Post by Neo|*|Origin on May 12, 2011 3:04:23 GMT 8
SFOGS
Have you ever imagined ghost eating salt? Well there were tales of people trying to make quick bucks by selling salt to spirits in cemetery at night.
But to walk out alive, there are a 2 rules though. First you must never look up to see them. Second you must not run out of the cemetery before dawn break. It is believed that if you can observe this 2 rules, then the hell notes they will pay you for salt will turn into real money by day break.
I personally have never come across anybody who tried it but while doing mission training in cemetery during my army days, i have seen people going to some muslim cemetery at 3am. I can’t be sure what he is up to though.
Anyway for those who are interested, this is the correct procedure i heard. Go to a cemetery wearing a jacket with a hood, bring a lot of mahjong paper to spread over the floor and not forgetting the salt wrapped in packets. Soon hands will appear in front of your face asking for salt. You pass it to them and they will give you money. At this point , never look up. When the sun rises, pack up your things and leave and never look back.
Now the question is why does ghost need so much salt? Well according to experts, spirits need salt in order for them to look better after they died because their body will rot so salt will help them to maintain their personal hygiene just like we need water to clean up.
Another important thing is that your salt must never run out. So get a few baskets if possible and sit there do nothing but look at it no matter what happen you can only look at the basket.
According to sources, each hell note they gave you will turn into $50 and you have to spend it within a week. Good luck! [/unquote]
Have you ever imagined ghost eating salt? Well there were tales of people trying to make quick bucks by selling salt to spirits in cemetery at night.
But to walk out alive, there are a 2 rules though. First you must never look up to see them. Second you must not run out of the cemetery before dawn break. It is believed that if you can observe this 2 rules, then the hell notes they will pay you for salt will turn into real money by day break.
I personally have never come across anybody who tried it but while doing mission training in cemetery during my army days, i have seen people going to some muslim cemetery at 3am. I can’t be sure what he is up to though.
Anyway for those who are interested, this is the correct procedure i heard. Go to a cemetery wearing a jacket with a hood, bring a lot of mahjong paper to spread over the floor and not forgetting the salt wrapped in packets. Soon hands will appear in front of your face asking for salt. You pass it to them and they will give you money. At this point , never look up. When the sun rises, pack up your things and leave and never look back.
Now the question is why does ghost need so much salt? Well according to experts, spirits need salt in order for them to look better after they died because their body will rot so salt will help them to maintain their personal hygiene just like we need water to clean up.
Another important thing is that your salt must never run out. So get a few baskets if possible and sit there do nothing but look at it no matter what happen you can only look at the basket.
According to sources, each hell note they gave you will turn into $50 and you have to spend it within a week. Good luck! [/unquote]
Happened to bump across my ex-colleague yesterday and somehow our conversation turned to the supernatural, and I took the chance to ask him if he knows anything about the selling of salt to ghosts.
This is his personal story (or so he claimed).
Fred (not his real name) ran into huge debts when he gambled almost all of his savings into a business venture that went horribly wrong, and ended up with one of his partners fleeing the country with their clients' money, leaving Fred and another investor with debts that ran into hundreds of thousands of dollars.
He went around trying to borrow from relatives and friends, to raise enough money to pay his clients back but apparently everybody shunned him. They said that it's not that they didn't want to help. They themselves were struggling with the escalating cost of living.
To cut the story short, one of his friends whom he approached suggested that he try this method of selling salt to spirits in a cemetery.
Of course, my ex-colleague, being educated in Cornell, couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculous suggestion and politely brushed it off. To his surprise though, his friend didn't seem upset that his suggestion was being mocked. The friend merely said "Think about it. If you want, I can help you bring to the exact place and tell you exactly what to do."
With that, he left.
The funny thing was that my ex-colleague told me that he couldn't stop thinking about such a silly suggestion, and thought about it every night for two whole weeks.
He finally decided to give it a try, after failing to raise money, and was served with a writ of seizure sent by the lawyers.
He decided that he has nothing else to lose, so he picked up the phone and called his friend...
The day finally came.
