Bailonz Street 13

In the carriage returning to 13 Bailonz Street, Liam Moore finally made a heartfelt confession.

“The cave,” he began.

“Remember? You said it was dug out with something like claws.”

Indeed, I had found it strange that it had been dug so inefficiently. The next words made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“It was dug out by hand. By someone alone.”

It was a horrifying thought. Could it really have been dug out by fingers?

No one can dig through the earth and make it this far by hand. They would starve, die of exhaustion, or suffocate from lack of oxygen!

“Impossible!”

Liam Moore nodded. Honestly, it would be impossible for any human. At the very least, they would need tools to stay alive. He spoke in a hushed tone.

“Considering the traces felt in that eerie pit, the abandoned flasks, and the bizarre slime that solidified the soil, this…”

The thought of a dead man walking suddenly flashed through my mind.

“…”

Liam Moore gave a grim smile.

“It seems the criminal I executed five years ago has become something other than human.”

What a fantastic Christmas gift.

“A zombie, perhaps?”

“Possibly. Whether it was artificially created or a choice he made, I can’t say.”

There are ways to revive the dead, but Liam Moore mentioned that it’s not a perfect resurrection. It wouldn’t be the same person we once knew.

Honestly, it’s no longer surprising. There are countless people who do everything to live longer. Even if someone found a way to make the dead live forever, it wouldn’t be shocking.

As he opened the door to 13 Bailonz Street, Liam removed his hat. He also took my coat and hung it on the hallway coat rack, adding,

“Considering the recent state of the criminals he has extracted, we will find out whether this phenomenon applies only to him.”

What did he say again? They thought he extracted people in a vegetative state, but if that wasn’t the case, he said it was a very dangerous act.

Anyway, we had no choice but to wait for Inspector Jefferson’s telegram since we still hadn’t found the whereabouts of Philip Peterson.

Soon after, Inspector Jefferson returned, laden with documents. He was visibly excited.

“You were right, Liam!”

“Did you dig up the graves?”

“We confirmed what we could. All the bodies are missing. How did you figure it out? You’re a treasure!”

Liam and I exchanged significant glances. Though I had partially stepped into their world, I once reacted just like Jefferson. Liam nonchalantly replied,

“When you cut away the suspicious parts and follow them, the truth reveals itself.”

This was a familiar quotation from somewhere.

Anyway, I sincerely wished Jefferson a long life, despite the madness and nonsense we’ve encountered.

“Anyway!”

Clapping my hands to interrupt, Jefferson blinked.

“We’re more specialised in this, so until we find more clues, please don’t dig any deeper.”

Please, don’t dig any deeper. If you get involved with something non-human, your life will be ruined too.

“I was already thinking that, Miss Jane. We sent a few officers into that tunnel, but they all lost their way and came back.”

“Did someone actually go in there?”

“Yes, well. I thought they’d eventually come out into that warehouse.”

Liam Moore rubbed his forehead.

“Next time, never let anyone in there. Even if they go mad or get struck by lightning and want to enter, do not let them.”

Putting live people into a zombie pit is hardly a wise choice. Even a grade schooler would know better. Unless you want to become a living lunch, it’s best not to step in there.

Jefferson seemed to somewhat understand but was unsettled by our warnings.

He gathered the list of documents and scanned the addresses. Liam Moore stood up, picking up his coat.

“I may find you very annoying and irritating, Inspector, but… that doesn’t mean I wish for you to die.”

＊ ＊ ＊

Wandering around the neighbourhood, I realised that Liam Moore knew the whereabouts of criminals better than I expected. Of course, he had London’s geography in his head, but navigating these complex alleys with just a few written words on paper was impressive.

He quietly knocked on the door.

“Is anyone there?”

At the first house, we were almost beheaded, and at the second, we were severely cursed out. After visiting over ten houses, it was already past 11 PM.

“This is the last house.”

The people we met were not the criminals on the list, but they all seemed to know who we were. Perhaps we had met somewhere before.

One person cursed us, saying both of us should go to hell. I politely thanked them for their kind words.

“May you go to heaven. Let’s not see each other again.”

From inside, we heard something being knocked over. Liam and I exchanged glances briefly, then kicked down the door. The wooden door creaked open, revealing a pitch-black, dark house.

A house completely blocked from any light. The ring on my thumb glinted. I muttered,

“…This seems dangerous.”

“But we have to go in.”

We stepped into the house. Liam drew the curtains aside. Only when the faint moonlight seeped through the window could we see the state of the house.

All the dishes were broken, and cutlery was scattered on the floor. The food appeared as though it had been left for several days, covered in mould. Overall…

“It looks just like that pit.”

Muttering, I took a step, only to hear a crunch beneath my feet. Looking down, I saw shards of a mirror scattered across the floor.

“A mirror?”

“Is anyone there?”

Liam called out again. The deepest part of the house was still cloaked in darkness. From that depth, someone cried out in anguish.

“The window! Cover the window!”

It sounded like a middle-aged man. His voice was so filled with misery that my hand instinctively went to the window.

“If we cover the window, can you promise not to attack us?”

“I promise, just cover the window!”

With some hesitation, I drew the curtain again. It felt foolish to block our own view, but the man kept his promise. After fumbling a few times, a small flame flickered in the corner.

“Jack Callan? Do you know Philip Peterson? We’re here to find him.”

“Of course I know him!”

The man’s face was revealed by the matchstick light. His skin was decayed, covered in green mould, and grotesquely dried up. I gasped. Groping in the darkness, I grabbed Liam’s hand. His warm hand gripped mine in return.

The man, holding onto his fading life like a matchstick, wailed.

“Philip Peterson made me like this! I didn’t know! He didn’t tell me this would happen!”

He deceived me, saying he would free me from prison. I’m not the only one he tricked. What will happen to me?

His words became indistinct amidst his sobs. Liam Moore rubbed his lips with a small groan, then explained in a low voice audible only to me.

“He forcibly turned a living person into a ‘ghoul.'”

“I only wanted to leave prison because my mother was dying. Sir, please, fix me. I can’t see my mother in this state. I never imagined I’d be imprisoned for so long just for stealing some medicine!”

How on earth could we stop his decay? This man had been dead for over a week. We couldn’t bring him back. I squeezed Liam’s hand, determined to stop him from making any false promises. Liam, silent for a moment, finally spoke.

“Where is Philip Peterson?”

“Underground! Underground! Beneath London!”

Suddenly, there was an agonised scream.

At that moment, the ring on my finger grew hotter. It could now illuminate this darkness without any light. The pitch-black room was gradually brightening.

The man clutched his neck, choking. The matchstick fell to the floor, igniting the wooden boards. I could clearly see the man’s transformation.

His remaining flesh and skin were drying up like dust. As if someone had turned over the hourglass of his life. If human life could be seen, it would look like this.

The man screamed, flailed, and then collapsed. The process was quick. Soon, he turned into a pile of greyish-blue dust.

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