Bailonz Street 13

Chapter 186. Calamity (1)

“As you read in the email, something’s not right with the village. The livestock are being killed in horrific ways. I reported it to the police, but they laughed off my concerns as delusions. Of course, I did mention these strange occurrences started after we excavated the ruins… But that’s not the important part. What matters most is that, curse or not, something in this village is killing livestock!”

O’Brien ranted about how it would be a problem whether it was human or supernatural, yet they tried to dismiss it as insignificant.

“To say it’s just wild dogs—ridiculous!”

Meanwhile, Liam was reviewing the photos O’Brien had sent on his tablet. He snorted at the mention of the police.

“Ah, the police! They never listen to everything, do they?”

“Exactly! Those bastards—it brings tears to my eyes thinking of my wasted tax money.”

From the back seat, I leaned forward to look at the collection of photos.

The damage to the livestock’s hide certainly looked more like animal claw marks than human work, with random patterns of destruction.

O’Brien spoke to us with undisguised devastation on her face.

“Now I’m terrified people might be attacked next.”

“What was in the burial mound?”

“Well, to explain that, I need to start with how we found out about it. There’s a rumor among grave robbers. They say there’s a tomb near Suffolk that’s disappeared from records. At first, I thought they meant the Sutton Hoo site, but it was different. It’s a smaller tomb, but they say anyone who tried to find it—grave robbers or archaeologists—all died, so the truth of it became unknown.”

“The truth became unknown…”

Liam echoed those words. His gray eyes sparkled again with interest in the case. It seemed there hadn’t been many cases to ignite his passion during his long years.

“When we actually went inside, we found one skeleton that appeared to be from an early 20th-century grave robber. For some reason, it seems they couldn’t get out of the tomb.”

“That is interesting.”

While they had this conversation, I just listened silently. After Liam asked a few more questions on his own, he reached this conclusion:

“First, we should look at the dead animals. And please show me the location of the burial mound.”

* * *

The village was small and tranquil. Though the houses were quite far apart, it still felt like a community that lived together. The heather growing near the beach created an illusion of being in Hisford. The beach was rocky. When the damp, salty wind blew in from the coast, Liam’s expression seemed to sink into reminiscence.

Within fences weathered by sea winds, the few remaining sheep wandered around grazing, though somehow giving off an unsettling feeling. Under the gray sky, the black sea formed white foam from the wind.

The village was quiet. Occasionally there were eyes watching us through windows, but even those quickly disappeared. Nets were drying in the small village square. Below, leading to the sea, there was a small dock for easy boat mooring, where a few old fishing boats could be seen. One of them, painted blue, had been pulled completely onto land. I gazed out the window, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu at the scenery so similar to coastal villages in Korea.

Through the open window came the sound of an old man in chest-high rubber overalls scraping barnacles off a boat’s hull with a cigarette in his mouth. O’Brien, noticing my gaze toward the old fisherman (probably through the rearview mirror), explained:

“Their main income is from selling salt-preserved fish.”

“Are there no tourists?”

I asked.

“Hardly any. This is truly a rural village. Almost no one comes here voluntarily. Even those interested in ruins stay in Suffolk. Or they go all the way to Ireland instead. There are barely any travel reviews of this village online. It’s the kind of place where if you say ‘I live here,’ people respond with ‘Where’s that?'”

I nodded.

It occurred to me that O’Brien probably wouldn’t have come to such a village either if it weren’t for her research subject. I wondered why she started researching an unverified tomb here.

She continued:

“Young people dream of moving to nearby cities or London. Since it’s still holiday season, some might be back home. This village is slowly aging. The average age keeps rising, and there are no children.”

To reach a hospital, you have to drive about thirty minutes to the nearby city (Suffolk), just as we did earlier. Tourists want to see pastoral, beautiful countryside with turning waterwheels, not the ‘raw’ rural village. They can see plenty of that in their own countries and regions. An ordinary fishing village without anything special probably holds no appeal.

“This place isn’t really suitable for finding anything special that you can’t see elsewhere.”

“I see…”

I murmured softly.

Soon we arrived at O’Brien’s house. It was in a secluded part of the village. Though not quite a mansion, it was a fairly large country house. Trees grew so thickly around it that the house was barely visible from a distance. The yard was filled with tools reminiscent of a construction site—shovels, pickaxes, and such. Of course, there were also softer tools like brushes and transplanting trowels. Parking the car in the front yard while avoiding the tools, O’Brien said:

“First, let me introduce you to Bradley who lives with me. They were quite excited when they heard Mr. Osmond was coming. After that, we’ll go see the dead animals.”

“Sounds good.”

As the engine fully stopped, Liam got out first and opened the door for me. It seemed his habits from carriage days still remained. I could see his nose had quickly turned red from the cold wind. When I giggled and poked his nose, Liam smiled playfully and lightly adjusted my scarf.

As O’Brien moved to open the trunk, Liam stopped her and asked:

“By the way, Nicole. Are there any other inns or hostels in the village?”

“Ah, there’s one. Though I’m not sure if it’s operating. I have guest rooms here, how about staying with us?”

Liam chuckled and shrugged.

“I’d like to explore the village more thoroughly.”

This wasn’t something we’d agreed on.

But Liam seemed to have something in mind. How should I put it—he had an almost animal-like instinct for cases. While I tend to find information using what I’ve learned from him, Liam was someone who moved on instinct. He wouldn’t act without reason. I had complete trust in Liam Moore.

O’Brien nodded at Liam’s explanation.

“Then I’ll say that’s not a bad idea. The owner, Mr. Jacob, is an excellent cook. He knows how to make delicious dishes, quite un-English-like.”

“That’s perfect.”

I tried to hold back my laughter.

When will these English people’s self-deprecation about their food stop being funny? Greasy food upon greasy food upon greasy food, just ordinary fish and chips. And when asked to recommend the most delicious food in England, they’d list restaurants of every nationality—except English! Every English person I’d met so far had enthusiastically recommended Indian restaurants.

Before entering the house, I had to bite my cheeks hard to keep from laughing at Liam’s whispered words:

“Delicious dishes unlike English food? Must mean French cuisine?”