Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was a deep-set agony in the gaps between the bones of his knuckles that had him wanting to stretch. He’d learnt from past mistakes, though. Stretching did nothing to ease the pain he was in, and that was the one thing permanent about the situation that he was in. That, and the fact that his partner before him still stayed like the stupid, stupid woman she was. With a smile, the ache soon faded into nothing as he set the steaming pot in the middle of the table. The woman before him stared up at him with narrowed, fed-up eyes. Her arms were crossed against her chest, her finger and thumb fiddling with a loose thread on her button-up shirt. She watched as he lifted up the ladle, placing spoonful after spoonful of stew into a black, porcelain bowl. Once hers was prepared, he set it before her before starting on his own. He’d made enough to last them the next couple days at most. The food out there could get scarce so when he was able to, he'd ration to the best of his ability.

He carried the pot back through to the kitchen, returning with a bowl for himself. Sitting himself down opposite her, he scoffed, lifting up his spoon. “Your dinner’s ready, you ungrateful bitch. Eat.”

The woman sat there in all her confident glory, lifting up the spoon, prodding at the contents within what the man before her named as ‘stew.’ It was thick, yet watery at the same time. The contents of food within it were cubes, unidentifiable. “I don’t gotta eat anything I suspect is poisoned, which I know is what you want me to do.”

“I will not ask you again. I am telling you to EAT YOUR FUCKING FOOD—”

“What’s in this stew anyway? All I see are mushrooms. Any variation of sorts, my love? Carrots? Meat?” She smirked, allowing the silence to accompany her through to her next position. “…Potatoes, even?”

Having not even taken a bite of anything he’d made for himself, he slammed the bowl down. He stood up, and in a blink of an eye, he had her pinned against the wall with a hand around her neck. “You don’t got a fucking clue about what you’re talking about!”

She choked, feeling the grip on her neck tighten. “I know what you’re trying to do. I recognise some of the mushrooms. Fool’s Webcap? Death Cap? You think I’m dumb or somethin’?”

“I don’t think, I know that you ain’t no herbalist, so stop pretending you know what you’re on about!”

“And I keep telling you I need to head west but you won’t let me leave!”

“BECAUSE YOU DO NOT GET TO LEAVE THIS CABIN!”

A strong backhanded slap met her cheek, allowing her to fall to the floor. She gasped for breath, clawing at the now red-raw skin on her neck from how hard he’d been holding her.

He retook a seat, finally addressing his food. He let the spoonful of food dissolve on his tongue, the pool of saliva dribbling down his chin. “You gonna be a good girl and eat or am I gonna have to take you home? I keep telling you, I’m expecting guests and I’m gonna make sure no one finds you. So you can choose to do this the easy way or the hard way.”

“I need to head west—”

“You are not leaving. Ever. And you know that, so you gonna eat or?”

The woman stared up at the man, directly into his bright green eyes. His greasy, black hair was falling in his eyes and again, she found herself wondering how she’d ever found him attractive but in a situation like her’s she figured she didn’t have a choice.

There was only one option for her, so she stood, flattening out the skirt of her denim apron. She cleared her throat as he watched her move back to the table. She did not allow her eyes to drift away from him, not even for a second. She grabbed the back of her chair, pulling it back out from under the table.

Then she ran.

As if he were on the hunt, he was after he the split second she took off running, a bony, frail hand tangling into her hair. She screamed out as she tried to rip herself away but despite how weak he may appear, he was shockingly strong. Down they went. Down, down, down they went until the chills of the cabin embed within her skin. Down, down, down they went as the shackles were wrapped around her wrists, keeping her in place. Water dripped down from the corner of the room, creating a puddle in the corner of the room. Awful. So awful, but she’d brought it upon herself so what did she expect?

She heard his footsteps ascend up the stairs that took them from the cellar to the living room. She heard him tapping around upstairs, heading west into the kitchen, then east and downwards until he was facing her. He knelt on the hard, stone flooring, plucking the metal spoon from her bowl.

“Eat,” he told her.

“I ain’t doing shit.”

The spoon was jammed in her mouth until she accepted the food, She could taste the rot. She could taste the mould. She could taste the poison but with no room to breathe, she had no choice but to swallow.

Her stomach would not allow her to vomit up the stew. The posion had already done its job.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, running his hand through her hair. “You gonna keep going?”

“No—”

Every answer would’ve been the wrong answer, for the spoon was jammed in her mouth over and over again until the stew was all gone. Weak. She was weak by the end of it, the familiar taste of acid in her mouth. With an empty bowl, finally, he smiled, meaning this was all over. Itd all be over soon.

“The sun is setting, my love,” he told her with a huskiness to his voice. “Meaning my dear guests are due to arrive. I am to sit on the porch and you are to stay here! Lord knows you’ll be dead by morning. Maybe you’ll be remembered by someone who finds your body instead of those who choose to forget you. Leave, and I’ll kill you myself. No one is ever gonna find you. Don’t scream. Don’t holler. You know they can’t hear you from down here so don’t even try…goodbye, darlin’. Let’s hope you stay hidden.”

The door to the cellar slammed shut and she was left alone, limp and dying.

For days, she was forced to listen to an additional eight footsteps moving around upstairs. For days, she was forced to listen to the thunder and the rain as it hammed down relentlessly. For days, she was forced to listen to the bloodshed as people either left the cabin to be slaughtered in the room next door or amputated upstairs on the couch. On the one day, she heard as the stabbing commenced in the room three floors down from her. On the one day, she heard as the silence overcame her.

No more little voices muttering in her mind. No more bleeding, and no more hunger pains.

Free. Finally, she was free, so she awoke.

It was a bad idea, really, to even think about going after her, especially when he knew what she was capable of. Her hair was frizzy from the moisture down in the basement where she sat, but somehow not matted despite being underground for nearly 3 weeks. Her eyes were pinpoint and wild. Her skin was grey, and her lips were bloodied and chapped. Foam spilled from her mouth in a pale green colour all thanks to the poisoned mushrooms she’d been fed those weeks before. There shackles around her wrists had dug into her skin to the point they were purple the full 360 degrees around. That, and her clothes were officially dirtied from sitting on the wet floor. He was gone. He was gone now…so who was he to stop her from freeing herself? Because she began to thrash, ignoring the pain in her wrsits, crying out his name.

The children were gone. He was gone. The Butcher was fucking gone and there she was, about to break free. She had no idea that the spirits in the cabin continued to overlook her. She had no idea their significant others knew about her either. Whether she’d find out about them or not, they were dead.

They were all fucking dead.

As the wood behind the cabin splintered and she broke free, she lifted the skirt of her apron and ran from the cabin before he took a wrong turn and returned. Two names rang clear in her mind, louder than a church bell. Girls. She needed to find the two girls and eliminate them. Their boyfriends had allowed her to suffer, so she would initiate them into hell unlawfully.

They may not know about her yet. They may not have figured out who she was, but she figured them out before they got the chance to consider. Staying in the shadows, she remained cautious. Staying in the shadows, the weapon within her pocket she’d kept on her at all times kept her grounded. Staying in the shadows, her figure was preposterous and terrifying when she passed by windows. Children would have nightmares when she passed by the grounds. She wasn’t going to be able to let them leave unscatched. She was going to make sure they burnt, and that started with them.

3 AM. The rain poured down on to the streets of Hatchetfield as the front door to an elaborately rich mansion opened.

“…can I help you?” The young woman asked, tucking her brunette hair behind her ears.

“It’s too late for you now, honey,” she said, drawing her weapon from her apron pocket. “Your soul is tarnished, just like your boyfriend’s…say hello to Peter for me, Stephanie. Though, where you’re going, I doubt he’s waiting for you.”

Two gunshots rang out in Hatchetfield that night claiming the lives of two innocent women. Two innocent women who had yet to discover the deaths of their partners. Fortunately for them, their souls were not to be forgotten, for their souls were stored safely but there was very little that could be done.

She was on a poisonous prowl, reclaiming her title as the most powerful entity that Hatchetfield had ever seen meaning she had to return to the place where everything started.

As she stepped over the threshold to The Old Waylon Place, she felt the youth reclaim her skin and a sigh drift from her lungs. Fine. She was fine, and she found herself smiling. Yes. Everything was going to be okay now that she was back in charge and she was not about to hesitate to prove it. And yes, the mansion was falling apart, rotting underneath time, but there was nothing a little magic couldn’t fix.

She was ready for this challenge and she was ready to reclaim her life. The question was, were they ready to see what she could do? Or were they, like her ex partner, weaker than life itself? Only time would tell, but she simply could not wait for the outcome.

Chapter Text

Awareness could never have been more toxic. Honest to God, no it could not. Despite the whispers, despite what rumours continued to be flung around the walls of the most powerful building in the town, awareness could never front. For the safety of the agency who stood on the holy ground, for the sanity of others. Raising light to this issue would cause mass hysteria. Finding out six loyal citizens had been murdered within the space of a month alongside a cold case being reopened because four skeletons were found in the basement of a decrepit cabin would only cause fright. Let it be damned. Let awareness burn and let the killer burn with them. Let the killer die with all of the rumours he had sparked. Let him die in the most torturous way. Let him have a taste of his own medicine for once. Let him burn, and let his ashes be consumed by nature’s force. As long as he stayed hidden and word never got back to the boss, this mission would be deemed a success.

In one cell, she shoved a tall man into a cell. Before he could struggle, before he could even think of escaping the black bars that bound him from being free, she jammed a key in. It clicked, and he was locked in. She took another moment to look at the repulsive man, wondering how on earth her boss had taken to him so fondly, like he said. He was laughing, entirely insane. Laughing from the back corner of the cold, damp cell. Fitting. She supposed it reminded him of home. He was dressed in the same blood stained closed she’d handcuffed him in. That white button up, those navy pants and the waistcoat he’d worn were drenched in the blood of whatever victims he’d claimed while on his murder spree. Yet, he was laughing. No like she was surprised. With a mind as messed up as his, she’d laugh tool. There was no remorse in his eyes. In fact, the only thing his eyes were green. A bright, glowing green. A sickly, unnaturally famine-inducing green. Fitting. Let the bastard rot. Let him suffer. Let him die.

She lingered no moment longer than she needed. She’d left him with company after all. That’d be all he needed. The friend who he also happened to kill, because the spirit of the elderly man remained in the form of nutritionally beneficial food. Yeah, she didn’t get it either. She wasn’t a sorcerer, so she wouldn’t bother trying to figure something like that out.

To think this all started with a letter that landed on her desk.

Their absolutely incredible godsend of a secretary, Valentine Roberts, had placed a white envelope on her desk for her to deliberately find after a mission. She had sat down, seen the opened envelope and pulled the contents out. After a quick skim over it, she knew she needed to take on that mission no matter what. Out of anyone, it was them who would believe the weird, the wild and the wonderful. A letter from a missing child claiming to be a piece of fruit fell under two categories – weird and wild. How it affected them as a precinct was how the letter opened.

We have information that may interest you, starting with our killer.

That was how she, Colonel Schaffer, got roped into the paranormal disappearances of a group of children named The Chompettes who had gone missing in during the 1990s. This group consisted of five kids – Emma Perkins, the self-proclaimed leader, Ted Spankoffski, Paul Matthews, Charlotte Lowery and Bill Woodward. The letter had been written from the perspective of Charlotte, and she knew this not only because it was signed off that way but by matching the letter to a handwriting sample in their database, it came back the same.

The Hatchetfield Police Department were brought in, when the case took a turn. No longer just about the missing kids or the dead adults but about an unidentified serial killer. Known throughout the early 2000s as The Hatchetfield Butcher, he was a serial killer turned butcher’s apprentice who seemingly vanished into thin air. His murder was crafted carefully, and he was able to kill without leaving a trace. No stray hair was placed on the crime scene. No finger prints or foreign drops of blood. It meant that he was left without an identity for years until that letter was dropped on her desk. There, with the assistance of Officer Shane Webster who had been working in the same department as the newbie, they were able to put a name to the face.

The Hatchetfield Butcher, in the late hours of 2022, was named as Henry Hidgens, older brother to Antonio Green, uncle to the recently deceased Ethan.

They were able to clear the case immediately afterwards. Henry Hidgens did not kill those other four children but he had succeeded with two others and two adults. Ken Davidson, Sheila Young, Sam Sweetly and Bill Woodward would not be forgotten to history as just The Butcher’s victims. They would not be cast aside for the sake of true crime. They would not be forgotten because Shane would not allow them to be. They would not be forgotten, because The Butcher’s apprentice sat in the prison cell within the enclosure with a sickening, twisted smirk on his face.

Schaffer walked away from that cell, the form of Henry Hidgens, now permanently trapped inside of a carbohydrate, was currently sitting beside his murderer. As far as she was concerned, the two had business together. They were both tormentors, both mentally fucked up in the head, and both didn’t want to change the lives they led. The two were hungry, but for very different things. One wanted to consume the dead, and one wanted to consume those who he would kill. The issue now stood, though, because the two were now in their grasp, and she had a feeling that if her boss found out about this, he wouldn’t be very pleased. She had kept the investigation a secret, hidden far away from any other agent, to prevent word from getting out. Who knew what it’d do to the leader of the precinct? He suffered enough when the man in navy went missing back in 2005. To let him figure out the truth now? No. It wasn’t happening.

Easily, she could stay and stare at the man, make sure that he actually didn’t escape but she had somewhere else to be. Much like the dead souls of the unfortunate children who’d started this investigation, she’d been summoned.

She found herself in the main corridor, outside of one of the laboratories. There were huge labs upstairs dedicated to each sector – chemistry, biology and physics, yet there was one reason and one reason only as to why this lab was downstairs. Why this lab was so huge, yet only one person worked inside it.

Because the mind of the man the lab belonged to was incomparable to others.

Two sharp knocks sounded on the door and, as she expected, his voice sounded. She pushed down on the handle, entering the laboratory to see her good friend and colleague sat rather casually at his desk. She closed the door behind her as she stood in the room, her arms behind her back.

“You summoned me?”

He looked up at her, beckoning her forwards with two fingers. Once close enough, he gestured for her to sit down in front of him. She did so. He nodded satisfied, lifting up the letter that had been sent to him. His chest deflated as he finally exhaled, pushing his glasses back up on to the bridge of his nose. As silence fell on the room, he took the time to piece together his words, and once a sentence had been strung, he looked back to the colonel before him. “Did you really think you could hide your investigation from me? Me of all people?”

“Politely, Xander, I do not know what you are expecting of me—”

“—is he downstairs?”

“…yes.”

“Is he locked up?”

“Yes.”

“Then shut the door and take a seat. I have confidential information.”

Knowing this was important, Colonel Schaffer stepped in, allowing the door to close behind her. She sat at Xander’s desk, looking over at the Lieutenant.

He tapped a note card on the desk, immediately beginning to read from the bullet points. “Directly coming from the likes of the HFPD from the Homicide Department, the bodies of Stephanie Lauter and Alexandra Foster were found on the doorsteps of their homes shortly after the bodies of Peter Spankoffski and Ethan Green were identified. Two gunshots were heard on opposite sides of Hatchetfield at 3 AM this morning. Two bodies came up within an hour of each other. An hour on opposite sides of the island…it should be impossible, shouldn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then how did it happen? Because we both know that the mayor, as much as he may hate her, would never allow his daughter to die.”

“I do not know, sir. I told you, I checked everything when I went down to the cabin when I made the arrest.”

“And he’s in the cells?”

“He’s in the cell.”

“Mhmm…was there anyone else?”

Schaffer stared at him coldly. “Excuse me?”

“I asked you, loudly and clearly, was there anyone else in the cabin?”

“No, Xander. No, there was not.”

He slipped a printed out photo over to the colonel, folding his arms. “Then who’s that?”

Schaffer looked at the photo, her heart sinking. “…I didn’t…I didn’t find that room when I searched the cabin—”

“But you know who that is, don’t you?”

“Yes! Of course I do!” She looked at him, purely shocked. “Does John know—”

“I’ll be damned if I let John find out about this. And I’ll be damned if he finds out the two of them have been discussing him behind his back when he has done nothing to him. I am doing this to protect him. I’m keeping him safe.”

“Then where do we go from here?!”

“We inform the families of the deceased, we organise funerals…and I assist our inside voice within the HFPD in figuring out how to take down the figure in that photo.” He tapped the laminated print out. “But whatever you do, Colonel. Do not fucking think of telling John. He doesn’t need to know.”

“…yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, you’re dismissed, but remember. This case stays simple and it stays hidden. Do not try and bargain your way out of this, and do not let information leak.”

The families of the deceased were informed the morning before The Hatchetfield Police Department released the information to the public.

Grace Chasity was an adult by that point. 20. Just turned 20, due to turn 21 that coming year. It had been up to the main challenger of the HFPD to break the news to her parents. Her poor parents, being Mark and Karen Chasity, who had been following the case since it had its breakthrough. According to close sources, Mark had apparently known Theodore Spankoffski when they were children. They’d apparently been close. When Ted had gone missing, Mark had apparently never been the same. To know they got to close out the chapter on that life, to know Ted was confirmed dead now instead of having a missing person’s label slapped across his head, it gave a sense of closure to the man while opening up a whole new wound. Grace Chasity had been a smart, independent young girl with her whole life ahead of her. Her mother prayed for vengeance after the news was released. Her father wept the hardest at the funeral and that was the last time the two were seen publicly together.

Peter Spankoffski’s only family did not care two cents enough to give him a proper funeral. They asked for his ashes, when his skeleton was cremated, but did not bother to give him a funeral. His parents commented that they hadn’t seen Peter in years, not since he started dating Stephanie Lauter at least. Peter’s friends, in the minimal amount they came in, said that he treasured Steph above all else and that was as necessary as it got. Peter was dead now, at rest with his older brother who died at the hands of a vicious serial killer cannibal mix. May his soul move on, and may he be remembered lovingly.

Tony Green broke down when he heard about the death of his son and broke down harder having heard he got closure on who his older brother was. There was about a thirty year age gap between Henry being born and Tony joining the Hatchetfield population. Tony had wept when he had discovered Ethan had selflessly lost his life, then cried harder when discovering his dead older brother was partially involved. It was an unpleasant mix of emotions that were not going ignored, but it was better to leave the man alone when it was clear he couldn’t speak.

As for Zoey Chambers…her brother, Zach, and his husband, Josh, got wasted on her grave when they were able to recover the body. They broke open a glass of Zoey’s most expensive alcohol she was saving, a pink fizzy sort of champagne (the label was unclear,) stole her wine glasses and drank til their hearts practically gave out. It was the best possible way for their story to end, and they got closure on knowing their relationship was never to be interrupted again.

That did not mean that Hatchetfield had time to rest, though. No. Not at all, because with everything, there was always new information cropping up. If it meant she still got a job then she would not complain. However, she would complain about the subjects at hand. This was dangerous territory, and if not for the fact she was being given direct orders from her sister company, she’d pass up the offer entirely. Considering it was coming from the lead scientist, though, she may as well sink her teeth into something heavy. Something hearty, juicy and delightful to keep her satisfied until the HFPD gave her a manslaughter case or something she’d be able to use to pass the time with.

