Emily and Dot walked in uneasy silence, the oppressive weight of Klauss’s words lingering between them like a dark cloud. The path back to town was dimly lit, with the moon casting eerie shadows that danced and shifted as they moved. Emily’s mind raced, desperately trying to make sense of everything she had just learned.
"How does Klauss know so much about Lake and Hettie?" Emily finally asked, breaking the silence. "No one else seems to know anything."
Dot glanced at her, her expression guarded. "Vampires… they can read minds," she said softly. "They can see straight into a person, right to their thoughts, feelings, motivations. You can’t hide anything from a vampire."
Emily’s breath caught. "So Klauss wasn’t just guessing. He knows what they’re thinking… what they’re capable of."
Dot nodded. What she didn’t voice out loud was how uneasy she felt in Klauss’s presence. She, too, had her secrets. "He’s probably more in tune with them than anyone else in town. If he believes a witch is responsible for the murders, he might be right."
Emily frowned, processing this new information. If Klauss’s insights were that sharp, he could indeed be onto something. The thought of a witch wielding dark magic with the power to kill was terrifying, but it also made a twisted kind of sense.
Just as she was about to voice her thoughts, a loud, resonant tick echoed through the night, freezing them both in place. The air seemed to drop several degrees, and a shiver ran down Emily's spine as the wind picked up, rustling the leaves in the trees overhead. The world felt suddenly alive, as if it was holding its breath for what was to come.
Emily’s heart skipped a beat. She had heard that sound once before but couldn’t place where. She looked at Dot, whose eyes were wide with fear. "No!" Dot let out a wail, her voice filled with dread.
A second tick sounded, louder and more ominous than the first. Emily’s skin prickled as a cold wave of realization washed over her. "Another death, right?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"It’s the Ventosa," Dot whispered, her voice shaking. "It ticks when it’s about to claim a soul."
A third tick echoed, reverberating through the still night. The sound seemed to grow closer, more urgent.
Emily’s pulse quickened. "How many ticks are there?"
"Five," Dot replied, her voice barely audible as the fourth tick sounded, more ominous than the last.
A blood-curdling scream shattered the night, slicing through the stillness like a knife. Emily’s heart leapt into her throat, her instincts screaming at her to run.
"Come on!" Dot cried, breaking into a sprint.
Emily didn’t hesitate. She bolted after Dot. The memories of another time, another place, where she had felt this same helpless dread, flickered in her mind. She had promised herself she would never be caught off guard again, never allow fear to paralyze her—but as they ran, that promise felt fragile, like a thin layer of ice about to crack.
The scream had come from somewhere deep within the town, and every passing second felt like an eternity. The cobblestones blurred beneath her feet as they raced through the narrow streets, shadows twisting and warping at the edges of her vision.
As they rounded a corner, the familiar silhouette of the Ventosa loomed ahead, its clock face eerily illuminated by the moonlight. The screams had subsided into a chilling silence, but Emily’s dread only grew.
They reached the town square just as the fifth tick echoed through the air, a final, ominous toll that sent a shiver down Emily’s spine. The Ventosa had claimed its soul.
Dot skidded to a halt, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Emily stopped beside her, her eyes scanning the square for any sign of what had just happened. The square was deserted, the shops closed, and the streets empty, but a thick air of foreboding hung heavy.
"Where did the scream come from?" Emily asked, trying to steady her breath.
Dot pointed toward a narrow alleyway on the other side of the square. "Over there," she said, her voice shaky. "I think it came from the old tailor’s shop."
Without a word, they rushed toward the alley, the cobblestones slick and uneven beneath their feet. As they approached, Emily noticed a figure slumped in the shadows just outside the shop’s door. Her heart sank.
Dot reached the figure first. Emily’s stomach twisted with dread as she joined her, the dim light barely illuminating the scene. Dot let out a strangled cry and rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside the figure. Emily’s heart pounded in her chest as she knelt beside Dot, her breath catching in her throat.
It was Charna. Her body was still, her face pale, her eyes closed as if she were merely sleeping.