My ex-colleague's friend chose a particular date, and asked him to meet at a gate near ome of the Lim Chu Kang's fish farms. He was told to wear, like you would have guessed, a hooded long-sleeved shirt.
My friend gladly followed the instructions as he foresaw becoming a meal to the commando jungle mosquitoes, if he didn't die from meeting the salt-buying spirits, that is.
He was also told not to cut his nails for 3 days, and not to take a shower nor look at the mirror on the day of the 'salt sale'.
From the fish farm, his friend (let's call him Jerry) drove him to an unrecognizable spot near Muslim cemetery (it was pitch dark, and he was unfamiliar with the place, of course it was unrecognizable).
The ground was wet with mud, the air smelt faintly of jasmine flowers, the moon was nowhere to be seen, and the place was deathly quiet, except for the very faint sounds of crickets.
It was as if even the insects were hushed in fear, in the god forsaken place where nobody passed by at night. The foreign workers' dormitory compound was far away, and totally out of sight.
Jerry made a few rounds around the slip road, making sure nobody else but them were there, and finally made a stop in front of a small tree with low hanging branches.
"Ok, Fred. You will do it right here."
With that, Jerry took out a huge mat from the boot and laid it out on a grass patch on the left of the tree. Although it very dark and they had only a small torchlight, Fred could see that the ground where Jerry laid the mat, was even, and the grasses flattened. He picked out a shadow of a condensed milk can cut in half, its rough edges shimmering in the dark.
Fred suddenly noticed he was shivering. He couldn't make up his mind whether he was frightened, or whether the air was chilly.
Before he could think further, all the things were laid out neatly in front of him, and Jerry finally spread out the foldable low chair. It was red in colour.
"Ok, remember what I said. And follow exactly. Miss one thing, do one thing wrong, and I cannot promise whether I can save you. But I will not leave you here, if something happens. That I promise."
"I will be back once the sun is up and hopefully I will see you here, and your problems will all disappear."
Fred felt all fear diminishing suddenly.
He even felt brave, almost invincible.
Perhaps he can get through this after all.
Perhaps he can raise enough money when all this is over, and he can get back his life.
Get back with Felicia.
They say that when you have nothing to lose - absolutely nothing - you will be left with no fear.
Not even of death itself.
"I'm a mess.." Fred thought to himself.
With a sigh, he sat down and looked at all the packets of salt.
Highly educated, spent 6 years in architectural school, designed buildings both Singapore and in Dubai that were set to become iconic and award-winning, hob nobbed with the best in London but in the end... here he was.
Sitting down on a foldable chair on a mat, with packets of salt to sell to vain spirits that will come with hell money.
"What if somebody asks for change?" Fred giggled to himself. He couldn't help but laugh at the whole ridiculous situation.
Fred breathed in deeply, and the air reeked of wet grass with a hint of floral scent that he couldn't really identify.
Remembering why he was here suddenly, adjusted his hood over his head and made sure he couldn't see a thing. Whatever thing right in front of him.
No matter what, he has to concentrate on the innocuous-looking packets of salt and make sure has a packet on his left hand all the way to sunrise.
"Place a packet on your left hand and make sure you spread out your palm. Do not, I repeat, do not grab or hold the plastic packet between your fingers." Jerry's words echoed in his mind.
"Do not fall asleep. Be alert and make sure you take a packet from the pile everytime one leaves your hand. Do it fast. You will just feel that the packet of salt is no longer on your hand. Wait for the money. And don't grab whatever lands on your hand. Just drop it carefully into the container. The one with the talisman in it but don't look at the money."
"You have to practise this and make sure you follow exactly. Place the salt on your left hand. Once you feel that it's not there, wait for the money. Once you feel the money is there, quickly move your hand towards the container and drop whatever is on your hand into that container. Then take another packet of salt, place it on your hand and spread out your palm. Do not miss any of the steps. And wait till you see sunrise. Wait till I tap your shoulder in the morning."
"Otherwise, do not respond to anything or anyone who is calling your name. Not even if you are sure that it's your own mother's voice."
"Do you hear me, Fred?"
Very carefully, Fred glanced at his watch, which today he had to wear it on his right hand.
