The fourth tick reverberated through the maze, a deep, ominous note that shuddered through Emily’s bones. Her heart sank, bracing for the final tick—an unrelenting death knell that would signal that the Ventosa had claimed another soul.

Frantically, she glanced around, still trapped in the winding hedges of the maze, the pumpkins in her arms growing heavier with each step. The air was laced with tension, as though even the earth beneath her feet shrank back in fear, waiting for the final toll. Every rustle in the hedges sounded like footsteps. Shadows seemed to twist in the corners of her vision, threatening to solidify into something more menacing.

Then, it came. The fifth tick, hollow and thunderous, reverberated through the cool night air. Emily’s pulse quickened, and just as she was about to panic, a familiar voice called out from nearby.

"This way!" Dot’s voice sliced through the stillness, a lone beacon in the oppressive dark. Emily’s eyes darted to the left, where she saw Dot waving at her from a break in the hedges.

Relief surged through her, and Emily bolted toward Dot, the pumpkins awkwardly jostling in her arms. Her muscles ached from the weight, but she pressed on, knowing that something far more important was waiting on the other side.

As she burst through the hedges, Emily stumbled slightly, catching her breath as she found herself in a small grove, hidden behind thick bushes and trees.The scene was washed in a ghostly glow from the moon, as shadows twisted and moved among the branches. The air was colder here, the wind biting against her skin, and her breath came out in visible puffs.

In the distance, beyond the tangled foliage, Emily’s eyes locked onto a figure lying still on the ground. She couldn’t see much through the branches, but the sight of the motionless body sent a jolt of dread through her veins.

"Can I put my pumpkins down now?" she asked, her voice shaky, though she never tore her gaze from the figure.

Dot nodded solemnly. "Of course."

Emily set the pumpkins down with care, her heart racing as she slowly made her way toward the body, each step measured and cautious. The bushes around the figure obscured much of the scene, but as she drew closer, the faint metallic scent of blood filled the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the trees.

Time seemed to slow. Her pulse pounded in her ears as her gaze locked onto a still, pale face. Was she imagining a faint movement in the figure’s chest? Was there still a chance? No. It was too late.

Kneeling beside the victim, Emily’s eyes immediately landed on a knife lying a few inches from the figure’s hand, its blade glinting faintly in the moonlight. The handle was ornate, with intricate designs carved into the metal—too elegant for an ordinary weapon. Beside the knife, a dark pool of blood had spread, soaking into the ground.

Emily leaned in for a closer look. She recognized the figure—someone she had seen at various town events, though they had never formally met. The woman had always been on the periphery of the gatherings, quiet and unassuming, blending into the background. Now, her face was pale and still, her hair matted with blood.

Dot called from across the field. "Who is it?"

Emily shook her head. "I’ve seen her before... but I don’t know her name."

The stillness of the grove was unsettling, the quiet almost too thick. The knife glinted in the moonlight, its ornate handle strangely out of place amidst the dirt and blood. Her eyes flicked back to the woman’s pale face, and despite the unfamiliarity, there was a strange sense of recognition, a connection she couldn’t quite place.

Dot's footsteps crunched lightly on the ground as she drew closer, her breath visible in the cool air. She crouched beside Emily, her expression shifting from curiosity to horror as her gaze fell upon the body.

"Noray," Dot whispered, her voice breaking with emotion. "It’s Noray." Her eyes welled up, and she reached out a trembling hand toward the woman, her fingertips brushing lightly against her cold skin.

Emily stayed silent, her mind racing as she scanned their surroundings. A deep unease settled in her gut. It was strange—there was no crowd, no sound of the festival festivities echoing from the other side of the maze. Just them, alone with the body of Noray.

"Where is everyone?" Emily asked, her voice low but tense, as her eyes darted around the dark grove, half expecting to see shadows moving in the distance.

