I stood outside the Collington Library, my breath curling into the cool afternoon air. The building was an oddity, a patchwork of time and tragedy. The lower floor was dressed in modern brick and mortar, its sharp lines clashing with the weathered wood and stone of the upper level—a stubborn relic of a bygone era. Above, the original structure of the old Hollow Town library loomed, its dark windows like hollow eyes watching over the street below.

My fingers tightened around the buttons of my coat as I took in the sight. The library had always intrigued me, even before Richard’s visit. I’ve only seen it once on the newspaper, but I could never forget the sight, noting its strange charm, but never have a reason to step inside. Now, curiosity tugged at me, mingling with a sense of unease.

I pushed open the creaking wooden door and stepped into the dimly lit interior. The scent of old books and dust filled my nostrils, mingling with the faint, acrid smell of smoke. The front room was small, cluttered with bookshelves that groaned under the weight of their contents. Each shelf was a chaotic blend of ancient tomes and newer volumes, their spines bearing titles in languages I didn’t recognize.

The place had seen better days, that much was clear. My eyes traced the cracks in the walls, the way the ceiling sagged slightly, as if burdened by the history it held. And yet, despite the signs of age, the library was alive with a strange energy, as though the building itself had stories to tell—if only someone would listen.

The sound of shuffling feet pulled me from my thoughts, and I turned to see a tall, thin man emerging from the back room. He was old, with gray, receding hair and a long, well-kept beard. A brown leather vest hung over his white button-up shirt, and a green neckerchief was tied loosely around his neck. He looked up at me with a curious glint in his eye, a kind smile tugging at the corners of his coarse lips.

“Welcome,” he rasped, his voice roughened by years of chain-smoking. “I’m Luther. Luther Collington. What can I do for you, miss?”

“Hi, my name is Elizabeth Shelly, private investigator,” I replied, keeping it brief. “I’m looking for a man named Richard Haverstead.”

Luther’s expression shifted, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he quickly masked it with a welcoming smile. It was subtle, but enough to tell me he’d either met Richard or at least heard of him.

“Uh huh,” he said, a touch of sarcasm creeping into his tone. “What did he do? Not pay his bar tab? Cheat on his wife? Swindle someone out of their money?”

I could understand why he wouldn’t take me seriously. Private investigators don’t often get the “serious” cases—those are usually handled by the police. But I wasn’t here to banter.

Ignoring his remark, I continued, “No, actually, he’s been missing for a few days, and his wife is worried. I have reason to believe he visited this bookstore before his disappearance. I’d like to ask you a few questions about him.”

Luther gave me a long look, as if waiting for the punchline, before his face fell, and he muttered, “Oh shit, you’re serious.” He cleared his throat with a cough. “Of course, Ms. Shelly. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“Please, call me Ellie,” I said, hanging my coat on the rack. I took a seat across from him, placing my hat on my lap and pulling a notebook from my pocket.

Luther cleared his throat, his eyes shifting toward the back of the bookstore. “Nancy!” he called out, his voice carrying through the quiet room. “Could you brew some tea for our guest?”

From behind one of the towering shelves, I heard a soft shuffle followed by the sound of something being set down. A moment later, a young woman stepped into view, wiping her hands on a rag. She couldn’t have been more than twenty, yet there was a hardened quality to her that made her seem older. Her short, cropped hair framed a face that was both pretty and tough, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline. She was dressed in a plain button-up shirt with rolled-up sleeves and worn jeans, the kind of outfit that suggested she wasn’t afraid of hard work. Her hands, calloused and rough, hinted at someone used to physical labor, likely from handling the day-to-day upkeep of the bookstore and their home.

Nancy’s eyes, sharp and observant, flicked over to me as she approached, sizing me up in a heartbeat. There was a guardedness in her gaze, as if she were weighing whether I posed a threat. Despite the casual way she moved, there was a tension in her posture, a readiness to step in if she felt it necessary. I could tell right away she was protective of Luther, likely more than she’d ever let on.

“Yes, Grandpa?” Nancy’s voice was even, though there was a slight edge to it, a mix of curiosity and caution.

“This is Ellie Shelly, a private investigator,” Luther said, gesturing toward me. “She’s here asking about Richard Haverstead. Thought we’d offer her some tea while we chat.”

Nancy’s eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of Richard, but she nodded. “Tea. Sure.” She shot a quick glance at Luther, her brow furrowing. “You okay, Grandpa? You need anything?”

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Luther waved a hand dismissively, a fond smile on his face. “I’m fine, Nancy, really. You worry too much.”

Nancy didn’t seem convinced. “Someone has to,” she muttered, turning back toward the small kitchen area behind the counter. As she moved, I couldn’t help but notice how the muscles in her arms flexed slightly under her shirt, evidence of the physical tasks she likely took on daily.

I decided to take the direct route. “So, Richard Haverstead—sounds like you know him?”

Luther took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with a slight wheeze before he coughed again. “Sure, hard to forget that fella. Came in about a week or so ago. Big bundle of nerves, eyes couldn’t stay in one place straight, always shifting about.”

Interesting. Richard wasn’t just obsessed but paranoid, too. But paranoid about what? After jotting down a few notes, I pressed on. “Do you remember what he came to your store for?”

