disturbing sights, keeping my head down, relying on hazy memory and the occasional flicker of GPS signal, frantically heading towards the temporary base I had chosen during the day—the abandoned "elementary school".

  The old man's warning rang like an alarm bell in my mind: "Sky dark... door... will close... cannot leave..."

  I didn't know what the "door" was, nor what would happen after dark. But my strong intuition told me I had to get back to that relatively "safe" space before night fully descended. This village, after dusk, seemed to be coming alive in a truly terrifying way.

  The way back felt longer and harder than the journey in. The thick fog severely disrupted my sense of direction; several times, I felt like I was walking in circles. Paths that seemed clear by day were now blurred, as if subtly altered by the mist.

  Moreover, the feeling of being watched returned, stronger and more pervasive than before the temple. It felt as though countless eyes were hidden in the fog, watching me coldly from all directions. As if the entire village had become a living, malevolent entity, toying with me, the intruder.

  My breathing grew rapid; sweat mixed with cold mist stung my eyes. Fear and exhaustion clamped down like two giant hands around my throat, threatening to suffocate me.

  Just as I was about to break down, wanting to scream regardless of the consequences, a familiar, relatively tall building silhouette emerged faintly through the dense fog ahead.

  It was the "schoolhouse"! I was back!

  A wave of post-disaster euphoria momentarily washed away some fear, and I practically stumbled and scrambled towards the building.

  However, standing before the hollow doorway, staring into the even thicker darkness within, the earlier euphoria quickly cooled.

  The building that seemed somewhat "sturdy" by day now appeared exceptionally gloomy and dilapidated under the shroud of night and fog. The black windows looked like traps, the darkness beyond the door felt like a connection to another world. Was it truly safe here? Or just another, more hidden cage?

  I had no time to hesitate. Gripping the stick and trekking pole, I stepped inside.

  It was darker and colder inside than out. The air hung thick with dust and mildew. Relying on memory, I groped my way to the corner I had cleared earlier, finding the bright orange tent, now almost invisible in the dark.

  I scrambled into the tent, zipped it shut, and fumbled frantically to turn on my headlamp.

  A powerful beam of white light instantly pierced the darkness, illuminating the cramped space inside the tent. Seeing the familiar sleeping bag, backpack, and scattered food wrappers brought a sliver of peace to my heart.

  But then, I heard a sound that made my scalp crawl.

  "CLANG—"

  A dull, loud sound reverberated suddenly from outside the building. It sounded like... a heavy, massive iron gate being slammed shut.

  The sound echoed in the dead night air, long and eerie.

  My face instantly turned deathly pale.

  The door... had closed?

  Was this the "door" the old man spoke of?

  The sky... was completely dark now.

  I could almost feel, with that loud clang, a qualitative shift in the atmosphere of Fengmen Village. The previous sense of oppression and foreboding seemed to solidify at that moment into tangible, aggressive malice.

  Terror, like an icy tide, completely drowned my last shred of hope.