Chapter 393 The Tree of Hanging Ghosts

Submerged in the continuous drizzle, the village of Little Hangleton was immersed in deathly silence. The streets were deserted, and even the kittens that used to play in the alleys disappeared. The village seems to be cursed, and the tranquility during the day is more chilling than the darkness at night.

The doors and windows of every house were open, and when the wind blew, low-pitched sounds of twisting and banging could be heard.

The mist slowly rose from the ground like a ghost, covering everything. The police officers who came to investigate were nervously sitting in the car, scanning the strange scene nervously. Suddenly, a limp figure appeared in the fog, holding a swaying kerosene lamp in his hand. Every step seemed extremely difficult.

The iron chain on the kerosene lamp was rusty and made a tooth-aching creaking sound. The old man's face suddenly pressed against the car window without warning, and his cloudy eyes seemed to be able to see through people's souls.

"Police...Officer, you are finally here." Fleck's voice was hoarse and trembling, and the smile on his face was uglier than crying, and more terrifying than the evil ghosts in the haunted house.

"Did you call the police?" The two police officers held the guns in their hands tightly, their eyes as sharp as hawks, and motioned to the old man to keep their distance. The radio in the car seemed to be interfered with by some mysterious force and could only emit a disturbing electrical sound.

Fleck nodded quickly and explained: "When I woke up this morning, the village was as quiet as death. I limped down from the mountain and knocked on the door one by one, but no one answered me." There was a trace of unconcealable emotion in his voice. panic.

The two policemen looked at each other and exchanged opinions in low voices. Tension and uneasiness filled the air. Fleck stood there, his figure looming in the mist, as if he would disappear the next moment.

"Could it be some kind of cult ritual?" The young policeman swallowed unconsciously and looked at the pub next to him involuntarily. On its metal signboard, the words "The Hanged Ghost Tavern" looked particularly dazzling in the dim light.

The old policeman shook his head slowly and scolded in a low voice: "Don't think so wildly."

Even though he had been a police officer for decades, he had never encountered the strange situation before him... no, he had never encountered it once. Just a few decades ago, it was in this village. A mysterious murder occurred in a mansion on the hillside. Three members of the Riddle family died in horror for no apparent reason. The medical examiner reported that they did not suffer any injuries. As if he died suddenly in some kind of fear.

After about a quarter of an hour of intense discussion, the two policemen finally decided to follow the limp old man and go take a look. If they go back without doing any investigation, the bureau will ridicule them as cowards.

They followed Fleck on the road leading deep into the village. On the highest hillside, stands a dilapidated old house - the Riddle House.

The old policeman frowned involuntarily and cursed secretly: "Why is it here?"

"I'm not going!" the young policeman screamed, his voice full of panic: "That house looks as strange as a haunted house, there must be something wrong!"

The old policeman took off his hat and scratched the top of his head. He grabbed his partner's arm and said angrily: "I told you a long time ago to play less games, but you won't listen."

"It was just a dilapidated house. When I first joined the police department, I came here to investigate." He said, turning his head and looking around, "Flake used to be the gardener of the manor, and we also suspected him of being a suspect... …”

He could never say the word "suspect" because the gardener he was talking about had disappeared.

The surrounding fog became thicker, as if there were groups of ghosts shaking under the white cloth. The two policemen stood back to back, holding the handles of their guns tightly with both hands and nervously holding them in front of their chests.

Their breathing became heavier involuntarily, and they glanced around frantically, their ears pricked up, trying to distinguish any sounds around them.

"What do we do now?"

"I just joined the job this year, you ask me?" The young policeman had big beads of sweat on his forehead, and his voice was trembling uncontrollably.

"I have never encountered such a situation! Don't you often play horror games? What should you do in the game?" the old policeman asked eagerly, obviously losing his cool.

"Don't run around, don't move around. Close your eyes, and wait..." The young policeman's voice suddenly dropped, as if he was recalling a certain strategy in the game.

Reality is not a game, they only have one life. If you run around and scream, you will only die faster.

"Wait?" the old policeman repeated doubtfully, his eyes widened and he couldn't believe that this was the countermeasure.

Suddenly, there was a whistling sound in the thick fog, and the white mist under my feet began to roll continuously, as if something was driving them away. The two instantly realized that something in the white mist was watching them.

Not far from them was the eerie old Riddle house. In the old sofa, Voldemort was placed there, and Peter Pettigrew was "feeding" him. The glass bottle contains the basilisk's venom, which is necessary to keep Voldemort alive.

