48 Hours a Day

Zhang Heng pointed at the half-finished manuscript on the old typewriter.

"Is this your new novel?"

"No, this is not my novel. In fact, it belongs to a friend of mine. I helped him with some revisions and revisions, and in return, he will pay me some money."Lovecraft seemed a little ashamed, he added hurriedly, "Usually, I do these jobs for free. The main thing is that recently, the situation at home has been a little difficult. By the way, you said you've read my novels. Is it in the newspapers?"

"Actually, they're almost everywhere,"Zhang Heng said.

Lovecraft was a little confused.

But before he could ask, Zhang Heng pulled out a chair from the side and placed it in front of him. "Let's talk about the novels you've written."

"Ah, sure."The moment he mentioned his novel, Lovecroft, he changed from his usual stiff and reserved self to one of fanaticism, "The things I'm writing... originated from the horror stories my grandfather told me. "They opened a door for me. Before this, I've never seen other words that could stir up human emotions so strongly. What's more interesting is that in most horror stories, the atmosphere before the monsters appear is the most tense. So, from a very young age, I've been thinking, what exactly are we afraid of?"

"Mankind's oldest and strongest emotion is fear, and the oldest and strongest fear is the fear of the unknown,"Zhang Heng said.

"That's exactly what I wanted to say!"Lovecraft said excitedly, "Imagination, imagination is the key to all of this. In my novels, I have always focused on creating an atmosphere that can maximize the imagination, rather than directly describing the things that cause fear. "This is because no matter how scary the things you describe with words are, they are definitely not as scary as the readers imagine. Other than that, the other trick is to make your story as realistic as possible, so that the readers can combine the novel with their own lives."

"It sounds very effective,"Zhang Heng said.

"I also think that this should work, but for some reason, my editor told me that my article doesn't have many readers,"Lovecraft said awkwardly, "Actually, I can't afford to live with my aunt by just relying on the royalties. We've already moved a few times. Previously, I didn't like to use a typewriter because the noise it made made made it difficult for me to concentrate. Moreover, when I'm writing, I'm used to sketching on the manuscript paper. If I use a typewriter, I can't do this kind of thing."

Lovecraft sighed, "But now, in order to pass more manuscripts, I'm also trying to type on a typewriter. After all, we've moved several times. If we move again, I'm afraid we'll have to go to the slums."

"This will be a good start,"Zhang Heng said.

"I hope so."

A smile appeared on Lovecraft's pale face. Then, as if he had thought of something, he opened the drawer of his desk, he took out a half-empty bottle of red wine.

"I didn't expect a guest at home, and I wasn't prepared for it. This is my grandfather's red wine. At the time, my family was quite prosperous. I used to live in a large mansion surrounded by servants, but now, all I have is this bottle of wine,"Lovecraft said with a self-deprecating smile.

"Why are you and your aunt the only family members? Where are your parents?"Zhang Heng asked.

"My father... suffered from some mental illness. He had a mental breakdown at a hotel in Chicago, and he died in a mental hospital. My mother, she lived a little longer, but she also fell ill and died. "Not long after that, I met my wife in Boston. We lived together for a few years, but eventually, her hat failed, and we divorced. Then, Aunt Annie and I returned to Providence."

Suddenly, there was a series of knocks on the door. Then, a strange expression appeared on his face as he muttered to himself, "Aunt Annie asked me to go to dinner again. That's weird. She just asked me to go to dinner 15 minutes ago."

"Do you want to go open the door first?"Zhang Heng asked as he took a glass of wine from Croft.

"No, Aunt Annie will open the door,"Lovecraft said. "I just need to focus on my work."

Not long after he said that, the sound of the door opening came from outside.

A dining cart was pushed in. The waiter seemed to have gotten used to the strange situation in the room. He didn't say a word throughout the whole process. After delivering the food, he immediately pushed the dining cart out of the room and closed the door before he left.

"Come and have some with us,"Lovecraft said warmly. "As long as you don't mind my food being simple and crude."

However, Zhang Heng did not get up.

He looked at the man in front of him and asked, "How long have you been suffering from mental illness? Did you inherit it from your father?"

Lovecraft was startled. A moment later, he revealed a bitter smile, "How do you know? My father... After his death, I did experience a period of depression. No, to be more precise, during that period of time, my spirit would break down from time to time. I was unable to complete my high school education, and because of that, I was unable to get into the university I wanted to go to. But now, I feel much better. Dr. Green gave me a prescription, and I've been taking it."

Lovecraft pointed to a small bottle of medicine on the table.

Zhang Heng opened it to take a look, but it was already empty.

This was not surprising. Because of Lovecraft's expression and his living environment, his family was already running out of money. Even his food was running out, and the medicine that the doctor had prescribed earlier had no reason to be affordable.

At the end of his life, the horror novelist was at the end of his rope. At the same time, he was suffering from mental problems. He couldn't even tell what was real anymore, what was an illusion was just like the believers in his novels who were influenced by Cthulhu and gradually lost their rationality.

Zhang Heng suddenly understood how the monster in the city under the middle of ice was born. He looked at the thin and sickly-looking horror novelist in front of him and said, "There's no need for dinner. I have something else to do today."

Lovecraft's expression darkened when he heard that. Even though he had been locked in his room, he could tell that deep down, he also yearned for friends, especially friends who would recognize him, even though he had only known Zhang Heng for a short time, when Zhang Heng said that he appreciated his talent, he had already decided to treat this stranger as his friend, therefore, when Zhang Heng rejected his invitation to have dinner with him, he felt extremely disappointed.

However, before he could say anything, Zhang Heng continued, "You said that you were helping other authors rewrite their works, and I happen to have some writing problems as well. If it's not too much trouble, can I continue to visit you in the future?"

"Of course,"Lovecraft said happily.