Vol. 1: Dreamcatcher

On the country road in the dark park, the Rolls-Royce slowly drove into the parking lot of the country villa.

Winston's face was ashen, utterly bewildered. His mind was in turmoil, still replaying the bizarre sights he had encountered and the horrific screams he had heard along the way.

Is there a possibility--

Is there any possibility?

These were all hallucinations in his mind, terrifying nightmares created by the continuous nightmares of the past few months.

The first thing Winston did after getting out of the car was to check the dark corners in front of and behind it.

He was both excited and terrified. In the end, all he could see were a few shallow scratches on the tea-green paint, without a single drop of blood.

The trunk was empty, which left him disappointed.

He pulled the young man from the back seat out of the car, lifted the customer's wrist, and used his wristwatch to open the electronic sensor door.

The young man was still asleep, and even when Winston casually tossed him onto the sofa, the sudden feeling of weightlessness couldn't wake him.

Winston went to the bathroom to wash his face, and when he looked in the mirror, he was startled by his terrifying and gloomy complexion.

That was the face of a zombie who hadn't had a proper rest for over a hundred days; the grime from cigarette smoke had clogged his pores, causing numerous pimples and yellow spots to appear.

Winston thought to himself--

--If London could clear up, I shouldn't be living such a pathetic life.

Although the two are completely unrelated and have no cause or effect.

That's what Winston Spencer thought at the time: people always find some completely unrelated excuses for themselves.

When he returned to the main hall of the villa, he began to carefully observe the luxuriously decorated house.

This blond young man seemed to really enjoy music; there were sixteen large speakers in the main hall and side halls, and even in a damp and dirty place like the toilet, there were two subwoofer speakers.

It's said that wealthy people often have a few quirks.

Winston was speculating in his mind--

--This wealthy young man, who lives a secluded life, has no servants in his home, and besides some emergency food and cheap fruit wine in his freezer, his only hobby is probably music.

Uncle Winston slumped on the sofa, instinct driving him to put the terrifying hallucination he had just experienced behind him.

There were no strange hostesses.

There are no ghosts that can't be reflected in a mirror.

What he heard and saw were all illusions.

Now all he has to do is wait quietly for the customer to wake up. He can ask for a service fee, and hopefully get a hot meal, or perhaps sleep in this warm house and have a good talk with the customer. Maybe he can find a job as a private driver.

Look at this furniture, look at this decor, even the baseball bat is made of silver.

This customer is incredibly wealthy!

Winston began to dream of a bright future, imagining himself fishing on a sunny afternoon, lying on the green banks of the Thames River.

Someone held up a parasol and walked along the path by the river.

Perhaps there was a beautiful yet melancholic widow in her thirties who could exchange sonnets with him, and eventually the two would become a couple and have many children.

He will have an extramarital affair, a deeply emotional affair that would drive him to the brink of suicide.

These are the dirty, trivial matters that the villagers enjoy talking about over tea and after meals.

Winston smiled slightly, nodded vigorously, and answered his own question in his mind.

Does it have to be a widow?

Couldn't it be another girl?

--Yes! It has to be a widow, and a widow who has lost her husband and inherited a large sum of money.

He was certain in his heart that this was the ultimate goal in life.

"Thump--"

The heavy knocking pulled him back to reality. Winston opened his eyes abruptly, not turning around, mistaking it for a hallucination.

"Knock knock knock--" The knocking sound went from one to a series of knocks.

Winston finally woke up, feeling as if he had been doused with a bucket of ice water, chilled to the bone.

His eyes involuntarily glanced at the gate; the double dark red wooden doors were so beautiful, yet now they seemed so terrifying.

The sound was very peculiar, like someone hysterically banging their head against a door.

"Winston! Spencer!"

It was a hoarse, low, and mournful mezzo-soprano voice.

It was the voice Uncle Winston had heard countless times along the way, a psychological trauma he could almost carry to his grave.

Could you please open the door for me?

"Please! If you don't agree, I can't get in!"

"Old gentleman, if you open the door, I'll do anything for you! Anything!"

Winston finally realized that he had encountered a demon or monster that was rare in Human World.

That's a vampire monster from ancient legends. Every house is a sacred place, and to break this visitor spell, the vampire monster cannot enter the door without the owner's permission.

He slowly stood up, stretching his stiff arms and waist, awakening his body that was about to enter old age, and silently changed his position, sitting next to the customer.

Twenty minutes passed, and the knocking continued relentlessly.

The lobbyist outside the door kept talking incessantly.