"Master, why don't I kill them." Fleck took off his disguise, revealing Buck's face. He bowed respectfully before Voldemort, waiting for his master's orders.

"Basilisers like to eat alive." Voldemort smiled cruelly, making a series of hissing guttural sounds from his mouth.

The basilisk in the white mist received the order and prepared to swallow the food in front of it. The two policemen seemed to sense something, looked at each other, and then ran away.

"Buck, have you seen your nephew?" Voldemort's question was simple and direct, but it made Buck on the other side sweat. How should he answer?

"Never seen it? Definitely not! Voldemort is omnipotent and omniscient." Buck began to have complex psychological activities. He didn't know why Voldemort mentioned Rogge.

However, he had a strong feeling in his heart that his answer would determine his fate.

"Master, I saw him in Azkaban." Buck replied immediately, telling Voldemort exactly what happened.

He knew that even if Amelia carried out a "big purge" of the Ministry of Magic, there must still be Death Eaters lurking inside. They are like hidden "needles", providing information to Voldemort at any time. Since Voldemort asked this, he probably already knew something.

"What did he do when he saw you?" Voldemort's voice was cold and without any emotion.

"I want the key to the Travis family's vault." Buck replied quickly, while sneaking a glance at Voldemort. He noticed a glimmer of light in Voldemort's gloomy eyes, as if he was thinking about something.

"The Gringotts vault?" Voldemort asked.

"Yes, Master. He brought our family's tail ring and came to the prison specifically to see me. I advised him to become an honorable Death Eater, but he has been completely brainwashed by Dumbledore."

"Hahaha." Voldemort let out a weird laugh. He looked at Buck coldly and said, "What a liar."

Buck's heart sank suddenly, and the hands hidden in his sleeves trembled slightly. He secretly panicked in his heart: "Have you been discovered?"

At the same time, his hand unconsciously touched the wand, ready to cast Avada Kedavra on himself at any time: "Even if you commit suicide, it is better than falling into the hands of Voldemort and other Death Eaters."

Behind him, Bella and Little Barty quietly gathered around and looked at Buck with evil intentions. Behind the sofa, Peter Pettigrew shrank in fear, hiding in the shadow of the sofa, trying to make himself unnoticed.

"I've seen that little guy." Voldemort sneered, with a hint of sarcasm in his tone, "Harry Potter's first year. Yes, I saw him in the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office. .”

"Do you know what happened when he met me?" Before Buck could answer, Voldemort continued: "He negotiated a deal with me and claimed that he was the fairest wizard in the magical world."

"Haha." Voldemort sneered, but there was a hint of appreciation in his eyes, "That money-hungry and very smart kid. Even if you are bewitched by Dumbledore, he won't. I understand him, just like me, They are all very good at pretending to be Slytherins."

"The key to the Travis family's treasury, huh, it does look like something he would do." Voldemort nodded with satisfaction to Buck, who had temporarily passed the test.

If Buck had said something wrong just now, Voldemort would have killed him directly to prevent further trouble. Perhaps Buck was wronged, but he was so weak that he had to eliminate any uncertainties.

Hearing this, the big stone in Buck's heart finally fell to the ground. He secretly breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that he had saved his life in front of Voldemort. However, a trace of regret flashed in the eyes of little Barty behind him, and he always suspected that Buck was a spy. There is no conclusive evidence or reason for this suspicion, it is just an intuition belonging to the Crouch family.

"As his uncle, you should go and meet him." Voldemort's voice sounded again, and his eyes fell on Buck's face, "I remember his mother was also a Death Eater..."

"Master, Dumbledore removed the mark on Jessica's arm. She is a traitor..." Barty reminded him carefully, but Voldemort's reaction was beyond his expectation.

"I know, do you need to remind me about this?" Voldemort's eyes pierced Barty Jr. like sharp knives, and he began to punish his subordinates who interrupted at will.

The black magic mark on little Barty's wrist suddenly became hot, and his face twisted in pain. Immediately afterwards, black mist rose from the mark, turning into a chain and pulling him into the air.

"Master, I was wrong...I..." Little Barty's body struggled feebly in the air. His face turned from red to purple, and his eyeballs were bulging and bloodshot, as if they were about to pop out of their sockets.

Breathing became rapid and shallow, hissing with each inhalation. He was now like a fish thrown ashore, desperately trying to breathe in the breath of life.

The pain of suffocation made him grab his throat with both hands and dig out several blood stains. However, Heisuo strangled him tightly, unable to relieve the suffocating despair.