July 2023, Max Jagerman went missing off the streets of Hatchetfield like it was no ones business. Typically, this would not raise suspicion but considering the nature of the two figures, a target was hit on their names. Max Jagerman was only two years out of high school and was a figure of authority within the general public in the island. He was 6’3 and had the build of a soldier. For a man like him to suddenly vanish, it, rightfully, flagged suspicion.

As for Melissa Shephard. Until December 2022, she worked for Coven Communications Research and Power as Charles Coven’s personal assistant. She never missed a day of work, having a 100% attendance since the day she started working for Mr Coven. All her deadlines were met. All her research was sufficient. There was no way for her to suddenly get up and go missing yet she did. She suddenly vanished. Like Max did a year later, she very suddenly vanished and with it went CCRP’s best secretary. Sure, they had Sylvia, but Sylvia would never be Melissa Shephard.

The disappearances of two of Hatchetfield’s most prolific figures had a note through the door of the HFPD, placed on the desk of one Detective Leslie Shapiro by the hand of her accomplice, Officer Shane Webster.

“Detective Shapiro,” the blond-haired man addressed, setting the file down on her desk. “Neo from the Matrix dropped by. Asked me to give you this. Something about activity around The Old Waylon Place?”

Her interest piqued, so she dropped what she was doing, which was simply signing off some other case report she was late on admitting, taking the time to crack open the new file dropped off that morning. In true Xander Lee fashion, he’d delivered it to her in one of PEIP’s black files. Subtle, much, she wanted to say but simply didn’t. Instead, her focus shifted into what was being asked of her and for once, she felt as if her life was working in her favour.

Xander had written to her:

            Detective Shapiro,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I do apologise for the sudden, abrupt nature of this letter, though I fear it is urgent and cannot be left a moment longer.

I am sure you have not forgotten the case we worked on together back in 2022 regarding the murders of Grace Chasity, Peter Spankoffski, Ethan Green and Zoey Chambers leading to the arrest of one known sorcerer and his accomplice. As I’m sure you will remember, the night Colonel Schaffer arrested the man, Stephanie Lauter and Alexandra Foster turned up dead. The two murders being linked to the two victims at the hands of he who named himself ‘Morris’ sparked concern within PEIP’s headquarters, so we could not yet rest. We have been keeping a close eye on all activity within Hatchetfield’s borders and I believe I’ve got a case for you.

As I’m sure you know, Melissa Shephard went missing in the December of 2022 right before CCRP’s new term was due to start. This was originally not listed as foul play, and it still is not. However, with the young Jagerman Boy going missing in the July of last year, it’s drawn a lot of concern. Melissa’s disappearance did not feel personal, but Max’s does. Melissa has a mind greater than most, as many will know but Max’s task hit close to home, as I am sure you understand. John thought fondly of the boy, doing his best to steer him on the right track. With Max gone, John doesn’t know what to do with himself, which is why it’s me asking you to do this instead of him.

Here's what I need you to do, Detective. I need you to create an alias to see if you can trap The Waylon Place at its own game. Use whatever acting skills you have to collect intel because if you accept this mission, we will be sending you to The Waylon Place. Why? We have reason to believe that ‘Morris’ has an accomplice, and that she’s leading the operation.

One of our Privates reported on seeing activity from within The Waylon Place as well as a young man by the name of Richie Lipschitz suddenly vanishing around that area last Tuesday night. I need you to investigate further. You’re going to need to spy on the inside. Do whatever you can to ensure you do not get caught but if you can, and you deem it safe enough, I am going to need you to report back to me with whatever you can.

Find equipped body cams and flash drives as well as a note pad to take notes on. Any and all research will help us with the take down of whatever Morris is strategically planning.

Oh. And I do apologise if you have an encounter with he who named himself as ‘Morris.’ He escaped containment around the same time Richie went missing and we have no footage for the security cameras were coincidentally down. We blame this on the stupid fucking potato he carries around with him everywhere.

Keep yourself safe, detective. We’re counting on you.

• Lieutenant Xander Lee – Paranormal Extra-Terrestrial Interdimensional Phenomena Associate.

No. Leslie Shapiro had not expected her (current) last day with The Hatchetfield Police Department to end as dramatically as it did, but alas, things happened for a reason, and things had driven her to the porch of The Haunted Old Waylon Place.

The porch of the Haunted Old Waylon Place where she currently lay, propped up on her elbows, staring up at four different people.

In front of her, on her left, there was a girl with red-brown hair, curled gently, sitting just past her shoulders. Due to the chill of Hatchetfield’s summer nights, she was wearing a dark purple dress with a lighter houndstooth blazer over the top. By the way her arms were crossed across her chest, she did not seem in the slightest bit delighted to see a newcomer.

On her right was a man, 6’3, with curly blond hair and a physique to rival that of General McNamara’s. Clearly, he did not care about the summer chills for he was in a light blue tank top and grey camo pants, fastened with a black belt. A hand was placed on his hip, and he looked at her with a cautious weight in his stare.

Standing directly besides the tall man was another figure who Shapiro only vaguely recognised. His black hair was neatly trimmed, short and parted to the side. He was wearing a grey shirt, black pants and a black lab-coat, it seemed, with a teal coloured tie. Though he had his hands in his pockets, Shapiro was easily able to make out the black gloves he wore, probably to keep his hands warm due to lack of circulation or something similar.

And then there was her. Her, with her big blonde hair, teal eyes and rich-looking physique. She wore a satin, frilly button up shirt, white in colour, with a blue double-breasted waistcoat over the top. The buttons were silver, matching the buckle on her belt. Her pants, like the man beside her, were black, but flared, and appeared more comfortable.

Yet, as Shapiro stared at the four strangers fearing that this was where her life drew to a close, the blonde before her extended a hand and with a smile said, “That was quite some fall you had. How about we help you inside to take a look at those injuries?”

Chapter Text

It was common knowledge to steer clear of Witchwood Forest, especially at that time of year, because of how unpredictable the surrounding terrain was. The Witchwood was as big or as small as it needed to be, hence why so many went missing after a brief stroll. So many people thought they had their path mapped out just to get lost within the trees because the path physically moved itself. Stepping foot in The Witchwood alone was a death trap. It would constrict an individual to ensure that it would never see the light of Main Street ever again, for it was the corpses of Hatchetfield’s citizens that kept the buried Hatchet Men alive. It was the corpses of the Witchwood’s latest victims that fed the wood of The Waylon Place, allowing it to remain standing in all its gothic glory.

Built back in the early 1800s by Matthias and Agatha Waylon from the wood of the trees that grew in The Witchwood at the time, the manor quickly adapted to the new surroundings. When the citizens of Hatchetfield got buried, it, like the rest of the forest, craved blood. It craved new survivors to force to their knees, to suck the life and blood out of. If it meant that the historic building was able to remain standing tall then it would do whatever it possibly could to remain a flourishing piece of history. That was why, no matter the map and no matter the documentation, The Waylon Place’s sister building, a tiny little hut once owned by Willabella Muckwab – The Muckwitch, was the direct centre of The Witchwood no matter how big or small it may appear.

The Waylon Place itself sat on the outskirts of heavy, green trees. It was far enough beyond the tree line to entice a member of Hatchetfield’s society into it’s trap but close enough to the shore so that the building was able to be seen in the skyline. It’s secrets remained in the public eye, yet no one dared to step foot near The Waylon Place. They’d be insane to even consider it. The last person to do so had been Mark Chasity back when he had managed to get the house up for sale. The only person stupid enough would’ve had to be someone who either knew what the hell they were doing, or someone wishing for death.

In the instance of the woman Leslie Shapiro stared up at, perhaps it was both.

Leslie Shapiro did not know how long she’d been out after her fall, or if she’d fallen at all. What she was able to gather from the fact that she was lying on her back on The Witchwood floor with her legs and head throbbing were that she’d had an injury of sorts. No problem. She’d most likely tripped on a hidden root, a trap likely placed by a petty buried member of Hatchetfield to claim another to grow within the soil. What she was also able to gather was that she had drawn attention to herself by falling or by fainting, and now, she was in a situation she did not want to be in.

Or so she’d make them think. To keep her identity under wraps, it was what they were going to have to think.

They were each familiar within their own right, not like Shapiro could place her finger on why, though. What she knew was that there was an eery sense of déjà vu creating an aura, outlining their silhouette. When the woman before her spoke with an outstretched hand inches from her face, that aura increased, as did the feeling that she’d seen them somewhere before. Hey. This was Hatchetfield, she’d grown to discover. Weird shit happened there all the time. Who knew if the island was choosing to steal the identity of a missing person or of one of her past loved ones. She wasn’t smart enough to figure it out…but Xander may have been. So, she’d play along to get the correct sort of information delivered back to HQ. Hopefully, with information in the right hands, less people would go missing. If her task succeeded, then she knew she’d be able to die happily knowing she’d created a successful contribution to the island’s society.

Yet, Shapiro was presented with an outstretched, pale hand attached to the torso of a woman, the least familiar of the four, as she said, “That was quite some fall you had. How about we help you inside to take a look at those injuries?”

Wanting to say no, she debated on saying no, turning and running for the hills…but she nodded, catching her breath. “…yes. Yes, I…thank you.”

“Here, my dear. Let me help you up off this floor. We’ll get you inside and clean you up.”

The woman to her left scoffed, rolling her brown eyes. “She’s fine.”

The shorter of the two men turned to the purple-wearing woman. “I think we will leave that to me to determine. I am the on-site doctor, not you.”

“But you can’t deny it, Jamie,” said the tallest of the group. “She’s tougher than she looks…”

At that, Shapiro took the hand of the woman, who gestured back. “Ignore them. I’ll give you a proper introduction once we are inside but for now, let’s get you out of the cold. Does that sound good?”

“It does…”

“Great! Then follow me!”

Within the blink of an eye, Shapiro was seated on a plush, red-coloured couch while the other four members took their places. The blonde-haired woman sat opposite her with the doctor sitting to her right. While he worked on stirring some kind of liquid in a plain, white mug, the other girl took her seat, perching on the arm of the other couch. As for the tallest of the four, he remained standing with his arms crossed proudly against his chest, unintentionally flexing the muscles on his arms. Once everyone was settled, the blonde sighed, placing her hands in her lap, finally addressing their guest.

“I apologise for how long that took. I didn’t intend for you to be left alone for so long.”

Left alone for so long? What did she mean by that? Shapiro could only recall a few seconds passing. This meant that either she was losing her mind, was suffering from a brief concussion…or there was something supernatural going on. Keeping it in mind, she shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ve waited longer.”

“Well, please, allow me to give you a formal introduction to the house. The house and it’s staff! The mansion is in dire need of repairs, though I bought it second hand four years ago. Despite the maintenance it needs, I do think you’ll find it quite cozy. Quite close to home, I’d even go as far to say…now I am a busy woman so I have my staff to help me with my tasks. That is why I am more than pleased to introduce you to my business acquaintance, Evelyn.”

The red-head shrugged herself out of her houndstooth blazer, nodding in her direction. “I am sorry for how cold I was when we first met. Please allow me to redo myself and my introduction. I’m Evelyn, you will not be calling me Evie or anything of similar sort, and I handle all the business around here. It is lovely to meet you….though I do not believe I managed to catch your name?”

She’d been trained for this. She knew exactly what to say, and she knew not to give her name up to potential enemies. If they found out a member of the HFPD was working undercover as a PEIP agent, then terrible things would come her way. So, she needed to think fast on her feet. Unfortunately for her, the alias she hadn’t used for years combined with the mixed headache allowed the name to slip her mind, leaving her a staggering mess.

The doctor gave an exhausted sigh. “Ignore her, Evelyn. She’s most definitely concussed. She hit her head pretty hard on the tree when she fell back. Give her some time, the information will spill soon enough.”

The blonde piped up. “And that can be treated by our doctor. Our delightful James King.”

The lab coat wearing man, now identified as James, placed the porcelain cup down on the table in front of the guest. “And I can get you some medication to help with that but for now, are you thirsty? Actually, don’t answer. I encourage all concussed patients to drink. Here, a cup of water, free on the house. Go on, take a sip.”

So, she did, instantly feeling a tickle in the back of her throat.

“Ergh,” she said softly to herself.

“Is something wrong?” Asked James.

“No, no.” She quickly threw on a smile. “I think I swallowed a hair, is all.”

She wasn’t too sure whether the look that crossed James’ face was one of pride or panic. Either way, the look extinguished into something colder as he said, “I’m very sorry. I believe that might’ve been one of the cat’s.”

“…there’s a cat here?”

“I’ve got a cat,” he said. “Her hairs stick to me no matter what I do, so I’m sorry if one got in your water. I’ll go grab you a bottle to keep with you during your stay.”

James leaved, allowing the blonde to move on to the final member of the group. “And last but certainly not least, I would like to introduce you to the man who’s gonna keep you safe during your stay also known as my bodyguard, Wells.”

Wells was a powerful looking man from the blues of his eyes to the muscles on his body. His gaze was stern yet somehow warm and his smile was cocky, confident. He knew what he was doing, and she knew not to get on his bad side. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said encouragingly. “And I look forward to being able to look after ya during your stay here, no matter how long or short.”

She nodded, pursing her lips. “I can see why you’re a bodyguard. I’m almost certain those muscles could kill someone if you tried hard enough.”

While Wells went red in the face, the blonde took back over. “He’s the best security in the world, and he’ll do what’s needed to keep me safe. After all, when investments mature to a certain level…the assassination attempts increase and will not stop, meaning I need the protection to keep my assets safe.”

The guest tutted, taking another sip of water. “You don’t look like anything special. Who would want you dead?”

Sighing whimsically, the woman went back to fiddling with the collar of her button up shirt. “Old business partners, mainly…past lovers on the odd occasion coming back to finish the job. And, well, I’ve been around long enough to keep making those enemies and that isn’t going to stop because I’m trying to settle.”

Wells gave her a grin. “Don’t worry, though, Kat! As long as I’m here, you’re safe.”

The woman, apparently named ‘Kat,’ smiled to the guest again. “We did have someone break in to the house last month. A young man with a camcorder. His presence terrified every single person here.”

“Which is where my job came into play.” Wells cracked his knuckles. “I tied that bastard to a chair and made sure every single bone was broken in his body before I let his life drain from his figure. He deserved it. Ain’t no one breaking into our home.”

She nodded, biting her cheek. “So you had a break in but didn’t bother to call the HFPD?”

Kat cackled. “As if the HFPD are any use for a woman like me. No. And don’t you realise that the Witchwoods are as big as they need to be? Out here, we’d have never been found in time, which is why Wells is a quintessential member of our pack. He takes care of the intruders when the HFPD won’t.”

James King returned then, an orange bottle in hand. “Plus! The HFPD are notorious bastards within their own right who all deserve to die for the unwilling murders they’ve commit! They let so many people die and the agency deserves to crumble under the weight of the new police captain!” He set the pills down before the guest. “Two of those to subdue the pain, and then if the pain persists or increases, two every four hours. Get plenty of sleep while you’re here as well. Your brain needs to recover after the fall. Who knows? Your skull could’ve cracked.”

“And wouldn’t that have been something…” Wells said, a glint of menace forming within his eyes.

King settled again, gloved hands clasping in his lap. “You experienced any major changes in behaviour since arriving? Dizziness? Vomiting? Excessive sweating?”

“Nope,” she confirmed. “I just feel…sore.”

Kat hummed. “You had a rather nasty fall. We all watched from the porch of the house. I’m surprised you’re not in worse condition. Your fortitude, my dear, is commendable.”

Evelyn nodded in agreement with her boss. “Especially given the fact that the roots this time are particularly more stubborn in how they’re hiding. The hatchet men do not want to be found.”

“No, they don’t.” Kat agreed. “But you’re sure you’re fine?”

“A bit of sleep will kill this headache and…that’s enough for me.”

“Alright. Good. That’s what we want,” said James as he rubbed his hands together. “If your condition worsens, don’t hesitate to tell any one of us.”

She nodded, taking the information on board. “Thank you, James…”

“Isn’t he the best doctor in the world?” Asked Kat. “Actually, don’t answer. I already know he is. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t work for me! So, please, make yourself at home! We are absolutely delighted to host you for we don’t get to do it often and—”

A sharp ringing coming from the upper floor cut the group off.

“—goodness, Elspeth! I am so sorry! We have a phone upstairs that we rarely use and sometimes it rings continuously until someone goes and stops it. We are all very busy people so do you think you could do me a favour and answer it for me?”

“…yes. I suppose I can.” She stood, setting her mug down on the coffee table. “And um…sorry…what did you call me?”

“I called you Elspeth, which is your name. Isn’t it? It’s what it said on your ID card. Elspeth Jones?”

She could hardly remember, but if that was the answer they were looking for, then that was the name she would use. “Yes. Elspeth…yes.

“Right. Thank you.” Kat said with a bright grin. “And please don’t mind the trash upstairs. And the holes in the walls. And the ceilings. And watch where you walk, we haven’t had time to fix some of the minor holes in the floorboards either.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, putting her hands in the pockets of her dress pants. “I’ve likely seen worse. In the field I work in, that’s common. To see a bit of blood and gore…a couple of holes and trash won’t frighten me.”

“Good! You’ll fit right in! Now, it’s upstairs on the table underneath the large portrait of the Waylons. I’ve tried to move it but the drafts in this house get worse when I do. You can’t miss it. Just pick it up and put it back down. There’s never anyone on the other end.”

“Okay.”

“And we will be here waiting for you when you return! Is that clear?”

“Yes…yes, it is…” She stopped, facing the blonde. “I’m sorry. I never actually caught your name.”

“Oh, don’t worry, dear.” She smiled strangely. “Katarina. My name is Katarina, but you may call me Kat.”

“And is there a surname to go with that?”

Katarina burst out laughing, swatting a dismissive hand Elspeth’s way. “You’re hilarious, Jones. We don’t need surnames around here. We’re all on a first name basis…now go stop that phone before I end up being the one with the headache, and I’ll see you back down here when you’re done. Okay?”

“Okay.”

So, with that, Elspeth Jones made her way up the staircase and into the main corridor. There, she pulled out the notepad Xander had kindly provided, writing down the four names she knew of. Katarina, James King (the only man with a full name, according to what her memory allowed her to remember,) Evelyn and Wells. She’d note down their physical descriptions later. For now, she had to finish the quest of stopping the phone from ringing which was simple enough to do. Hey, if she was lucky, maybe Xander had figured out how to hack the phone line. It was 2024 and he was the best damn agent she knew. Maybe he’d be able to give her some luck in this hopeless hunt?

Either way, she began heading west to locate the phone, hoping this was the right path to take.

Chapter Text

The fact that the hallway was dimly lit was nothing of surprise to the guest, for it was beginning to get late outside. As a matter of fact, at the very end of the hallway, she was able to see the purples and pinks of Hatchetfield’s latest sunset spilling through the skies, creating something similar to a picturesque watercolour piece worthy of being hung in the louvre. Though she was only on the first floor of The Waylon Place, there was a hole in the ceiling that allowed her to see all the way up. She counted an additional three layers of floorboards before she saw the ceiling. A whole four floors in a gothic mansion that was slowly decaying, failing the test of time. A whole four floors, and she was on the first. Well, at least if the floor beneath her gave way without reason then she was less likely to die than, say, she fell from the fourth floor. If she fell from the fourth floor, that would be certain death, no surviving. She’d thank her lucky stars if the floor gave way beneath her now. She’d be in with another chance of survival.