"Winston, you can hear me, right?"

"If you're willing to open the door, I'll forgive and forget what happened and will never hurt you."

"My target is that cute and delicious-looking boy next to you."

"If you're willing to help me open this son of a bitch's door! Tear down those insect-proofing, incense-scented wooden beams in the porch! I'll give you lots and lots of benefits!"

Winston shook his customer's shoulder vigorously, trying to wake the drunken young man.

But no matter how hard he tried, even splashing ice water on the customer's face, the kid remained in a dazed, confused state with his eyes rolled back, as if he had been bewitched and passed out.

Winston didn't reply to a word. He turned on his phone, ready to call the police, the moment he pressed the HOME button.

The sounds outside the door turned shrill and terrifying, accompanied by giggling laughter.

"Who are you going to call? The police? Do you think the police can handle me?"

"Do you think going against me will end well? After you finish this deal, you'll still have to go back to your rented room to sleep. How much money will you make?"

What can you buy with this money? A gun? A box of bullets?

"Can they protect you? Can they save your worthless life?"

"Face reality, I'm practically everywhere. Even if you run me over with your car, I can come back to life, crawl to your bedside, and bite your neck off."

Changing the subject...

--The terrifying threat turned into sweet words.

"But if you're willing to help me, to do me this small favor, I'll be eternally grateful and consider you my second parent. If you want to have an illicit affair with your daughter, to enjoy the pleasures of love—right here in this boy's swimming pool, let me hold you, kiss you, with just a word, a pull of the doorknob. Please, Sir Winston Spencer, I'm willing to be your slave, as long as you open this door for me."

Winston's heart wavered; he heard the devil's slander.

The sounds outside the door grew increasingly urgent.

"Winston Winston."

You like his car, don't you?

"You like his big house, don't you?"

"These can all be yours! These should have always been yours!"

"I am yours too. The one I should have been pursuing was you."

"Don't you feel even a little jealousy? You only see me riding my bicycle with my breasts exposed in front of you, but can't you see the inexplicable resentment in your heart?"

"You can insult me, call me a shameless slut, accuse me of being greedy for wealth and flirting with rich young men, and I probably won't even give you a second glance."

"I know, I know everything, I know what you're thinking!"

"I'm opening my heart to you, and I want to explain everything clearly."

"Age and appearance are, in my opinion, nothing but fleeting illusions."

"But if you were to act like a knight guarding a princess, opening these impregnable gates for me and bringing me, so wretched and pitiful, into your house, I would do everything in my power to serve you, my knight lord. I would be your docile lamb, your exclusive harlot."

"We can sit on this blond young man's corpse and talk about his fortune, talk about our bright future."

"If you're looking for something more exciting, my amazing physique can give you that feeling."

Winston said impatiently, "Enough!"

The voice outside the door turned cold and resolute.

"What's enough?"

Winston didn't move. "I said, that's enough, that's enough."

Having finally managed to pry open the old man's mouth, the monster outside the door would certainly not let the matter rest.

She pressed on, unwilling to give up.

"You're willing to open the door for me?"

Winston's tone was icy. "No, I'm not opening the door."

The voices outside the door grew restless. "Was the offer I made not tempting enough?"

Winston explained, "No, no, no, I'm not made of wood. How can a person be without feelings?"

The voice outside the door became cheerful and excited. "So you're ready? Hahahaha, are you ready to welcome me?"

Winston stood up and walked towards the entrance. "That's not what I meant. I'm not interested in you."

Outside the door, sarcastic remarks began. "You like men? You've got your eye on this kid?"

Winston yelled, "Fuck you! Who are you calling names?"

The monster outside the door asked resentfully, "Why? Am I not good enough?"

Winston had already reached the door and explained quietly, "It's not just my opinion. I might prefer older, intellectual, and elegant women."

"I can do it! I can do it! It's not difficult at all!" The voice outside the door grew more urgent, as if tormented by illness. "Please, open the door! What woman do you want? I'll conjure her up for you! I'll grab her and give her to you!"

Winston Spencer was torn between his inner conflict and his own desires.

He didn't know what had happened to the young customer, or, in essence, it was like a prank.

Several times he thought there were security cameras in the house, and he became a special guest on a TV prank show.

To confirm this, he went to the gate—

The closer he got, the more he could feel his muscles stiffening, as if an invisible, cold hand was gently stroking his limbs.

The urgent, heavy breathing outside the door sounded like the desperate will to survive of a dying beast.

