冷汗就像刚从冰窖里捞出来似的，浸透了岳思凡的后背，顺着脖颈往下淌，黏糊糊地贴在皮肤上。后半夜，就这么三更天刚过的时候，他醒的。屋里死一般的寂静，连耗子窸窸窣窣的声音都没了，窗外也跟被蒙了层黑布似的，黑黢黢一片，半点星子光都没见着。

他也不知道咋回事，就是睡不安稳。迷迷糊糊地感觉那老床在抖，不是地震那种地动山摇的颠簸，更像是……是床底下有东西在爬，或者是有无数只手在底下挠。那感觉邪门得很，岳思凡心里咯噔一下，猛地坐了起来。心脏“砰砰”擂鼓似的狂跳，脸火烧火燎地烫。

“操！”他低声骂了一句， Contesting the cold sweat but also the inexplicable fear inside. He quickly scrambled off the bed, eyes wide open in the dim darkness. The room was tiny, a single bed crammed in the corner, separated from a rickety wardrobe and a small wooden table by just narrow aisles. But now, that narrow space seemed even more suffocating, the air heavy with an invisible chill.

The bed was still slightly shaking, though the movement had lessened. He ran his hands over the floorboards, cool and damp, but found nothing. He checked under the bed, squinting into the blackness, but only saw the dark shape of the bedframe and the shadows cast by the window. Then, his eyes landed on the small table.