horror effect

Julian Raymond is swimming in the sea.The sea is icy cold, and there are huge white icebergs floating on the sea surface, and the ice layer has a strange and wonderful blue color because of being squeezed.The sea is calm and endless, and icebergs float slowly on the waves.He paddled constantly to maintain his body temperature and tried to find a piece of land on which he could stand.But time and time again, as he swam up to those gigantic icebergs and tried to keep his hands on the edge to get out of the water, the ice cubes burst like soap bubbles under his palms.

In this way, he swam again and again, and gradually his strength was exhausted, and he began to feel thirsty.But sea water is salty, bitter and astringent.In the middle of the endless water, he was about to die of thirst.

He sank gradually, flailing his arms and legs in disbelief, but it made him sink even faster. "Someone help me!" he yelled.But the sound was swallowed by the thin space as soon as it came out of the mouth, and there was not even a trace of echo or tremor left.His chin was submerged in sea water, followed by his mouth, nose, eyes, and up to the top of his head.In the end, all that could be seen from the surface was a clump of brown hair floating like a clump of seaweed.His consciousness began to blur, and through the swaying seawater, he saw a circle of light blue with a whitish center at the edge, which was the sun, but was filtered by the seawater to become Diana, the moon god.

At the moment when he was about to drown, the sea water was gone, the iceberg was gone, they disappeared like a punctured bubble, replaced by a white ceiling and the enlarged face of a young girl.

"You're finally awake!" she said.

The girl has black hair and black eyes, is smart and cute, wearing a dark blue suit and white apron, with a smile on her face.

Julian sat up slowly on his hands, afraid that all this was also a dream, but the edge of the bed touched by his palms was solid.The girl put a cushion behind him to make him more comfortable.He touched his forehead with his hand and murmured, "What is this place?" Then he touched his throat, looked up to the girl and said, "Can I have a glass of water? I'm very thirsty."

The girl blinked, as if she was worried, but she quickly understood his needs, poured a glass of water and handed it to him, and said with a smile, "Please don't drink too fast."

This time it was his turn to blink.

He understood what the girl was saying, but not in the usual way—he had expected the beautiful girl to utter the same beautiful English syllables—her pronunciation had that Slavic excess of consonants and unique suffix.

Julian drank two sips of water and slowly remembered: he should have traveled from the Danish port of Letsby to Dubrostock on the Black Sea coast, and made some investigations along the way, and wrote a special report for the "Traveler" magazine.Instead of a plane or a train, he hitchhiked with a group of Danish university students who were driving to Istanbul.The gang of big-kid youngsters know how to pick up girls and drink and find sex along the way, as if they don't even know there's anything else to do in the world.

Not long ago, they broke up.He found three local farmers to lead the way and continued on, halfway he was given a lot of spirits.It began to snow heavily.And then...then he found himself here.

Julian thought about the language of this country in his heart, and he was glad that he hadn't forgotten all of it, so he asked the girl, "Where is this?"

The little girl, obviously taken aback by the fact that he could speak the local dialect, said, her black eyes widened, "I thought I'd have to get an interpreter." Then she said something he'd never heard before. place name.

In the end he still didn't know where he was.

"So, what's the name of the nearest big city?"

She mentioned the name of a small Eastern European town that foreigners rarely know.Generally speaking, foreigners who go to the UK know big cities like London and Manchester, but few people know Helmsdale or Tarbert.And this girl said such a place name.

I'm afraid his trip will be delayed, he thought.But since he has been delayed, it doesn't matter if he is a few days late. The head of the editorial department may scold him, but considering the distance from England to here, those angers are bound to weaken a lot on the way.He looked at the girl next to him, and thought that since he still needed to stay for a while, it would be important to have a good relationship with the waiter.So he said politely: "Excuse me, miss. May I ask what your address is?"

"Ah..." She blushed, obviously full of surprise at his deference, and replied, "My name is Masha Chebysova, and you can call me Martha. I'm the waitress at the Cedar Hill Hotel." Then Julian got more information than he asked. "It's the nicest hotel in the area," she went on.

He keeps smiling.

"The owner of the hotel is Herbert Wernstein."

"Oh." He nodded.It seems to be a German name.

"We have a very good cook called..."

Time to cut her off, or he'd have to go through the hotel waiter's list.

"Miss Martha," he put on his very kind and gentle smile that was praised by many people.Although this smile has lost its appeal to young women because of his age and the many crow's feet, forehead lines, and sagging eye bags on his face, but a smile is better than a serious one. Julian has been to many countries, and I believe this is a universal rule .He smiled and said to Martha: "I've been lying here—" He glanced at the calendar on the table—"It's been three days, and my stomach is empty, can you get me something to eat?"