The floorboards were made of the same wood as the rest of the house – the wood of the trees that grew in the Witchwood. She assumed that, because the house was built by the Waylons, it was built before the Hatchet-Men murders, but she couldn’t be too sure. She’d heard about rumours regarding the eclectic cult that The Waylons created. How could she be so sure that they weren’t already ahead of the rest of Hatchetfield in terms of their magic and their minds? She had no way to tell, meaning she’d have to go off her gut instinct, trying to tell herself the wood was that of black oak and nothing more sinister.

The hallway was lengthy. That was a given. She was facing in one direction, half way between one wall and the next, and she could already see three rooms. The doors were slightly ajar and the light of the evening sun leaked through to the corridor, so she was able to see one door on the left and two on the right. She considered that she’d more than likely be able to explore those rooms later on. Perhaps they were offices or bedrooms. She could hardly fathom having such a large house with enough rooms to play around with and she couldn’t comprehend what rooms would be occupied with what intentions. Bathrooms and bedrooms were the first two rooms that came to mind, but she couldn’t be so sure.

Instead of dwelling on the fact, she focused on her quest. Stopping the ringing. It became more apparent when she turned to face west directly, the sharp tone of the phone embedding itself deep within her ears. She winced, bringing her hands up to her ears to block out the high-pitched tone. Agonisingly, she staggered down the hallway, forgetting the advice she had been given, to look out for holes in the floor. She did not once watch her step. Not once at all. She kept her eyes on the phone as it came closer into view, careless regarding the red tapestry-styled rug she was treading on. Alas, like all good things, her trek came to an end. After what felt like an eternity, she gripped the cold, black phone which seemed to have been pulled directly from the 1950s, pressing the device to her ear.

She stopped. She stayed still. She listened and yet, nothing came from the other line.

“What the hell was the point of that?” She muttered to herself. “Ain’t no use calling at this hour when the people downstairs are getting their guests to do their dirty work and—”

All of a sudden, the tapestry behind the phone burst loose and out hopped a creature from the shadows. Out hopped a creature, who sat itself on top of the box beside the phone, who sat back on it’s hind legs, staring at the guest with narrow, yellow eyes.

“Are you stupid? Get your hands off the phone! Who the hell do you think you are?!” Shouted the thing.

The guest jumped back, holding her hands to her chest. “Y-You can talk?!”

The thing blinked. “Unfortunately.”

“Goats cannot talk!”

“Well, I’m not a goat! I’m simply something that looks like a goat! I’m actually a woman trying to get free! And if you don’t keep your damn mouth shirt, Katarina is gonna find out I’m no longer in the walls and she’ll sentence me to death! So do you want to play nice?! Or do you want me to lose my life again?!”

She blinked. “…excuse me?”

“No. You don’t get to ask me questions when I want to know answers! Who the hell are you! And say it quickly!”

The guest blinked. “…I’m having trouble remembering my name, but my name tag said Elspeth Jones if…that makes your life any easier.”

“It doesn’t. I was happy until my boyfriend died and then I was brutally murdered and now my soul is stuck in the body of a fucking pygmy goat!”

“…did it hurt?” Elspeth aske the goat before her.

“Being murdered?” It laughed. “You have no idea.”

“…is there any way to…stop you…from being a goat—”

“No! Moving on. Do you know who I am? Do you recognise my voice?”

“…vaguely.”

“Well, Elspeth Jones. Let me reintroduce myself to you in my new and final form.” The goat extended a hoof to the guest. “You worked on a case I was involved in during 2020. You might not recognise my voice, but I would recognise your face anywhere. Not that you can recognise yourself…but the case revolved around this here house. This here house and the near-death of one of my friends. You remember? The Jagerman boy?”

The more Steph spoke, the more familiar it was beginning to sound. “…that was four years ago.”

“And then two years afterwards, my boyfriend went to investigate the cold case of his brother’s murder because your stupid agency wouldn’t and in turn, he got killed! And now I, Stephanie Lauter, am paying the price for not only Peter’s death but my own. Do you know how unsettling it is to be 5’6 trapped inside the tiniest little creature known to man?! Do you, Elspeth?”

She blinked. “…you’re Stephanie Lauter?” She asked, voice in a hushed whisper.

“God, say it louder, why don’t ya!”

“You are Stephanie…Lauter…”

“Yeah! I am! And there ain’t nothin’ you can do about it so move along!”

“…you’re a dead human. You can’t be a goat.”

Stephanie, the goat, gave a bleak snort as a reply. “Try telling that to Katarina. She’ll tell you otherwise.”

The headache in the back of Elspeth’s head began to increase. “This…this is a lot to wrap my head around, Steph.”

“It’s Stephanie, and I’m not asking you to wrap your head around it. I’m asking you to accept the situation and move on so I can help you with the next phase of whatever Katarina and James want.”

She shook her head, in complete and utter disbelief. “…they gave you a funeral when they found your body on your doorstep…your father…he—”

“Don’t care about that idiot of a man. He was no good for me when I was alive and he was no good for me now I’m dead. Technically. Some things don’t stay dead, and one of them is me. Now! Are we going to do this appropriately or are you going to keep me waiting?!”

Elspeth finally had the legacy to take Steph’s hoof, giving it a gentle shake. “…this is wrong.”

“I know it’s wrong but what can you do.”

“You’re supposed to be 22, not…not a goat, Steph!”

“It’s Stephanie!”

“I might not remember much, but I do remember you hating your name even when you weren’t a goat…figured that may carry over to…to whatever comes after death.”

Stephanie scoffed. “…fine. Steph works. Whatever.”

Elspeth dropped Steph’s hoof, noticing how it, like the rest of her, was more grey than brown. Steph’s coat was mainly black with essences of white splotched on her body and around her ankles. Her horns were tiny little stubs, assuming from where she’d planned and failed an escape, or from where she’d warded something off. If that was the case, Elspeth didn’t blame her. She got eery vibes from the manor, and she was constantly reaching out for something to use in defence as well. However, the one striking thing about Stephanie was how, on her forehead, was a splotch of white that looked eerily similar to a graphic of a sun. She wondered if Steph knew. She thought it best not to mention it. Bringing up tender memories of those regarding the previous Shannon Lauter, Stephanie’s mother, may not be a good idea in that time and Elspeth would rather have a band of allies than enemies.

“Excuse me for asking but how can you talk?”

“It’s a secret. I figured someone as smart as you would be able to decipher that but apparently not!” She stood up, hooves clicking on the wooden box she stood atop of. “You will never find out her secret. Or his…you don’t get to know the secret. Many have tried and many have failed so creatures, like me, are the result of experiments gone wrong…I was the first one gone. She slaughtered me on my doorstep in 2022 after I lost my boyfriend. It was cold, and it was dark, and for what felt like eons, all I could smell was blood but the next time I opened my eyes…I was in the manor. And let me tell you, Elspeth Jones, I’m fucking SICK of this place! I want to leave and I want to go to somewhere warm! Like Hell!”

“Hell?”

“I say with full certainty that Hell is better than this place. And it has fire. I’d take the fire-y pits of Hell over being stuck in a goat’s body any day of the week.”

“But you’ve got legs?” Elspeth queried. “Why can’t you just leave?”

She gave a bleat, which Elspeth assumed was a laugh. “What a dumb fucking suggestion…Kat would annihilate me, firstly! And if she didn’t, she’d probably get the bodyguard to lock me up in one of the crates and fatten me up until I was ready to be consumed again and-…” Her yellow eyes suddenly became a lot more human. “…and I don’t wanna meet that fate. I know too many people who died that way and…anyway! Just open the box I’m stood on cuz there’s some great shit in there and it will help me get to the warm place I crave!”

“And why would I trust you, a talking pygmy goat of all people, Steph?”

“Cuz I’m about to bribe ya! Here!” She turned around and with her teeth, pulled out a rope from the hole in the wall she’d leapt out of. Immediately, the hallway began to stink of something rotten, causing Elspeth to heave. “Oh, good! It works!”

Pinching her nose, Elspeth looked to the goat before her. “…is that the bribe?”

“Oh yeah, baby.” She pat it with her hoof. “And it can fortify a whole new alliance if you accept it. Which you will, by the way, because someone once told me that a rope like this can keep the evil away. Let me tell you, the evil you’re gonna encounter tonight relies on that rope to keep yourself and other people around you protected. I prepared everything for tonight! Boiled everything in a big pot! Like a cauldron! Used everything I possibly could! Garlic, salt, herbs from the trees, dead bats, random drops of blood I found on the counter! Everything! It has to be as effective as possible.”

Elspeth held it in her hands, cringing. “…this is revolting. I thought you just boiled it?”

“I had to get it real nasty. It don’t matter what I did to it to get it that way. Just know I did it for your own protection…and anyway. You know nothing about warding off the eastern evil. You’ll thank me when you come out alive at the end of the night and get back home to your wife.”

A sharp twang formed in the centre of Elspeth’s forehead. “My huh?”

Steph skipped over the fact altogether. “Besides. I’m the…smartest…creature…in Waylon Hall whether the others know I’m here or not. I was a part of the Gen 2 Chompettes. I was supposed to be on the trip to the cabin that killed Grace, Ethan and Pete but my dad prevented me from going cuz he needed me to do his political dirty work so Zoey fucking Chambers took my place instead! That’s why you need to listen to me! And if you help me out? I’ll tell ya how to escape.”

“Escape…why would I need to escape?”

“You’ll see,” she said, winking. “And the quicker you help me, the quicker the evil will be defeated and the quicker I can go to hell! See ya, Elspeth! Let’s hope you escape the night!”

Elspeth Jones watched as the black-furred farm animal jumped back in the hole in the wall, the tapestry returning to normal. She shook her head, huffing as she opened her brown, leather satchel, setting the disgusting rope inside. Maybe it’d come in useful, but what did she know? She was hardly paying attention to the specifics.

Maybe she should start paying attention to the specifics. If it was due to cost her her life, she definitely should start paying attention to the specifics.

With the bag already open, she reached in, grabbing both the notebook Xander had supplied and the pen. There, she began to write down the physical description of the five characters she’d encountered in as much detail as she could possibly manage. While she had the time, she’d be able to pursue her investigation without flagging suspicion. Good. Let it remain that way for a while. After all, she was getting paid for investigating their downfall, and they had no idea.

Entry 1 – July 8^th 2024

Katarina – Alias of Kat. No confirmed surname or middle name. 5’6 in height. Pale skin. Around late 40s early 50s. Teal eyes. Hair so blonde it’s almost white. Long, reaching her mid-back. Upon encounter, she was wearing a white shirt reminiscent of something within the Victorian era, and she was also wearing a blue waistcoat. Silver buttons, black in colour, matching her pants. Ironically, as smart as she may dress, she wore scuffed, white sneakers on her feet. Very reminiscent of the modern day and unlike the aesthetic she was clearly trying to achieve. Is the current owner of The Waylon Place but will not disclose much information to me as of yet. Introduced me to her three staff members (see below) but has a tendency to want me gone. I don’t blame her. I don’t want to be her either.

James – Full name: James King. Looks to be mid 40s. 5’9 in height. Pale skin. Not as pale as Katarina, but certainly giving her a run for her money based on complexion and complexion alone. Grey eyes. Hair so black it could be used as a chalkboard if it tried hard enough. Short, swept to the side with a left parting. Upon encounter, he was wearing a light grey shirt tucked into black pants, kept warm by the black lab coat he wore. For some reason, he was also wearing a teal tie. I have no idea why a doctor like him would need to wear a tie in his profession but it was there! He was also wearing black gloves which I assume is to make Reynaud’s easier. I do not know if he actually has Reynaud’s, but I’ll continue to push until I find out why.

Evelyn – No full name to comment on, but I do have my suspicions. I will not write anything down in ink until I have it confirmed, but my gut instinct is very rarely wrong. Late 20s. 5’7 in height. I believe she is a white female, though her skin has an undeniable tan to it. She has reddish brown hair that are curled in ringlets, resting just past her shoulders. Brown eyes, I’ve noticed too. Upon encounter, she greeted me wearing a purple dress, mid-thigh in length, with four white buttons around the abdomen area. She was also wearing a light purple houndstooth blazer. It’s key to note that she is wearing glasses though I am unable to confirm whether they are real or false. Square frames. Note that. She appears to match up with the description of Melissa Shephard’s missing persons profile. I’ll keep an eye on it.

Wells – No full name to comment on, though I can confirm Wells most definitely is not his real name. Early 20s and if my suspicions are correct, he’s 23. 6’3 in height. Muscular. The roots of his hair are blonde, though the rest is brown allowing me to believe his hair was dyed. It’s remained curly and short, though and despite everything, he seems ridiculously put together. Blue eyes, pale skin, with a smile so shiny it could blind a bird passing by. He greeted me in a light blue tank top, grey camo pants and a black belt wearing heavy black boots. I’m wary of him. I know the stakes of me dying here are high, but I’d rather not die at the hands of wells. Note: I have no confirmation, but he appears close to the missing person’s profile of one Maxwell Andrew Jagerman. I’ll continue to keep an eye out.

Stephanie Lauter – Death date: Summer 2022 at the age of 20. Ex-girlfriend to Peter Spankoffski -> member of the deceased at the hands of “Morris” (see criminal act 2 in the files.) Now takes form as a pygmy goat. Black in colour, inconsistent white splotches across her body. There is one specific patch of white on where her forehead would be that is similar in style and shape to a sun pulled straight from Tangled. The tips of her ears are white. The rings around her hooves are also white in colour, as is the tip of her tail. Her hooves and horns are brown but her eyes are a nauseating yellow colour. Didn’t Peter Spankoffski have a target on his back by one T’Noy Karaxis? I’d keep a close eye on her and this file in particular if I were you. Just in case. It could be a coincidence, but if the Lords in Black are involved, this may be a lot more complex than initially thought. Stephanie revealed to me that she cannot leave Waylon Hall because Katarina will not allow her to. She handed me a rope that is apparently set to disturb and ward off the evil. I’ll keep a physical copy of if that works. (I doubt it will. What good can a goat do?)

But, with her mind a mess and the uncertainty as to whether what she’d seen was actually real or not, she descended the staircase, her mind reeling. Talking goats…they should not be brought up to anyone aside from those trained in supernatural specifics or those in dire need of an explanation. Maybe if she pleaded insanity, she’d be able to worm her way out of there?

Oh well. Only time would tell.

Back in the living room, just past the foyer, she set herself back down on the couch. The porcelain mug waited for her half empty, so she lifted it back up, taking two of the pills as instructed for she had not yet done that. Evelyn was still perched on the edge of the couch, flicking through a file whereas Wells was doing press-ups, one-handed, on the carpet beside the coffee table. Both James and Kat remained where they’d been before, even if the new part of Kat was the yellow test tube that she held filled with some sort of toxin, it appeared.

Without looking up, Katarina said, “Thank you for taking care of that, Elspeth. Who called?”

She shrugged, swallowing the two pills with the assistance of the water given to her at the start of her stay. “I couldn’t hear anyone on the other end of the line…a prank caller, perhaps?”

“Ah well. Hopefully someone isn’t tapping the phone! Or trying to worm their way into the manor to get a hold of a certain someone within this group! Am I right, gang?”

In sync and almost out of character for any reasonable human, Evelyn, James and Wells began to laugh in unison.

Katarina waved a hand dismissively, getting the three of them to shut up as she finally stood herself up. “I hope you enjoy your stay with us again, Elspeth. Take all the time you need for you are merely at the hands of our hospitality. Again, make yourself at home. I’ll have Evelyn escort you to your room for the night when you are ready to sleep but for now, I need to take care of some paperwork. See you in the morning,” she said with a wink, heading up the staircase.

Once she was gone and the sound of a door clicking into shut sounded through the mansion, Wells sat himself up while Evelyn set her file down.

Shaking her head, Evelyn declared, “She’ll make an accounting error again. I should be up there assisting. It’s what I get paid to do. I fail to see why she’s so insistent on being alone.”

“You don’t get her, Evelyn,” James said, placing a hand on Evelyn’s. “She needs her time. Just give her a chance to redeem herself to you.”

“Hrmph,” she scoffed. “I don’t need a chance. I need to see it before my eyes.”

“At least she pays on time a lot more than she did before lately,” Wells said, stretching, a crack sounding from his shoulder. “Oh yeah. That’s good shit.”

Flinching at the sound of bones snapping, James looked to their guest. “What do you think of Kat anyway?”

Elspeth set her mug back down, licking her lips as she considered James’ words. “…I think she’s nice, based on first impressions.”

“In many more ways than the one you’re thinking of.” James said with a sly smile on her face, folding his arms against his chest, leaning back against the couch.

“But!” Elspeth held up a finger. “She’s also done a good job of freaking me out.”

“Freaking you out!?” Evelyn said, jumping to Kat’s defence. “What do you mean?!”

“Relax, Evelyn,” Wells said reassuringly, standing himself up. He rolled his back, a xylophonic crack sounding from his spine. “She ain’t seen what she’s really like.”

Elspeth laughed. “I think I know. A hollow, out of touch rich woman with too much money to handle?”

Evelyn tutted, standing as well. “You do not understand the honour you experience by meeting the Katarina Cross. She’s a genius. You’ll soon learn about what an honour it is to meet her.”

Picking up from his colleague’s words, James commented, saying, “People all over the world risk their lives by coming here to meet her. I mean, even though she’s stuck here, everyone wishes to meet such a brilliant mind.”

“What makes Kat so special as compared to someone like me?”

“She could sell water to a whale,” Said Wells. “And I’m serious. She’s magic.”

Ignoring how strange of a reply it was, she continued. “Right…and you met this magical woman…how?”

Evelyn went first, tapping her fingers on the file she was now cradling against her chest. “She scoped me out at my old job and gave me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I get to rid this mansion of all those pesky, slobbering dogs!”

“…you mean Timberwolves?”

She giggled. “No, silly! The timberwolves help dispose of the bodies! I mean the dogs! But never the puppies.”

James went next, looking straight at Elspeth. “Katarina needed an onsite doctor to help as her accomplice to her scientific breakthroughs. She needed someone to help heal the patients who staggered their way into our home and here I am!”

“And I,” Wells said with a grin. “Met Kat in the woods when I was at my all time lowest! Broken down car, kicked outta my home and not a dollar to my name! She took me in and she said, Wells, my child, I’m gonna give you an offer you’ll never be able to refuse and she was right. I couldn’t refuse it. Now I’m her bodyguard and I eliminate any of them here bastards who dare wrong her! During training she said, can ya use an axe, Wells? She really wanted to see me test my limits.”

Elspeth blinked. “…well, can you?”