Dot straightened up, hugging her arms to her chest, as if trying to protect herself from the cold or the dread settling over them. "This is the backway out of the maze," she explained, her tone quieter now, almost reverent in the face of death. "No one uses it. It’s for emergencies. The rest of the town is probably at home with their pumpkins by now."

Emily stood over Noray’s body, her mind buzzing with questions. She frowned, turning toward Dot. “Wouldn’t they have heard the ticks? When the Ventosa strikes, everyone hears it, don’t they?”

Dot, who was still visibly shaken, looked up slowly, her eyes filled with a weariness that hinted at the darker truths of the town. “Not every death is a murder, Emily,” she replied softly, her voice carrying a somber weight. “I didn’t hear a scream.”

Emily shook her head, her brow furrowing. “Neither did I.” The absence of a scream gnawed at her, the silence of it speaking louder than anything. Someone had snuck up on Noray, stabbed her, and left her to die without making a sound. Why hadn’t she screamed? The maze was filled with people; surely if she’d had the chance, she would have called for help.

Her thoughts wandered to the people of the town. How many of them had trusted the wrong person? She felt the weight of unseen eyes around her, the sickening thought that anyone could be watching, listening... even now.

"It had to be someone she knew, someone she trusted," Emily muttered to herself, the realization settling heavily. In a town as small and interconnected as Gravestone Hollow, trust was both precious and dangerous. The killer had used that to their advantage.

"We're going to need Mallum," Emily asserted, her voice firm with urgency.

"I can go find him," Dot offered quickly, her voice tinged with a mix of determination and fear. She scurried off into the night, disappearing through the trees, her footsteps fading into the distance as she hurried to find the sheriff.

Left alone with Noray's body, Emily let out a slow, measured breath, forcing herself to stay calm and collected. A haunting silence engulfed the grove, thickening the air with an almost tangible anxiety. Emily’s eyes scanned the scene, searching for any clues that could help unravel the mystery.

Her breath quickened. The three knife wounds were clear, deep and deliberate, each one placed with precision. Blood soaked the soil beneath her, and as Emily traced the edges of the wounds, a chilling sensation crept over her. The scene was gruesome, but it was the cold calculation behind the attack that unsettled her most.

Suddenly, a low, reverberating tick echoed through the air. Emily froze, her heart pounding. Another tick from the Ventosa. Her eyes darted around the grove, scanning for any sign of movement, but the shadows between the trees remained still. A cold fear gripped her as the possibility of another death loomed.

Before she could react further, she saw Dot and Mallum approaching in the distance, their hurried footsteps crunching through the underbrush. Just as they reached her, a second tick resonated through the air, louder this time, more insistent. Emily’s eyes widened, and she stood abruptly, her voice trembling as she cried out, "Another murder!"

The three of them stopped, straining their ears to catch any other sounds in the quiet night. The third tick echoed next, more ominous than before. Then, breaking the eerie silence, came a sound like none Emily had ever heard—a distant guttural, roaring noise, wild and pained, like a wounded animal’s scream.

Fear surged through Emily’s chest as she turned to Mallum. "What is that?" she whispered, her voice tight with terror.

Mallum’s face hardened, his eyes narrowing as he pointed into the thick woods. "It's coming from over there."

Without hesitation, the three of them sprinted deeper into the grove, the roar growing louder with each step. The fourth tick rang out as the branches clawed at their arms. They pushed through the dense foliage, the moonlight barely filtering through the trees. The air seemed colder, heavier, as if the very forest itself were warning them to turn back.

Finally, they broke through the trees and stumbled into a small clearing. There, emerging from the shadows, was a large, monstrous figure.

It lumbered from the darkness, its outline grotesque and wrong, like a human shape twisted into something that didn’t quite fit. As it came closer, Emily’s heart skipped—its face, or what was left of it, was hollow, gaping, like a mask torn away.

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Emily recognized him from various town events—a quiet creature who often kept to himself, blending into the crowd. She had never learned his name, but his hulking form was unmistakable.

