Emily walked into the town's bakery, the scent of something tangy and sweet wafting through the air. The baker, a stout monster with scaled skin and bright fur, wiped his claws on his flour-dusted apron and greeted them with exuberance.

"Ah! Just in time! I've got a creation planned that will create a clown tizzy!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together with excitement.

Emily smiled, intrigued. "What have you got in mind?"

He motioned for her to come closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "It's a spectacular design—something truly monstrous! Picture this: a tower, five feet tall! Every other layer is a thick stack of 'mabba cakes,' covered in thick frosting and sprinkled with candied bug confetti. Between each of those layers, we'll have rings of fried dough—dellaroot-spiced donuts, glazed with a sweet syrup and sprinkled with tiny edible moonfruit spores. The whole thing will be topped with a giant lollipop shimmering with iridescent food paint."

Emily's eyes widened in amusement. "That sounds...unique," she said politely.

"Oh, it will be," the baker assured her, already lost in thought as he planned out the logistics of his colossal confection. "It's what you need if you want to catch a clown. Clowns have a weakness for the extravagant, the absurd. This cake? It'll draw one out for sure. And once they're drawn to it, they can't resist. They'll come out of hiding, and that's when you'll have your chance."

Emily couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, but in this strange town, nothing seemed too outlandish.

The scene at the bakery unfolded with a sense of lighthearted absurdity that was a stark contrast to the darker events Emily was investigating. As she left the bakery, the lingering scent of sugary treats clung to her clothes, a small reminder of the bizarre but crucial task ahead: catching a clown with an extravagant cake. The humor in the situation provided a brief respite from the weight of the murders that loomed over Gravestone Hollow.

After leaving the bakery, Emily made her way to the police station with Mallum. The tension between them was palpable, like a thick fog that neither could see through. Mallum’s office was as stark as the rest of the station—barely decorated, the walls lined with shelves of meticulously organized files and reports. The room reflected its owner: functional, disciplined, and focused solely on the task at hand. Emily couldn’t help but notice the lack of personal touches, which seemed to reinforce the impression she had of Mallum as a monster entirely dedicated to his duty.

Emily broke the silence first, knowing they needed to work together despite their differences. "Look, I know you don’t like me," she said, her voice steady as she met Mallum’s unyielding gaze. "But I need to solve these murders, and I need your help to do it. I didn’t ask to be summoned here, but now that I am, I’m going to see this through. Can you find some way to work with me? Please?"

Mallum’s eyes flicked to the side for the briefest moment—a gesture so quick Emily nearly missed it. But it was enough to send a prickling sense of doubt up her spine. Was he hiding something? Or was it just the weight of his responsibilities that made him seem so guarded?

His stern expression softened just slightly, a hint of weariness showing through. He leaned back in his chair, contemplating her words. "I've been the town's lawman since...well, since the beginning," he began, his voice carrying the weight of years of experience. "I’ve seen this place grow, watched over it, kept it safe. When Edvard first relayed his grand vision of a peaceful town to me, I was inspired. A place without fear, where monsters could live in peace... It was something I believed in. So, I volunteered. I took up the role of enforcing that peace."

He paused, taking a slow sip of his beverage, and continued. "For over a century, there was nothing major. The usual petty crimes—an occasional theft, disputes between neighbors, and once in a while, an accident. But nothing like this. These murders...they came out of nowhere. No witnesses, no clues—just bodies left behind. By the time I arrived at each scene, it was too late. The killer left no trace behind."

Emily leaned in slightly, sensing an opportunity to connect. "It must be hard...watching over a place you’ve cared for so long, only to see it unravel like this."

Mallum’s eyes darkened as he stared at the worn wood of his desk. "You don’t understand. This town... it’s more than just a place to me. It’s a promise. A promise I made long ago, that no one would have to live in fear. That promise is being shattered, and I don’t know if I can stop it."

Emily could feel the weight of his words, the burden he carried as the town’s protector. She chose her next words carefully. "I’m not here to step on your toes, Mallum. I’m here to help. I think we both want the same thing—to restore peace to the town. We can work together to make sure this doesn’t happen again."

Mallum looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Peace," he repeated, as if testing the word. "There hasn’t been true peace here since the murders began. People are scared, Emily. They’re looking over their shoulders, locking their doors, whispering in the streets. They don’t trust anyone—not even me. And if they don’t trust me, how can I protect them?"

The vulnerability in his voice took Emily by surprise. It was clear that Mallum’s gruff exterior hid a deep sense of responsibility—and perhaps a fear of failure. She decided to push further. "The murders," she said, her tone thoughtful. "There’s more to them than meets the eye, isn’t there?"

Mallum’s gaze sharpened at her words. "Yes, it’s more than just random violence. The victims weren’t chosen by chance. They were all connected—Jacobi, Tarjina, and now...Charna. There’s a thread that binds the crimes together. I just can’t pinpoint it yet."

Emily shared everything she had uncovered about Hettie, Lake, and the witches' complex history. She explained the significance of the old cheerleading photo, noting that all the murder victims had been in it. “I can’t ignore the fact that they were all connected in high school,” she said, her tone serious.

