horror effect

From the moment Julian Raymond stepped into the door of the Breumont Rosests' house, he felt that the couple—especially the wife—were too warm, too warm for him.They took him to visit the living room, the study room, and the small garden adjacent to the living room (although there are only dead branches and weeds in it this season); they invited him to taste the raisin biscuits specially made by the hostess; The red wine he bought as a thank-you gift from the counter of the Cedar Hill Inn was enthusiastically praised.

Julian was not a guy who would get carried away with a few fluffy compliments.He is very clear.The couple clearly wanted to impress him, but their methods only made him laugh.

After they returned to the living room, Mrs. Breumontrose went to make coffee. Taking this opportunity, the host came to Julian's side in embarrassment, and said softly, "I'm really sorry, my wife made you laugh."

"Well..." Julian smiled out of politeness, "It's really nothing."

Mr. Breumont Rose obviously heard the voice, shrugged helplessly, and spread his hands.

"Materina really wants to make a good impression on Londoners like you. Now that she's not here, let me explain, don't be intimidated by her, she is actually very kind, but—you understand Well, when a woman reaches her age, she always has such thoughts, and they are afraid that others will treat them as nothing. We husbands have to coax them."

His tone of voice was a bit aggrieved, and a little doting on his wife.This made Julian feel immediately relieved, and he said happily: "It's okay, I understand you. Especially thank you very much, after all, it was your wife who saved me."

"Ah, yes, yes." Mr. Brumontrose blinked, and then, as if he suddenly remembered something, he leaned forward and said, "You know, we are a small place here, if it weren't for the newly developed ski There are no foreigners at all, and the British are even rarer." Julian nodded.Indeed, there is no need to go to a remote Eastern European town just for skiing.

While they were talking, there was a sudden 'bang bang' sound above their heads, as if something heavy had fallen to the ground.Julian couldn't help but look up at the ceiling.And again Mr. Breumontrose was very embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I think Stephen is up to something again, don't be surprised."

"It's all right. Stephen is your child?"

"Oh yes……"

Before he finished speaking, there was another bang from above, as if something had fallen over.

"...Well," Julian kept smiling, "I think he must be a very lively boy."

"Boy? Stephen is twenty-seven, a very old boy..."

The situation upstairs seemed to be even more chaotic, and there was a series of clanging sounds.

Mr. Brumontrose covered his face with his hands, and said, "What is this fellow doing! Can't you change your clothes and move the furniture? I don't think young men should stay at their parents' house, they must To work, one must assume social responsibility... Oh! Fortunately, he graduated from Glasgow..."

"Wait. What did you just say?" Julian asked the host. "Stephen went to school in Glasgow?"

"That's right. He just returned from graduate school last year, and he has been staying at home instead of working. See, this is the result in the end..."

"So, your son and I are still schoolmates? Can I meet him?"

Mr. Breumontrose did not expect such a coincidence, and his eyes, which were already very large, were now even wider.He was stunned for a while, then reacted, and replied: "Oh, of course, he should come down soon. But you and him had better not talk too much, my son has a bad temper, and he likes talking to other people the most." Lifting the bar..."

"Father! You're talking bad about me again!" came a voice from the stairs.

Julian turned his head when he heard the sound, and saw Stephen walking down the stairs while buttoning the shirt under the collar, muttering at the same time: "I think I have grown taller again, this shirt is a bit small ..."

Stephen Breumontrose was a tall man of medium height, with brilliant but unkempt blond hair; a well-shaped, slightly elongated oval face; light gray eyes set well apart.On the surface, he is thoughtful and calm.But the way he swayed slightly as he walked down the stairs, and the way he smiled absently, gave the impression of being lazy.He was just the kind of person who put his hands in his trouser pockets, hummed a nasty tune, and made trouble in the line when others walked forward with their backs straight and their heads held high.He can be ambitious if he wants to, and try to make a career out of himself and be admired, but he'd much rather be smearing jokes on the walls in front of the world with a dash of ease.

"I suppose you are my old school friend," said Stephen.

At the same time, he is also looking at Julian carefully, evaluating him in his heart: he is a reporter, but judging from the messy hair that grows to his shoulders, he looks like an artist; but if he is an artist, his knuckles are broad, Obviously he has done heavy work; he is not young, he is 35 years old, but looking at the muscles on his forearm, he seems very young; his skin is rough, there are many wrinkles on his forehead and around the eyes, but his The eyes are bright and deep... And his smile, I don't like his smile, it has such an energy, as if he himself is a saint in the church of Varna, as if he knows everything.I don't like that smile.

Mr. Breumont Rose stood up to introduce the two of them, and at the end he joked, "Don't cry here, old school friends reunited in a foreign country."