It was 3.16am.
"Great. Four bloody hours till sunrise. Damn!" Fred thought to himself.
Surprisingly, there seemed to be no life at all here.
Not even mosquitoes, though he had dabbed on God knows how many layers of repellant on his pasty skin, which glowed strangely with what little light there was, peering from afar.
Even the crickets had stopped, Fred realized.
Beads of sweat began trickling suddenly on his brows, but at the same time, his whole body felt chilly.
Fred made sure there was a packet of salt spread out on his palm on his left hand.
"I better not f**k this up."
With that thought, he suddenly felt that sick thought of somebody looking at him, somewhere.
The little hairs on his neck stood up.
The feeling of as though he was being watched, by not one pair but many, many pair of eyes, which of course he could not see (not that he was sure that there was indeed somebody, or something there) was not only unbearably unsettling and creepy but downright scary that he really felt like getting up, and bolt.
"But where to run?!" Fred realized.
He doesn't even know where he was.
And what if he got up, and found himself surrounded by them?
"I must be scaring myself. That's it. There's nobody here, I am just imagining things."
A sound like a monkey's howl suddenly broke the deathly silence. Fred's heart skipped a beat.
His shirt was soaking wet, and he instinctively used the hood to wipe off his dripping forehead.
Then suddenly, Fred realized that there wasn't any packet of salt on his hand anymore.
It was there a moment ago.
"This can't be happening.. I must have forgotten to even take a packet of salt in the first place. I must have forgotten!" Fred tried to console himself.
With his hands trembling uncontrollably, he quickly reached for a packet of salt from the container, a pathetic piece of dirty brown Tupperware that has seen much better days. He almost toppled the container over.
As he steadied the container, his hands brushed against something that felt like paper on the mat, and it rustled with an audible sound.
Fred caught his breath.
He doesn't remember any items made of paper that Jerry had placed on the mat for him.
There was the container full of packets of salt, the torchlight, a white porcelain bowl for the hell money, and a few pieces of towel, which he can't remember what they were for.
Fred decided not to look, and just stretched out his hand with the packet of salt on his palm.
He prayed that it will be there till morning.
"Screw the bank! I am going to run to China! I don't want to die in this f**king place!".
Much to Fred's dismay, the packet of salt was no longer in his hand.
On his palm, he felt something light and damp.
Not taking any chances, Fred quickly recalled the steps and rules and what to do and what absolutely not to do, no matter how ludicrous Jerry must have put it.
"Dont even THINK of looking up, don't even THINK of looking at what's on your hand, and do not forget to say "Thank you, good brother." whenever you feel the notes on your hand! Remember this!"
Fred could remember how serious Jerry looked when he said gave those instructions, and for a moment, Fred actually believed everything Jerry said.
Before his thoughts even concluded, Fred felt a sickening stench waft in the air, almost choking him. His cough broke the eerie silence, and he startled even himself.
Instinctively, he covered his mouth and tried to stifle the sound of his violent coughs.
The horrid smell entered his lungs through his mouth, and he felt himself gag.
"F**K!!"
At that moment in time, Fred was sure he was not alone.
He felt like a hundred pair of angry eyes were staring daggers at him, at least he imagined that.
But he was sure that right there in front of him, and on his right, his left, and right behind him, were life that there was only one way to know what they were exactly.
And that was to look.
And by looking, it meant almost certain death, if Jerry's words were to be believed.
Or he would lose his mind, and end up roaming the streets, talking to himself and no one in particular (at least that will what it looks to others), and eventually end up in the Institute of Mental Health.
"Sh*t!"
"The salt! They are disappearing fast!"
His left hand suddenly had almost a life by itself, taking the packets of salt from the container as Fred felt them disappear one by one.
And by now, he was dead sure that when the plastic packets disappeared, in his hands were pieces of damp, crumpled paper that he was sure, were some form of money.
Everybody knows how money feels like.
So, there he was. Part of him disbelieving what was happening (this must be a very vivid dream) but part of him gleamed with hope, that he could get through the night, and come out rich beyond his dreams.
