God, I was barely able to get any sleep last night.

I keep hearing Castus’ screaming in my head.

If this keeps up, soon enough I’m going to be admitted to a mental hospital too.

Obed Street was a long winding road and there weren’t any houses on either side of the street.

I’ve been driving for ages, and I still haven’t found Marsh’s house.

If Marsh really lived here, where the hell is his house and why in God’s name would he live in an abandoned place like this?

Betsy struggled heavily when we entered the area.

I don’t think she’ll be able to go uphill from this point on.

Fantastic, time for me to walk the rest of the way in this eerie forest.

Putting on my hat and grabbing suitcase, I left Betsy behind.

As I reached the top of the hill, profusely sweating, I spotted an old villa on the horizon.

It was such a bleak and somber sight compared to the orange skies above.

Please let this be the right place.

Arriving at the house, I noticed that it was in quite a decrepit state, seeing as the stairs creaked as I ascended them.

I rapped on the door using the doorknocker, which was in the shape of a curled tentacle.

I felt a cold breeze against my back as the door unlatched, and a disheveled man appeared behind it.

Thank God.

I was really starting to get cold.

From what I could see, the man had disheveled black hair and dark brown eyes.

He eyed me suspiciously, “Who are you?”

“Good evening, sir, are you Barnabus Marsh?” I inquired.

He nodded in response.

“Could I speak to you about the accident you were in while working for Mr. Brooks?”

He looked back before looking at me again.

“I-I don’t want to talk about it,” he stammered.

Before he closed the door, I shoved my foot in the opening, “Sir, I’m a private investigator looking into the matter. I’d like to speak about the case with you. I won’t be long.”

Flashing him my investigator’s license, Marsh sighed, “Very well, come in.”

He opened the door fully to allow me to enter.

Marsh was wearing a black cloak and muddy boots, as if he was about to go out.

“Oh, were you on your way out?”

“No,” he shrugged, “just doing some work in the yard. It’s cold out.”

Looking around the house, I thought it looked perfectly normal, at first.

As we walked through the hall and entered the living room, I noticed that the house was decorated with strange ominous paintings of dark oceans and strange beings with many tendrils towering over cities.

Marsh must really like tiny jade statuettes to have three of them lined up on a side table like this.

He’s as nutty as a fruitcake.

It was strange seeing oil lamps in his home since people stopped using them ages ago.

Wow, he even owns a cuckoo clock.

This place is practically a museum.

Seeing a few paintings of people, comforted me at first, but then I began feeling like I was being watched, which sent shivers up and down my spine again.

Sitting down, I fetched my notebook and pen from my coat pocket.

“Mr. Marsh, can you tell me anything about the accident that took place during a job for Mr. Brooks approximately two days ago?”

Marsh eyed me suspiciously as he fiddled with a jade ring on his ring finger.

“George Castus and I were hired to deliver some cargo from Innsmouth to Mr. Brooks’ home in Portcroft,” he explained, “While we were driving on Grove Road, George lost control of the truck and we crashed into a tree. The next thing I knew, I was in the hospital.”

“Did you see anything strange that day?”

“Strange? No, I don’t think so.”

“What about the sea?” I probed, “Did you two stop at the seaside?”

I could see beads of sweat rolling down his temple as he shifted his gaze from the clock to his ring.

“No, we were instructed to drive from Innsmouth to Portcroft without any stops. The truck also had enough gasoline to last the entire trip.”

Then where the hell did that moss come from?

“Was the cargo wet when you picked it up, perchance?”

Marsh shook his head, “It was kept dry, as ordered by Mr. Brooks.”

“Were you also informed what the cargo contained?”

He keeps fidgeting with that ring and it’s starting to annoy me.

“No, I wasn’t,” Marsh finally answered.

Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

That damned clock startled me.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” Marsh stammered, “but t-talking about the accident really m-makes me feel unwell. I-I’d like you to leave now.”

With a sigh, I gathered my things and made my way to the door.

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Marsh,” I gave him a curt nod as I exited the house.

He promptly slammed the door shut.

What an absolute jerk.