Mallum, however, seemed unimpressed by this angle. He listened patiently but then brushed off the idea. “High school drama?” he said, his deep voice carrying a hint of disbelief. “It seems too petty. I’ve handled disputes between the witches for years. They squabble over everything—spells, territory, even petty jealousies—but it never escalates to anything more than words. I can’t see their personal feuds escalating to murder.”

Emily frowned, not entirely convinced. “I know it sounds small, but murders can be sparked by the most minor things, especially when emotions run high.”

Mallum shook his head, his expression thoughtful but firm. “Murders in this town are rare and serious. The few disputes I’ve seen over the years have never come close to this. I believe it’s something deeper, something more dangerous. It’s hard to believe high school drama could spark murder.” His voice trailed off.

“Every day,” he finally muttered, more to himself than to Emily, “every damn day I wonder what I missed. If I’d just been quicker, sharper—” He stopped for a moment, his fists clenching on the desk. “I was supposed to protect them.”

Emily leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling, deep in thought. She knew there were only a few real motives for murder—revenge, money, or relationships. She had already considered revenge and relationships, but what about money? Inheritance could be a strong motivator.

She turned to Mallum, curiosity in her voice. “How does inheritance work in this town? Who gets a person’s belongings when they pass?”

Mallum’s answer was immediate, his tone matter-of-fact. “We share everything here. When someone dies, their belongings go to the charity.”

Emily nodded slowly, realizing that “charity” didn’t have the same meaning in Gravestone Hollow as it did on Earth. Here, it was a collective pool where all belongings went until someone else in town needed them. It was a communal system, one that likely minimized the potential for financial disputes. A financial motive seemed unlikely.

Stolen story; please report.

With that option crossed off her list, Emily felt a small sense of progress. She was narrowing down the possibilities, even if the answers weren’t coming as quickly as she had hoped.

She looked at Mallum, determination in her eyes. “Can you take me to the first crime scene? I haven’t been there yet.”

Mallum nodded without hesitation. “Sure,” he replied, standing up and leading the way out of the police station. The two of them crossed an open field under the pale light of the moon, the air cool against their skin. The walk took about ten minutes, the silence between them filled with the soft rustle of the wind through the grass.

As they approached the towering, gothic structure of City Hall, Emily felt a mix of anticipation and unease. She was finally about to see the place where it all began—the scene where Jacobi had been found dead. She knew that whatever she discovered here could be the key to unraveling the mystery that had haunted Gravestone Hollow for far too long.

The spot was beneath an ancient tree with thick, twisting branches that cast deep shadows over the ground. It was a secluded area, the kind of place that could easily hide a person lying in wait.

Emily stood there, trying to piece together the scene in her mind. Jacobi must have been walking by when someone attacked her. The thick branches would have made it difficult for anyone to see much, especially in the dim light. The killer had planned this, waited for the right moment, and then struck with deadly precision. But how had they managed to escape so quickly? The police station wasn’t far. Even if it took only a few minutes to strangle someone, how had the killer gotten away before Mallum arrived?

Lost in thought, Emily barely noticed Dot approaching from City Hall, her face lit up with excitement.

"Emily! There you are," Dot called out, hurrying over. "It's a special night—there’s a festival to celebrate!"

Emily turned, intrigued. "A festival?"

Dot nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! It’s all about the harvest. We have a beloved fruit. It only grows once a year. The whole town gathers to watch the plants sprout from the ground, and it’s a mad rush to harvest as many as we can. The fruit is amazing—it’s sweet, but somewhat savory, and perfect for pies, cakes, and even drinks. But it’s only good for a week. After that, it gets the rot, and once that starts, it deteriorates fast."

Emily was interested and intrigued. Gravestone Hollow really did seem like a close-knit place, where the community came together to celebrate life’s simple pleasures. She bid Mallum farewell, and as she walked toward Dot’s house, Emily couldn’t help but feel that this town, with all its charm and peculiarities, was hiding something—something that she was determined to uncover.

The night of the festival was electric with anticipation. The townspeople gathered under the twin moons that hovered above Gravestone Hollow, their silver beams washing the fields in a pale, ethereal glow. The larger moon began its slow descent, and as it dipped below the horizon, the land itself seemed to come alive.

Amidst the gathering crowd, a palpable tension lingered in the air. On one side of the field stood Hettie’s coven, their dark robes blending with the shadows, eyes sharp and watchful. Opposite them, Lake’s coven assembled in a loose formation, their attire a stark contrast with hints of vibrant colors that flickered under the moonlight. The two groups stared at each other across the field, the rivalry between them simmering just beneath the surface.

The festival, while a time of communal celebration, also served as an annual arena for their silent contest, each coven eager to prove their superiority.

The tension between them was as thick as the vines that began to stir beneath the soil, but tonight, the focus was on the harvest. For a moment, the rivalry was put aside as the ground trembled slightly, signaling the beginning of the event everyone had been waiting for.