“Fuck no I can’t! I ain’t the Axe Man! But if need be then I suppose I can, not that I prefer to. Axes are the backup.” He popped his knuckles. “These babies are the primary. I can kill a bitch with one squeeze of their head in my hands…ain’t nothing more intoxicating than feeling a skull split under the weight of my own hands.”

James gestured aimlessly to Wells. “He’s highly skilled in close quarter combat. I mean, you’d see the true effect of what he can do if we had a morgue…but we don’t…”

“…because any people injured beyond redemption are tossed in the lake.” Evelyn said with a flitter of a smile within her eyes.

“Plus, you’d be shocked at how many intruders we get.” James said as he stood, flattening out his lab coat. “But that is a story for another day. Tomorrow, maybe. How about we hit the hay, gang?”

“That sounds good,” Wells said with a bright grin. “Evelyn, you comin’?”

“I gotta show Elspeth to her room but I’ll be down in just a sec.”

“Okay!” Wells looked to his guest, tilting his head. “It’s lovely to meet ya, Miss. If ya got any fears of queries, please don’t be afraid to tell one of the four of us. Now you’re here, it’s our job to keep you safe no matter the consequences! Well, goodnight guys!”

“Night, Wells,” Evelyn and James said in sync as James headed upstairs to his room, Evelyn approaching her.

“Come,” she said. “Let’s go to bed.”

So, Elspeth did, wondering what she’d actually gotten herself into and whether it was too late to turn back.

Chapter Text

The bedroom Elspeth Jones awoke in was one that could’ve done with a fresh lick of paint, if she was being entirely honest, but even in its state, she was able to see the potential it could’ve had. She was lying in a lavish-styled bed, with bedposts and a canopy, with a silk duvet and pillows. Blue in colour, it matched the theme of the rest of the room and therefore, the rest of the house, it seemed. The curtains across from her were also of a dark blue, much like the rug on the floor. In front of Jones was a wooden wardrobe, tall and ancient in its design. Beside it was a chest of drawers for purposes she couldn’t quite figure out. To Elspeth’s left was the bedside table, made of the same oak as the rest of the furniture there, except that furniture wasn’t empty. Sitting atop of it on a coaster was another glass of water.

Sitting up, she was reached for it. Sure, she felt a slight tickle at the back of her throat again which left her almost choking, though she was relieved to have that refreshing feeling back. Her mouth was dry and felt fluffy, as if someone had shoved cotton in the sides of her cheeks while she was asleep, but the water helped ease that. At the end of the bed, she was able to see a new outfit for her hanging up. Somehow, they must’ve gotten her measurements. She did not doubt that in the slightest.

Well, rest did not wait for the wicked, and it would not wait for her either. Cautiously, she slipped out of the pyjamas she had packed. Then, she approached the outfit they had chosen out for her. She had packed an outfit for herself, but she figured wearing her own clothes in the stately mansion simply wasn’t an option for her. Better than being safe than sorry, she locked the door to the room she was staying in, then changed. She looked at herself in the mirror, doing a spin to check herself out. She must admit; they’d chosen a good outfit for her. It was hard to place a finger on exactly why, but the patterns she was wearing reminded her of someone distant within her life. Hmm. Maybe she’d left herself a note or something, or maybe she’d be able to reach Xander to understand why she felt that way. For now, though, she’d focus on the patterns and the colours and move from there.

She was wearing a button-up shirt, plaid in colour, in a gold sort of colour. A pale gold that interchanged with black squares. She kept the first two buttons undone, but kept the rest up. She tucked it into the black dress pants that were provided with the outfit, fastening those up with the chunky, golden belt provided. On her feet, she wore black platform boots and to keep her warm in the freezing mansion, she wore a buttonless blazer. Just something to keep her sane, she supposed. With the fine comb she found, she brushed out her hair, making sure it was as neat as possible. Once dressed and content with how she looked, she slipped on her golden ring on to her left hand and headed back for the door. She couldn’t remember the significance of the ring, but she figured it had to be important for her to want to keep it on during the investigation. If only she could remember.

If only she could remember.

Elspeth Jones was the nametag she wore on the breast pocket of her checkered button-up, and it was the name written on the inside of her brown satchel, that she casually swung over her shoulder. Firstly: she needed to find a bathroom to brush her teeth and freshen up for the day. Hopefully, she’d be out of there by the end of the day. She wouldn’t need an additional stay, so she deemed it unnecessary to find the rest of the rooms. However, after exiting the room, she did not find the bathroom as intended, but she instead found he known as James and no-one else.

The man was dressed similarly to how he had been yesterday. The same black lab coat, the same black gloves and the same black dress pants with the exception of a lighter grey shirt and a reddish-purple tie instead of the teal one he’d worn the day prior.

Abruptly, he looked up from his clipboard, flashing her a bright grin. “Ah! Good morning, Miss Jones! Did you sleep well?”

“…surprisingly, yes. I did…uh, who do I have to thank for the water? I really needed that.”

He raised a hand, his grin becoming more cocky than anything. “That would be me. And you’re welcome, by the way. While you stay with us, your hospitality is our priority!” He snapped his fingers. “Hey! How about you walk this way with me? I need to go get some papers and I can give you a brief tour of this floor of the mansion. How about it?”

What a perfect opportunity for her to dig dirt up on the four eclectic beings within The Waylon Place.

“Of course,” she said humbly. “Sounds good.”

“Fantastic!” He gestured for her to walk with him, so she did. Along the way, he pointed out the few doors along the corridor. The one on the left she’d passed the evening prior was actually Kat’s study, with the other two on the right being James’ office and a storage room of sorts. However, as she quickly discovered, there was a hidden bathroom at the end of the corridor, which she politely asked to use. With James’ permission, she entered.

There wasn’t anything interesting about the bathroom. It was black and white in colour with the basic necessities, but there didn’t seem to be any hiding spots. There was no point her searching, so she brushed her teeth, gave her face a wash and exited, clutching her bag to her side.

“All good to go?” He asked her.

“Of course.”

“Great.” He began to walk to his study, allowing her to follow behind. “I’d like to thank you for being so willing to work with us after your fall yesterday. The Witchwood does bizarre things to a person’s mind when you really boil it down to the basics. And I’m glad to see you’re not concussed. That’s always a bonus.”

She nodded, deciding to keep polite. Polite would keep a target off her back and that was what she needed. “Well, I should be trusting you. You’re the on-site doctor.”

Pushing down on the handle, James nodded, saying, “That I am.” Then, he stepped inside, calling for Elspeth to close the door behind her.

The office wasn’t anything special. In fact, it was relatively small as compared to some of the other rooms in the mansion, though Elspeth supposed that there were limited rooms that could be used due to the level of decay within the manor. The room was blue, much like the bedroom had been, with furniture consisting of a desk, bookcase and drawers made of the same wood as everything else in the house. It was beginning to get incredibly tiring seeing the same kind of wood everywhere. She hoped there’d be something normal to please her eyes by the end of her stay. She missed her oak table from home. It was lighter in colour and more aesthetically pleasing. It was better than seeing items so dark all the time but alas, not her house, not her problem. But, she had a job to do that wasn’t critiquing furniture, so she got on with it.

“James?” She asked.

“Hmm?”

“How long have you been a doctor, by the way? You seem skilled in your profession and I was beginning to wonder.”

He laughed, and if she knew no better, she’d say he was faking it as he reached into a drawer attached to his desk. “About 22 years now, I reckon. It has to be, surely…yes. 22 years. Seems like yesterday when I got my hands on my license. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done with my life.” He looked up to his guest. “But I didn’t do it for me. Did it to make my parents proud.”

“How’d you get your license so quick? It’s impressive. Let me in on your secrets.”

He laughed again, then, even if more vicious than before. “What do you mean, ‘How’d I get my license so quickly?’”

She gestured to him. “You look to be in your early forties, right? Late thirties at the minimum. If you got your license 22 years ago, that woulda been in 2002 so you’d have been around…18, right? Solely based off of appearances.”

James blinked. “…you’re right. You’re right, of course. Yes. I was 18 when I got my license.”

“So how’d you do it so quickly?”

“Nepotism,” he said without missing a beat. When he looked up, though, he realised the joke was lost on her. “I worked. Hard. I mean, you can’t really be a product of nepotism when both of your parents are dead, right?”

“…oh…” She said, voice changing. “I…I’m so sorry—”

“Hey. There’s nothing you can do. There’s no coming back once you’re cremated.” He sighed, tapping the papers on the desk to neaten them out. “The closest thing I have to parents are my aunt and uncle. Auntie Dot and Uncle James.”

“You share a name?”

“Kinda.”

She made sure to make a mental note of that anyway. “So this paperwork, James. What’s on it?”

“Good question. I was just about to check. Kat set it in my desk this morning and told me it was urgent to look at. It’s regarding you, apparently so…” His grey eyes glanced over it, suddenly choking on his own breath as he saw the results before him. “…well…my goodness I…”

“What’s wrong?” She asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“It’s…nothing, really.”

“If it concerns me and it’s nothing then I think I deserve to know. What’s on the paperwork, Doctor King?”

Knowing he’d been backed into a corner, he cleared his throat awkwardly. Maybe he should take a page out of his own book and have a glass of water. Water soothed throats easily, and it was something he should consider. “Your heart’s just a little fast for your age is all.”

She knew he was lying.

“So how can I stop that? Are the effects reversible or…?”

“…I suggest limiting any physical activity,” he started.

That wasn’t happening.

“And I also recommend leaving the horror genre alone. We have a lot of books down in the foyer but I wouldn’t recommend reading them. A shock so bad could easily stop your heart and we don’t want that to happen. Do we, Miss Jones?”

“Not at all, Mr King.”

“Just…please let me know if you begin to feel light headed, alright? Health issues appear all of the time but we’ll be able to fix those during your stay here. Okay?”

She nodded in agreement. There wasn’t any point defying the staff here. After all, she was their guest and she had them in the palm of her hand.

“That’s the spirit!” He stood up, holding the papers out to her, but she had a mere suspicion he’d slipped one in the pocket of his lab coat when she’d turned to face the bookshelf at the start of the visit. “I will have to inform Kat about these health issues, though. There’s never a sense of medical privacy here at Waylon Hall.”

“…why is that, may I ask?”

“Because Kat is paying me well enough to keep everyone healthy and if I don’t do my job, then she’ll have my head.” He held the papers out to her, face down. “Now, I’ve gotta go. I’ve been summoned downstairs. Think you can pass these off to Evelyn? She’s in the room next door.”

“…why can’t you do it?”

“Because Katarina doesn’t like being kept waiting, and I’m not a fool.”

At least with those notes in hand, she’d be able to delve deeper into the likes of the staff here. With a reluctant nod, she took the stack. “I’ll make sure they’re delivered safely.”

“Fantastic! Now, I’m gonna run. Please, if your health deteriorates, I must be the first to know for I’m the only person here who can help you. Besides, there’s no point worrying Kat or the others. They’re going through enough.” Replacing his stern, cold look with a grin, he waved goodbye then left.

Alone in the room, she did debate filing through the papers that had been set in her hands but at the end of the day, what information would she gain from it? She already knew who she was and she knew her purpose. What she didn’t know was who these people were and she doubted that they had the answers she was searching for. So, instead of trying to investigate through the papers, she followed her gut and turned a corner, heading into the small closet where Evelyn currently stood.

Much like James, the woman wore clothing very similar to what she’d worn the evening they’d first met except it differed just slightly. Elspeth could see the collar of a white shirt beneath the dusty purple coat-dress she was wearing. To help with the warmth, she was also wearing black tights to add a thermal layer, but continued to wear Mary-Jane shoes. Her hair was neatly brushed, and her makeup was done lightly to enhance the colour of her irises. She seemed…rather beautiful, if she must admit it to herself.

She was even prettier when she finally noticed her presence. The glint in her eyes was powerful, for Elspeth could feel her heart beating quicker than before.

“Hey!” She greeted. “Is everything okay?”

With a flush on her cheeks, she cleared her throat. “Oh, yes! I…James asked me to give these to you.”

Evelyn took the stack of papers, taking her time as she flicked through each individual page. Elspeth counted 24, not that it specifically mattered. “Miss Elspeth, are you aware of what these papers contain? Like, have you seen them before?”

She shook her head. “I was told to deliver them straight to you so…that’s what I did!”

The accountant eyed her up and down before allowing a smile to from on her face. From behind her, she grabbed a white file, slipping the 24 pages inside. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing concerning. Just a couple of medicine supplements we need to stock up on. Though I don’t recall you saying you had a heart condition when we found you?”

“Oh…no, as far as I’m concerned, I don’t.”

“…hmm…interesting.” She slipped the file back on the shelf. “And the last page were some lab materials anyway, like notebooks and test tubes. Kat and James have a habit of…destroying them.” She sighed wistfully before getting back into conversation. “Anyways, Miss Elspeth. How are you feeling? Better than you did yesterday?”

She nodded honestly. “I’ve got a tickle in the back of my throat but I’m not too concerned. It goes away when I drink water but comes back every few hours or so.”

“I ain’t no doctor, but you stay hydrated and you’ll be fine…and your head? How’s that?”

“Oh. It’s fine. Yes.”

“Good! Good…now tell me, Elspeth, while we’re alone…what’s your name again?”

She laughed somewhat nervously. “I’ve told you. It’s Elspeth Jones.”

“No…that’s what Kat said. What is your name.”

“…Elspeth Jones?”

“…hm.”

That did not seem to be the answer that Evelyn was looking for. Oops.

Instead of wallowing in her disappointment, Elspeth jumped on the back of the dying conversation. “And yours?”

“What about my name?”

“I only know your first name. What about the rest of it?”

Evelyn’s smile softened as she placed her hands in the pockets of her coat-dress. “…Evelyn’s actually my middle name. We can’t…we’re not exactly allowed to identify as our birth names around these parts.”

“Oh?” She quirked an eyebrow. “Is there a real reason for that?”

“Kat says it’s for our own security…she’s super paranoid she’s gonna be found by her arch nemesis or something so when we joined her workforce, she made us all choose a name. I went with Evelyn because it’s my middle name. James chose James because it’s the name of his Uncle and Wells…Wells’ is personal.”

“How come?”

“…he’s the youngest of the four of us and incredibly optimistic in the sense that he’ll be found here but by now, we’ve all grown to know that under Kat’s rule, we’re not getting out of here.” A flash of panic formed in her eyes. “Not that we’d ever want to! The pay is amazing, as if Katarina! She’s a very beautiful aspiring woman who gives us everything we could possibly want! Why would we wish to leave the walls of Waylon Hall?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Silence followed. She asked a different question, steering the direction on to another path. “Anyway. You said Wells is the youngest here…mind telling me more about him?”

Evelyn’s grin returned. “Of course! Well, he’s born in the wrong century, for starters. The rest of us belong to the 1900s and he’s a product of the early 2000s. However, he, like Katarina, has a fascination with the 1980s. Specifically slashers, specifically the dress of the gym coaches in those kinds of movies.”

“And you have movies here?”

She spat out a laugh. “Of course not! We do not have a television!”

“In this day and age?”

“TVs distract us from our work and we do not get paid to sit and watch movies. Alas, Wells really enjoys the 80s. I wouldn’t be surprised if you go see him and he’s got shorts up his ass they’re that small.”

If only Evelyn knew the truth about her. Wells’ ass would be the last place she was looking. “And what about Katarina? If she doesn’t allow televisions here…what does she allow for entertainment?”

“Our work is entertainment, silly!” Evelyn giggled.

“…seriously?”

“Yep! She’s brilliant in that respect! She taught us that we wouldn’t need anything but her while we were here, and she was right! She’s extremely incredible in finances and how she manages her money. She’s slow with her investments and does not gamble on possibilities that will fall through…and she’s got some sort of degree in physics but you did not hear that from me.”

“A degree?” She whistled. “She’s gotta be smart then.”

“Oh, she is! She’s dabbled in all three of the sciences, though takes pride in her chemistry work. Alongside James, they work together doing some sort of experiment in the lab. She always said she wanted to choose this house to base her experiments on because of the fact that…I don’t know, actually, but she doesn’t have the money to maintain it so she lets it rot.”

“And she doesn’t hire someone to mend it?”

“She can’t afford it.”

“Not even someone to clean?”

“She always says she’s going to do it herself but she’s been so succumbed in her research lately that she’ll always say she’s gonna clean, but then locks herself in the basement to figure out whatever experiment it is she’s doing next.”

“And what kind of experiments would they be?”

“I wish I knew myself. I tried asking her once and she simply laughed at me, telling me I was too dumb to understand. Me? Dumb? She must be dumb for thinking that…and that’s something I definitely shouldn’t have said…”

Elspeth desperately wanted to forget about that, but something within her was forcing her to clutch on to the information recently provided. While her brain latched on, she moved to ask another question. “And she doesn’t hire someone to help just because she can’t afford it or…? I mean, she hired a bodyguard, an assistant and a doctor. Surely she’d be able to hire someone to make the place safer, right? Hatchetfield prices are cheap as compared to what I’ve seen.”

“…well…um…” She bit the inside of her cheek. “While working here I have…ugh. Shit. You’ve heard the rumours of The Waylon Place, haven’t you?”

“What rumours?” She asked dumbly.

“…the rumours that it’s the haunted old Waylon Place and not just some other gothic manor.”

She laughed softly. “Oh, those? Why would I believe them? Ghosts aren’t real.”

“…if ghosts weren’t real, then Kat would’ve chosen to infiltrate the past Henry Hidgens’ manor on the proper outskirts of the woods instead of Waylon Hall.”

“Yeah well…ghosts aren’t real so…there ain’t nothing to be afraid of.”

“…if that’s what you wish on believing, then I hope whoever waits for you over the threshold of mercy accepts your pleas.”

“…okay.” With unease settling within her bones, she moved on. “Sorry, I have a lot of questions—”

“Don’t apologise! I’m Kat’s assistant! It’s my job to answer your queries!”

“I’m not taking up all of your time?”

“No! Goodness! Of course not! I’m just filing today so it’s nice to see another face in here while I do!”

Evelyn turned back to the filing cabinets. Elspeth kept speaking. “Okay then. If you don’t mind me asking, James seemed a little skittish when I went to go see him this morning. Well, I mean, I accidentally ran into him this morning and he seemed a little concerned as to what was on those there papers. Do you mind me asking why?”

With a shake of her head, she simply said, “He’s been really unwell recently, especially regarding the fact he just lost his mom not that long ago.”

“Not that long ago?”

“About five years now but to him, it seems like yesterday. His sense of time is fucked, let me tell you. So, instead of grieving like a normal person, he tends to Kat’s deepest desires by being her accomplice in her work. I’ve not seen him relax once since I got here and that was just a couple years ago. He don’t listen to no music, don’t read, don’t do nothin’, though I suppose there isn’t much for him to do here.”

“Because Kat placed restrictions on the house?”

“Exactly. But she’s a good woman, is Kat. A real good woman…oh! While you’re here, Miss Elspeth, please, let me give you this.” From the pocket of her coat, Evelyn produced what appeared to be a small, red wire cutter. “Could you go give this to Kat? She’s in her office and I heard her talking about the faulty wiring downstairs in the generator. She said she’s gonna fix it later but, again, I doubt that. At least if she chooses to move her ass, she’s got the tools.”

