Bizarre Detective Agency

   Chapter 1232 One hundred and seventy. Bizarre Syndrome (10)

   On an ordinary sunny day, the longhouse welcomed an unexpected visitor. He lived in an unoccupied room like a madman. In the dead of night, there was a horrific scream from that room. The next day, an uninvited guest turned out the window and broke into the clinic. Fall from upstairs.

   Out of some professional ethics, the doctor carried the fainted lunatic to the hospital bed and treated him, but the awakened lunatic left here unthankfully and fled back to the longhouse.

About his existence finally attracted the attention of the nearby residents, but they did not dare to approach the madman, only dared to peep his crazy behavior outside the abandoned house where he was hiding, and the night passed, causing the madman to find out, leaving the longhouse and getting into a tavern. Attic, scavenge what's there. Of course, the owner of the tavern did not allow the lunatic to break into his territory and wanted to drive him away, but he was stabbed by the lunatic as soon as he opened the trapdoor. The tavern owner screamed for his men to rush in, but was chased away by the lunatic wielding a kitchen knife, who then broke into the church, attacked the unarmed believers, pierced their skulls and sucked their brains.

   This is the "real" I imagine.

   Only then can we explain why even a human being can be easily repelled and killed, no matter the charred ghost or the Sheepshead—people are afraid of lunatics.

   It just makes me wonder why no police have come to arrest me yet? Even if I'm not in Belfast, the local police or guards or something should stop me instead of letting a horrible lunatic roam around town--

   When I was getting up from the ground and looking out of the church, I saw the street outside the church, the node of my thoughts, the swarms of twisted monsters formed by black hyphae like polyps, wriggling and approaching.

police? Or the guards?

  I resisted the urge to escape from here, watching this group of monsters outlined by mycelium with humanoid and polyp characteristics approaching me, making a buzzing sound similar to that of insects in the wild bushes.

   I watched them approach like dark clouds, and then the visions of memory reappeared.

"Renner! Renner!" On the deck of the sailboat in the storm, I yelled at the old sailor at Poe Foot next to me: "Damn, you want me to tell you a few times! You don't need to come out to help in the storm! Now! Me! Go back to the cabin! Monkey, take this old thing back!"

  The old crew at Pojiao was dragged into the cabin by thin sailors. I stayed on deck and continued to help others on deck. "Be careful!" A shout suddenly sounded from behind me, and the old Pojiao sailor rushed towards me, knocking me overboard. Before falling into the sea, the torn white light suddenly illuminated the deck, and I saw the broken and fallen mast smashing his funny old head into the chest...

  The flying goat head emblem coincides with the goat head lying in a pool of blood. I realized that I had committed an unforgivable wrong.

The   Mycelia entered the guardrail and didn't dare to approach like me, but the neighing was louder, I guess they made me drop the spikes.

   I stared at their exposed black ooze-shaped throats, from which the tremors came, and hesitantly dropped the spikes. Sure enough, after I was no longer holding a weapon, the "policemen" stopped probing, squirmly approached me, and surrounded me. Black sticky hyphae from their shapeless abominations, but leave a gap for me to breathe - which confirms to me that they are indeed them.

  I gave up resisting, I just hoped to put a stop to my mistakes.

   A piece of mycelium pierces a small patch of my skin, injecting me with a drug that makes me drowsy. I suppressed the mad blood in my veins that wanted to fight, and let myself fall into an unknown dream. In my last sobriety I thought, would they send me to a mental hospital or prison?

What    woke me up was the sound of water droplets echoing in the emptiness, the cold and wet rocky ground, the lingering light of the walls reflected by the torches, and the swaying iron chains from far away. I tried to sit up but failed, my hands and feet were tied to a wooden board like a torture device with mycelium. "Anyone?" I called out of the cell, but no voice answered me.

  Want to come about a horrific news about a murdering lunatic and hurting residents who broke into the church and killed priests and nuns. This is both painful and shameful and hopeful—because I've had enough of this sick world and just want to get back to normal as soon as possible and know who I am, even if I become a notorious murderer.

This place is coming to me soon, the sound of mycelium wriggling as recognizable as the soles of heavy boots sounded from the end of the corridor, I raised the only movable head, looking forward to the outside of the cage, hoping to come to me . The squirming sound got closer and closer, and then came to the iron fence as I wished.

   "Can you understand me?" I asked them impatiently, the screeching humming noises of the sticky-mycelium-clad police or guards in the cramped cells. I think they were trying to talk to me and maybe cursing at me, but I didn't get it, and that's what I told him. After confirming that it was impossible for us to communicate, I asked them, "Who am I? Do you know me? Do I still have family?"

  I couldn't tell the mood of these cops from their abstract mycelial heads and humming sounds, I could only watch them enter the cell, secrete mycelium to handcuff me and take me out of the cell. In the dark corridor, I saw many monsters locked in cells like me. They stared at me, unleashing hideous, twisted, dark, ominous, hateful emotions.

  I'm not afraid of them, these guys in iron cages are at best criminals of theft and murder, they should be afraid of me, they will tremble when they know what I am - thinking so with some guilt. Don't know if their brains are like Sheepshead... oh, I'm starting again.

   Being led along the promenade, I could feel that I was going up. Walking through an unimaginably long corridor, I was taken to a cave filled with torches, and I saw cloaked figures of mycelium forming a semicircle in front of an altar with a column of mold, their twisted postures turning into nightmares under the projection of torches A terrifying shadow, a sickly fine humming sound.

  I was taken to the altar, and people were escorting me, pulling the mycelium from my wrists to the mold column. Among them, a cloaked figure of mycelium held the book of mold, greeted the worship of the figures around it, and preached vicious words that made me irritable and incomprehensible.

   They want to sacrifice me.

   I suddenly woke up and understood their behavior, and so I could imagine this: in the square where the fire lights up the night, the residents gathered here, crowded. They shouted, hated, echoed, and waited for the order of the condemned leader to hang the murderers who were tied to the gallows and hurt their relatives and friends.

   (end of this chapter)