Zhang Heng pointed to the half-typed manuscript on the old typewriter.
"Is this your new book?"
"No, this is not mine. In fact, it belongs to a friend of mine. I helped him with some modifications and editing, and in return he would pay me some compensation." Lovecraft seemed a little ashamed at this. , and added hurriedly, "I usually do these jobs for free, mainly because the situation at home has been really difficult recently. By the way, you said you read about me, was it in the newspaper? "
"In fact, they are almost everywhere." Zhang Heng said.
Lovecraft was a little confused when he heard this.
But before he could ask a question, Zhang Heng moved a chair from the side and placed it in front of him, "Let's talk about what you wrote."
"Ah, okay." When talking about himself, Lovecraft changed from his previous stiffness and became enthusiastic. "The... things I am writing originated from what my grandfather told me. Those horror stories. They opened a door for me. I have never seen other words that can arouse human emotions so strongly before. What's more interesting is that in most horror stories, the monster has not yet appeared. The atmosphere is the most tense, so from a very young age I have been wondering, what are we afraid of?"
"The oldest and strongest human emotion is fear, and the oldest and strongest fear is the fear of the unknown." Zhang Hengdao.
"This is exactly what I want to say!" Lovecraft said excitedly, "Imagination, imagination is the key to all this. In my life, I have been committed to creating an atmosphere that can maximize imagination. Instead of describing the things that cause fear head-on. Because no matter how scary the thing you describe in words is, it will definitely not be scarier than the reader imagines. In addition, another trick is to make your article look as scary as possible. The possible reality allows the reader to combine it with his own life.”
"Sounds very effective." Zhang Heng said.
"I also think this should be effective, but I don't know why, my editor told me that my article does not have many readers." Lovecraft said awkwardly, "Actually, I can't afford it with the royalties alone. My aunt’s living expenses. We have moved several times. I have never liked using a typewriter before because the noise it makes makes it difficult for me to concentrate. Also, when writing, I am used to drawing random sketches on the manuscript paper. , I wouldn’t be able to do this kind of thing with a printer.”
Lovecraft sighed when he said this, "But now, in order to pass more manuscripts, I have also begun to try to type with a typewriter. After all, we have moved several times. If we move again, I am afraid we will have to go It’s ghettoized.”
"This will be a good start." Zhang Heng said.
"hope so."
When Lovecraft said this, a smile appeared on his pale face. Then he seemed to think of something again, so he opened the drawer of his desk and took out a bottle of only the remaining Half and half red wine.
"I didn't expect guests to come to my house, and I didn't make any preparations. This was my grandfather's red wine. My family was still prosperous at that time, and we lived in a big mansion surrounded by servants. But now, now I All I have is this bottle of wine." Lovecraft laughed to himself.
"Why are you, your aunt, and your parents the only ones at home?" Zhang Heng asked.
"My father... suffered from some mental illness, he had a nervous breakdown in a hotel in Chicago and died in a mental hospital, and my mother, she lived a little longer, but she also fell ill and died. I met my wife in Boston not long after that and we lived together for a few years, but eventually her hat shop folded, we divorced, and I moved back to Providence with my Aunt Anne."
When Lovecraft said this, there was suddenly another knock on the door, and then a strange expression appeared on his face, and he said to himself, "Aunt Anne asked me to go to dinner again, strange, obviously She just called me fifteen minutes ago."
"Do you want to open the door first?" Zhang Heng took a wine glass from Lovecraft's hand and asked.
"No, Aunt Anne will open the door." Lovecraft said, "I just need to focus on my creation."
Not long after he finished speaking, there was indeed a sound of the door opening from outside.
Then a dining cart was pushed in. The waiter who delivered the meal seemed to be used to the strange situation in the room. He didn't say a word the whole time. After delivering the meal, he immediately pushed the dining cart and left the room. door.
"Come and have something together." Lovecraft greeted warmly, "As long as you don't mind the humbleness of my food."
As a result, Zhang Heng did not get up after hearing this.
He looked at the man in front of him and asked, "How long have you been suffering from mental illness? Is it inherited from your father?"
Lovecraft was startled, and after a moment he showed a somewhat bitter smile, "How do you know, my father... I was indeed depressed for a time after his death. No, to be precise, I was depressed during that time. I would have mental breakdowns from time to time, and I was not able to complete my high school studies, and therefore I was not able to get into the university I wanted to go to, but now I feel much better, and Dr. Green prescribed me medicine that I have been taking."
Lovecraft pointed to a small vial on the table.
Zhang Heng opened it and took a look, but it was already empty at some point.
This is not surprising. Because of Lovecraft's face and living environment, there is no money left at home at this moment. He is almost out of food. Of course, there is no reason why he can continue to take the medicine prescribed by the doctor before. Affordable.
In the last stage of his life, this horror writer was at the end of his rope and had no other choice. At the same time, he had been suffering from mental problems. It was even possible that he could no longer distinguish between reality and illusion, just like the victims in his works. Like a believer who is gradually losing his mind under the influence of Cthulhu.
Zhang Heng suddenly understood how the monsters in the city under the ice were born. He looked at the thin and sickly looking horror man in front of him and said, "There's no need to eat. I have other things to do today." .”
Lovecraft's expression darkened when he heard this. Although he had been shutting himself in his room and not going out, it could be seen that deep down in his heart he actually longed for friends, especially friends who would recognize him. Although he and They had only known Zhang Heng for a short time, but when Zhang Heng said that he admired his talent, he had already planned to regard this stranger whom he met by chance as his friend. Therefore, when Zhang Heng rejected his invitation to have a meal together, he Will feel extremely disappointed.
However, before he could say anything, Zhang Heng continued, "You said you were helping other authors revise their articles, and I happen to have some writing problems. If it's not troublesome, can I continue to visit you in the future? ?”
"Of course." Lovecraft said happily.
