第一章 不要走進去Chapter One · Don't Walk In
我們鎮上的規矩，是我奶奶教我的，她教的時候沒有解釋，只說了三遍，要我背起來：
午夜起霧的時候，數街口的燈。原本是七盞，如果你數到八盞，那第八盞下面的那條街，不要走進去。
我背了一輩子，也守了一輩子，從來沒覺得奇怪。鎮上每個人都這樣，這不是迷信，比較像是大家默契地，不去碰一個放在桌子中間、誰也不提的東西。
那天午夜，阿河跟我一起走回家。霧很濃，濃到路燈都只剩一團黃黃的光暈。我習慣性地數：一、二、三……
數到第八盞的時候，我停住了。
阿河也看見了。那條街安安靜靜地在那裡，像它本來就一直在那裡，只是我們白天從來沒注意過。街口很乾淨，甚至比我們這條街還乾淨，路的盡頭有一點暖暖的光，像有人在等門。
「那邊……」阿河說。
「不要看。」我拉他的袖子，「走，回家。」
他笑了一下，那個笑我到現在還記得，因為那是我看到他的最後一個表情。「你不覺得，」他說，「那邊看起來，比我們這邊好嗎？」
然後他就往那邊走了。
我沒有追上去。我想說我有，但我沒有。我只是站在第七盞燈下面，看著他的背影走進那團暖光裡，然後霧合起來，像水面合上。
第二天，鎮上沒有人記得阿河這個人。
The rule in our town was taught to me by my grandmother. She didn't explain it when she taught it—she just said it three times and made me memorize it:
When the fog comes at midnight, count the lamps at the corners. There are seven. If you count eight, then the street beneath that eighth lamp—don't walk into it.
I held that rule my whole life, kept it my whole life, and never once thought it strange. Everyone in town was the same. It wasn't superstition; it was more like the way people quietly agree not to touch a thing left in the middle of the table that no one will name.
That midnight, Ah-Ho walked home with me. The fog was thick—so thick the streetlamps were nothing but blurred halos of yellow. Out of habit, I counted: one, two, three…
When I reached the eighth, I stopped.
Ah-Ho saw it too. The street sat there, quiet, as if it had always been there and we'd simply never noticed it in daylight. Its mouth was clean—cleaner, even, than our own street—and at the far end there was a small, warm light, as though someone had left the door open, waiting.
"Over there…" Ah-Ho said.
"Don't look." I tugged his sleeve. "Come on. Let's go home."
He gave a small smile—the smile I still remember now, because it was the last expression of his I ever saw. "Don't you think," he said, "that side looks better than ours?"
And then he walked toward it.
I didn't go after him. I'd like to say I did, but I didn't. I just stood under the seventh lamp and watched his back disappear into that warm glow, and then the fog closed over it, the way water closes over a surface.
The next day, no one in town remembered anyone named Ah-Ho.