"No… no, no, no…" Dot sobbed, her hands shaking as she reached out to touch Charna’s cold, lifeless hand. "Charna… please, no…"
As Emily stared down at Charna’s lifeless form, a faint jingle of bells carried on the wind caught her attention. She looked around, trying to locate the source of the sound, but the night was still. Her eyes settled on a black cat in the distance, its green eyes glinting in the moonlight as it watched the scene from afar. She blinked, and the cat was gone, disappearing into the shadows as silently as it had appeared.
The townsfolk began to gather, drawn by the scream that had shattered the night’s silence. Lake arrived first, her usually composed expression faltering as she saw Charna lying on the cold cobblestones. The crowd that formed around them was a mix of shock, fear, and disbelief. Emily knew she had only a few moments before Mallum or someone else would take control of the scene, so she quickly knelt beside Charna to examine the body.
There were no obvious signs of what had killed her. No marks on her skin, no abrasions, no bruises—nothing to indicate a struggle or cause of death. The absence of physical wounds left Emily feeling uneasy, as if whatever had taken Charna’s life had done so in a way that defied explanation.
Then, a scent drifted through the air, faint but unmistakable. It was a delicate, floral aroma, tinged with something darker, more mysterious. Emily leaned in closer, trying to identify it. "What is that scent?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Raven’s Tears," Dot replied softly. "It’s a perfume. Charna’s favorite."
Before Emily could ponder further, Mallum’s booming voice broke the tense silence. "Move!" he yelled, his voice laced with irritation as he pushed through the crowd. His large frame and scowl made it clear that he was not in the mood for any interference.
Emily stood up quickly, backing away from the body to allow Mallum to take over. She knew he didn’t like her much and resented her presence in town—an outsider poking her nose where it didn’t belong. His annoyance with her was palpable, but she couldn’t let that distract her. There were more important things at stake now.
As Mallum began to inspect the scene, Emily took the opportunity to survey the crowd that had gathered. She scanned each face, taking note of who was there, but more importantly, who wasn’t.
Lake was there, of course, her face pale and drawn as she watched Mallum work. Her usual confidence seemed shaken, though whether by fear or something else, Emily couldn’t tell. Dot stood by Emily’s side, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, and several other townsfolk—familiar faces from the history walk and around the town square—hovered at the edges of the scene, murmuring among themselves.
But where was Hettie?
Emily’s mind raced. Hettie’s absence could mean many things—none of them good. Was she hiding? Did she know something the others didn’t? Or worse, was she involved in Charna’s death?
As the questions swirled in her mind, she noticed Lake watching her, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to read Emily’s thoughts. Emily quickly averted her eyes, not wanting to give anything away. She needed to keep her suspicions to herself until she had more information. But the nagging feeling that something was terribly wrong wouldn’t leave her.
Mallum stood up, his expression grim as he turned to address the crowd. "Go home," he commanded, his voice brooking no argument. "This is no place for gawkers."
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
The crowd began to disperse reluctantly, their murmurs of fear and speculation filling the air. Lake lingered for a moment, her gaze still fixed on Emily, before she finally turned and walked away, disappearing into the night.
Emily and Dot remained where they were, watching as Mallum knelt beside Charna again. The sight was almost too much for Emily to bear. Charna had been a guide, a leader, someone the town looked up to. And now she was gone, just like that, without a single clue as to who—or what—had taken her life.
"We should go," Dot said quietly, her voice trembling. "There’s nothing more we can do here."
Emily nodded, but as they began to walk away, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the answers she sought were slipping further out of reach. Charna’s death had shaken the town to its core, and whoever—or whatever—was responsible was still out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike again.
As they made their way back through the now-empty streets, Emily couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. The shadows seemed to twist and stretch unnaturally, almost as if they were reaching out to touch her. She quickened her pace, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach. There was something wrong with this town, something far deeper than she had anticipated.
Her thoughts kept returning to that eerie jingle of bells, the black cat, and the scent of Raven’s Tears. The town was unraveling, and the darkness that had taken Charna was growing stronger. She could feel it, deep in her bones—a sense of foreboding that told her this was only the beginning.