With her signature smile, Elspeth took the wire cutters, placing them in the pocket of her dress pants. “No problem, Evelyn. And good luck with your filing.”

“Thank you, Miss Elspeth! I sure will need it!”

Having seen that as her dismissal, Elspeth left the room on the right, shutting the door behind her. Immediately after, she made a straight line for the room opposite on the left where she knocked firmly. “Katarina? I’ve got something for you?”

“You do, now?” She asked, her voice sultry yet sweet. “Then I suppose you should come in, shouldn’t you!”

Pushing down on the door handle, Elspeth entered, blinking as she looked at the sight in front of her.

There seemed to be a sense of regency within the manor, so Elspeth Jones had very quickly learnt. There, Katarina sat with her legs kicked up on her mahogany-coloured desk, the red bottoms of her black one-inch heeled platform boots on show. The room itself was themed around the colour purple, with the curtains behind her being a deep, royal shade. The rug underneath the desk was black, but there were accents of the noble colour dotted around. In picture frames, in pencil pots and in the dark coloured tie Katarina was currently wearing, the colour purple was everywhere.

As for Kat herself…Elspeth would not deny the blush that formed on her face. She could feel her cheeks darken at the sight of her, and she would not be afraid to admit it.

For one, she was wearing a white pin-striped button-up shirt underneath a black pin-striped waistcoat. The stripes on the shirt and waistcoat were both a soft grey sort of colour, complimented by the golden buttons running down the centre of the garment. Though not double-breasted like the one she had worn the day before, it was still as elegant and rich as the rest of her attire. There was a golden chain hanging from the pocket of the waistcoat, attached to somewhere Elspeth couldn’t figure out and all together, the outfit was partnered with black dress pants. Not pinstriped, just regular matte. The cuffs of her sleeves were rolled up until her elbows, exposing her forearms. Elspeth was able to see that Kat’s fingernails were painted black this way. How had she not noticed that before? Most importantly, Elspeth noticed her hair and her makeup. She’d gone for a dark red lip, and she’d fluffed out her white-blonde hair, but instead of leaving it naturally down, she’d swept it over her left shoulder.

Overall, she was breathtaking, and Elspeth had no doubt in believing Kat knew that.

“Miss Jones,” she said, slowly moving to sit upright. As she did, Elspeth caught sight of the golden watch on Kat’s right wrist. Wealth. She stank of wealth yet somehow, she was into it. “Whatever do I owe the pleasure?”

Gulping, she approached the owner of the house. “I was told to give this to you by Evelyn? It’s a wire cutter regarding the faulty…wires?”

“Ah. Yes…” She examined it for a second before waving it away. “How about you latch on to it? Getting down and dirty isn’t exactly my forte and someone like Wells is much more likely to do the job for me.”

She chose not to argue. She put the wire-cutter back in her pocket.

“I see you wore the outfit I left out for you? It suits you well, the golden plaid…I knew it would.”

Kat winked, and Elspeth swore she died on the spot.

“But by the look on your face, you ain’t here to offer me niceties. Are you, Miss Jones?”

“I…n-“

“I know you’ve got questions so…” She gestured to the desk in front of her. “I’m an open book. Hit me. What do you want to know. No doubt about it you’ve already questioned some of the others. As I knew you would. It’s natural to be curious, so embrace it.”

“I um…yes, okay uh…this is The Waylon Place.”

“It sure is.”

“Wasn’t this selling for millions of dollars before?”

“Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t.”

“…how’d you manage to get it?”

“By pulling a few strings is how. And being careful with where my money went.”

“And uh…what job paid well enough to buy a place like this?”

“Science.” She said at once. “It wasn’t what I originally wanted to do but I’m glad I left my old workplace to pursue this. It means I get the lab to myself.”

“There’s a lab?”

“I’ll show you once James has cleaned it. He’s behind on his chores, the poor soul…” She shook her head. “He’s been struggling ever since his poor parents died. I opened up my arms to him and let him join my team. I gave him a job and a home when no one else took a chance and let me tell you—” She slammed down her hands on the desk, grinning. “He’s the best damn doctor in the world!”

Elspeth found herself laughing, though she couldn’t tell if it was from intrigue or fear. “…right. And you said you didn’t initially want to land in the field of science?”

“Correct.”

“What is it you wanted to do, then? If not science.”

She tutted. “Dear, it doesn’t matter about what I want. What matters is the way forward and what we’re gonna do to prevent the evils of the island from coming to attack those vulnerable! For example, I chose Evelyn for her quick wit, James for his medicinal advice, Wells for his strength and you…if you choose to stay around, I’m gonna choose you for your curiosity and courage.”

“…courage?”

Kat let out a laugh similar to that of a witch’s cackle. “Don’t be humble, darling, yes! You’ve been in some extremely dire situations whether you know it or not.”

“Really?” She tilted her head. “Name one, Kat.”

“Like meeting me.”

Something within Elspeth said that she wasn’t joking, even though Kat started laughing immediately after a three-beat silence. To dissolve the awkwardness, she looked to the owner of the manor again. “So you’d like me to go and give the wire cutter to Wells-“

“Yes. I would. Now go, my dear. I don’t wanna see you again unless necessary. I’m a very busy woman, after all, keeping this house together. “

“Okay uh…where is he?”

“What, Wells?” She raised an eyebrow. “Downstairs in the kitchen training. You’ll see him.”

“…the kitchen? That’s a weird place to go.”

“He has his weird ways and I endorse them! So go to the kitchen, and give him the damn wire-cutter!”

“…got it.”

So, without another word, Elspeth left Kat to her own devices by descending the staircase, heading through to the foyer where she descended again just to reach the kitchen.

She was greeted by the sight of what were possibly the sluttiest pair of shorts she had ever seen attached to the famous bodyguard of The Waylon Place.

Upon seeing Elspeth, Wells jumped up, giving her a grin. Sweat rolled down his forehead, which he dabbed off with a nearby towel he’d tossed on to the table by the door, flinging it over his shoulder once he was done. “You good there, Elspeth?”

“…just had a run in with Katarina, is all…I was told to give this to you?”

She extended the wire cutter to the bodyguard, who examined it closely. Softly, he huffed, pushing it away. “I’m surprised Kat told ya to give that to me. I ain’t the smart one here. That’s Evelyn.”

“Oh…Evelyn told me to give it to Kat and she said-“

“They both do it every time. I ain’t no mechanic. If you’ve got the wire-cutter, it belongs to you. And hey! While you’re there, I was in the cellar earlier checking out the box cuz the light up here started flickering a little. I found this.” From the table, he produced what appeared to be a backup switch.

Immediately, Elspeth began laughing, placing her hands out in front of her. “Please. I’m not a mechanic—”

“You’ve not got a choice, Elspeth. Take the switch.”

“But-“

“You don’t get to say no, here. Take the switch or prepare for catastrophe.”

Needless to say, she did not bother arguing with the 6’3 man before her who could crush her head with his bicep if he tried. She took the switch.

“Wonderful! Now, you got anything else you wanna say? I’m in the middle of training but I don’t mind answering any questions you got?”

“You’re all very helpful people.”

“That we are!” He grinned, shoving his hands in the pockets of his black short-shorts that left very little to the imagination.

If she wasn’t in her mid 40s and also wasn’t a lesbian then maybe, just maybe, Max would’ve been the guy of her dreams when she was a teenager. Unfortunately, he was not, for she was very content with…someone, she supposed. Someone, who she couldn’t quite remember.

Wells himself was drenched in sweat, for his camo green tank top was now a dark green and his shorts were clinging to him. He was wearing white trainer socks and black sneakers, a wise move in being able to train, but his outfit was fairly basic aside from that. With him distracted with drying himself off from his training session, she began to spout her questions.

“You’re Kat’s bodyguard, right?”

“I sure am!”

“Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” He laughed softly. “Fuck yeah I do! God, it’s so good being able to unleash all this anger elsewhere that ain’t just like, me throwin’ my first through a wall. When I get angry, I aim it at the intruders!”

“Which you get a lot of?”

“You wouldn’t even begin to imagine how many we’ve had.” He gestured to her. “Go on! Guess!”

“…40?”

“Higher.”

“…60?”

“Higher.”

“…Jesus, how many?”

“Since I started working here? We’ve had 108. And I started working here just over a year ago!”

“…May the father forgive me for using his name in haste but…God Almighty…”

“Ain’t no point praying here. This land was built off of godless bastards proving there ain’t no God to go to when you die. I had some help in that, though, based on what I do with ‘em.”

“…with the intruders?”

He nodded. “Take the last one I had for an example. His name? Richard Lipschitz. I went to school with ‘im all my life. I called him Shit-Lips cuz he stunk. Anyway, he’s a massive weeb and I fucking hate him with all my goddamn bones but I ain’t seen him for a few years! Good. Didn’t want to. Then, a month ago, he shows up with a camcorder being like, this is where Agatha and Matthias Waylon died!” Max made a noise similar to that of a ghost sound effect, then paused. “…then do you want the clean version or the real version?”

“I-“

“Actually, I trust ya, and it ain’t like you’re a cop so, here’s what I did with ‘im!” His blue eyes darkened. “He didn’t get past the foyer. I had all the lights off in this bitch. I know this place like the back of my hand so I came up behind him, wrapped my hand round his throat and dragged him and all his shitty little layers down the stairs and into the kitchen where I chained him up using the strongest rope we had! Speaking of, it’s actually gone missing which really pisses me off cuz I use it for training but whatever, I can just get Evelyn to order some. Anyway! Chained him up, smashed his little camera to fuck and then I let him see my face…there’s nothing more joyous than seeing the blood drain from a guy’s face, especially after knowing we’ve been rivals since high school. Ya shoulda been there. It was class.”

“…so what did you do?” She asked, ensuring to listen in with as much detail as possible. This would come in necessary when she discussed the report with Xander by the end of her journey at the mansion. It’d give the Lipschitz family some justice.

Wells gave a brutal laugh. “I sent him straight down to Hell where he’d be reunited with his best friend, Micro-Peter, who died back in 2022…put his head between my hands and I told him…’Richie, you ain’t ever leaving this and I am gonna take pleasure in knowing I was the last person you saw before you died…’ Well, he begged and he pleaded but he was no match for me and my muscles. I crushed his head like a grape!” Another laugh followed before his tone deepened and the air became cold. “Took James two days to clean the blood stains outta the stone…”

“Two days?”

“Two days…and I mean, some guys like to use knives or guns but I’m much more preferable with my knuckles. Less cleanup. More panic in their bastard eyes…and then I get to toss the body in the woods and leave them to the Timberwolves! Or Kat’s pet pig—did you know Katarina had a pet pig?”

“…no?”

“She’s got a pet pig and I see it scurrying round sometimes! I think this used to be a farm cuz I’ve seen a goat round these parts too but…anyway, pigs are cannibals. You know that?”

“No.”

“Well they are. So either the timberwolves get ‘em or that piglet.”

“It’s still a sickly thing to envision.”

“And boy do I get high off of it…” He looked to her. “…you know, no one ever asks me about my job like that. They always want the clean version so…thank you, Elspeth. Or, can I call you Ellie?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Els?”

“Too feminine.”

“Too feminine, ay?” He snapped his fingers. “What about Lez?”

“…Lez will do.”

“Great.” He rubbed his hands together. “Anyway! I like you, Lez so, please, allow me to be your bodyguard while you’re here! I know I’m paid to protect Kat but I don’t mind missing out on a pay check or two to help you out! After all, it’s free rent!”

“Oh! I-uh…thank…you?”

“Not a problem!”

Elspeth decided on not questioning the likes of Wells, instead turning to something they could discuss. She pointed to a large hole in the wall besides the ancient over. “How did that happen? Like the rest of the holes in the mansion or-“

“Oh, no! That was me.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Threw a guy right through it. His name was Gabe Kilten and he was a pervert. Not only did he go after Grace Chasity when she was at Abstinence Camp but he refused to get over her! Plus, he was a real creep! So, when he intruded…I had my fun with him. Not in the assault way, in the murder way, mind you…”

A distant look formed in Wells’ eyes as Lez took the chance to ask, “What happened to Grace?”

“…she was murdered in 2022. With Peter Spankoffski…the HFPD said that they were both cannibalised and…I used to love her, once, I think. I don’t know…seems like everyone I loved keeps dying on me and…figured killing Gabe was the best way for me to avenge her. I know it’s what she’d want…even if she was swinging more in the direction of Stephanie Lauter for who she wanted in her life.” He chuckled. “Then again, so was I during my sophomore year so who am I to talk?”

Lez made an instant note of that. The man before her was romantically involved with Stephanie Lauter in his sophomore year of high school. That narrowed down the identities to who that could be significantly.

“But the other holes are because of lab accidents from either Kat or James. She ain’t got the money to repair it so we leave it!”

“And she doesn’t have the money to bulldoze it? To start a new?”

“I think bulldozing a historic artefact like The Haunted Old Waylon Place counts as a crime in itself.”

“Okay and…what’s she like?”

“What? Kat?”

“Any of your fellow colleagues!”

“Well!” Wells tossed his towel by what appeared to be a washing machine. “Kat’s always busy and Evelyn’s in charge of finances…James is a fucking nerd and I hate nerds but he’s cool because he can get blood stains out of things and that’s basically it.”

“…that’s it?”

Wells pursed his lips before nodding. “That’s it.”

“And you?”

“…what about me?”

“What about you? What’s your role in all of this?”

“…I’m the young, eccentric bodyguard hired to protect Kat! There ain’t much more to me—”

“Got a family you abandoned for this job, Wells?”

“…huh?”

His voice sounded sorrow and meek. She knew she was finally getting somewhere. “Got any friends you abandoned to give up your identity? To come here and pretend you can live out your life as someone you’re not.”

“I-what-no!”

“Tell me your name then. I know you know it.”

“It’s Wells!”

“Is it?”

“N-No! But Kat won’t let us—”

“Kat’s not here to hear what you say. You can tell me and I can get you help.”

“She has ears everywhere, I can’t—”

“So you’re in danger.”

“I didn’t say that—”

“Wells, I can get you out of here and you know it. I can get you home—”

“I don’t think my dads would want me home after this—”

The room fell silent as Wells’ face went even paler than before. As if on cue, he began to shiver. Two dads. Two dads, meaning he was the son of two possibly gay men. Well, Elspeth Jones did not know too many gay men, but she did work for a man and his husband and their son had only recently just gone missing.

“I-I mean my d-dad wouldn’t want me home after this—”

“Who are you, Wells?”

“He’d be disappointed in the things I’ve done.”

“Tell me your name.”

“He’d be so angry at the fact I’m a mean, green, killing machine and he’d kick me out like I deserve! Because Lord, I deserve this life! I deserve to rot in Hell and drown in the lake and allow myself to die because God, I’m such a shitty person and—”

His spiel was cut short by the sound of a loud bang upstairs. Uncharacteristically, Wells flinched so hard his hands went to cover his head. Elspeth, however, hardly reacted.

“…what was that?” He asked, voice trembling.

“We should go upstairs and see.”

“I need to get changed first.”

“Then I’ll wait for you.”

Five minutes later, Elspeth Jones found herself standing next to “Wells”, who had dressed himself in a new green tank top with thicker sleeves and green camo pants, fastened with a brown belt. The sneakers remained, though, as she thought they would. Evelyn was lingering in the doorway, as anxious as ever, with James tapping his foot.

“Are we waiting for Kat?” She asked, just for James to shush her.

“We’re waiting for Kat because she’s doing a scan of the mansion to see how bad the damage is.”

“The damage?”

“We’ve got an intruder.” Evelyn explained. “And I know she’s not happy about it.”

Footsteps quickly pattered down the stairs to the foyer as Katarina Cross stood before the four of them. “Voices low, listen to me. He’s smashed the locks on the front door so that’s unsalvageable, but it’s still on his hinges. He destroyed your office, James, I’m so sorry.”

“It’ll be to taunt us. He wants you weak.”

“But he’s inside now…and we’re fucked. He’ll kill all of us to get to me.”

Evelyn blinked, staring at her boss. “He broke through deadbolts?”

Wells cracked his knuckles. “It don’t matter. I’ve been training for this moment since the second I touched down in this God forsaken house. I’m ready for him. Let me find her myself and I’ll put a stop to his deal—”

“Wells,” Kat said, grabbing his arm to prevent him from moving forward. “It’ll only end badly and you know it.”

“And so what?! I’ll just fucking—”

Elspeth could not resist the urge, so ended up butting in. “I’m so sorry but…I’m definitely out of the loop here. You all seem scared of whoever this may be and I’m just…who are you guys talking about? As your guest, I should be kept in the loop.”

“I’m gonna let Kat explain.” Wells said, gesturing to his boss, who dropped his arm.

Evelyn nodded, too. “She knows than we do.”

“Plus…he’s her ex.” James said, then muttered, “But he’s nowhere as good as me…”

Tutting, Kat looked to the guest. “Please ignore them. They really like to…stir the pot…”

“Okay so…what’s the truth?”

“The truth is that this man is incredibly angry with me based on a share accomplice we both know. He doesn’t look like much but I’ll give it to him, he’s the worst man I know. He’s killed hundreds, possibly even thousands, and he’s under the rule of a very, very powerful deity. Not only that but he’s responsible for the worst case in Hatchetfield history.”

If she was correct, Katarina would be referring to the massacre of Summer 2022 the deaths that preceded it. Her ears opened, and her focus locked in.

“He goes by many, many names and he has done since he first disappeared back in 2005. Even before that, actually…some have called him a witch…crone…bony-knees, names along that line but…I know him as someone worse. Someone a lot more personal. Someone dangerous and deadly who shouldn’t have ever meddled with the wrong person and now I’m tangled up with him…” She looked to Elspeth, regret in her eyes. “Lately, he’s been known more commonly as the following: The Hatchetfield Butcher’s apprentice, for he is the man to have taught the serial killer all he knows. Also, he’s taken up the alias of ‘Morris’ recently. Why Morris, I could not tell you. It’s not even remotely similar to his real name.”

“Neither is yours,” James said. “Or ours.”

“Except ours is for privacy. His is for fun…” She looked to Elspeth, huffing softly. “And unfortunately, I do hate to say it but to weaken him, I must use his name, which therefore draws his attention back to me.”

Wells put a hand on his boss’ shoulder. “I’m gonna make sure nothing happens to you, Kat.”

“…thank you, Wells.”

“But she deserves to know.”

“…I know.” With another deep breath, Katarina finally let it slip. “Whether he be the apprentice to the Hatchetfield Butcher or simply known as Morris, he will never, ever let his identity get ahead of him for I know his truth and the truth is that he…” She laughed softly, bitterly, almost.

“…he…?” She asked, to prompt her to speak.

“…The truth is that his name is Colonel Wilbur Cross.”

Overhead, a thunder clap sounded and from somewhere in the mansion, somewhere deep in the mansion, the bellow of a laugh belonging to the deceased colonel began to ring and it did not take a genius to realise just how severe the situation had suddenly become.

