The Bizarre Detective Agency

Chapter 400: The Saving Behind

Oliver could make it out.

A squelching sound, like a foot plunging into the soggy mire.

Something was prowling outside the abandoned village.

Was it heading for him?

Holding his breath, Oliver scrambled under a table, pressing his back flat against the hut’s wall.

Squelch... squelch...

The almost comical sound of the footsteps drifted slowly across the grim swamp, echoing between the abandoned huts. But Oliver felt no humor in it. He prayed that whatever was making the sound would leave quickly, that it wouldn't discover him.

But the creature did not leave. It was circling the village slowly, methodically investigating every corner.

It was drawing closer to the hut where Oliver was hiding, now perhaps only ten meters away.

Oliver tried to shrink deeper into the shadows, away from the entrance, desperate to remain unseen.But in his panic, he forgot that the village had been abandoned for decades, and the rotten floorboards could no longer bear his weight.

Crack!

Oliver plunged downward with a jolt, a sudden draft chilling his rear.

The floor beneath him had given way.

Oliver was on the verge of tears. He could picture it perfectly: a gaping hole in the floor of a derelict hut, and a lone rear end sticking out of it.

Planting his hands on the floor, Oliver tried to pull his stuck behind free, but he was terrified of making any more noise. He clung to the desperate hope that the prowling creature hadn't heard the wood splinter.

But it was a futile hope. He heard the squelching footsteps fall silent.

A dead silence descended, broken only by the frantic pounding of his own heart.

"Is anyone there?" a voice suddenly called from outside.

For a moment, Oliver froze. Then, a wave of delirious joy washed over him. He opened his mouth to shout, but managed to slap a hand over it just in time, choking back the cry.

Too soon. He didn't know how many people were out there. What if there were two of them? And with the faceless phantom still around...

Oliver kept quiet, but he began trying to ease his freezing backside out of the hole in the floor.

The movement inevitably produced a groan of rotten wood, and the voice from outside called out again, "Who’s in there?"

Wait... Don't go...

He pleaded silently, but the cuff of his trousers seemed to be snagged on a splintered plank. Exhausted, Oliver couldn't wrestle himself free.

Thankfully, the person outside hadn't left. Hearing the noise, their squelching steps drew closer to the hut. "Hey, who’s in there?"

Tap-tap-tap!

Oliver rapped quickly on the floorboards to signal his presence. To his absolute horror, both the footsteps and the voice vanished in an instant, leaving no trace.

What if they thought it was a monster inside and ran off?

Unable to speak, Oliver pictured the dreadful possibility. A desperate urge to scream rose in him, and he frantically tried to justify it: he hadn't heard a second set of footsteps. There was only one person out there. There was no "third."

But anxiety gnawed at his justification. Oliver couldn't help but question it: who would wander alone through the perilous and bizarre Shadow Swamp, actively searching for other people? It... it made no sense.

He’d seen plenty of things that defied logic last night, but a person was still a person—unless they were insane.

And Oliver didn’t believe a madman could have survived out here this long.

A powerful unease forced Oliver back into silence. He strained his ears, listening to the world outside.

If it's a person, they'll call out again.

"Is anyone there?" the voice sounded again, this time right outside the hut.

Perhaps it was just his imagination, but to Oliver’s suspicious ears, the voice now sounded cunning and cold. He was suddenly reminded of his childhood, when he and a friend had snuck off to Agate Lake to fish.

As they cast their simple net, his friend had crouched by the water's edge, murmuring for the fish to come, to let themselves be caught. His voice had sounded just like this one.

Anxiety blossomed into full-blown terror. Just as before, Oliver clamped a hand over his mouth. As for his freezing backside, still poking out of the floor... there was nothing he could do but pray that whoever was outside wouldn't spot it.

But it was clearly too late. The next sound wasn't a question, but the sudden shudder of the entire hut. Since Oliver was practically one with the structure, he felt every jolt distinctly.

The creature outside had stepped onto the porch.

"Hey, anyone in there?" The strange question came again, followed by the sound of light, approaching footsteps.

The hut grew darker still. Oliver realized the source of the footsteps was now standing in the doorway.

Or maybe it was just his imagination. Maybe it was just another survivor, just like him.

Clinging to this hope—or perhaps, this fantasy—Oliver looked toward the door.

A figure stepped into the hut, bringing a stench of swamp rot with it.

Oliver could just make out the figure's silhouette. "It" didn't seem to notice the table against the wall and moved slowly toward the one opposite the entrance.

Oliver didn't call out. The figure... it looked wrong.

In the dim, blood-red light from outside, the figure’s slow movements looked unnatural, as if it were wearing clothes that were far too big for it.

But can a person's skin be too big for them?

The memory of the church basement hit Oliver like a lightning strike. The "man" who had attacked him had shed its skin, revealing a bloodied, stunted body before it lunged.

The throbbing pain in his shoulder was a stark reminder.

Oliver was suddenly grateful for his predicament, for the fall that had saved him. He prayed the creature wouldn’t notice him.

"I’m leaving, then," the monster in the human skin said. When it received no reply, it seemed to decide on a thorough search of the hut.

Oliver’s heart stopped. He could barely suppress his terror. He wanted to break free, to run...

Just then, as if it had sensed something, the monster turned toward the doorway.

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut.

There was a disturbed rustle, the soft thud of something hitting the floor, and then the footsteps retreated from the hut, their squelching sound fading rapidly into the distance.

As if something had distracted it.

Saved by a miracle, Oliver snapped his eyes open and gasped for air.

In the dim, blood-red light filtering in from outside, he saw what the monster had left behind: a human skin.

As terrifying and unsettling as it was, it was still better than confronting the monster itself.

Temporarily safe, Oliver began the work of freeing his backside, which took several minutes. He peered cautiously outside, then quickly ducked back in before finally crawling out from under the table and getting to his feet.

God, it hurt... Was it infected?

Oliver touched the skin around his wound, spat into his palm a few times, and then, grimacing against the pain, wiped the filth away from the cut.

Wary that the monster might return, Oliver didn't leave the hut right away. He shoved the unnerving human skin under the table and started searching the hut for anything useful.

And, surprisingly, he did.

A kerosene lamp...?

Oliver stared in disbelief at the lamp, which had been standing on the table above his head the whole time.

But this place has been abandoned for decades. How could there be a kerosene lamp here?

It was inexplicable, unbelievable—especially when Oliver inspected the lamp and found it was still half-full of kerosene.

Someone had been here very recently.

Whatever the reason, it was a stroke of luck for Oliver, though he didn't dare light the lamp here.

Guessing that the monster was far enough away by now, Oliver took the lamp, crept quietly down from the hut's porch, and started toward the Swamp Road.

"Wait for me, JoJo..."