The monster staggered toward them, his massive arms outstretched as if pleading for help. His once vibrant skin had turned a sickly gray, and his eyes—Emily gasped in horror—his eyes were gone, replaced by hollow, empty sockets.

The creature’s voice was weak and broken as he mumbled, "Those darn witches..." before collapsing to the ground in front of them. His body hit with a heavy thud, and in that instant, the Ventosa let out its final tick, sealing his fate.

Emily and Mallum rushed to his side, the smell of burnt flesh hitting them as they knelt beside him. His skin had turned dark and brittle, charred from the inside out. Emily’s stomach churned at the sight, and she looked to Mallum for answers.

His expression was grim as he examined the body. "It’s Bevan. He’s been burned from the inside out," he announced, his voice thick with unease. "I’ve seen this once before. It’s dark magic."

Emily’s mind raced, her thoughts flashing back to her conversation with Klauss, to the warnings he had given her. Then, Lake’s words echoed in her head, and without thinking, she blurted out, "Where’s Hettie?"

Dot, still shaken, replied, her voice trembling. "I saw her earlier, at the pumpkin patch. She was wearing a blue dress, which was odd because she usually favors black. It stood out to me, but I lost sight of her once we entered the maze."

Mallum shook his head. "I haven’t seen her since the festival began. She could be anywhere."

A growing sense of dread filled Emily. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Hettie was somehow involved. But where was she now? And what part had she played in these deaths?

Then, she remembered. “Noray!” She stood and hurried back to Noray’s body, Dot and Mallum close behind, but when they arrived, her heart sank. The land had already reclaimed the body. Only her gown and a few scattered accessories remained where her body had once lain.

"Where’s the knife?" Emily asked, her pulse quickening as she searched the ground where the weapon had been.

Mallum scanned the area but shook his head. "I don’t see a knife."

Emily’s mind raced. "There was a knife," she insisted, her voice growing more urgent. "The murderer was here. They must have come back and taken it."

"Just like Jacobi," Mallum said almost to himself, his brow furrowed in thought.

Dot took a shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper. "Okay, this is too much. I’m getting scared, Emily."

Emily placed a reassuring hand on Dot’s arm, though her own nerves were fraying. The pieces of this puzzle were becoming more tangled, and the sinister cloud of dark magic loomed ominously.

They were running out of time, and whoever was behind these murders was still out there, watching, waiting to strike again.

Mallum stood up, his broad frame towering over the others. His expression, usually calm but stern, now radiated with a deep sense of purpose. In a voice that was sure and commanding, he declared, "We need a town meeting. Tomorrow morning. Mandatory. It's time for drastic measures. There won’t be another murder in this town while I am the sheriff."

His words cut through the thick night air like a blade, and Emily could feel the weight of the promise in his tone. There was no mistaking the resolve in his eyes—Mallum wasn’t just reacting out of fear or duty; he was ready to take control in a way that no one in the town had seen before.

Dot, still shaken, nodded, her face pale and eyes wide. “I’ll spread the word,” she replied softly.

Later that night, Emily lay in the dark, her thoughts whirling like a storm. Bevan’s hollow eyes and charred skin haunted her mind, the grotesque image refusing to fade. The knife—its ornate handle, so out of place in that quiet grove—played over and over in her thoughts. Where had it gone? It was there, and then it wasn’t. Someone had come back for it, of that she was sure. But how? And more importantly, why?

The idea that the murderer had cast the burning spell on Bevan and then returned to Noray’s body to remove the knife gnawed at her. Could one person have done both in such a short amount of time? The logistics didn’t add up. Emily rolled over, frustration boiling beneath her skin. What if there were two murderers? Or worse, what if an entire coven was involved?