Trying to hold his breath (the stench was getting stronger by the minute), his hands soon became tired and it ached and it felt like stone.
Fred wish he could just die.
Fred could almost hear sounds of groaning but he wasn't entirely sure.
His ears were filled with the same deathly, almost deafening silence but his head - his head were filled with distant sounds of groaning.
Unearthly groaning echoing through.
This must be what you will hear as your wretched soul is brought through the gates of Hell, Fred told himself.
"I am doomed.." Fred said as the packets of salt disappeared from his hand, one by one quickly. He didn't even care what landed on his hand, it must be the damned Hell money.
"Money which will turn real when daybreak comes, and help my problems disappear! F**k, Fred Chua... you are one hell of a smart asshole, I must admit! And a lucky son of a gun!"
Fear momentarily turned to glee, and he did not care what they were, these things that were all around him.
He is going to give them salt, they are going to give him money, he's going to live tomorrow, and Felicia, Felicia will crawl back to him.
Fred heard a giggle...
Fred could not take it anymore.
The overpowering smell of death weas strangling him, and in his pounding heart, he somehow knew that he was going to run out of salt very soon, and though it felt like a lifetime, Fred knew that barely half an hour has passed since packets of salt began disapearing from his palm, and hell money appeared in place.
The pile of otherworldly currency had piled up high and he caught a glimpse of the dreaded, deathly notes.
They were wet with mud and bits of grass, almost glimmering with some sort of sickly slime but he could see what they were in the dark.
The Jade Emperor was staring back at him menacingly.
"This can't be real, f**k!" Fred cursed.
His heart stopped.
There was no more salt.
He heard the giggle again.
Fred was almost sure that he peed a little in his pants.
The warmth of urine was the last thing he was going to worry about though.
By now, the giggle was unmistakeably feminine.
But it was evil.
Like it belonged to a crazed woman about to cut the head of her straying lover, who wanted to have no one else have her man but her.
Fred imagined his head rolling down the grass, a pained, wretched expression on his bloodless face.
The face that had seen death tearing its teeth through his throat.
By now, the crotch of his Armani Xchange jeans were soaked beyond hope.
The laughter was suddenly right beside his ears.
Fred could not think any more.
He knew his time was up.
Fred's brain had instinctively gone to a self-preservation mode as it realized its impending doom, and now it's feeding him memories.
His brain was flooding him with the most vivid memories it could retrieve before his demise.
It was just like they say that your whole life will flash just before you die.
"I am going to die today, after all.." Fred said as he got up.
Yes, Fred got up.
The first thing he thought of was Felicia.
Her first shy smile, him stammering as he said hi, her eyes as she looked at him with suprise and hope when he asked her to be his girlfrend, their first kiss.
And the first time they made love.
Felicia and Fred made sweet love that would seal their relationship and cement the fact that their love was beyond superficiality and material wealth, beyond pride.
Fred could remember her soft moans and sighs of pleasure as their skins carressed against each other's, their hot, sweating bodies moving rhythmically in sync as he thrusted.
Felicia's addictive scent sent him to high heavens, giving him pleasures that were beyond pleasurable.
Her soft kisses on his body, the way her tongue twirled around his, it was all coming back to him now.
And he loved her more after every night they made love, and every day too.
It was all he could think of.
The sight of the creature giggling was so intensely horrifying that Fred stood rooted, as though he had stared at the eyes of the Medusa, and turned into stone.
He felt his knees buckle, and finally Fred blacked out.
He could not forget the sight, the last thing he ever remembered...
-to be continued-
This is his personal story (or so he claimed).
Fred (not his real name) ran into huge debts when he gambled almost all of his savings into a business venture that went horribly wrong, and ended up with one of his partners fleeing the country with their clients' money, leaving Fred and another investor with debts that ran into hundreds of thousands of dollars.
He went around trying to borrow from relatives and friends, to raise enough money to pay his clients back but apparently everybody shunned him. They said that it's not that they didn't want to help. They themselves were struggling with the escalating cost of living.
To cut the story short, one of his friends whom he approached suggested that he try this method of selling salt to spirits in a cemetery.