Winston Spencer's brow furrowed, like an enraged guard dog; in an instant, all his fear transformed into rage, and he sought to use his surging adrenaline to drive away the gloom brought by this evil spirit.

"Everything is about first come, first served. I've already signed a contract with this customer, and I'm obligated to ensure his safety during this designated driving assignment."

The monster roared, "But didn't you finish your work?!"

Winston raised his head and puffed out his chest, adopting the arrogant demeanor of an old Londoner.

"He didn't pay me, so this transaction isn't over. All the trouble you caused will be added to the bill."

The monster cursed, "You money-grubbing old lecher! How much did he pay you? I'll pay double!"

Winston shook his head. "No negotiation, it's the rule—whoever pays the most gets my help. What's the difference between me and some lowly commodity to be played with at an auction? How dare you insult my chivalry with money?"

The monster threatened menacingly, "Aren't you afraid of me? Aren't you afraid I'll kill you?"

Winston crossed his arms, like an old philanderer trying to reason with a prostitute.

"--How would you kill me?"

The monster said viciously, "While you're fast asleep! I'll slice open your stomach, pull out your intestines, and strangle you!"

Winston exclaimed in surprise, "This sounds like big news! How did I end up in the Guardian like this?"

The monster found it unbelievable. "You're about to die and you're still thinking about being in the newspaper?!"

Winston sneered loudly, "You have no idea what I care about most! You son of a bitch!"

The monster pressed impatiently, "What do you care about? Tell me! Tell me now! I'm like the genie in the lamp; whatever you want, I can give you!"

Winston was triumphant and full of pride.

"What I hate most, and what I care about most, is your condescending attitude, your willingness to arbitrarily decide the course of my life."

The middle-aged man revealed a cunning and treacherous smile.

"You must have killed quite a few people, right? Judging from the way you so easily seize women for my pleasure, you must have said these things to others, right? But I see you all alone, without a lover or a companion in sight."

Winston's expression turned grim and menacing, and he spoke in a low voice.

"You think you can fool me, this white dove knight who has guarded Downing Street for twenty years, dealing with reporters and paparazzi, with such low-level, idiotic rhetoric? You vampire bitch, relying on your skin and flesh to use such crude hunting techniques! Don't look down on me! My blood is still flowing in my head. If you want to ignite my lust and make me lose my ability to think, your clumsy techniques are completely inadequate! What I like are charming widows with enormous wealth, who are lovable, well-educated, religious, yet insatiable in their desires—in terms of living a life of leisure and contentment, my standards are world-class, yet you dare to insult my aesthetic sense, my pursuits, my ideals."

The monster outside the door remained silent for a very long time.

Winston continued, "Why are you so quiet? Are you about to break down?"

The monster cursed, "Fuck you! You're a fucking scumbag, a once-in-a-lifetime beast!"

Winston raised an eyebrow. "Hearing demons and monsters hurl insults is a top-notch experience. I've turned on the recording."

The monster roared, "You're not going to heaven!"

Winston responded, "Go on! Don't stop, have some sense of justice! Can you imitate a prim and proper widow? The way she looks disgusted at filth—I might have a stroke and cerebellar congestion, and immediately pull down my pants, leaving only a crack in the door. You know what I'm going to do. All-ages programs don't see this stuff!"

The monster's tone softened with fear. "My God, what kind of hellish demon are you?"

"I am a man, a forty-six-year-old man who has accomplished nothing." Winston's words were harsh, but he did nothing out of line, and his tone was indifferent. "Just two weeks ago, I was kicked out of James Park. The thing this disheveled, greasy old man loves to do most is boast—thank you, God, allowed me to meet this little customer when I was starving and freezing. I believe this is my mission, and Knight Winston Spencer will certainly not fail in his mission!"

The monster gritted its teeth. "Bullshit! You filthy, disgusting, pornographic, vile, bald thing that makes me want to vomit."

"I have plenty of hair," Winston interrupted immediately, hooking on the silver door chain, taking the customer's watch to open the door, and preparing to crack it open. "I'm opening the door! My tiger is going to squeeze through this crack! Are you ready? We agreed that you'd do anything for me if I opened the door, even just a crack, right?"

"You son of a bitch!" The monster swallowed hard, terrified, and ran away in a panic. "I never want to see you again! Never in my life!"

Winston peeked his disgusting face through the narrow crack in the door. "Liars will swallow a thousand needles! How could you break your promise?"

Although I was mentally prepared--

--When Winston glimpsed the monster through the narrow crack in the door, his mind was still severely damaged.