His body began to twitch, his limbs waving uncontrollably, like a puppet whose strings were pulled, helpless and desperate. Death is approaching like a cold wave from the bottom of the deep sea.

There was an expression on his face that was a mixture of fear, pain and disbelief, as if he couldn't accept that he was about to die like this. In his eyes, the light of life is quickly fading, replaced by deep despair and the precursor to death.

However, at the last moment of death, the black cord around his neck dissipated. Voldemort didn't want to kill him, at least not yet. He just made little Barty realize that he must always fear and respect his master. And most importantly, loyalty!

Little Barty covered his neck and fell heavily to the floor. He was coughing and gasping for air.

"Master, please...ahem...forgive me." Little Barty crawled to the ground, knelt in front of Voldemort, and begged him for forgiveness.

"Wormtail, hurry up, pick me up!" Suddenly, Voldemort shouted in panic. The basilisk was telling him through his soul that an old man with a white beard was coming.

"Master, what's wrong..." Buck and Bella both looked confused.

"Let's go! Take me away quickly!" Voldemort looked around his men with sinister eyes, filled with confusion. "Why did Dumbledore find this place? There must be a traitor among these people!"

Voldemort firmly believed that his judgment would not be wrong. However, he never thought that it might not be someone who betrayed him.

Under Voldemort's command, the basilisk in the white mist slipped silently into the water and disappeared without a trace. Dumbledore waved his wand and cast a powerful spell that dispersed the dark clouds and white fog that enveloped the village.

The midday sun finally shone warm light on this humid mountain village. The panicked police gradually regained their sense of direction and began to look for their companions and a way to escape.

"Ah!" Suddenly, a frightened scream came from the forest, breaking the brief tranquility.

Dumbledore glanced at Riddle's old house, then quickly swept towards the woods. The old policeman sat on the ground with a look of fear on his face, his mouth open and trembling fingers pointing at his headless companion. He was so frightened that he didn't even realize someone was approaching him.

"Forgotten." Dumbledore pointed his wand at the old policeman and whispered a spell, directly erasing his memory of this incident.

Suddenly, there was a burst of magic fluctuations around. The Aurors from the Ministry of Magic arrived at this moment and witnessed this scene.

"Mr. Dumbledore?" The Aurors looked at the crime scene in front of them, and many of them clenched their wands nervously.

"Were the Muggles on the ground killed by Dumbledore?" They didn't dare to think or ask.

They just received a report that a wizard was abusing magic in Little Hangleton Village. In addition, the Ministry of Magic detected magic fluctuations here, so they hurriedly used Apparition to get here.

Now they face murder and a powerful and respected wizard. They must be careful and handle the difficult situation at hand.

Dumbledore frowned slightly. The timing of these Aurors' arrival was too coincidental. He didn't explain, turned around and looked at the decadent mansion under the sun.

"Denbu..." A young wizard wanted to stop him, but others hinted at him not to speak.

The leading wizard made a quick decision and sent his men to report to the minister. At the same time, a few people were left to guard the scene, and the rest followed Dumbledore into the old house.

As Dumbledore entered the old house, his face became heavier and his brows almost furrowed into a frown. Although the house was full of furniture covered in dust, in his eyes, it seemed as if he had witnessed a brutal massacre.

"Did you hear the screams?" Dumbledore suddenly asked.

The Aurors following him were confused. There was obviously nothing here. Full of doubts, everyone could only nod slightly.

"In the garden!" Dumbledore quickened his pace. There was an old dead tree in the center of the garden.

Its branches are twisted and dry, like withered arms, twisting and stretching towards the sky. The bark is rough, covered with deep cracks, and sucks the moisture of blood.

The most eye-catching thing is the corpse hanging on the tree. They were densely packed, just like the corpses in the forest. All the heads were missing, leaving only the headless bodies swaying gently in the wind.

The hands of each corpse were tied with rough ropes, and their feet hung down feebly, swaying in the wind. The crows were so dark that they jumped on the branches and made piercing cries.

Under the dazzling sunlight, the skin of the corpses appeared sickly pale. In contrast, the crows' feathers shone with oil. Black and white intertwined on the dead trees, they swayed gently, like a string of wind chimes left by the god of death.

This is a strange hanged ghost tree, an evil symbol that seems to echo the hanged ghost tavern in the village.

The Aurors were completely shocked by the horrific sight in front of them. Their pupils shrank into needle shapes and their bodies retreated involuntarily.

The scene before them was beyond their imagination, and even well-trained Aurors found it difficult to remain calm. They had never seen such a cruel scene. It was not just murder, but more like some kind of evil ritual.