The tension between them was palpable, each lost in their own thoughts about the night’s tragic events. As they walked toward Dot’s house, the cool night air did little to ease the anxiety knotting in Emily’s chest, and she found herself replaying the scene at the Ventosa over and over in her mind. Then, a sudden thought struck her.
"Can we go to Charna's house?" Emily asked, her voice cutting through the silence.
Dot stopped in her tracks, turning to Emily with a hesitant look. "I don’t know if Mallum would be okay with that," she replied, her voice uncertain. Mallum’s authority in the town was almost absolute, and crossing him was something most people in Gravestone Hollow avoided.
But Emily wasn’t deterred. Her resolve hardened, and she met Dot’s gaze with determination. "The elders summoned me here to figure out what’s going on. If Mallum has a problem with me investigating, he can take it up with them," she said, her voice firm and authoritative. There was a finality in her tone that made it clear she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Dot seemed taken aback by Emily’s sudden forcefulness, but she nodded, unable to refuse. "Alright," she agreed reluctantly. She led Emily through the winding streets, past dimly lit homes and darkened shops, until they reached a row of quaint houses on the outskirts of town. Dot pointed to the one on the end, its windows dark and its garden neat and well-tended even in the pale moonlight. "That one is Charna’s," she said quietly.
Dot paused at the gate, her hand lingering on the latch. "I’ll wait outside," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I… I can’t handle going inside her house. Not so soon after…" Her voice trailed off, choked with emotion.
Emily nodded, her heart aching with sympathy for Dot. She understood the pain of loss all too well—Dot had lost three dear friends in just a matter of days. "I’ll be quick," Emily assured her, then turned and walked up the narrow path to Charna’s front door.
The house was quiet, almost eerily so, as if time were standing still in the wake of Charna’s untimely passing. Emily took a deep breath, steeling herself as she opened the door and stepped inside.
The interior of Charna’s home was tidy, almost minimalist, with few possessions and everything in its place. It was a small, cozy house, the kind that reflected the quiet, disciplined life Charna had lived. As Emily moved through the rooms, she was struck by how peaceful everything seemed.
But as she walked deeper into the house, a chilling thought crept into Emily’s mind: Could this be the work of a serial killer? The idea sent shivers down her spine, her heart pounding as she considered the possibility. Three deaths in quick succession, all of them seemingly unconnected, yet all in this small, secluded town. The thought made her stomach turn.
She moved through the small living room, the kitchen, and the study, finding nothing out of place. Everything was as it should be, no signs of struggle, no hidden clues—until she entered the bedroom. There, on a small table near the bed, was a box. It seemed ordinary enough at first glance, but as Emily drew closer, a familiar scent filled the air.
Raven’s Tears.
The perfume’s unmistakable scent clung to the air, strong and pervasive. Emily’s pulse quickened as she opened the box and found a brand new bottle of the perfume nestled inside. The liquid inside shimmered darkly, its deep, almost sinister aroma filling her senses. A chilling thought dawned on her.
She didn’t wait another moment. Grabbing the box, she dashed out of the bedroom and raced toward the front door. "Dot!" she called out as she bolted down the path, her heart pounding in her chest. She spotted Dot waiting by the gate, and without slowing down, she rushed toward her.
"Dot, I think she was poisoned!" Emily gasped, holding up the bottle of dark swirling perfume.
"It was just her birthday," Dot revealed, her voice tinged with sadness as she stared at the box Emily held. The weight of Charna's recent death pressed heavily on her, and Emily could see the strain in her eyes.
"Someone tampered with her perfume," Emily said, her voice firm. She was almost certain now. The scent of Raven's Tears lingering in Charna’s house and at the Ventosa could not be a coincidence.
Dot looked at the box again, turning it over in her hands. It was just an ordinary gift box, the kind you could find in any shop. There was nothing remarkable about it—no card, no inscription, nothing to give away who had given it to Charna. It was as if the gift had materialized out of nowhere, bringing death in its wake.
"It had to be someone she knew," Emily suggested, her mind racing. "Someone who could get close enough to give her a gift like this without arousing suspicion."
Dot sighed, a mixture of frustration and despair in her voice. "We all know each other," she said. "In a town like this, everyone knows everyone else."