Her mind drifted to Hettie. Lake had painted her as a manipulative outcast, someone capable of dark deeds. But was Lake’s account entirely trustworthy, or was it colored by years of bitterness and rivalry? Still, Hettie had three witches in her coven. Three witches could accomplish a lot—especially if they were working together. Emily couldn’t shake the suspicion that Hettie had something to do with it. The evidence wasn’t concrete, but the motive was there. Revenge, anger, bitterness—if the rumors were true, Hettie had darkness in her past.

Emily sat up, her heart racing. There were too many unknowns, too many unanswered questions. She felt the crushing weight of the murders bearing down on her. She wasn’t just an investigator trying to piece together a mystery—she was the one person who could stop these killings, and if she didn’t, more would die.

She swung her legs out of bed and stood, the floor cool beneath her feet. She couldn’t afford to let fear or doubt get in the way. It was time to pull herself together and solve this thing. The town meeting would be a pivotal moment—a chance to get everyone in one place, to see how they interacted, to catch a hint of guilt in someone’s eyes, or better yet, a clue that would tie it all together.

Determined, she began pacing, running over every detail in her mind: the murders, the suspects, the evidence—or lack thereof. It was a tangled web, but every web had a pattern. She just needed to find it.

One thing was certain—Gravestone Hollow was a town built on secrets. And Emily had to uncover them before the town's darkness consumed her too.

The next morning, the tension around the Ventosa was palpable, like a storm brewing beneath the surface of the gathered crowd. Emily’s eyes moved from face to face, trying to read the shifting emotions in the townsfolk. Lake’s coven huddled together, their grief clearly etched on their faces. Cressedia, nearly inconsolable, clung to another member of the coven for support, her eyes red and puffy from crying. Emily had learned earlier that Noray had been Cressedia's younger sister, and it was clear the loss had hit her hard.

Emily’s gaze drifted to Hettie, who stood with Crowe and Kestrel. They seemed somber, their faces drawn with sadness, but Emily couldn’t help but wonder if Hettie was faking it. The emotion seemed real, but it was too easy to put on a mask in front of a crowd like this. Could Hettie really be behind the murders? Was this just a façade? Emily wasn’t sure, and it gnawed at her.

Then, something caught her eye—a figure standing alone in the far corner. He was tall, watching the scene unfold from a distance. Emily followed his gaze, and just as she did, she saw him lock eyes with Cressedia. The look was brief, but there was something unspoken between them—something that stirred suspicion in Emily’s gut.

"Who’s the guy making eyes at Cressedia?" she whispered to Dot, subtly nodding in his direction.

Dot glanced over and gave a quick shrug. "He’s probably looking at Ravette. That’s her husband, Nox."

Emily looked again, noticing that, yes, Nox did share a glance with Ravette—but there had been something else, she was sure of it. She had seen that fleeting moment between him and Cressedia. There was tension, something simmering beneath the surface that didn’t sit right with her.

"I'm going to introduce myself," Emily said, her voice firm. She gave Dot a quick nod before marching toward Nox, her mind racing with possibilities.

Her mind raced as she tried to come up with something clever to break the ice. She wanted to make a good impression, to catch him off guard with wit or insight, but the words escaped her. Instead, she stammered, "I'm Emily. Who are you?"

It wasn't as smooth as she'd hoped. Nox seemed genuinely surprised by her directness, his eyes darting nervously to the side—specifically, toward Ravette. Emily followed his gaze just as Ravette appeared, moving swiftly to join them.

"Hi, Emily," Ravette greeted with a friendly smile, though there was an underlying edge to her tone. Emily detected a subtle defensiveness in her posture, as if Ravette was staking her claim to Nox. The way she stood, just slightly in front of him, made Emily suspect that Ravette was a bit possessive of her husband. It was subtle but unmistakable.

Ravette wasted no time taking over the conversation. "It's so tragic," she said, her gaze shifting toward Cressedia, who stood out from the crowd, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "Noray was her only sister, and the two of them were so close. I don’t know if she’ll ever recover."

