Detective Agency of the Bizarre
Chapter 458 - 458 Three hundred and fifteen

458: Three hundred and fifteen.

Life-saving butt 458: Three hundred and fifteen.

Life-saving butt Oliver could tell.

His feet stepped into the mud, squeezing through with a sticky squelching sound.

Something was wandering outside the abandoned village.

Was it coming for him?

Hiding under the dining table behind the cabin’s wall, Oliver held his breath.

Squelch—squelch—

The ludicrous sound of movement slowly emanated between the abandoned cabins in the Gloomy Marsh, yet Oliver could not muster a laugh; he hoped the steps’ owner would leave soon and not discover him.

The owner of the footsteps did not depart; it slowly circled the abandoned village, walking from left to right, exploring bit by bit.

It was very close to the house where Oliver was hiding—perhaps only a dozen meters away.

Oliver squeezed even closer to the darker parts inside the house in hopes of avoiding detection.

But he ignored that the marsh village had been abandoned for decades and that the severely decayed floorboards couldn’t support a person’s weight.

Crack—

Oliver suddenly sank down, feeling a chill on his buttocks.

The floor beneath him had cracked.

Oliver was on the verge of tears; he could imagine the scene: the floor of the abandoned cabin breaking apart, his buttocks sticking out.

With his hands on the floorboards, Oliver wanted to pull his buttocks out from under the boards, yet he dared not make more noise.

Hoping for luck, he gambled that the wandering presence outside had not heard the sound.

This was just Oliver’s wishful thinking, as he distinctly heard the footsteps disappear.

The surroundings fell back in deadly silence, accompanied by uncontrollable pounding heartbeats.

“Is someone there?” A voice suddenly inquired from outside.

After a brief moment of astonishment, Oliver felt a rush of elation; he was almost too eager to shout out but hurriedly covered his mouth with his hand, suppressing the syllables that almost escaped.

He still couldn’t speak; he didn’t know how many people were outside.

If there were two, if there were faceless ghosts…

Oliver didn’t speak, but he began to pull his cold buttocks out of the floorboards.

Inevitably making a noise, the voice outside continued to inquire, “Who’s there?”

Wait for me…

Please don’t go away…

Oliver anxiously thought, but it seemed his pants were caught by the boards, and the exhausted Oliver struggled to free himself.

Fortunately, the person outside did not leave.

Hearing the noise, they approached the cabin, sloshing through the mud, “Who’s there?”

Thump thump thump—

Oliver hurriedly knocked on the wood, signaling someone was here.

What disturbed him was that the footsteps and the voice vanished instantly.

Could the person outside think there’s a monster inside and flee?

Oliver, unable to speak, considered a terrifying possibility; he wanted to shout at all cost and found a reasonable excuse: he hadn’t heard a second set of footsteps, there was only one person outside, no “third person.”

But the excuse came with unease; Oliver couldn’t help but think, who would roam alone in the eerie and sinister Shadow Swamp, actively seeking others?

This…

this defied logic.

Although Oliver had grown accustomed to all things illogical the night before, a person should look like a person, unless they were mad.

Oliver didn’t think a madman could survive till now.

A strong unease prompted Oliver to keep quiet again, continuing to listen for any noise outside.

If it was a person, he would call out for help again.

“Is someone there?”

The inquiry sounded again, this time just in front of the cabin.

Perhaps it was psychological, but doubting the presence outside, Oliver felt the voice carried deceit and chill, involuntarily reminding him of a time in his youth when he and a playmate secretly went to the Shore of Agate Lake to catch fish.

As they laid down their crude fishing net, the playmate squatted by the lakeside, mumbling in a greedy tone for the fish to come quickly, exactly like the voice he heard now.

Unease turned into fear, and Oliver, like a few minutes earlier, covered his mouth.

As for the half-exposed icy bottom…

he couldn’t save it, only hoping the other wouldn’t see.

Oliver’s action was evidently too late, the next sound was no longer a query, but the sudden trembling of the cabin—Oliver, “fused with the cabin,” felt its continuous vibration very clearly.

The presence outside had climbed onto the suspension bridge.

“Is anyone there?”

The eerie inquiry continued, accompanied by the sound of approaching gentle footsteps.

The cabin became darker than before, and Oliver realized that the owner of the footsteps had already reached the door.

Or it was just his illusion, outside was just another survivor like himself.

Oliver, harboring a stroke of luck, or rather expectation, looked up towards the door.

A figure walked into the cabin, bringing a stench of muddy decay.

Oliver made out the silhouette of the figure, “he” didn’t notice Oliver under the table beside the door, moving slowly towards the wood table facing the door.

Oliver didn’t call out to “him”, the incoming figure…

gave him an uneasy feeling.

In the dim bloodlight, the slowly moving figure had a twisted posture, as if wearing loose, ill-fitting clothes.

But how could skin be ill-fitting?

Oliver almost instantly thought of the encounter in the church basement.

A “person” had attacked him, then “he” shed his own skin, revealing bloody, tiny flesh, lunging at him.

The continuous pain in his shoulder recounted all this.

Oliver was thankful his bottom had saved him and prayed internally that it wouldn’t find him.

“I am leaving now.”

The monster clad in human skin spoke again, didn’t get a response, and then planned to search the house carefully.

Oliver’s heart tensed, nearly unable to restrain the fear wanting to escape—

At that moment, the monster suddenly seemed to notice something and turned to face outside.

Oliver tightly closed his eyes.

A series of unsettling rustling sounds arose, falling to the ground, then the footsteps left the building and quickly vanished into the mud.

As if something had lured it away.

Oliver, surviving the ordeal, suddenly opened his eyes, breathing heavily uncontrollably.

Lit by the dim, bloody sky, he saw what the monster had left in the cabin: a human skin.

Although this would disturb Oliver, it was better than facing the monster.

Oliver, temporarily safe, began to tend to his bottom, which took him several minutes.

Cautiously peering outside, Oliver withdrew his head, crawled out from under the table and stood up.

Why does it hurt so much… is it infected?

Oliver touched the area around the wound, spit several times into his hand, and, enduring the pain, wiped the mud around the wound.

Lest the monster hadn’t gone far, Oliver didn’t leave the house immediately.

He pushed the unnerving human skin under the table and tried to find something useful in the cabin.

And he really did find something.

An oil lamp…?

Oliver incredulously stared at the oil lamp overhead on the dining table.

But the place had been abandoned for decades, how could there be an oil lamp…?

Incomprehensible, unbelievable, especially when Oliver carefully took apart the oil lamp and found it still half-filled with kerosene.

Someone had been here, not long ago.

Regardless, this benefitted Oliver, although he dared not light the oil lamp there.

Estimating the time, the monster was likely far gone, Oliver, carrying the oil lamp, quietly descended from the cabin, moving towards Marsh Road.

“Wait for me to come back, Jojo…”