Corpse Whispers in the Cantonese Catacomb

The moon hung low in the night sky, casting a pale glow over the dilapidated catacomb entrance. Li Wei, a sleepwalker by nature, had never before been aware of her condition. That night, however, was different. In the silence of her room, she felt a strange pull, as if the walls themselves were whispering secrets only she could hear.

Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she was disoriented. The room was a blur of shadows and darkness, until she noticed the eerie glow emanating from the corner. The moonlight, reflecting off the surface of the ancient stone, cast a sinister dance of light and shadow. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized the source of the glow: a faint, pulsating light emanating from beneath the floorboards.

Li’s curiosity got the better of her. She reached out, her fingers brushing against the cool, rough stone. The light seemed to beckon her, and with a shiver, she knelt down and began to dig. The sound of her fingers scraping against the ancient stone was like a dirge, growing louder with each passing moment.

Hours passed before she unearthed a small, ornate box. Her hands trembled as she lifted it from the ground, her mind racing with questions. Who had placed it there? What secrets did it hold? She hesitated for a moment, then, with a deep breath, she opened the box.

Inside, nestled in a bed of silk, was a photograph. It was a picture of a group of people, their faces etched in time, smiling for the camera. At the center was a woman, her eyes alight with laughter, her hair the color of midnight. Li’s heart skipped a beat as she recognized her own grandmother, but the woman in the photo was young, decades younger than the grandmother she knew.

Beside the photograph was a small, tattered book. She opened it, and her eyes widened in shock. The pages were filled with strange symbols and cryptic messages. It was a guide to the Cantonese Catacomb Corpse Cult, a hidden society of the undead, bound by a solemn vow to serve the dead.

As Li read, the room around her began to change. The walls seemed to move, and the shadows danced with a life of their own. She looked up, and to her horror, she saw the faces of the people in the photograph materialize in the walls, their eyes filled with a malevolent glow.

Li tried to scream, but no sound would come out. She felt a cold hand on her shoulder, and before she could turn around, she was yanked into the darkness. The world spun around her, and she felt herself being pulled through the catacomb, the walls closing in, the air thick and oppressive.

Li’s heart pounded in her chest as she stumbled through the narrow passageways. She could hear whispers around her, voices from the past, calling her name. The voices grew louder, more insistent, and she felt herself being pulled deeper into the catacomb.

Then, she was lying on the cold, hard floor, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She looked up, and there, in the flickering candlelight, was the figure of a woman, her eyes hollow and dark. Li recognized her grandmother, but the woman was not alive. She was a ghost, a spirit trapped in the catacomb, her laughter echoing through the stone corridors.

The woman reached out to Li, her fingers brushing against her cheek. “You have entered our world,” she whispered. “There is no turning back.”

Li tried to scream, but no sound would come out. She felt herself slipping away, her body becoming part of the catacomb, her soul trapped among the restless spirits. She closed her eyes, and as the darkness enveloped her, she felt herself being pulled into the depths of the earth, where the dead would never rest.

And so, Li Wei, a sleepwalker by nature, became one of the Cantonese Catacomb Corpse Cult, her sleepwalks now a journey into the realm of the undead, where she would forever be bound to the spirits that called her name.