Emily looked over at Cressedia, heart heavy. She did seem completely shattered, her grief raw and consuming. "Was Noray in your coven?" Emily asked, realizing she still wasn’t clear on who all the members of the coven were.

Ravette chuckled softly, as if the question amused her. "Noray didn’t have any magical ability. Not just anyone can be a witch, you know. It’s sort of random who gets the gift. In my family, I’m the only one. And I’m quite powerful—because I’m a natural witch," she added with a touch of pride. "I didn’t need any teaching."

Emily raised an eyebrow. "Like Hettie and Lake," she remarked, knowing that both were also said to be natural witches.

At the mention of Hettie, Ravette’s eyes flicked over in her direction, a brief but telling glance. "Well," Ravette began, her tone shifting slightly, "Lake and I don’t use our powers for darkness. We’re considerate, careful. We don’t want to bring the magical backlash onto the community. But some other witches," she said, lowering her voice, "they just don’t care."

Emily followed Ravette’s gaze back to Hettie, Crowe, and Kestrel, who stood huddled together, their faces drawn with worry. "The selfish ones, I mean," Ravette added, her words laced with quiet disdain.

At that moment, Lake gestured to Ravette from across the gathering, beckoning her to join the coven. "I have to go," Ravette said quickly, flashing a tight smile. "My sister witch needs me." She brushed past Emily, her gown flowing behind her as she moved briskly toward her fellow witches.

Emily turned back toward Nox, feeling unsettled by the exchange. She couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Ravette was far too defensive regarding her husband. As she turned her attention back to Nox, something caught her eye. His hands.

They were red, the skin raw and blistered, as though they’d been burned. He noticed her staring and quickly tried to hide them behind his back, but Emily wasn’t about to let it go.

"What happened to your hands?" she asked, though the answer already lingered in the back of her mind.

Nox fumbled for a response, his words stumbling over each other. "Burned them," he finally managed, his voice shaking.

Emily narrowed her eyes, her mind racing. She was about to confront him, to accuse him of being the figure she had seen sneaking through the rain, when Mallum’s booming voice suddenly cut through the air.

"Hettie, you are under arrest for murder."

Emily’s jaw dropped. She spun around to see Mallum standing tall by the Ventosa, his deep voice commanding the attention of everyone in the square. The crowd gasped, the tension palpable as Hettie stood frozen in shock. Emily didn’t hesitate—she hurried to Mallum’s side.

"What’s this about?" she asked quietly, her heart pounding.

Mallum gave her a knowing smile, his eyes sharp. He reached into the burlap bag slung over his shoulder and pulled out a knife. It gleamed in the light, its ornate handle unmistakable.

"I found this in her home," Mallum said, holding the knife up for Emily to inspect. "Is this the knife you saw by Noray?"

Emily’s heart raced as she examined the blade. There was no doubt—it was the same one. "It is," she confirmed, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.

A wave of shock rippled through the gathered crowd. All eyes were on Hettie now. She stood motionless, her face pale with disbelief. Crowe and Kestrel immediately stood up for her, their voices rising in defense.

"Hettie could never hurt anyone!" Crowe protested, her voice thick with emotion.

Kestrel shook her head, her expression fierce. "This has to be a mistake!"

But the knife in Mallum’s hand spoke louder than their words. "Hettie, come with me," Mallum said firmly, reaching for her arm.

Hettie looked stunned, her wide eyes darting from Mallum to the crowd, then to her coven. Disbelief lingered in her eyes, as though she couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

The air grew heavy once again, and then an ominous tick echoed through the square, but this time, something was off. Emily’s eyes shot up to the tower, and her breath caught in her throat.

The hand had moved backward.

Emily’s stomach dropped. Panic clawed at her chest as she ran to Dot. "Don’t tell me," she gasped, gripping Dot’s arm. "I can’t handle another murder."

Dot, however, was smiling through her tears, her expression filled with wonder rather than fear. "No, Emily," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "There’s going to be a baby!"