The ground beneath Emily’s feet trembled ever so slightly as the first signs of life emerged. Dot grabbed her arm, her eyes wide with excitement. “It’s starting!” she screamed excitedly. Emily had never seen her quite so animated.

Before them, the soil cracked open, and slender green vines began to snake their way upward. The vines moved slowly at first, curling and twisting as they emerged, but soon they were wriggling faster, like serpents slithering across the ground. Emily watched in awe as the tendrils spread out in all directions, spiraling upward with a life of their own.

And then, just as suddenly, the first fruits began to appear—small, green, ball-like shapes that swelled rapidly, like balloons being filled with air. The transformation was mesmerizing. In mere moments, the green balls turned a deep orange, their surfaces smooth and glossy.

“Pumpkins!” Dot shouted, her voice brimming with excitement. She grabbed Emily’s hand. “Let’s go!”

Emily blinked in surprise, momentarily stunned. Pumpkins? The town's most prized possession was... pumpkins? She had expected something more exotic, perhaps a fruit with magical properties or a rare, mystical plant. But pumpkins? The same humble gourd that she’d seen carved into jack-o'-lanterns and pureed into pies? She almost laughed out loud at the realization.

With a mix of amusement and curiosity, Emily allowed herself to be swept up in the excitement.

The crowd surged forward, pruning shears in hand, rushing into the pumpkin patch. Emily found herself caught up in the frenzy, her heart racing as she watched the townspeople snip the ripe pumpkins from the twisting vines with scissor-like precision. Hettie and Lake, dressed in rich velvet gowns, eyed each other with fierce scrutiny, each determined to out-harvest the other. Their competition was a blur of orange pumpkins and dark velvet as they moved with practiced speed.

Dot dashed over to Emily, her face flushed with excitement. “How many did you get?”

“Five,” Emily replied, holding up her pumpkins, each one perfectly round and a vibrant shade of orange.

Dot beamed at her. “Great! Gather them up. The fun is about to begin.”

Emily hurried to scoop up the pumpkins, their smooth surfaces cool against her skin. It was a challenge to carry all five at once, but she managed, balancing them carefully in her arms. Dot, balancing half a dozen smaller pumpkins with surprising ease, gestured for Emily to follow.

“Let’s go!” Dot said, taking off at a sprint.

Emily followed close behind, realizing that the pumpkin harvest was only the first step. The crowd funneled into a large hedge maze, its towering walls covered in thick purple ivy. The rules were simple: they only got to keep the pumpkins they carried out of the maze. It was a mad dash, and the air buzzed with excitement as everyone rushed inside.

The maze was a disorienting labyrinth of long, winding corridors, each one seemingly identical to the last. Emily quickly lost track of where she was, the high walls cutting off any view of the outside world. The sound of laughter and distant chatter echoed through the passages, but it was impossible to tell which direction they were coming from. The deeper she ventured into the maze, the more disoriented she became, every turn leading to another identical corridor.

“Dot?” Emily called out, but her voice was swallowed by the maze’s endless paths. She looked up at the sky, hoping to find some clue as to which direction to go, but the thick foliage overhead blocked out the view.

Suddenly, a small figure darted past her, a child skeleton, giggling as they ran. Emily decided to follow, hoping the child might know the way out. She hurried after them, but they soon disappeared around a corner, leaving her alone once again. The maze twisted and turned, each path blurring into the next. Emily’s heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the muffled laughter that seemed to echo from all directions.

Panic began to set in as she realized how lost she was. The pumpkins in her arms were heavy, and her muscles ached from the effort of carrying them. She didn’t want to drop them and disappoint Dot, but she was starting to doubt she’d ever find her way out.

A shadow flickered just at the edge of her vision, but when she turned to look, there was nothing there—just the hedges. Yet the air felt heavier now, as if the very land knew something she did not.

The maze seemed to pulse with life, the rustle of leaves sounding almost like whispers. Emily’s footsteps echoed unnervingly, as though something—or someone—was matching her pace just beyond the hedge walls. A cold draft swept through the narrow corridor, and she shivered despite herself. Was it just the wind, or was there something else here, lurking in the shadows?

Closing her eyes, she took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself. She listened carefully, straining to pick up any sound that might guide her. From her right, she heard the faint sound of laughter and chatter. That must be the way out.

She rushed ahead and briefly caught sight of a figure in a blue gown disappearing around the corner. Relief flooded through her—finally, someone to follow! She hurried after the figure, her heart pounding in her chest.

But then, just as she was about to turn again, a familiar sound echoed through the night. It was faint, but unmistakable.

“Tick…”

Emily froze, her breath caught in her throat. Her heart seemed to stop as she heard it again, louder this time.

“Tick…”

She knew that sound. It was the Ventosa.

Suddenly, the maze felt much more ominous. The thrill of the festival was replaced by a cold dread. Emily looked around, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound, but the maze walls seemed to close in around her, blocking her view.

She had to get out of the maze, and fast.

“Tick…”

The sound echoed once more, and with a surge of adrenaline, Emily forced herself to move, sprinting down the next corridor, her heart racing as she desperately searched for the exit.