This was no longer an investigation. This was a murder trial.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

On the edge of Hatchetfield’s southern shore was a military base disguised as a run down schoolhouse. Once upon a time, it had been Hatchetfield High before the mayor, at the time, decided allowing children to wander around halls initially built by cultists was too unsafe. The old schoolhouse was abandoned while the new one was worked on, and no one chose to question it. What the mayor said went, and no one batted an eye.

The schoolhouse went abandoned until September 8^th 1979 when the founder of Paranormal Extra-Terrestrial Interdimensional Phenomena sunk a fuck ton of money into repairing the broken down building. Many told him that buying such a decrepit building would be a mistake. That it was a waste of money and an uninteresting investment that would tank his credit score. The founder, General Gareth Isaaks, remained confident in his discovery. Remained confident that he could create a branch of the United States military without the consequence of dealing with the president. After all, someone who’d been fired from the military in the first place after unwillingly murdering an innocent man in the desert would want to reclaim his title as a soldier whether it be legal or not.

Technically, because Isaaks was not viewed as a registered member of the military, PEIP was able to fly under the radar for quite some time. For quite some time, until they hired two of their best agents to date. Officially creating the very first team to wander PEIP’s halls, both Holly Halliday and Wilbur Cross were hired under the General to be the best kinds of people to defeat Hatchetfield’s evil. Halliday was a kind woman deep within her soul, for she would make that known to whoever would listen. Even when she was on a half-contract due to her wishing to pursue music simultaneously, she was still an epic example of a woman who Wilbur Cross just so happened to fall head over heels for. Sure, Wilbur was nothing like Halliday. He was a cocky bastard, none of which in the positive sense, but he ensured that everything went according to plan.

He became PEIP’s best agent, taking over the agency when Isaaks went under investigation by the President’s team.

There, Wilbur enforced the rules that Isaaks was too scared to do. He hired people of colour and people of different sexualities. He gave them all a safe space to work at while making sure their pay was liveable. If people needed extra time off, he’d give it and most importantly, he made sure their medical bills were written off as his problem and not theirs. Hell, maybe it had been meeting Halliday to change him into the man he’d suddenly become, for he had tried to impress him time and time again. Despite her shooting down his advances, he still changed to become the person she’d favour.

Bystanders would say that he very nearly had her. Bystanders would say that decision was sealed when Wilbur introduced her to the freshest piece of meat in that building.

Jonathan Myles McNamara was only 17 when he joined PEIP, having recently been brought into Wilbur’s case. Not necessarily by choice, and not necessarily by force either. What had happened was John had been found to be initiating in a gay relationship with one of his classmates and his father, a very wealthy businessman, had not been too excited to discover that information about his child. He’d kicked John to the streets when two weeks later, he’d been discovered by Wilbur. Wilbur took the kid in, fed him, gave him a job and kept him sane all the while acting as his mentor and father figure.

On the edge of that military base on the edge of Hatchetfield’s southern shore was the house John McNamara had spent all of his life since being placed in the correct care. When Wilbur Cross went missing back in 2005, the house had been left to his mentee, John McNamara, as had the rest of the precinct. John had initially asked why the precinct hadn’t been left to the witch with the power and it had been in that moment when Miss Holly Halloway had confessed that she wasn’t returning to PEIP. She’d help finishing training John to General status, then she was leaving.

By 2006, he’d been sworn in as the General of PEIP HQ.

By 2007, by some miracle, John McNamara had met his soulmate in the form of the quirky, hyper young man he’d hired to fill the theoretical physicist slot.

It was with that man that John, drunk over a glass of red wine at The Birdhouse late one Thursday night, let his entire backstory slip. How he was never going to have children because, when he was a teenager in the late nineties, his kid cousin, Sam Sweetly, had been one of the victims of The Hatchetfield Butcher. Over that same glass of red wine, he also admitted to never thinking he’d find someone romantically, that he’d have to pressure himself to focus on work and work only. That the family life wasn’t for him. That he didn’t expect their few dates to become anything more than just dates. The theoretical physicist had nodded, saying not to let his beliefs warp his sense of reality and to let things go with the flow.

Two years later, in 2009, that same physicist moved into that house at the edge of PEIP’s base and ten years later, on the 29^th of September 2019, the two tied the knot.

Except, something special happened, back in 2015. Something special happened which had John McNamara defying his own rules he’d set for himself. Because, it was actually the event in 2015 that drove him to finally allowing himself to marry his husband four years later.

In 2015, a young boy went missing, having ran away from his father, Action News had said. John had been that boy once and he knew it, so he vowed to himself, if he could, he’d help find the poor boy and get him to safety. Well, John turned a fateful corner to find the thirteen year old curled up in a ball by the dumpster outside of Beanie’s and he knew he couldn’t leave him to the cold, especially since it was March and it had been beginning to storm. With a little bit of coaxing and a lot of reassurance, John took the boy home for a night, allowed him to get himself warm and fed, then returned him home to his father via the HFPD the morning after. That was meant to be that. John found the kid and that was supposed to be it.

Imagine John McNamara’s surprise when the teenager appeared back at his door, chest heaving, tears streaming down his face, begging for help.

So John and Xander underwent a severely critical court case to help gain custody of the child, to break contact with his abusive father and despite everything on John’s moral compass, he and Xander won the case, and the kid became theirs.

Every day that passed became one of anxiety and fear as John’s mind continuously flickered back to the series of murders linked to the Hatchetfield Butcher and how he would kill himself if anything happened to his son. He made sure that the fences surrounding their home (that Wilbur had installed years ago) were mended and fixed to prevent any break-ins. He made sure security was at its best to ensure that nothing happened to the kid as he grew up. And sure, the kid became violent as he progressed through high school, but it seemed to ease when they finally found a therapist that matched him because he graduated senior year with flying colours and a bright smile that the McNamara-Lee’s would never forget.

But they couldn’t protect their son forever and they knew that, but they could sure as Hell try.

So, on the 29^th of July 2023 when their only child, now 21, stood at the front door with his bag on his back and his combat boots on ready to go, John simply couldn’t help fussing. “Dad,” the kid said. “I told you I’ll be fine. I’ve got your training memorised but it’s just a construction job that I got on my own. Please let me go do this on my own.”

“I just want you to be safe, Wells,” John had said, softly. “You know I worry.”

“Instead of worrying about me, worry about Xander, okay? I’ll be back at nine at the latest. I might go swing by Retro’s for a coffee after work.”

From the couch, Xander lifted his eyes from the textbook he was reading. “Retro’s is still going? I thought it shut down in 2020?”

“It did. But Brenda’s mom bought it so…it’s still basically the same but…”

“Well, if you do, be safe.”

“You know I will be. You don’t get raised and trained by two military gay guys not to be at the most protected I’ve ever been.”

Xander laughed softly. “Keep your tracker on just in case, and we’ll see you tonight. Text us if you can.”

“On your smart watch, not your phone.” John cut in.

“Dad!” He laughed, grabbing the door handle. “I know. And I’ll see you tonight.” He poked his head around the door. “Bye, Xander. Love you.”

“Love you too, kid.”

“And I love you too, dad!”

“I love you as well, Wells. Keep safe.”

With a smile and an optimistic skip to his step, their son, Wells, left the house and John slumped on to the couch beside his husband.

“He’s gonna be fine,” Xander said, flicking over the page to the book he was wearing. “You know he will be.”

John shook his head, eyes still firmly on the door. “I’ve got an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach about letting him go alone. I know it’s a construction job and I know he’s strong enough to ward anyone off who might hurt him but it’s Hatchetfield and after what happened with those kids last year…and with Melissa Shephard randomly going missing? Melissa Shephard, Charles Coven’s pride and joy—”

Xander pursed his lips together, eyes widening as he hummed. “Charles Coven. That’s a name I haven’t heard for a while. I’m shocked he went for such a distinguishable name like that but then again, he always did love the limelight even when we were kids.”

The General averted his gaze, turning to face his husband. “…I always forget he’s your brother.”

“Keep it out of your mind. I don’t see him, and he doesn’t want to see me either so I forget about it. It’s a shame his secretary went missing but this is Hatchetfield, John. People go missing every day.”

“And I won’t let our child be the next face on the HFPD’s missing person’s board.”

“Even if he was-“

“He won’t be.”

“-we’ve got Shapiro working for them under our lead and she’s damn good at her job. John, he’s safe with her watching over him.”

“No one’s safe in Hatchetfield.” With that, John simply huffed, reaching for the book on the table beside him. “Are you heading into work?”

“I will be soon. Why?”

“What time do you get back?”

“Five, dear.”

“What were the dinner plans tonight?”

“I was thinking we could order takeout? Celebrate the kid’s first official day at work?”

“…sounds good.” He looked up at Xander. “Think you can get me a glass of whiskey? I need something to tone down this anxiety.”

“Of course, my love.” He bookmarked his page, pressing a kiss to his husband’s cheek before vanishing to the kitchen. For the time being, he ignored the S.O.S flashing on his smartwatch. He’d deal with that when he was alone. For now, he got his husband his drink of choice and returned to the living room. “And with that, I’m gonna change for work. See you tonight.”

“Be safe, Alexander!”

“I will be!”

When Xander arrived at work, the very first thing he was met with was a sharp grab of the wrist from John’s second-in-command, Felicity Schaffer, who told him that Wilbur Cross had broken free from his jail cell, along with his accomplice, The Hatchetfield Butcher, which was where most of his energy went into that day. Trying to find where Wilbur – the sorcerer and The Butcher – the scientist had run off to from within PEIP’s high-tech cells.

The second thing that altered Xander’s brain chemistry was watching as the hours ticked by that evening and their son did not return home.

The third thing that hurt Xander was waking up at 3 AM to his husband shaking him awake, saying, teary-eyed, that their son’s tracker had randomly turned off and that there was no way to locate him. That their son was officially a missing person.

Most of, if not all of Xander’s attention went into making the missing people his business. Days blurred into each other as the mind map got progressively bigger as he tried to piece together why. Grace Chasity, Peter Spankoffski, Ethan Green and Zoey Chambers were murdered in a cabin in the middle of the woods in 2022. Stephanie Lauter and Lex Foster, girlfriends to Peter and Ethan, were found murdered that same year, just for Melissa Shephard to vanish not long after they’d lost their lives. July 29^th 2023, the McNamara kid, aged 21, vanished off the face of the Earth despite carrying high technology on him at all times. He’d never let himself go missing, especially not with his ability to fight.

So Xander constructed a plan.

He hadn’t told John that his ex-mentor, who was presumed dead after the failed mission in 2005, was behind the summer massacre of 2022. Neither he or Schaffer were going to let him know if they could help it. They didn’t want to test John’s mental state by dropping that information on him, and they certainly were not about to risk it now their kid was involved.

Xander’s plan consisted of the following: lure the sorcerer to his ex-house, now John’s house, to try and get him to meet up with John for a reunion of sorts. As evil as Wilbur was, it was imminently clear he had a soft spot for the general, so Xander was to use that to his advantage as often as he could. He was also ensuring this was happening while John was at work so he wouldn’t come home to randomly find the mass-murderer standing in their living room.

Luckily for Xander, his plan worked for in the December of 2023, Xander was sitting on his armchair in the corner of the room when he heard some brief muttering coming from outside the door. Immediately, he straightened himself up, watching as the hollow figure staggered inside.

Xander had seen photos of Wilbur Cross before. He noted how he had soft grey eyes and dark brown hair he always had slicked back. His skin was pale, and he was often fond of the denim jackets that he wore. Alas, the man before him was Wilbur Cross. It was unmistakeably him…but there was something different regarding his physique. Whether it be the triple denim ensemble he wore, the greasy, black hair, the neon green eyes or the sickly pale skin, it was something to note. Much like how the clouds were turning grey outside.

As long as he kept his cool, he’d be fine.

“Sir?” Xander asked, doing his best to act. “Are you alright, sir? This isn’t a public area and you don’t live here.”

Following some brief muttering, the man spun around, giving Xander a twisted smile. “I received an invite from an…old friend of mine. He wanted to meet back up now that I was outta prison! How about it! He said he lived here so where is he—”

“Oh! Yes, I do know you! He told me you’d be here.” Xander stood. “I’m Alex. I’m a researcher round these parts and an acquaintance of the man you’re here for. Let me go grab him…”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll wait for him to come to me.”

“…okay. Well, it’s a miracle you’re dry if you’ve been walking in the rain. It’s probably good you’ve stopped for a bit. Would you like a drink or anything, sir?”

“…I’m gonna feast tonight. I don’t need shit from you.”

“Alright. Well, let me go and grab him for you.” He gave a smile, headed through to the back of the house, to the kitchen, where Xander checked his pocket. A heavy sedative sat in his hand, which had him smirking. He may not be able to kill the sorcerer, but he sure could stun him. He walked back in, looking at Wilbur. “I put on a coffee anyway just in case you needed a drink but tell me, sir…you’ve heard of John, haven’t you?”

Wilbur seemed to contemplate the name. “…sounds familiar,” he said, voice hoarse.

“He’s a very powerful man, sir. A very, very powerful man who’s told me stories about who you are…he’s the best damn General PEIP’s ever had.”

The sorcerer tensed, immediately going to grip what Xander assumed to be The Black Blade. “How do you know about PEIP—”

“Because I’ve read your case report based on the murders of Chasity, Spankoffski, Green and Chambers and I am not about to let you prowl around on the hunt for much longer…say goodbye, witch. Your reign of terror ends now.”

Xander stabbed the sedative in Wilbur’s neck, expelling the contents in his bloodstream. The moment that Wilbur collapsed forwards on to the floor unconscious was the same one Xander bolted from the house, straight in his car, and took the five minute drive to his workplace.

Once inside, he broke down Schaffer’s door, panting desperately. “I got him in our house.”

Schaffer looked up. “How the fuck—”

“Told ya. He loves apples. Loves apples. But he’s unconscious on the floor right now so either we can detain him and hold him for the crimes he’s commit or we risk letting John see him.”

“We risk letting John see him now and you know it.” She stood. “I’ll go with you. We’ll transport him to a stronger prison together.”

“But do it quickly. I don’t want him to break. I mean, if he finds out his ex mentor, who is a cannibal, is currently in our house unconscious because I drugged him, I dread to think what he’d say.”

With that, the door burst open again, and Xander found the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Lee,” said the deep voice of his husband. “Office. Now.”

And in that moment, Xander Lee knew, whether for better or worse, he was completely and utterly fucked.

Wilbur Cross couldn’t, and actually wouldn’t, decipher whether Xander Lee was stupid enough to believe drugging an immortal like him would be the thing to finish him. Even so, when the pulsing in his head came to a stop, he pulled himself off the carpet that had once been his, every vertebrae in his spine snapping as he did so. “That fuckin’ bastard…” He whispered to himself. “Luring me here all because o’the apples…God fuckin’ dammit…”

And, from the corner of his eye, came the pest he’d wished to rid himself of ever since he’d first tasted a piece of his flesh way back when. He remained dressed in the stupid fucking outfit he chose to die in. Dark blond hair and fierce, blue eyes filled with contagious spores. The threads to his brown waistcoat continued to loosen, even after death, and the gold pocket watch he kept near and dear to his heart had long since stopped ticking. His tie had been long discarded for it had grown to tatters long ago and the white button up he wore tucked into the beige corduroy pants he acquired was splattered with the blood of his own victims. Yet, despite his dishevelled appearance, he seemed to have a rather fucking lot to comment on the state of his owner.

“I always told you that you were a gluttonous slut, Wil-“

“MY FUCKING NAME IS MORRIS!”

“Oh, sure, keep on telling yourself that yet your reputation precedes you as a PEIP agent so get up and leave this place before he finds you! After all, Wilbur.” Cold hands gripped around his neck as the breath of a ghost whispered into his ear, “We’ve got business elsewhere with a certain few friendy-wends of ours. Now move. She won’t linger in Waylon Hall for much longer and if we start walking…you’ve got a year to get there. Get ahead of the tide, Wilbur. You’ll thank me when it’s done.”

So, the sorcerer left, heading north. He travelled in the shadows, guided by the sense of the moon. He did not travel in daylight. It became too risky for him so simply, he’d stop.

Wilbur couldn’t place a time or date on when he finally hit dishevelled soil, but eventually he did. There, waiting for him on the outskirts of The Witchwood Forest were his four newest friends.

The first was the shortest of the four of them, standing at 5’2, but the tallest of the spirits stood at 6’1. That did not mean strawberry shortcake hadn’t had the worst of the fight in her, though. No. She lasted longer than the others, even if the final girl didn’t count. Even in death, she watched over him carefully to ensure he did not wrong himself of the earth. Not that it wasn’t what she wanted. No. He knew they all wanted to see his downfall, but he was walking the earth with a semi-beating heart and what were they doing? Watching from the trees for they were forever bound to the Witchwood. In his opinion, he considered it a win, and a win was what he needed.

The first of the girls had shoulder length brunette hair with twigs and leaves sticking out from the tatters. It was sopping wet, much like the rest of her. Her orange pinafore dress was soaked through to the bone and her ballet flats were decaying from how hard the tide had took her. She’d died in flood water after he’d dragged her from the current, and the taste of bleach remained on his tongue as he remembered the first bloody bite he took from her leg. Yet, despite how destroyed and awful the ghost of Grace Chasity looked, Wilbur could not help noticing how that stupid blue pendant had not snapped. Not even in the floods had it snapped, and now she carried it through with her in death. God dammit. That fucking pendant was more powerful than he'd anticipated because, if all had gone according to plan, Holloway would be dead. He’d strangled her hard enough and taken flaps of her skin from all over her back to feast on and feed directly back to her but no. She had to choose to have powerful magic that could equally rival his own and suddenly, Wilbur found a bigger issue on his hands than before.

For, dangling upside down from the nearest tree branch was none other than the younger brother of one of the first victims he’d encountered. Peter Spankoffski dangled upside down, his blackened hair standing straight on end, equally as drenched as Grace’s. At 5’5 (despite him saying he was 5’6 upon arrival to his cabin,) he was having to wear insoles in his shoes to make him taller. His hair was tattered from the current he’d drowned in. His clothes, the blue button up and brown trousers, were ripped in places Wilbur wished he hadn’t seen. Similarly to Grace’s pendant which had once belonged to a witch he knew, the bow tie he wore around his neck refused to rip as well. It was a shame, really, to die a nerd. Wilbur knew better than anyone that nerdy prudes must pay, so nerdy prudes must die, and he regretted nothing.

Ethan Green stood leaning against a tree, his eyes sunken in. In death, he’d regained the three limbs that Zoey had severed from his torso. Despite that, the stitches on his spirit made him lean lopsidedly. Ethan was pale in comparison to the rest of them, but at least he was upright and pieced together. His black, curly hair was dangling in his face, longer than it had been when he’d been alive, but he assumed his spirit had latched on to what his father looked like in the modern day. He remained wearing the green plaid shirt, the white button up and the jeans Tony gifted him for his 17^th birthday despite it being covered in Wilbur’s blood from where Ethan had, quite literally, stabbed him in the back.

Fun times. Good memories with the four of them.

