Henry Clark stood behind her and noticed that the candle was extremely thick—about as thick as an egg.

  “It’s coming…” Little Grace suddenly said.

  At this moment, Henry Clark also noticed that the light outside the window had completely disappeared.

  Only an impenetrable darkness seeped in from outside.

  Is it night already? How did it get dark so fast?

  He wanted to speak, but a sudden wave of dizziness surged in his mind, repeatedly assaulting his consciousness. His body grew hotter and hotter; he felt he might have a fever, and his throat was getting increasingly sore.

  He needed to drink water, and take medicine… fever medicine.

  Otherwise, things could get bad.

  He knew his own condition. In the past, when he got sick with a cold and fever, it felt just like this when it got serious.

  And even when his fever reached thirty-nine degrees last time, he hadn’t felt this weak. It was probably because he’d been overly frightened earlier.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he tried hard to grip the white stone tightly, eyes wide open, nervously staring at the door and windows.

  Inside the room, the two of them were silent, both waiting.

  For a while, the only sounds in the air were their breathing and heartbeats.

  This state didn’t last long.

  Pa-da.

  Finally, a faint sound came from outside the door.

  “It’s coming!” Little Grace shouted.

  Her body tensed, the muscles in her arms standing out clearly. She raised the thick candle high in her right hand, letting the flame form a circle of light that covered as much of the room as possible.

  Henry Clark watched nervously from behind her.

  He didn’t know what would happen, but judging from Little Grace’s reaction, something bad was likely about to occur…

  After all, even that white ghostly figure from before hadn’t made her this nervous.

  Soon, their waiting finally had a result.

  In the darkness, the sound of insects crawling began to emerge from outside the doors and windows.

  The sound was sudden and dense, as if silence had instantly turned into the noisy rustling of a desert.

  Sand seemed to flow and brush against the doors and windows, making a faint sound.

  Very soon, Henry Clark widened his eyes and saw, at the cracks of the doors and windows—less than a centimeter wide—black bugs were crawling in.

  Countless tiny bugs, like grains of sand, swarmed in—at least hundreds, maybe thousands.

  Each was only the size of an ant, resembling a beetle, with an oval shell on its back, a head with centipede-like menacing mouthparts, no eyes, and more than a dozen pairs of densely packed legs.

  Overall, they looked like miniature black millipedes.

  The dense bugs quickly flooded into the room, their crawling making faint noises. The faint, sharp female voice in the air grew closer and clearer.

  “Get out!!” Little Grace shouted, but strangely, she stood motionless in the center of the room, holding the candle aloft, only roaring in anger.

  Henry Clark sat on the edge of the bed, wanting to get up and help, but his weak body had little strength left.

  Sweat broke out on his back, but as soon as it appeared, it was quickly evaporated by his high fever.

  Watching the black bugs continuously crawling in through the cracks, his whole body tensed and trembled.

  Images of his body being covered and bitten by bugs kept flashing through his mind—a primal human terror, impossible to suppress.

  But just then—

  Hiss…

  The fastest wave of black bugs crawled into the range of the candlelight.

  And at that very moment, something unexpected happened.

  These terrifying black bugs, under the pale yellow candlelight, dissolved rapidly, turning into black smoke that rose and dissipated.

  Wisps of black smoke rose thickly—these were all that remained of the dissolved bugs.

  They melted like wax under a flame, seemingly unaware of retreat, still crazily surging toward Little Grace holding the candle.

  Soon, with Little Grace at the center, the black bugs crawling in from the doors and windows formed a ring, constantly approaching, constantly dissolving, and constantly evaporating.

  The black smoke rose and quickly dispersed in midair, turning into a choking, unpleasant smell.

  Henry Clark watched this scene, his face unconsciously showing shock.

  He searched through all the knowledge in his mind, but couldn’t think of any kind of bug that would dissolve into black smoke just from being exposed to light.

  This bizarre scene before his eyes had completely shattered all his previous guesses and imaginings.

  Monsters.

  Suddenly, a word that middle-aged Dr. Carter had once said surged into his mind again.

  Yes, monsters.

  Weren’t these black bugs in front of him real monsters?

  They surged in like a tide, endless, yet dissolved and vanished as soon as they were exposed to light.

  For a moment, Henry Clark fell into an indescribable state of mental sluggishness. He carefully observed the black bugs and the candle, trying to find any flaw or illusion.

  Occasionally, he would pinch his thigh hard, using the pain to clear his mind, to prove that what he was seeing wasn’t a dream.

  But all these actions proved that this was real, not an illusion, and definitely not a dream.

  Moreover, he noticed something else.

  As the black bugs dissolved, the thick candle in Little Grace’s hand—which should have lasted a long time—was also rapidly melting away under the onslaught of the bugs.

  It was as if fighting these black bugs was rapidly consuming the candle’s heat.