Of course, my ex-colleague, being educated in Cornell, couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculous suggestion and politely brushed it off. To his surprise though, his friend didn't seem upset that his suggestion was being mocked. The friend merely said "Think about it. If you want, I can help you bring to the exact place and tell you exactly what to do."
With that, he left.
The funny thing was that my ex-colleague told me that he couldn't stop thinking about such a silly suggestion, and thought about it every night for two whole weeks.
He finally decided to give it a try, after failing to raise money, and was served with a writ of seizure sent by the lawyers.
He decided that he has nothing else to lose, so he picked up the phone and called his friend...
The day finally came.
My ex-colleague's friend chose a particular date, and asked him to meet at a gate near ome of the Lim Chu Kang's fish farms. He was told to wear, like you would have guessed, a hooded long-sleeved shirt.
My friend gladly followed the instructions as he foresaw becoming a meal to the commando jungle mosquitoes, if he didn't die from meeting the salt-buying spirits, that is.
He was also told not to cut his nails for 3 days, and not to take a shower nor look at the mirror on the day of the 'salt sale'.
From the fish farm, his friend (let's call him Jerry) drove him to an unrecognizable spot near Muslim cemetery (it was pitch dark, and he was unfamiliar with the place, of course it was unrecognizable).
The ground was wet with mud, the air smelt faintly of jasmine flowers, the moon was nowhere to be seen, and the place was deathly quiet, except for the very faint sounds of crickets.
It was as if even the insects were hushed in fear, in the god forsaken place where nobody passed by at night. The foreign workers' dormitory compound was far away, and totally out of sight.
Jerry made a few rounds around the slip road, making sure nobody else but them were there, and finally made a stop in front of a small tree with low hanging branches.
"Ok, Fred. You will do it right here."
With that, Jerry took out a huge mat from the boot and laid it out on a grass patch on the left of the tree. Although it very dark and they had only a small torchlight, Fred could see that the ground where Jerry laid the mat, was even, and the grasses flattened. He picked out a shadow of a condensed milk can cut in half, its rough edges shimmering in the dark.
Fred suddenly noticed he was shivering. He couldn't make up his mind whether he was frightened, or whether the air was chilly.
Before he could think further, all the things were laid out neatly in front of him, and Jerry finally spread out the foldable low chair. It was red in colour.
"Ok, remember what I said. And follow exactly. Miss one thing, do one thing wrong, and I cannot promise whether I can save you. But I will not leave you here, if something happens. That I promise."
"I will be back once the sun is up and hopefully I will see you here, and your problems will all disappear."
Fred felt all fear diminishing suddenly.
He even felt brave, almost invincible.
Perhaps he can get through this after all.
Perhaps he can raise enough money when all this is over, and he can get back his life.
Get back with Felicia.
They say that when you have nothing to lose - absolutely nothing - you will be left with no fear.
Not even of death itself.
"I'm a mess.." Fred thought to himself.
With a sigh, he sat down and looked at all the packets of salt.
Highly educated, spent 6 years in architectural school, designed buildings both Singapore and in Dubai that were set to become iconic and award-winning, hob nobbed with the best in London but in the end... here he was.
Sitting down on a foldable chair on a mat, with packets of salt to sell to vain spirits that will come with hell money.
"What if somebody asks for change?" Fred giggled to himself. He couldn't help but laugh at the whole ridiculous situation.
Fred breathed in deeply, and the air reeked of wet grass with a hint of floral scent that he couldn't really identify.
Remembering why he was here suddenly, adjusted his hood over his head and made sure he couldn't see a thing. Whatever thing right in front of him.
No matter what, he has to concentrate on the innocuous-looking packets of salt and make sure has a packet on his left hand all the way to sunrise.
"Place a packet on your left hand and make sure you spread out your palm. Do not, I repeat, do not grab or hold the plastic packet between your fingers." Jerry's words echoed in his mind.
"Do not fall asleep. Be alert and make sure you take a packet from the pile everytime one leaves your hand. Do it fast. You will just feel that the packet of salt is no longer on your hand. Wait for the money. And don't grab whatever lands on your hand. Just drop it carefully into the container. The one with the talisman in it but don't look at the money."
