78: Seventy-eight.

A bigger house is not always better.

78: Seventy-eight.

A bigger house is not always better.

Lu Li snapped back to reality, his gaze falling on the ceaselessly ringing telephone.

The call was ultimately picked up, and he silently placed it to his ear.

“It’s great you’re at the Detective Agency.”

The familiar voice came through the receiver, which Lu Li connected with Marcus.

After a brief pause, Lu Li spoke softly, “Is there an issue?”

“Er…

do you want the truth or a lie?”

“I want both.”

“Oh ho ho, Detective Lu Li sure is greedy.

The lie is that I’m just calling to catch up, considering we haven’t been in touch for a few days, hehehe…

The truth is, I have a new commission for you.”

“I’m not available for the moment…”

“Don’t be in a hurry to refuse.

The client this time is quite generous.”

“…How much?”

“Between 300 and 500 shillings.

The client is a sucker from Himbest who isn’t quite familiar with the local prices.

Opportunities like this don’t come often.”

“When do I start?”

“Er…

do you want the good news or the bad news?”

“I want both.”

“The good news is the client is in a hurry, so you’ll get the money quickly.

The bad news is that other exorcists have taken on the commission, so you need to be fast.”

…

[Tesla Brothers Transport Company]

Two carriages emblazoned with the transport company’s logo rolled over cobblestones, coming to a stop along a quiet, sparsely populated street endowed with elegant surroundings.

This place, adjacent to the forest, wouldn’t suffer the disturbance of neighbors, and one could gaze out at the sea—it was the kind of spot everyone dreamed of—well, the real reason was it was just too remote, practically on the very edge of Belfast.

The two carriages, one trailing the other, halted in front of a detached residence.

From the back carriage, a family of three and a golden retriever disembarked.

The shirtless coachman set aside the reins, followed the family off the carriage, and entered the residence with a face full of smiles.

About ten minutes later, the family and the coachman emerged from behind the door, seemingly having agreed on something.

The two workers who had remained on the other carriage dismounted and began to move an assortment of items into the house.

Bookshelves, books, a piano, workstation.

One by one, belongings unlike those of an ordinary household were carried by the workers through the front door.

The couple stood at the doorway, speaking in low voices.

An argument seemed to arise, with the intermittent sounds of a dispute being carried away by the wind.

“…I’m sorry you’ve been put through this…”

“…the child…

she’s starting school…

the new academy…”

“…I didn’t want to move here either…”

McPherson, an artist caught between sheet music and piano.

However, the title of an artist didn’t fetch a high price, at least not in Himfast.

His reason for moving from Himfast to Belfast was simple: living here was a bit cheaper and quieter.

Of course, the more important reason was there were just too many “artists” in Himfast.

If you were also an artist, even if you were quite talented, it would be tough to make a living there.

Although Belfast was referred to by those self-important artists as barren in art or as a city filled with the stench of money, McPherson decided to take his chances and bought a detached house on the outskirts of Belfast, near the forest.

It wasn’t very expensive, because being so remote, this two-story house only cost as much as a long house on the bustling streets.

In return, the detached house looked worn and dusty.

The grimy, dust-laden exterior and the overgrown weeds in the yard signified that it had been a long time since anyone had taken care of it.

McPherson watched the workers come and go, his cherished books being moved into the courtyard in stacks.

Originally, McPherson had many more books than this, but after that group arrived and forcibly took away the geography and history books, his collection was halved.

He didn’t know whether to be grateful to those stern-faced men, for they had reduced the cost of moving by several shillings.

His wife’s words echoed in his ear, “I find this house eerie…

Can’t you feel it?

When we went in, Jack was too scared to wander around.”

With resignation, McPherson turned his head and said, “That’s just your imagination, wife.

It’s been raining all season, and the rooms will naturally be a bit damp and cold when uninhabited.

It will be better once we move in.

Jack is a dog; he’s bound to be a little scared in a new place.

You could have Beth play with him.”

McPherson placed his hands on his wife’s shoulders, looking at her earnestly, “Listen, I believe that everything will be fine.

Sooner or later, a band will take note of me, and a singer will choose my compositions.

Trust me, ok?”

“…Yes.

I don’t mind those things, it’s just the children…”

“I know…

I know it all…”

The husband embraced his wife, and the couple leaned on each other, seemingly reconciled.

Some time later, after two coaches had finished transporting the miscellaneous items and had collected their fees, the family of three stood at the door to send the coaches off, then hand in hand, they walked through the iron gate.

…

“The hallway is so dimly lit.”

Dorin had accepted their current situation for the time being, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t complain about such things.

“All big houses are like this,” McPherson said with a smile beside her, suddenly looking around.

“Where’s Jack?”

Their daughter, bouncing ahead, pointed down the dim hallway, “Up ahead.

Jack, Jack!”

She called out loudly for her good friend.

“Woof!”

Right then, around the corner of the hallway, some ten meters away, the golden retriever Jack was tearing at a corner of the wallpaper that had peeled up from the wall.

“Woo—”

Jack bared his teeth, his sharp canines revealed, showing his fierce side.

Behind the torn wallpaper, a dark, withered arm appeared on the wall, like a child’s careless doodle, existing on the barren wall.

“Jack!

Jack—”

At that moment, calls from the little owner echoed down the hallway; perking up his ears, Jack turned and ran off.

The deserted hallway fell silent with Jack’s departure.

Behind the gap in the wallpaper, the doodle-like dark withered arm slowly retracted back behind it.

…

Five o’clock in the afternoon.

The gloomy sky looked as if night had fallen.

Lights went on in the house’s windows, and the streets without street lamps were shrouded in darkness.

McPherson and Dorin were nestled on the living room sofa.

They had just finished visiting their new neighbors not long ago.

The neighbors were very hospitable, but some houses received no reply.

They thought the homeowners were absent, but it wasn’t until nightfall, and the lights in those residences remained off, that they realized the houses were unoccupied.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have bought a house on this street, and certainly not such a large one,” Dorin said worriedly.

The house was too big, and their savings wouldn’t support the luxury of placing oil lamps in all rooms and corridors.

After dusk, the oil lamps would only be placed in the bedrooms.

This meant that more parts of the house would sink into thick darkness.

This was somewhat disconcerting.

“It’s better this way; at least we won’t be disturbed by neighbors and passersby,” McPherson said, patting his wife.

“Go prepare dinner; I’ll be working in the study.”