And then there stood Zoey, Hatchetfield’s biggest waste of potential. Of course, he had not expected Zoey at the door of his cabin. He’d expected Steph, for she was also investigating him and the murders of the four kids his fucking accomplice had claimed the lives of. However, she was dead now as well, and she’d been a rather tasty feast when he recalled back to the way her muscle melted on his tongue so why complain? Her hair was wild like how it had been when she’d died, except it was in a messy braid. She assumed Grace would’ve done that. Neither of the boys would’ve wanted to get near Zoey after what she’d done to them after first consuming the flesh of Grace’s dead body. Grace Chasity was too forgiving much like all Christians, hence why she was able to recover the spirit to her full potential. Her cardigan she wore over her dress was tattered too, but what had she expected, going face to face with a knife wielding maniac? For him to go easy on her?

Absolutely not.

So, Wilbur pushed through their spirits, feeling the coldness within them disintegrate as he walked away. Upwards north did he head with determination deep within his bones…until he couldn’t walk any longer and he found his knees buckling while he desperately clutched on to the trunk of a nearby tree. Yet, he simply could not rid himself of the feeling he was being watched.

Mostly because he still was, just not from the people he wanted.

“Grace…” He whispered, clutching at his throat. “Peter…Ethan…Zoey…” He looked ahead of him, chest heaving. “Henry…can you hear them too?”

Deep in the centre of the Witchwood Forest, thunder clapped as a tall man, 6’2, crouched down beneath the immortal before him. “No, because unlike you I let them pass.” He grinned, cupping Wilbur’s chin, looking deep into the green eyes he’d grown to resent and relish in. “I know what she’s after, Wil!” He said in a sing-song tone.

“…me too. You’re no better than I am, Henry—"

“Then do you care to remind me?”

“Vengeance. They’re after vengeance and-“ A branch cracked nearby, causing for his head to whip around. “…ya hear that?”

“No. You’re delusional.” The other man folded his arms, looking over at his accomplice. “And it’s been so long, I almost forgot about them!” He paused, tapping his chin. “Didn’t they die of natural causes-“

“In a way.”

“Drowning, right? They drowned to death, in these here woods.”

He gripped a tree, coughing more dust from his lungs, thumping his chest to get it all up. Unfortunately, that also meant covering the potato that rested in his breast pocket in the same dust that had been stuck in his chest.

In a second, the other man had a hand round his neck, pinning him against the same tree he was coughing up a lung against. Two fingers tilted the man’s head up. “YOU FUCKING MONSTER.”

A smirk grew on the other’s face as he was moved. “Wouldn’t you like t’know.”

“I already know. I’ve seen what you can do, W-“

He shoved the other off of him, continuing his trek. “Not my name.”

“Like The Hatchetfield Butcher is mine?” He rolled his eyes, brushing pale blonde hair from his eyes. “I choose to be called by my real name because unlike you, I’m not a fucking coward.”

“You tried to rule over a bunch of children you tried to murder.”

He held a hand up. “Oh, darling. I didn’t try. I succeeded and now they’re all mine.”

“Yes, and I’m sure the green one would like that. Like they’re gonna trust you.”

“Except they’re forgetting one thing.” The blonde pulled a dagger from his pocket, looking over at the other man. “Or did you forget about this?”

“…that one’s your knife, correct?”

“You’ve got The Black Blade on you, of course this one is my knife. And if I have to terrorise those motherfuckers, if I have to bring them back from the dead then I will. To stop the sleep walking…it’s a horrific sight to bystanders, you know. You should really invest in a better mattress.”

“PEIP locked me up and threw us both in a cell! You at least had a container to sleep in!”

“You’re talking to a potato. Wow. New low.”

“You are the goddamn potato, Henry.”

The other, Henry, whistled deeply. “Someone’s got blue balls.”

“Where are we?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“WHERE ARE WE?!”

Hidgens’ own smirk grew as he tossed the knife, catching it effortlessly. “Northwest from the cabin, we’re not too far away from where she is.”

“She left us that note, you know that, right? With locations as to where she might be.”

Funnily enough, the potato tilted in it’s pocket as Hidgens’ head moved. Once again, he tapped his chin, knife tucked safely under his elbow. “Note? I do not recall seeing a note in the cabin-“

He snarled, looking at him. “Dearest me, Morris. It’s me, I am Morris.”

“We both know you’re not.”

“Dearest Morris! I know you’re upset about what happened with John. I’m asking the impossible, but please: forgive me and let’s end this madness! We’re different, to lose track of time, to let feuds rot inside of us, undying, while the rest of the world moves on. This isn’t healthy. It took me ages to learn this. I’m asking you, PLEASE, just let this one die.”

“Nice monologue.”

“That was the note!” He flipped The Black Blade from his pocket, holding Hidgens at arm’s length.

The blonde merely shrugged, turning his head. “I know, we need to repay her for…what she did, remember?”

“And I know she’s in that there mansion! But where the fuck is it?!”

“Impatient?”

“Starving.”

“Well, maybe when we get there, they’ll politely serve you a nice meal. Although, I’m pretty sure they know about you, considering you’re one of the strongest sorcerers on this island.” Once again, “Morris” bared his teeth, his mouth beginning to froth as Hidgens shushed him. “But it’s alright. I’m sure she’ll have guests there, and who knows. Maybe I’ll give you the surprise I have waiting for you there when we arrive too.”

“Surprise?” He panted. “Like what?!”

“You’re going to love it, I promise. Now fucking move. We’re behind schedule.”

“Behind schedule…” Wilbur Cross, standing in at 6’2, simply spluttered some more. “But I’m starvin, Hidge…”

Henry Hidgens, whose soul was caught in that of a potato, backed away from Wilbur, hands up in surrender. “Don’t you fucking dare consider eating me again. You did that already, once, when I was alive and I’d rather not relive it again.”

“Aintcha funny.”

“I’m speaking truth. You’ve got a mission in The Waylon Place and it’s to take her down.”

“Bet you’re glad she didn’t choose your mansion.”

“She was smart enough not to. Now move or you’ll miss your surprise!”

Wilbur spat blood on the floor. “What surprise? Cooking companions or…?”

“Something better. But if you ain’t gonna listen to me to move away from the central point of the woods…maybe you’ll listen to her.”

Hidgens stepped out of the way revealing the smaller figure of a much younger ghost who couldn’t be much older than seventeen. She stood there, with her light brown hair curled, resting on her shoulders with an Alice headband pushing her bangs from her eyes. Wearing the same raspberry-coloured coat she’d died in, the puncture wound still visible from years ago, she stared him down until he said her name.

“Charlotte,” he uttered in a whisper. “The fuck do you want, you dumb bitch?”

“To stop you from murdering those within the cabin. You’ll hurt John.”

“John’s a son of a bitch and I ain’t doin’ business with him no more.”

“Oh no. You’ve got no choice,” said the late Charlotte Lowery, the very last victim of The Hatchetfield Butcher. “So reject my murderer or perish in the flame you lit.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, taking a heavy step foot forwards. “What do you want, Char?”

“I want to forget about everything you did. From killing me and my friends to devouring Grace, Peter, Ethan and Zoey remorsefully just because you can’t tame your own stomach. I want you to stop terrorising the island too but I know that won’t happen so I’m thinking logically.” She folded her arms, hiding the bloodied hole in her chest from where Henry had stabbed her. “You’re marching to your death by going to that mansion and I will be the one hosting the parade when she claims your soul. After all…you know about the Abominable Tome she read…the rituals she’s performed…you stand zero chance with the rest of her staff and you know what? I love it. Knowing you’re going to fail. You may be in with a Lord In Black but she dealt with them. Best part was she didn’t even have to die to get their favour, unlike you…so, stumble over the threshold and see how long you survive because if these trees or the staff don’t kill you? I’ll hunt you like a timberwolf until you feel the pain of teeth shredding skin away from muscle and bone just like what you did with us. After all, I WAS THE LAST FUCKING CHILD TO DIE! BURN IN HELL, WRETCH-“

Wilbur blinked and as if she hadn’t been there at all, Charlotte vanished. Good. Her voice was fucking annoying.

With Charlotte’s words of encouragement, Wilbur made his way forwards and into the belly of The Witchwood where, eventually, he came across The Haunted Old Waylon Place. Right as he was about to climb the stairs and enter the house, the freezing cold blade of Henry Hidgens’ knife pressed into his shoulder blade as he said, “No need to move much further. Finally, you’ve arrived at the spot. Now, Wil. It’s time to punish her for what she did to you with John.”

Instinctively, Wilbur reached for The Black Blade, grimacing. “She left him when I told her not to.”

“Exactly! So make her pay! Because, once everything is finished and she’s dead? We’ll have a big meal to celebrate…the McNamara boy alone could last two weeks when stored properly…now, Wilbur.” The crunch of Henry’s bones as he rolled his shoulders back almost made Wilbur vomit, but it didn’t. He was better than that. “I don’t need to tell you how difficult this will be but you will not disappoint me…now close your fuckin’ eyes. Let them manifest themselves to you.”

Wilbur did, and when he reopened them, he came face to face with the group of detectives he’d grown to learn through news reports as The Chompettes.

For on the far left stood who had to be Wilbur’s worst enemy, the older brother to Peter Spankoffski and the reason Peter, Grace, Zoey and Ethan had all died in the first place. He wore a brown shirt tucked into beige pants, his brown hair ruffled and messy, much like the rest of him. Ted Spankoffski stood there, the second tallest of the five dead, shaking as he was forced to keep his eyes on Wilbur, also known as the man to kill and cannibalise him.

Next to him was the ex-leader of the group, who had done her darndest to get revenge for the death of her friend. When Bill Woodward had gone missing in the early 2000s, it had been her to take things into her own hands when the HFPD refused to investigate. Obviously, it was now common knowledge that Bill Woodward had died at the hands of Henry Hidgens long before Wilbur Cross was involved, but it had been her, Emma Perkins, to put on her bravest face and investigate him to her fullest extent. She stood with her brown hair in a high bun fastened with a green ribbon that matched her dress. Her black Mary Jane shoes remained blood splattered, as did her frilly white socks.

In the middle who stood Henry Hidgens, the 6’2 monster with sandy blonde hair and a smile that could kill who had learnt everything he had needed to know from Wilbur Cross himself. For, insanity could not quite keep him away from the loss of his ex husband or from the loss of everyone he had loved. When Greg and Steve and Stu and Mark and Leighton and Chad had died, Henry lost a piece of himself and decided, instead of grieving normally, he was to do it in the worst way possible. He almost succeeded in killing those children, but his body was nothing of a match as compared to The Black Blade.

To his right was the young girl once known as Charlotte Lowery who had to sit there in the cauldron while her friend’s dead bodies bubbled and simmered into a stew. She sat there, forced to listen to their final breaths as she continued to bleed out. As the last to die, she held the most resentment of the four of them. Good. It kept him fed, and that was necessary.

Finally, little Paul Matthews stood at the end besides Charlotte with his unkempt brunet hair and his little denim overalls. He always had been the quietest out of his friends and he always had been so shy. Well, in death, shyness was not an excuse, as Henry Hidgens soon demonstrated.

Clapping his hands together, Henry said, “Chompettes, speak up,” as opposed to what Emma would say. Emma was usually quite kind in regards to the group. As it stood, Henry Hidgens was not Emma Perkins and had, in fact, died later in life than most.

Yet, Wilbur could not deny the excitement he felt when they began to speak, their voices crackling and untamed.

“Always fear, Teddy Bear’s near!”

“Like my best buddy Bill used to say: I’m DYING to meet the witch!” Shouted Paul, who’s voice read confident yet his words read timid.

Charlotte said nothing, for she’d already said her truth earlier.

Yet, Wilbur could not help remembering what had happened to them. When he and Henry had gone on their trek to find more victims, they’d returned to an empty cabin for Emma, Ted, Paul and Charlotte had left on their own accord despite that not being allowed. Did they really think escaping his physical grasp would allow them to move to the afterlife with Bill? Or perhaps Ted thought he’d be able to reunite with his baby brother, Pete, who he never got to meet. Hmm. Maybe Pete could’ve been a shallot if things had been different. Unfortunately, he wasn’t tasty enough to manifest as food for Emma stood before him not necessarily as a little girl but as a cabbage, Ted as an onion, Henry Hidgens as the potato in his breast pocket, Charlotte Lowery as a raspberry and Paul Matthews as a loaf of bread, the heartiest around.

He knew. He’d had a few slices just to watch the loaf regenerate.

So, it lead Wilbur to asking Henry, “are they real? Or were they sent here of their own accord?”

Henry scoffed. “You doubt me, Wil…I know this was a shock but there really have been a few changes to the group. After all, in an election between me and Emma, who was gonna win? Cuz it weren’t gonna be her.”

Ted, gulping, said meekly, “He-he threatened us with the knife he tried to kill us with, Morris!”

Paul nodded, his brown eyes sad. “He terrifies me, I-I’m so sorry…” He glanced over to Emma. “I’m so sorry, Em-“

“It was three votes against two…I’m just sorry I couldn’t do more.”

By the way Emma spoke, Wilbur did not fail to notice the bite in her tone. Had she and Paul been participating in a lovers quarrel? He was certain Halloway would love to hear about that if they had been.

Henry turned to face the people who he ruled over, rubbing his hands together as he did so. “Now, Chompettes, despite how much we utterly fucking DESPISE HIM-…it’s important we help him out while he completes this quest here at Waylon Hall! Once he does, the games will be over, and we will be able to unleash our revenge on him to correct the pain he caused us!”

“And what does Emma think of this decision? She was leader before this so-called election, after all.”

Emma sighed, just shrugging in Henry’s direction. “He dictates our position with you. If he says we’re helping, we’re fuckin’ helping, I guess.”

“And when’s the next election?”

Henry turned back to face his apprentice. “I passed a resolution once I won…it’s in a thousand years. So, it’ll be a miracle if you get to live to see my downfall. I know you won’t.”

“A thousand?” Wilbur asked, the tickle of dust at the back of his throat.

“Yes you fucking moron! God, and PEIP used to say you were the best colonel they ever had…your brain, it’s become porous. Like a sponge. It’s decaying at a rapid speed. There are holes within it that need repairing with knowledge. Knowledge we can only get from within that mansion! So! I brought them back from beyond the dead to help guide you in the right direction because lord knows, you can’t do it yourself.”

“And how’d you do that, Hidge?”

He cackled. “Everyone’s got their secrets, and this one’s mine…you never told me your secret when we were in the cabin so why should I offer you this in return?”

“Because I could kill you again?”

“As if you’d try that. I’m too much of an important figure in your life for you to even consider it…anyway, here’s the deal I’m proposing.” In an instant, Hidgens was back in front of Wilbur, as if he had teleported via the blink of an eye, the jab of his knife pressing into his heart. “Kill everyone here, Wilbur? And I’ll get them to fuck off. Permanently. Just like Bill…but if you fail…?”

The Chompettes answered on Henry’s behalf.

Emma went first, telling him, “We’ll play Ghosts in the Graveyard FOREVER.”

“OUR STENCH SHALL REACH NEW HEIGHTS!” Shouted Ted.

“AND WE WILL MEMORISE THE JOKE THAT YOU CLAIM TO BE YOUR LIFE!” Spat Paul while Charlotte, dear Charlotte, remained as quiet as ever.

With a smirk on his face, Hidgens carved a cross into Wilbur’s chest, watching as the cells regenerated before his very eyes. Outstretching his non knife-wielding hand, he asked, “is that a fair trade or what?”

And Wilbur did have to consider it, making a deal with sentient pieces of nutritional food…but at the end of the day, he knew he couldn’t take her down alone. He firmly gripped Henry’s hand, giving it a shake.

“Excellent!” Henry said, eyes sparkling. “Chompettes…mosey out,” he said, as the food focus reformed in Wilbur’s mind and he approached the front door.

Tonight, he’d get his revenge for what she did to John. Tonight, this all ended, and he couldn’t wait to see her face as he destroyed her with The Blade. Tonight was for his own victory. Tonight was for closure.

Tonight was for killing Miss Holly Halloway, and he simply could not wait another moment longer.

With a harsh pound of a fist, Wilbur burst the locks on the front door and stepped inside. Outside, he heard the trickle of rain begin to fall and he began to laugh. Well, another summer massacre hadn’t exactly been in his plans but if he got to eat well again then he’d welcome it. They wouldn’t, but he would, and he simply couldn’t wait to get back to killing the innocent.

Wielding the blade, Wilbur turned a right, heading in the direction of the kitchen and as he walked, his plan of torture began to form in his mind. Tonight, everything ended for good, and there simply was no other option.

They were all dead. Tonight, they were all dead, and he’d feast on their flesh when he was done.

Good. Let them drown all over again. Let them see how it felt when he became a victim of The Black, see how they fight against the inevitable, and see how they like becoming dead. He knew they’d hate it, but he didn’t care enough to help. So, for his own selfishness, he began the prowl again as the vision of wine-like juices filling his mouth had him sketching down killing methods into his skin.

Tonight, was for a massacre. Tonight, they would die and he couldn’t fucking wait a moment longer…but he’d have to to remain alive, and that, to him, was fine enough for the time being.

Chapter Text

Colonel Schaffer’s prayers could not protect Xander Lee from the steely, ruptured gaze emerging from his husband’s appearance. All he could do was comply. Exit the office he was currently in, take a right, head down to the first door directly after the doubles that led to the main PEIP hallway, and take a left. There, he would sit himself down at the desk made of mahogany, in a red-toned room, to face his boss. To face his beloved. To face the human personification of wrath – the deadliest of sins, who could not even bring himself to sit at the desk.

Xander had been married to John McNamara for a near half decade, but he’d been with him for nearly 20. He knew his husband inside and out. He knew what buttons to push to get the right effect. He knew what he was supposed to do in a situation like this. If John wanted to be angry, then Xander was going to be the angriest. Two could play at that game and they both knew it. Despite how fucked he may be for keeping such a significant task behind his boss’ back, he knew he could hold his head high. At the end of the day, he had done the right thing. He had kept this secret off as long as he possibly could. It was an unfortunate matter of two close, too soon.

His arms were plainly crossed as he met his husband’s eyes. He’d seen those eyes in every circumstance possible. In anger, in danger, in pain and pleasure. Every single time, brown met blue and still, his husband chose to surprise him. This was not the man he loved who he was facing but a wolf. A very vicious wolf, waiting to break through from the skin suit that kept him back. This was a kind of person Xander Lee had never experienced before. At least Xander was firm on the mindset that he could experience everything once, including the blazing rage emitting from his husband.

Following standard protocol, he awaited for John to say the first word. He would not speak unless permission had been granted.

No words came.

He took the chance and decided to risk everything he’d ever known to get his point across. “Do you understand now why I didn’t want you to find out about what I was doing behind your back? Because we both knew I was doing something outside of orders.”

John’s hands balled into fists, shoulders beginning to shake as his pupils became pinpoints. “You knew not to be tasked with anything outside of what I gave you.”

“I also had to think about the hundreds of people on this island and the people who could become permanent sacrifices. I was doing the correct thing!”