“Yeah, he was after a library ledger—not the one we use now, but an old one. Dates back to Hollow Town.”

I tilted my head, intrigued. “How did you come across such an old book, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” Luther said, a touch of nostalgia creeping into his voice. “Found it when I first bought the place, back when I started the renovations. Thought it’d be a nice piece of memorabilia to commemorate the place, so I decided to keep it.”

From the kitchen area, I heard Nancy scoff softly. “Some memorabilia, Grandpa. You gave it to that Richard guy almost immediately.”

Luther chuckled, though there was a note of defensiveness in his voice. “Well, he offered quite the paltry sum for it. Wasn’t easy to refuse.”

As Nancy busied herself with the kettle, I noticed the way she kept one ear trained on our conversation, her eyes occasionally darting toward Luther, as if making sure he wasn’t overexerting himself. It was clear that she was more than just a dutiful granddaughter—she was his caretaker, his protector, and perhaps the one who kept the old bookstore running.

Luther, noticing my gaze drifting between the two of them, leaned in slightly. “Nancy’s been taking care of me ever since… well, for a while now,” he said with a hint of pride in his voice. “She’s got a good head on her shoulders, but I keep telling her she doesn’t need to fret so much.”

Nancy huffed from the kitchen. “If I didn’t fret, you’d forget to eat half the time.”

Luther chuckled, shaking his head. “See what I mean? Always looking out for me.”

I smiled at the exchange, a little envious of their bond. Despite her rough exterior, it was clear that Nancy had a deep well of love for her grandfather. And while she might’ve come across as stern and no-nonsense, I could tell it came from a place of genuine care.

As Nancy brought over a tray with a teapot and two mismatched cups, she set it down on the small table between us, her gaze lingering on me for a moment longer than necessary.

“Thank you,” I said, meeting her eyes.

Nancy gave a small nod, her expression softening just a fraction. “Just doing what needs to be done,” she said, before turning her attention back to Luther. “Let me know if you need anything else, Grandpa.”

“I will, I will,” Luther assured her, waving her off with a gentle smile. As Nancy returned to her task of cleaning, her presence remained palpable, like a silent guardian watching over the room.

Luther poured the tea into the cups, his hands steady despite his age. “So, where were we? Ah yes, the ledger. This Richard fellow was dead set on acquiring it. If it weren’t for the money, I would’ve turned him down immediately.”

I leaned forward, my curiosity piqued. “You mentioned earlier that Richard seemed paranoid, even sketchy. That didn’t concern you? Especially since he was so fixated on an old, seemingly useless ledger? Did he ever tell you how he knew about it in the first place?”

Luther, taken aback by the sudden flood of questions, shifted in his chair. “Well, yes, he was a bit off, but to be honest, most of our customers over the years haven’t exactly been model citizens. I didn’t think much of it,” he admitted, taking a sip of his tea. “And while it was odd that he knew about the ledger, it’s just a ledger. What harm could it do?”

His tone had grown defensive, making me realize I might have come off as too accusatory. I softened my voice, trying to ease the tension. “I apologize if I seemed harsh. I’m just trying to understand the situation better.”

Luther nodded, relaxing a bit. “I get it. You're just doing your job.”

“Was there anything else you remember about your interaction with Richard?” I asked, more gently this time.

Luther furrowed his brow, thinking. “Well, before he left, he muttered something… something about witches hunting him. Or maybe it was that he was hunting witches? I can’t be sure. It sounded like the ramblings of a madman.”

Sarah had also mentioned Richard’s muttering about witches yesterday. Had Richard’s obsession with the Witch Trials convinced him that they were real? Surely not—after all, the Salem Witch Trials had shown that such beliefs were unfounded. But then again, so much about Hollow Town’s history remains a mystery. Its unexpected location so far west, its prosperity despite isolation from the rest of the country… it all seemed enigmatic. Still, no, Ellie—actual witches don’t exist. That would be absurd.

I shook off the lingering doubts and stood up, adjusting my hat. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Collington. You’ve been a great help.”

“No trouble at all,” Luther replied, rising to his feet and extending his hand. “I wish you luck with your search.”

I shook his hand and retrieved my coat from the stand. As I exited the bookstore, I overheard Nancy’s voice from inside, tinged with frustration. “What? She didn’t even have a sip of the tea. What was the point of me brewing it?”

A small smile touched my lips as I headed to my car, the odd but endearing interaction a fitting end to my visit.

I sit in my car for a while, reviewing the investigation’s progress. Despite the information Luther provided, I’m no closer to finding Richard. I’m left with only one lead I hoped to avoid: the ruins where Richard found the book. The notes from his study mentioned he discovered it in one of Hollow Town’s old taverns, buried deep within the ruins of Old Town.

In my first year in New Hollow, the locals warned me to stay away from the old ruins, speaking of curses and frequent disappearances. I never put much stock in their tales—especially since they have a habit of scaring tourists and newcomers with old wives' tales—but I couldn’t shake the unease I felt whenever I approached the area. It always seemed as if unseen eyes were watching me, making me wish I could solve this mystery without venturing there. But now, it seems I have no choice but to confront the ruins head-on.