Three hundred and fifteen. Life-saving butt

Oliver could tell.

His feet stepped into the mud, squeezing through with a sticky squelching sound.

Something was wandering outside the abandoned village.

Was it coming for him?

Hiding under the dining table behind the cabin's wall, Oliver held his breath.

Squelch—squelch—

The ludicrous sound of movement slowly emanated between the abandoned cabins in the Gloomy Marsh, yet Oliver could not muster a laugh; he hoped the steps' owner would leave soon and not discover him.

The owner of the footsteps did not depart; it slowly circled the abandoned village, walking from left to right, exploring bit by bit.

It was very close to the house where Oliver was hiding—perhaps only a dozen meters away.

Oliver squeezed even closer to the darker parts inside the house in hopes of avoiding detection.

But he ignored that the marsh village had been abandoned for decades and that the severely decayed floorboards couldn't support a person's weight.

Crack—