“By meddling with my dead mentor!?”

“He isn’t dead, for God’s sake!” His heart began to thump. “I’ve come face to face with him, and though I could detect no heartbeat, I could certainly detect life within him!”

“I watched him go in that portal!”

“And I watched as Colonel Schaffer brought him straight back to the cells! I watched the green within his eyes relight! I saw what kind of monster he is!”

“He is no monster!”

“The Wilbur Cross you knew wasn’t! And this is precisely why I didn’t ever want you to discover this information! If you found out I was physically tracking your mentor, the man who was essentially your father, I knew you were going to react like this! I knew you would become mad! I know what you are like, which is why I want you as far away from this operation as possible!”

“He cannot be like endangering the lives of others—”

“—but he is. He is dangerous, John. You know he’s dangerous. We know he’s dangerous because we’ve seen it. We’ve seen the kind of man he’s become. He’s stooped low beneath the tides of time and become a literal monster. I have been working countless hours to try to bring him down! But, considering he has escaped our precinct, and allow me to repeat that, he escaped the most secure military base in American history, then my job got a hundred times more difficult! The last thing I need is for you to freak out on me because it is me leading this operation! Me, and the two accomplices who work beneath me! It is me they are turning to for guidance and I cannot do that when you are trying to sway me in the direction of lies!”

Finally, John sat down, slowly exhaling. There was a distance between them, quickly set up as his head was placed in his hands. Xander knew to give him his time to process. He knew his husband better than to let him jump directly into the deep end. He knew to give him space.

“So what do you know, then? What are the defining aspects of this…mission?” John asked.

“This mission,” Xander confirmed. “What I know is that Colonel Wilbur Albert Cross, of November 6^th 1956 descent, defined by his badge code F-17856, is now going by the alias of ‘’Morris.’ This ‘Morris,’” Xander said, using air quotations to demonstrate, “is in direct partnership with someone we had assumed dead a long, long time ago. The Hatchetfield Butcher, notorious child serial killer dead as of 2003, was able to be identified through further investigation and I have provided closure to the family of the effected. The Butcher, who I can safely confirm to be Professor Henry Hidgens – biologist turned cannibal, is Wilbur’s partner in crime. What I know is that Henry killed…he killed those people, John.”

“…he killed Sam,” John repeated as Xander reached forward for his hand.

“…he killed Sam, and Wilbur would…dispose of the bodies.”

“How?”

“How do you think?”

John paled, rushing to grip his husband’s hand. “No,” he said, whispering in disbelief.

“…Emma Perkins, Paul Matthews, Charlotte Lowery and Theodore Spankoffski arrived at Wilbur Cross’ cabin in the middle of the Witchwoods to investigate the disappearance of William Woodward. They met the same fate as their friend in an…opposing direction. Bill had the easy way out, being killed by Henry Hidgens and…disposed of by Morris. Henry went to kill who we know as The Chompettes but…Wilbur killed him first. Killed him, and Emma, and Paul and…the others. Then, he consumed them, the same way he consumed Grace Chasity, Peter Spankoffski, Ethan Green and Zoey Chambers.”

John took another breath, nodding. “…alright.”

“…I got his coordinates late in 2022, and I sent Schaffer out to detain him. We found no evidence of human remains in the cabin other than bones beneath the floorboards, many of which weren’t even human in origin.”

“But some of them were?”

“Some of them were…but we also found this.”

Xander punched in the passcode to his phone causing John to wince, but he knew it was all for good reason. There, he loaded up the case report for one Wilbur Cross. Zooming in on the image dating back from the date of Wilbur Cross’ fateful arrest back in 2022, he turned the phone around so John could read it.

“…am I to read this aloud, Xander?”

“If you want to.”

So, John did.

“Dearest…?”

“The name is Wilbur. The handwriting’s difficult to distinguish but it’s addressed to Wilbur.”

“Alright. Dearest…him. I know you’re still upset about John. I’m asking the impossible, but please: forgive me and let’s end this madness. We’re different. To lose track of time. To let feuds rot inside of us, undying, while the rest of the world moves on and-“ A sense of recognition filled John’s eyes. “…no.”

Squeezing his hand, he nodded.

“No!” John repeated. “No! It can’t be—”

“When was the last time you saw your other mentor, John?”

“2006! That was the last time I saw her!”

“And where has she been since?”

“I-I don’t know.” He shook his head, gripping on to Xander’s hand tightly. “I…we haven’t been able to trace her—”

“—which is where the investigation takes a turn. John…we’ve found Wilbur’s accomplice residing in The Waylon Place.”

“In The Waylon Place?!”

“Within The Waylon Place, there have been sightings of four people since last summer within the walls of Waylon Hall. Four different silhouettes between approximately 6’ and 5’4.”

“…shit.” A visible shake overtook PEIP’s general. “S-So what? What does this mean?”

“It means that the woman who sent the note has relations to both you and him.”

John looked to his husband, a chilling fear imminent on his face. “It can’t be…”

“…it could.” He swiped to the right, revealing an enhanced version of the once unintelligible signature. “For she signed it Katarina Cross—”

“No!”

“John, calm down.”

“It’s-it can’t be her! She was always the good! She’s the good in the darkness, a spirit of The White! She-“

“-has deliberately chosen to take his surname, cementing her place in the plot.”

“FUCK!”

Xander took his phone back, setting it in the pocket of his leather jacket. He stayed looking at him, his eyes as gentle as possible. “Two figures appeared in Waylon Hall during 2022—”

“—no.”

“A third joined them in December, around the same time Melissa Shephard went missing. The fourth…John…John, look at me, love.”

“No. I can’t.”

“John.”

Finally, the general looked back to his husband, just in time to hear him speak the truth.

“The reason I’ve been investigating Wilbur and Katarina Cross behind your back is because I have reason to believe they’re linked to Max’s disappearance. Max getting a new construction job at the edge of the Witchwood? To then suddenly vanish and a fourth person to be seen within the halls? I-“

“-don’t want to believe it.”

“I know you don’t, but people have seen a fourth person and if that means that our son remains alive then I am going to fight until I am dead to bring him home.” Another squeeze was given, as John’s hands began to tremble. “Wilbur…he escaped PEIP’s containment a while ago. I lured him back to home, his home, and there, I drugged him with a heavy sedative. When-John, you’re stalling, we’re supposed to go and collect the body and bring him back so we can make sure that everything’s okay!”

“But nothing’s alright then!”

“No! It isn’t! But I have the chance to make it right! I can torment the ever loving shit out of him and get answers—“

“—he’s a sorcerer, Xander! He’ll torment you before you even get the chance!”

“That,” said Colonel Schaffer from John’s office door. “And the fact that I’ve gone back to collect the body to transport him to a safer experience and…he’s gone. Wilbur Cross is gone, and I fear he’s returned to The Waylon Place to put an end to the feud he and Katarina have. And Xander?”

“Yes, Colonel?”

Schaffer took an uncertain breath. “I fear it’s best if we intervene. For Shapiro’s sake.”

Elspeth Jones was aware of Wilbur Cross. It was a name she had heard in distant rituals that she’d been unlucky enough to witness, but she knew of him. She knew his name, knew what he wanted and most importantly, knew how dangerous he was. Gripping her notebook tighter in hand, she unclasped the elastic, flipping to a new page.

“What are you doing?” Asked James. “You can’t—”

“If this is a matter of life and death, I want to get as much information down as possible and with my awful memory, I’d rather not chance anything.” In red underlined, Jones wrote: “Murder Trial: The Art Of Wilbur Cross.” As the drizzle of rain began to commence outside, it tapping at the windows menacingly, she nodded in Kat’s direction. “Please, proceed. What’s he like?”

Katarina Cross stood there, lip curling into a snarl as she reminisced on the kind of person who the old man was. “For the oldest surviving sorcerer I have ever encountered, he is, of course, the most dangerous. Years ago, nearly two decades by this point, he made a deal with a God. He was already a sorcerer beforehand and this God, he promised Wilbur eternal power…The Wilbur I knew was training a cadet to full potential, one kind and fruitful. But, Wilbur, the agent who had been at the highest rank out of the lot of us who worked in the precinct, sacrificed himself. He went in the portal and when he re-emerged, he was nothing short of a raving lunatic…he disappeared soon after. In that time, I fear that he equipped the unsatiable appetite he currently dons. I mean…” She looked to the rest of her group. “We all know what he did to the original nine.”

“The original nine?” Elspeth asked.

“Emma, Ted, Paul, Charlotte, Bill, Grace, Peter, Ethan and Zoey,” Wells mumbled, as if hesitant to admit it. “He consumed their flesh after starving them, and if we’re not quick, he’ll flood around this place and we’ll be goners too.”

“That won’t happen, Wells. I’ll protect you,” Kat reassured, placing her hand on the young man’s shoulder.

Determined not to let the conversation skew, Elspeth continued. “So, what…what’s the story?”

Kat’s lip curled again. “…Wilbur, he lived in a hut in the middle of The Witchwoods, atop of a hill to make himself seem distant yet close. He would entice people to arrive at the cabins by summoning a storm. He is a sorcerer, after all, just much more powerful with the assistance of his friendy-wend…years ago, though, he went on a rampage. He killed anyone in sight before he vanished from the public eye. He resurfaced not all that long ago, and I know this because I felt it…and he will die of old age, eventually but that’s not soon enough.” She stared at Elspeth in the eyes, her teal irises colder than ever before. “We must put an end to Wilbur Cross’ reign of terror tonight. Now, everyone, listen. I’ve hidden a few weapons around Waylon Hall in case this were to ever happen. I think there are some items of use in the upstairs hallway.” She clicked her fingers in Elspeth’s direction. “I think you should check there first.”

“Why me?”

She clicked her fingers, hearing the phone beginning to ring. “That’s why. But, here, just in case you need it, I’ve got a wire cutter somewhere around here—”

“—you mean this?” Elspeth showed Kat the small device she’d been gifted earlier.

A smile crossed Kat’s face as she nodded. “That’d be the one. Where’d you get that?”

“Oh. Evelyn gave it to me when we talked earlier.”

“Yes. Good, good. Keep a hold of it. It’ll come in necessary later on, I suspect. This mansion, it’s always in need of one repair or another. You any good with electrics, Elspeth?”

“We’ll find out.”

“That’s a good girl.”

As Elspeth forced the fire in her gut downwards to extinguish it, Wells said, “I think I should get to fortifying the mansion, just in case he’s brought anyone else with him.”

“Good idea, Wells.” Kat turned straight back to her brand new guest. “I want you, after you’ve shut that phone off, to go and assist Wells with nailing up doors and windows. Can you do that?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now, you are dismissed.”

Elspeth nodded, ascending the stairs and when far enough out of distance, Wells asked his boss, “How long do you think it’s going to be until she realises you have the same surname as our enemy?”

“She’s dumb enough, and the longer she stays here, the less she’ll remember.” She turned to Evelyn. “Make sure she doesn’t stop drinking that water. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Just be careful. I don’t want any of you getting hurt tonight, do you understand?”

“Yes, Katarina,” the other three said in unison.

The ancient witch nodded, licking her lips. “…good…now, if you don’t mind me, I am retreating to my chambers to see where the fuck Wilbur put my pendant.”

Wells shifted his weight on to his other foot. “…the same one found on Grace’s dead body?”

“That bastard Christian stole it off of me when she broke into Waylon Hall back in 2020. She deserved to die.”

With that, Katarina left with a fire to her step, leaving the room to fade into nothingness.

Approaching where she had been the day before, situated before the ringing phone, she felt her fingers cringe as she lifted up the old object. It was nothing from that decade, she could tell. There were no touchpads or smartphones in sight. No. What sat before her was an elderly phone, one with a rotating set of numbers, one that resembled one of the very first phones. Why The Waylon Place would have such an old phone in it was beyond Elspeth’s expertise, but what she was able to acknowledge was how to answer it. So, she lifted it up, pressing it to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Oh, my God! Leslie, you’re okay!”

“…who’s this? There’s no Leslie here.”

“It’s Xander! Detective, we’ve got more insight into the situation and—”

“I’m sorry, I fail to follow. Am I supposed to know a Xander?”

“Detective, this is not something to joke around about! I am your colleague! I am your friend, and I have reason to believe that my son is in that house with you!”

“…who?”

“Max Jagerman, Leslie! You know this!”

“There’s no Max Jagerman here.”

“Then who are you with?”

“Why should I tell you that?! I don’t know you!”

“Yes, Leslie, you do! You know us! Come on, don’t tell us you fell for those tricks too!”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know you, and you’re serving no relevance to my mission. Goodbye.”

“Shapiro, WAIT—”

She set the phone down, pleased at the lack of ringing she was able to hear. It gave her a clearer sense as to where she was supposed to go next, to meet Wells. She could hear the faint hammering of nails down to the right of the corridor, so she figured that was where her next location would be. Yet, as she found herself stepping away, she heard a sudden grunt that prevented her from moving. Jumping, she turned back to the table to see an old portrait askew and a new kind of creature. It was sitting on the wooden box placed in the middle of said table, to the right of the old phone. She felt as if she had seen it before, as if there was a deep omen attached to it but even in the depths of her memories, she could not recall from where she’d seen it. A dream, maybe, or perhaps even a prophecy.

Her wife always did enjoy telling her that she was futuristic in the best ways possible.

Before Shapiro gave herself the chance to linger on that thought alone, the creature on the desk dragged an object to the front of the table, using nothing but it’s teeth to get it to its final destination.

“…what’s that?”

But the animal simply stared at her, as if she were a hopeless fool. In fact, in that moment, she felt as if she were a hopeless fool. Knowing there was no testing the arts, she lifted up the device. Black in colour, no bigger than what a modern day smartphone would look like with an antennae on the top. A radio. It was a radio, with some other woman’s name on the back. Leslie Shapiro, it read on a white label.

“This isn’t mine, little guy,” said Elspeth.

The creature, to Jones’ dismay, rolled it’s brown eyes. “You’d think that someone like a detective would be able to distinguish what’s the truth and what isn’t in a room filled with lies but nope!”

Much like how she had done with Stephanie, she jumped back out of shock. “You talk too?! Like the duck—”

“—yes, I talk like the duck and yes, I’m a piglet. You’ve probably heard about me from Steph.”

“…not that I can recall?”

“…you HFPD bastards are hopeless.”

“I’m not with them!”

“No. You are. Not that you’d remember because of what’s in the water.”

“What do you mean—”

“I take it you’ve met Stephanie before, then, yes?”

“Yes, I’ve met Stephanie Lauter!”

“Good…then you remember about the other dead body found on the same eve as her. Right?”

Elspeth thought back, blinking as the solemn memories re-entered her mind. “…yes. Yes, I remember.”

“Then if Stephanie is a duck, who do you think I am?”

She thought again harder, feeling an impractical pain shoot across her forehead. As she went to nurse it, she asked the piglet her name. “…Alexandra?”

“…I much prefer Lex but either or will do. At least I’m remembered around these parts.” The piglet, Lex Foster, sat back on her hind legs similar to how a dog would. “Steph, she means well but she’s bitter from what happened to her boyfriend. She’s petty, and simplistic, and one-sided. Well intentioned but misinformed.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“I mean that Kat has a target on Steph’s back. If Wilbur can kill Peter and Ethan, then she can kill us if we dare step a toe out of line. Which I don’t particularly want…now, let me ask you, Detective. Do you like reading?”

She shrugged. “It depends on the source material.”

“…may I ask a favour of you, Detective?”

“If you must.”

Lex nodded. “Kat, over the years, she has lost so many notes and books filled with research so please, if you find them, help yourself…and let me know if you find anything that seems impossible to reach. Me and Steph dug tunnels in the walls. It makes accessing the mansion easier for us in the long term.”

“Sure, Lex. If that’s what’s needed.”

“Thank you.” The pink piglet gave what appeared to be a smile. “And I’m sorry, Leslie, that you came at a really bad time—”

“—my name isn’t Leslie.”

“But it is.” Lex looked directly into her eyes. “You know this. You know it to be true. Elspeth Jones is no one but Leslie Shapiro is. Leslie Shapiro has a task to do, and she has a wife to return home to. She has information to gather and sources to call. She has a radio connected to PEIP HQ to relay information back to her superiors regarding the disappearances of Melissa Shephard and Maxwell Jagerman to the General!”

Thunder cracked outside, and as Elspeth blinked, she realised she was right. “…what the fuck was that?”

“I’m trying to figure it out myself but…welcome back, Detective. I was sad to see you losing yourself under Katarina’s influence. Now! We mustn’t stall because you have places to attend to…let me make this clear. You’ve got no chance of stopping the sorcerer. Only Kat can do that. They’re the two most powerful human born beings in Hatchetfield. As a precaution…prepare to make your final moments comfortable. He can and will tear through anyone to get to Kat. He’s only concerned with her.”

“…which means what, exactly?”

“That Wilbur will spare us if Kat is killed…what do you say? You’re a cop, you’re good at this kind of bullshit. Will you take revenge on the woman who started this?”

She did take the moment to consider it. What good would killing someone like Katarina Cross do for her? She would have blood on her hands and guilt on her consciousness after murdering someone she hardly knew. “…if I don’t kill her?”

“…then you will encounter the wrath of a man who has cannibalised several just because he can.”

“…and if I do?”

“…you’d need to kill Wells first. He’s Kat’s bodyguard and is around her the majority of the time.” Lex tilted her head in the direction of where Wells currently was. “I’d recommend doing it now if you’re to be alone with him. You can get a good thrust out of that wire cutter. Slit his throat just right and he’d bleed out everywhere…or use him as bait. In fact, bait would be more useful. I know for a fact Wilbur and Wells have some sort of history, whether it be genetic or not. If you can’t do either of those, you’re just going to have to wait to eliminate Kat alone.”

“…and then what?”

“You mustn’t use weapons when it comes to Wilbur Cross. He is a man made of magic, the darkest magic making could create. Weapons, like the guns Kat scattered around the house, won’t work against him. He made a deal with Wiggog Y’Wrath, The Lord In Black and Wiggly will not be too impressed that his Uncle Wiley died, especially by something so puny as a gunshot wound…that’s why Wiggly took Wiley’s mortality away. Just…get rid of Wells one way or another, or hide while Wilbur finishes Kat off or cut the chase and eliminate Kat now. Okay?”

“…what’s in it for you? There’s never one easy solution to an issue like that.”

“…if you help me with this, I’ll get us both off the island and I’ll get us both back to PEIP where we belong.”

With little convincing needed thereafter, Shapiro nodded in Lex’s way. “Consider it done.”

“Wonderful.” Lex stood herself back up, climbing up into the hole in the wall. “Now, you should go. Wells will begin to wonder where you are if you take any longer. Go. Go help him, and keep going with the information you’re trying to extract. Trust me, it’s working, and trust your gut too. Go help him, for now.”

“Alright, I will.”

She turned on her heel, but not before she heard Lex telling her not to drink any water that Wells, Kat, Evelyn or James would give her. So, with a mental note made that she was to get her own drinks for the time being, she descended the corridor and took a right.

New task unlocked: fortify the mansion with the best way she knew how. Force, anger and determination.