Emily nodded, acknowledging the truth of Dot’s words. Gravestone Hollow was a close-knit community, where secrets were hard to keep and everyone’s business was everyone else’s. But that familiarity also made it difficult to identify a culprit. The perfume was both a crucial clue and, frustratingly, a dead end.
As they walked on in tense silence, Emily replayed the night’s events in her mind. Something kept nagging at her, a detail she couldn’t shake. Then it hit her—the sound she’d heard at the Ventosa, just before they’d found Charna.
"Did you hear bells earlier, when we were by the Ventosa?" Emily asked, breaking the silence.
"Bells?" Dot looked puzzled. "No, I didn’t. But, if you heard bells, it could only mean one thing."
Emily frowned, waiting for Dot to continue. Dot’s face paled as she whispered the word that Emily would never have expected.
"A clown."
"A clown?" Emily echoed, taken aback. She hadn’t seen any clowns in town, and the revelation took her completely by surprise. The very idea seemed so out of place in the already strange and unsettling atmosphere of Gravestone Hollow.
Dot noticed the confusion on Emily’s face and quickly elaborated. "Clowns are rare and elusive creatures," she explained, her voice hushed as if discussing something almost sacred. "They’re tricksters," she continued, her tone serious. "Difficult to communicate with, and even harder to understand. They have a way with words—an ability to twist the truth without technically lying. They only answer direct questions, and even then, their answers are usually cryptic. They tell the truth, but in a way that misleads you, makes you doubt what you already know."
Emily frowned, trying to wrap her head around this. "So, they play word games? To what end?"
Dot sighed, as if recalling an unpleasant memory. "It’s in their nature. They enjoy the confusion, the chaos they can create. It’s like a game to them. But the worst part is how exhausting it is to deal with them. They’ll keep you running in circles, chasing your own thoughts until you’re too tired to continue."
Emily was still trying to picture what Dot was describing. A trickster that reveled in confusion, half-truths, and wordplay? It sounded like something out of a dark fairy tale. But then Dot added, "And when they get bored, they just… crumple to the ground, dead asleep. Right in the middle of whatever they’re doing. It’s like they’re powered by their own amusement, and once that’s gone, they shut down."
Emily’s lips twitched, and before she could stop herself, a small laugh escaped. The image of a clown, playing mind games until it simply collapsed out of boredom, was so absurd it was almost funny. But the seriousness in Dot’s eyes quickly wiped away her amusement. “I’m sorry,” she said.
She pulled herself together. "So, where do we find a clown?" she asked, trying to keep her tone serious despite the absurdity of the situation.
"You don't find a clown. A clown finds you," Dot replied, her voice taking on an ominous edge. She looked at Emily with a mixture of concern and determination. "But there is one sure-fire way to attract one."
Emily raised an eyebrow. "And what's that?"
"Sweets," Dot said simply.
"Sweets? Like candy?" Emily asked, surprised by the suggestion. It sounded almost too simple, too innocent, given the gravity of their situation.
Dot shook her head. "Candy is too common. Clowns are drawn to excess, to things that stand out. If you want to attract a clown, you need something special. Something that catches its attention, something big and extravagant."
"Like what?" Emily asked, intrigued despite herself.
"We’ll have to get something from the bakery. Something big. The bigger, the better. Clowns are drawn to things that are out of the ordinary. A massive cake, a tower of pastries—something that’s almost absurd in its size and sweetness."
Emily considered this, trying to imagine how a clown—an elusive, trickster entity—could be lured by something as simple as a giant cake. But in a town like Gravestone Hollow, where belief and imagination shaped reality, it didn’t seem all that far-fetched. But, she resigned herself to the task at hand. She would catch herself a clown.
As they walked toward Dot’s house, Emily’s mind wandered. What was she about to face? Was this clown merely a witness, a trickster drawn by the chaos of the recent events? Or was it something far more dangerous—a suspect, perhaps even the one responsible for the deaths in Gravestone Hollow?
She couldn’t be sure. The only thing she knew for certain was that the clown, whatever it was, held answers. Answers that could either help them unravel the mystery or lead them deeper into the darkness that had already claimed so many lives.