"You have to practise this and make sure you follow exactly. Place the salt on your left hand. Once you feel that it's not there, wait for the money. Once you feel the money is there, quickly move your hand towards the container and drop whatever is on your hand into that container. Then take another packet of salt, place it on your hand and spread out your palm. Do not miss any of the steps. And wait till you see sunrise. Wait till I tap your shoulder in the morning."
"Otherwise, do not respond to anything or anyone who is calling your name. Not even if you are sure that it's your own mother's voice."
"Do you hear me, Fred?"
Very carefully, Fred glanced at his watch, which today he had to wear it on his right hand.
It was 3.16am.
"Great. Four bloody hours till sunrise. Damn!" Fred thought to himself.
Surprisingly, there seemed to be no life at all here.
Not even mosquitoes, though he had dabbed on God knows how many layers of repellant on his pasty skin, which glowed strangely with what little light there was, peering from afar.
Even the crickets had stopped, Fred realized.
Beads of sweat began trickling suddenly on his brows, but at the same time, his whole body felt chilly.
Fred made sure there was a packet of salt spread out on his palm on his left hand.
"I better not f**k this up."
With that thought, he suddenly felt that sick thought of somebody looking at him, somewhere.
The little hairs on his neck stood up.
The feeling of as though he was being watched, by not one pair but many, many pair of eyes, which of course he could not see (not that he was sure that there was indeed somebody, or something there) was not only unbearably unsettling and creepy but downright scary that he really felt like getting up, and bolt.
"But where to run?!" Fred realized.
He doesn't even know where he was.
And what if he got up, and found himself surrounded by them?
"I must be scaring myself. That's it. There's nobody here, I am just imagining things."
A sound like a monkey's howl suddenly broke the deathly silence. Fred's heart skipped a beat.
His shirt was soaking wet, and he instinctively used the hood to wipe off his dripping forehead.
Then suddenly, Fred realized that there wasn't any packet of salt on his hand anymore.
It was there a moment ago.
"This can't be happening.. I must have forgotten to even take a packet of salt in the first place. I must have forgotten!" Fred tried to console himself.
With his hands trembling uncontrollably, he quickly reached for a packet of salt from the container, a pathetic piece of dirty brown Tupperware that has seen much better days. He almost toppled the container over.
As he steadied the container, his hands brushed against something that felt like paper on the mat, and it rustled with an audible sound.
Fred caught his breath.
He doesn't remember any items made of paper that Jerry had placed on the mat for him.
There was the container full of packets of salt, the torchlight, a white porcelain bowl for the hell money, and a few pieces of towel, which he can't remember what they were for.
Fred decided not to look, and just stretched out his hand with the packet of salt on his palm.
He prayed that it will be there till morning.
"Screw the bank! I am going to run to China! I don't want to die in this f**king place!".
Much to Fred's dismay, the packet of salt was no longer in his hand.
On his palm, he felt something light and damp.
Not taking any chances, Fred quickly recalled the steps and rules and what to do and what absolutely not to do, no matter how ludicrous Jerry must have put it.
"Dont even THINK of looking up, don't even THINK of looking at what's on your hand, and do not forget to say "Thank you, good brother." whenever you feel the notes on your hand! Remember this!"
Fred could remember how serious Jerry looked when he said gave those instructions, and for a moment, Fred actually believed everything Jerry said.
Before his thoughts even concluded, Fred felt a sickening stench waft in the air, almost choking him. His cough broke the eerie silence, and he startled even himself.
Instinctively, he covered his mouth and tried to stifle the sound of his violent coughs.
The horrid smell entered his lungs through his mouth, and he felt himself gag.
"F**K!!"
At that moment in time, Fred was sure he was not alone.
He felt like a hundred pair of angry eyes were staring daggers at him, at least he imagined that.
But he was sure that right there in front of him, and on his right, his left, and right behind him, were life that there was only one way to know what they were exactly.
And that was to look.
And by looking, it meant almost certain death, if Jerry's words were to be believed.
Or he would lose his mind, and end up roaming the streets, talking to himself and no one in particular (at least that will what it looks to others), and eventually end up in the Institute of Mental Health.