"Of course. I can get you pickle sandwiches, puddings, mousse cakes, fruit pies. What would you like?"

"I'd like fried baby mushrooms and seared tuna, and a bottle of Malaga wine."

"That can't be done," said Martha apologetically, "I can only give you snacks and fruit until the doctor says so."

"But I've woken up, and there's nothing wrong with me except that I'm hungry. Let that shitty doctor go to hell."

"Sir, Dr. Hostatova is not a bad doctor, she is the best doctor in this place. I must obey her."

Julian found that Eastern Europeans were as stubborn and inflexible as the British, and even her smiling irrefutable expression was similar to that of an old British woman who was always knitting.

He scratched his hair resignedly, knowing he could say goodbye to fried mushrooms and tuna.

"Then apple pie. Also, please bring the best doctor in the region, Hostatova, and let her see my illness, and maybe she will not only allow me to eat tuna, but also advise me to eat two Mature roast beef."

"As you ordered: an apple pie, and Dr. Hostatova."

Martha exited the room, leaving Julian sitting on the bed with his lips curled up.

Compared with fried mushrooms and grilled tuna, Julian cares more about his photographic equipment. After all, those expensive equipment are the capital for him to settle down and survive as a person.He hastily drank a few sips of water to relieve the pain of thirst in his sleep, and then jumped out of bed and began to examine the backpack still lying on the carpet.

There is a waterproof lining inside the backpack, so the heavy snow did not cause damage to the equipment, which is a good thing.On the bad side, the bread roll with cherry sauce that he forgot to put in the back of the backpack was not only moldy, but also crushed into cakes, which stained a large piece of his underwear.

And Julian himself was not much better than the roll: the beard hadn't been shaved for half a month, and it was so long and hard that it could pierce the table; It was all tangled up now, and a tuft of grass on his head was no more than that; worst of all, he badly needed a bath to get rid of the mysterious smell emanating from him.

So after placing the photographic equipment in the locker, Julian rushed into the bathroom, adjusted the water flow to the maximum, enough to create the turbulence needed for the migration of salmon, and with the tenacity and strength of a salmon Punch and rub.Four or ten minutes later, he came out, feeling that he had changed, and the world seemed to have a new heaven and a new earth.

Holding a steaming cup of water in his hand, he stood by the window and began to carefully observe the surrounding scene for the first time.

Seen from the window, the hotel he was staying in was a four-story building with east and west wings, with beautiful and simple lines and a return to Art Nouveau style.There were many plants in the garden in front of the building, fir trees, maple trees, oak trees, but they were all bare and dry, just like this withering season.Many guests were taking a walk, and some of them came in wearing ski suits, as if they had just returned from the ski resort.

The Cedar Hill Hotel is located close to the top of the mountain. A five or six-meter-wide road winds down the mountain, circling among the scattered houses. It looks very beautiful.

At the foot of the mountain is a river valley. The river in the dry season is like a thin line, and the river banks are connected by stone bridges.The opposite hill is slightly higher than this one, and the same old houses are on the hillside, except that the top of the hill is not a hotel, but a Byzantine church, and the red sandstone walls are very harmonious with the roofs of the nearby houses.

Julian pushed open the window, and the cold but fresh air from outside poured in. He took a few deep breaths, which was very comfortable.At this time, the sun had already begun to set, and it became less glaring and softened a lot. It was reflected on the fresh snow covering the whole town, emitting a faint red light.The remaining blue part of the sky is whitish like mother-of-pearl.Farther away are rolling mountains, with sharp-edged peaks covered with white snow, exuding dazzling light.He suddenly heard a piercing croaking in the sky, raised his head, and saw a flock of geese flying southward in neat formation like a troop.And the crows that had nested in the tops of nearby trees took to the air, and then came down again like a piece of burnt paper.

Julian waved to them.

He suddenly felt that he didn't want to go to Dubrostock, he wanted to stay here.He was suddenly tired of constantly rushing from one place to another, tired of being praised for his 'strength of walking', tired of his diligent fingers holding the camera.Although the people in the hotel garden were still loudly exchanging ski experience, he felt a kind of empty silence.It condensed and formed on the snow on the roof, and slowly fell to the wilderness, stern and tender.

Call the magazine tonight, he thought.Say you've found something better to report than the sands of the Black Sea.