The clumps of flesh exuded a musty stench, with fragmented organs exposed, along with broken bone pieces and filthy clumps of hair.

The red-haired beauty seen on the streets of Kennington is now only half a tattered body. As white worms emerge from the huge wound in her abdomen, they are constantly reassembling and healing. Judging from the extent of her injuries, it will take at least half an hour for her to recover.

The monster's skin was covered with bright red sores, as if it were seriously ill and needed blood to sustain its life. But when it encountered Winston, this tough nut to crack, it had to find another way to survive, sensing a foul and malevolent thought from its very soul.

At this moment, it abandoned all greed, only thinking about drinking a mouthful of fresh blood before the Vita Imprint within its body took effect, and no longer thinking about revenge.

It never wanted anything to do with Winston Spencer in its entire life; even seeing him would make it nauseous.

Uncle Winston shouted in a commanding tone, condescendingly.

"Did I give you permission to leave, you ugly monster?"

Upon hearing this command, the monster finally couldn't suppress its intense desire for revenge.

It had almost lost all reason, wanting to rush into the sacred place, over the porch beams, and squeeze into the silver door frame, even if it exposed its Gate of Death, just to defile this man!

It's going to turn Winston into a brain-dead zombie monster.

No! Turn him into a dung-eating worm!

Let his mind live, let him live a life of humiliation and subservience!

The moment of losing consciousness--

--The monster has even lost its most basic will to survive.

It disregarded everything, allowing the Vita Imprint within its body to wantonly strip away its vibrant essence, all in order to unleash the most intense light and heat of hatred in its life.

It quickly grew a pair of bright red, bulbous eyes, its entire face transformed into that of a rat, and gray fur and claws emerged from its body in an instant. It poked its head into the doorway, intending to bite off Winston's manhood with its large teeth! It used this kind of ruthless attack, destroying dignity and flesh, to vent its hatred!

Its cold body couldn't feel the pain; its swollen eyes and paralyzed lower limbs only allowed it to see the dirty work pants, but not Winston Spencer's cold gaze or the silver baseball bat that had been prepared in advance.

"Try my precious baby!"

"Pong--"

The crisp tapping sound still couldn't wake the sleeping blond young man.

A charred and foul-smelling corpse was left in front of the porch.

Winston's heart was pounding, the muscles in his face were twitching involuntarily, and only one thought was on his mind.

--This monster must not be allowed to leave alive.

In just a second, he could awaken a burning rage from his calm heart, transforming that anger into a sharp, piercing roar. This was something he had performed countless times in front of reporters; it was a natural rage that could turn his skin red and cause him to sweat profusely. The moment adrenaline awakened his body, his muscles would unleash astonishing power.

This release of anger was an extraordinary performance.

Because that shameless bastard Uncle Winston adhered to the code of chivalry.

--Never back down or run away in the face of evil.

He had been rehearsing for over two decades, waiting on Downing Street, waiting for the reporters' spotlight, waiting for the chance to make the front page of the newspaper.

The thought of this monster roaming the streets, sucking blood and eating flesh, coercing and luring people to do unjust things and make ill-gotten gains with it is terrifying.

It uses women as bargaining chips; many young and beautiful girls, who should have been enjoying a life of leisure, are turned into skeletons and drained of their life force into terrifying, dried-up corpses.

Even if it was just for the widow! Winston was so enraged that his eyes gleamed uncontrollably!

He dropped the twisted, deformed silver stick, increasingly convinced that his young customer was no ordinary person.

Winston couldn't understand or figure out this bizarre and inexplicable sleep cycle.

--Until the sun rose again, only to hide behind the clouds once more.

Robert Tang Ning turned over and woke up with a start.

He is about to undergo his second transformation, and he is completely unprepared when he sleeps.

He was both frightened and delighted, simply because he saw Uncle Winston sitting on the sofa, having stayed up all night without moving.

The TV was still playing R-rated porn from an adult channel, and most of the tissues on the table were gone.

Winston declared confidently, "Young master! I'm like a dreamcatcher, firmly capturing your nightmares."

Tang Ning thought about many things at that time, and then he saw that the silver baseball bat he used to defend himself and fight against the vampires was bent and twisted. The dirt stains outside the door were like the strong morning sun, burning the evil spirits into a handful of ashes.

The sheer volume of information was overwhelming, leaving Tang Ning's young mind unable to process it all.

However, one thing is certain: apart from a few quirks, this designated driver is a very reliable person.

"I need a butler! Are you interested?"

Winston Spencer beat him to it.

"It would be my great honor."