Bizarre Detective Agency

   Chapter 1231 One hundred and sixty-nine. Bizarre Syndrome (9)

   I'm sure I've gone a bit crazy since the longhouse experience of vomiting and diarrhoea. Peeping at me from outside, the charred shadows oozing out of the walls, the mist rising from the deep sea... these unheard of fears buried deep in my genes grabbed me and started. And what makes me think I'm crazy is that I'm pretty sure these monsters are never in my memory, but when they do, I attack with morbid madness and fear, and then the next day, Go out to search for resources calmly as if nothing happened.

  This has nothing to do with whether I was timid or strong and brave before, but when faced with unknown monsters, no one should be euphoric because of fear and surprise, and screams mixed with laughter.

   But then I thought, I'm afraid this is the only way I can survive in this miserable world, instead of screaming and being eaten by monsters.

   I hid by the fireplace and stared intently at the attic, the shadows formed by the beds, the wood, or the raised floor, as if evil spirits would emerge from it. This mental concentration kept me awake all night, but as a price, my hunger was more intense, as if worms were gnawing at my intestines, which made me even look forward to breaking in for a moment. A monster made me tear off a piece of meat.

   The mist in the attic suddenly gradually thinned out, and the veil that affected the sight disappeared. I rubbed my eyes and found that the fog was no longer there. I stood up against the wall and moved to the window to remove the planks. Through the gap, I saw that the sky was already bright outside the window, and the thick fog was like a living creature clinging to the sea surface and retreating into the deep sea.

  I observed for a while, confirmed that the fog had indeed disappeared, continued to remove the planks and let the cold light pour into the attic, re-fired the fireplace, and started what I had been looking forward to all night: scoop out the fishing nets left in the harbor.

I lay on the floor and listened for a moment, making sure that nothing was left in the fog from last night. I opened the trap door and went downstairs. I checked that the doors and windows were intact before leaving the shelter. I walked along the empty coastal street to Rodster Harbor alone. .

   The second time I came here, I felt pity for this lonely port, maybe because I was a sailor, the port has a natural sense of kindness and security for me.

   When I arrived at the end of the port, I saw that the fishing net was still tied to the boat post. I couldn't wait to pull it up, but when I touched the rough fishing net, my heart sank.

   The heaviness that wanted to drag me into the sea yesterday was gone, only the weight of the fishing net itself filtered through the sea water. Sure enough, when the fishing net was pulled out of the sea, I saw the holes torn open on the side, and there was not even a single seaweed in the net.

   But soon I saw that the fishing net was not completely broken - a few silk threads were connected into the sea, pulling other parts of the sea.

still have a chance! But pulling the net straight up would only break it completely, unless I jumped off.

   As a sailor, I believe that my water is not bad, but the surging deep waters make me dread, and I worry that this is some kind of trap. It's just that I got more and more hungry, and finally, driven by hunger, I jumped into the freezing water, grasped the sharp wooden stick, and groped down to explore.

  I found the broken fishing net, but unfortunately the heavy object disappeared yesterday, only a fist-sized thing with a slippery surface like fish scales. Before I could tell, I grabbed it to the surface, exposing it to the cool air.

Throwing things in the harbor, I crawled ashore with a spiked thorn, and looked shiveringly at what I caught - it wasn't an imaginary fish or a shellfish, it was a dirty obsidian sheep The head, many finely carved spirals in relief, on the horns, its anthropomorphic vividness reminded me of the utensils used in wild sacrifices, and it made me feel uncomfortable, so I threw this ominous thing back to the sea.

  Plop—

  The water splashed, and the strange sheep's head sank into the deep sea. I untied the fishing net that brought bad luck, and returned to the attic with nothing to dry my clothes in front of the fireplace to restore my body temperature.

  Suddenly, I fell clutching my stomach, drooling like a hungry beast. Hunger grew stronger and devoured my sanity and my soul. I was so hungry that I wanted to eat everything I could see, including myself... This is, I suddenly thought of the church bells I heard. Whether there are humans or monsters there means they have food...or they are food.

  Remaining reason compelled me to take the oil lamp and the thorns and leave the sanctuary for the Church of Last Hope.

  I don't know how long ago, I came to the deserted garden of the old stone building.

I looked at the fence in astonishment, because I saw around the church, the believers with the sheep's head wandered, as if the guidance of fate, their sheep's heads were amazingly consistent with the obsidian sculptures I fished out in the deep sea. At this time, I again Hear the noise of the storm ringing in my ears.

"Renner! Renner!" I yelled at the old Potoe crewman who was carrying the barrels: "Damn, you **** asked me to tell you a few times! You don't need to come out to help in the storm! Now! Give it to me! Go back to the cabin Monkey, take this old thing back!"

   The short crew dragged the old crew at the foot of the **** into the cabin. I stayed on deck and heard a "be careful" shout as I saw the sailor in need rushing to his rescue. I turned back in a hurry and saw the old Pojiao crewman rushing towards me and knocking me off the side of the boat. Before falling into the waves, the last thing I saw was the old sailor at Pojiao and the nasty sheep's head emblem floating out from between his necks, flashing coquettishly under the torches.

  I looked back at the cultist who was sliding in like me, the head with the bas-relief engraved spiral extending from the head of the sheep to the horns of the sheep was so abominable. It said something like me, but I couldn't make it out, I guess it was some diabolical curse. My hatred of them was thus at its peak, as was my appetite. I can't remember exactly what happened next, just like hungry wolves breaking into the flock, sharp wood piercing their pus-filled bodies, churches recognizing screams in horror, human stench unbearable, and sheep brains delicious abnormal.

   I became the embodiment of hatred and gluttony, slaughtering in the church occupied by the goat-headed monster.

   After I regained consciousness, I looked at the distorted "monster" corpses at my feet, each of their foreheads had a hole poked out, and the residual brain was half-solidified beside their foreheads.

  I fell to my knees because of this scene, and I squeezed my throat, but I couldn't spit out anything, as if my brain had melted into flesh and blood and became a part of my body. And what made me nauseous was not the murder I committed, but the nausea of ​​recalling the taste of brain-sucking—like a big tub of sticky snot that I sucked out of the basin.

  When I wanted to get up and get away from this slaughtering place, I suddenly froze in place, trembling like an epilepsy, because some terrible conjecture made me shudder.

  What if, indeed, I'm crazy?

   (end of this chapter)