"How come. I think Stephen was still in middle school when I graduated." Julian said with a smile, staring at Stephen with interest.

The latter nodded in agreement.Then they sat down on the sofa together.At last Mrs. Breumontrose's coffee was brought out, and Julian was surprised to find that the chattering middle-class housewife made a particularly good coffee, so he couldn't help but admire it.

The four of them began to chat enthusiastically, and the content of the conversation was varied.The hostess tried her best to show off her own taste, but whenever she mentioned her favorite actors, merchants, and literary works, she was always dismissed as vulgar by her husband and son. Mrs. Brymontrose's affection for him rose like a flood.

The male host likes football, and Julian revealed that he is a Scot in a timely manner, so they refused to let go of the opportunity to criticize the England national team together.The conversation became very chaotic for a while.Later, because of the mutual interest between Julian and Stephen, their conversations began to increase.

"What did you major in in college?" Julian asked.

"Byzantine culture. What about you?"

"physics."

"Then why are you a reporter again? As usual, CERN welcomes you more than the magazine."

"Ah...that's a long story." Julian thought for a while, and then said, "To put it simply, after I graduated, I went to do other things. It was to make ends meet, but I never On the right path. Becoming a reporter was seven years ago."

"You seem to have a lot of experience." Stephen looked at him meaningfully.

"Hmm..." Julian smiled.Stephen thought that smile meant a lot and contained many things. "...If that counts as an experience...it's very rich."

“Have you suffered a lot?” Stephen asked suddenly.

Julian was taken aback, he didn't expect the other party to ask such a question.Stephen's straightforwardness took him by surprise.

"Stephen! Don't be so rude!" Mrs. Breumont Rose reprimanded her son.

"Oh, my God, I didn't say anything at all."

He raised his hands above his head, as if angry.But everyone's conversation did not stop because of this, but just changed the direction. Mr. Brumont Rose insisted on asking Julian to talk about whiskey. He started from the soil quality of Scotland and went straight to the influence of cellar temperature on quality.Stephen never spoke to Julian again, he began to discuss dinner with his mother, but every now and then his eyes would suddenly turn away, stare at Julian from under their long eyelashes, and then quickly leave.

It was five o'clock in the afternoon when Julian said goodbye to the Brymontrosts' house, and the winter sun sets early, and it was already very dark by then.He crossed the stone bridge across the river and walked to the hotel on the top of the mountain.The uphill road was very slippery. Although it had been a few days since the last heavy snowfall, the temperature remained low. The snow that had been swept away piled up under the walls on both sides of the road, and the middle part of the road was icy, making it very slippery.He had to walk up the edge of the outer walls of the houses on both sides of the street.It was generally cleaned up by various households, and some were even sprinkled with ashes.There were few people on the street, and people would go home early in this weather, even if someone passed him by, the dim light made it difficult for him to see the other person's face clearly.

He walked slowly, and was in no hurry to return to the hotel.Julian likes the lonely and quiet feeling when walking in a completely strange place. He will not be recognized by passing friends, nor will he be stopped by familiar shop assistants; the surrounding houses and the road under his feet are new to him, His past seems to be stripped away, leaving only an unpredictable future looming in the distance.In a brand new place, he can do something completely new, such as what he has always wanted but never practiced - downhill skiing, eating fresh raw meat, pondering difficult philosophical questions, learning Basque and so on.

After turning a few corners, Julian finally saw the bright light of the hotel building in the distance.He just had to work harder to get back to his cozy room and lie down on the bed to rest his tired legs from the climb.The sky was already very dark. Julian leaned on the wall with his left hand and walked slowly with one foot deep and the other shallow.He put his hand on the wall of another resident's enclosure, but at this moment he heard a very low voice.At first he thought it was someone walking down the hill, and paid little attention; but then he found that the voice was coming from inside the enclosure, and it seemed to be talking about himself.

"Is this the new English guest at the inn?"

"Yes, that's what I've heard. It's really English."

"But he's nothing like an Englishman."

"Nonsense, how do you know he doesn't look like an Englishman if you haven't seen him at all?"

"I watched TV."

"You think you're watching British TV, but I know it's Italian TV. You're wrong."

"Ha, that's better than pointing at that British actor and calling him Miss."

"That's not my fault."

"It's not my fault."

"Oh! My God! He seems to have heard us."

"So what? This is our home. Let's go behind the door and see if it's illegal."

"He's here."

"The Englishman?"

"Of course!"

"How to do?"

"Let's just say we don't know anything, we haven't seen anything."

"Oh well."

"We don't know anything, we don't see anything."