"Sh*t!"
"The salt! They are disappearing fast!"
His left hand suddenly had almost a life by itself, taking the packets of salt from the container as Fred felt them disappear one by one.
And by now, he was dead sure that when the plastic packets disappeared, in his hands were pieces of damp, crumpled paper that he was sure, were some form of money.
Everybody knows how money feels like.
So, there he was. Part of him disbelieving what was happening (this must be a very vivid dream) but part of him gleamed with hope, that he could get through the night, and come out rich beyond his dreams.
Trying to hold his breath (the stench was getting stronger by the minute), his hands soon became tired and it ached and it felt like stone.
Fred wish he could just die.
Fred could almost hear sounds of groaning but he wasn't entirely sure.
His ears were filled with the same deathly, almost deafening silence but his head - his head were filled with distant sounds of groaning.
Unearthly groaning echoing through.
This must be what you will hear as your wretched soul is brought through the gates of Hell, Fred told himself.
"I am doomed.." Fred said as the packets of salt disappeared from his hand, one by one quickly. He didn't even care what landed on his hand, it must be the damned Hell money.
"Money which will turn real when daybreak comes, and help my problems disappear! F**k, Fred Chua... you are one hell of a smart asshole, I must admit! And a lucky son of a gun!"
Fear momentarily turned to glee, and he did not care what they were, these things that were all around him.
He is going to give them salt, they are going to give him money, he's going to live tomorrow, and Felicia, Felicia will crawl back to him.
Fred heard a giggle...
Fred could not take it anymore.
The overpowering smell of death weas strangling him, and in his pounding heart, he somehow knew that he was going to run out of salt very soon, and though it felt like a lifetime, Fred knew that barely half an hour has passed since packets of salt began disapearing from his palm, and hell money appeared in place.
The pile of otherworldly currency had piled up high and he caught a glimpse of the dreaded, deathly notes.
They were wet with mud and bits of grass, almost glimmering with some sort of sickly slime but he could see what they were in the dark.
The Jade Emperor was staring back at him menacingly.
"This can't be real, f**k!" Fred cursed.
His heart stopped.
There was no more salt.
He heard the giggle again.
Fred was almost sure that he peed a little in his pants.
The warmth of urine was the last thing he was going to worry about though.
By now, the giggle was unmistakeably feminine.
But it was evil.
Like it belonged to a crazed woman about to cut the head of her straying lover, who wanted to have no one else have her man but her.
Fred imagined his head rolling down the grass, a pained, wretched expression on his bloodless face.
The face that had seen death tearing its teeth through his throat.
By now, the crotch of his Armani Xchange jeans were soaked beyond hope.
The laughter was suddenly right beside his ears.
Fred could not think any more.
He knew his time was up.
Fred's brain had instinctively gone to a self-preservation mode as it realized its impending doom, and now it's feeding him memories.
His brain was flooding him with the most vivid memories it could retrieve before his demise.
It was just like they say that your whole life will flash just before you die.
"I am going to die today, after all.." Fred said as he got up.
Yes, Fred got up.
The first thing he thought of was Felicia.
Her first shy smile, him stammering as he said hi, her eyes as she looked at him with suprise and hope when he asked her to be his girlfrend, their first kiss.
And the first time they made love.
Felicia and Fred made sweet love that would seal their relationship and cement the fact that their love was beyond superficiality and material wealth, beyond pride.
Fred could remember her soft moans and sighs of pleasure as their skins carressed against each other's, their hot, sweating bodies moving rhythmically in sync as he thrusted.
Felicia's addictive scent sent him to high heavens, giving him pleasures that were beyond pleasurable.
Her soft kisses on his body, the way her tongue twirled around his, it was all coming back to him now.
And he loved her more after every night they made love, and every day too.
It was all he could think of.
The sight of the creature giggling was so intensely horrifying that Fred stood rooted, as though he had stared at the eyes of the Medusa, and turned into stone.
He felt his knees buckle, and finally Fred blacked out.
He could not forget the sight, the last thing he ever remembered...
-to be continued-
