The sun had barely dipped below the horizon when I arrived at the outskirts of the ruins, casting long, twisted shadows over the crumbling remains of Hollow Town. A cold breeze rustled through the trees, whispering secrets in a language only the wind seemed to understand. The path before me was overgrown, with gnarled roots and brambles clawing at my boots as if trying to pull me back.

I leave my coat and hat in the car, knowing they’d only snag on the brambles and thorns as I carefully make my way through the overgrown underbrush.

As I navigated through the tangled underbrush and crumbling stone, the satchel felt heavier with each step. I stopped briefly to catch my breath, my hand instinctively brushing over the satchel's strap. I could feel the book’s worn cover beneath the leather, its significance ever-present in my mind.

I glanced down at the satchel, muttering to myself in the quiet of the ruins. “If this book is as crucial as I think, it’s more than just a faded relic. It could be the key to everything.”

With careful hands, I pulled out the book and examined it under the fading light. Its pages, yellowed and fragile, held secrets I hoped to unravel. “Richard must have found something important. This book must lead me to answers.”

The tavern loomed ahead; a forgotten relic swallowed by the creeping decay of time. Its once-proud sign, now barely legible, hung askew from rusted chains, creaking softly in the breeze. The wooden walls, weathered and cracked, seemed to sag inward as if the building itself was struggling to stay upright. Shattered windows stared back at me like empty, soulless eyes, their glass long gone and replaced by jagged edges that hinted at a violent past.

As I approached, the scent of damp earth and rot filled the air, mingling with a faint, acrid smell reminiscent of smoke long faded. The door, barely hanging on its hinges, groaned in protest as I pushed it open. Inside, the tavern was a tomb of dust and shadows. The bar, a sagging relic of splintered wood, stretched out before me, its surface marred by deep gouges and stains that time had been unable to erase.

My footsteps echoed in the stillness as I ventured further in, the floorboards creaking underfoot. The air was thick with a musty staleness, each breath heavy with years of neglect. I could almost hear the faint whispers of long-gone patrons, their voices lost to history. Without hesitation, I began my search.

Hours passed, leaving me exhausted and defeated. I had scoured every corner of the old tavern, but Richard’s trace remained maddeningly elusive. Just as fatigue was about to overtake me, a faint, discordant melody drifted through the air. It seemed to emanate from the book.

I pulled out the book, noticing that it was glowing with an almost magical light. As I held it in my hands, a sharp, horrid pain began to assault my head. It felt like a headache unlike any I had ever experienced, the pain radiating to my eyes. I screamed in agony, feeling as though I might gouge out my own eyes to escape the torment. The pain finally subsided, replaced by a strange sensation of wind passing through me.

As the pain faded, visions began to form. The vision revealed a once-grand manor, its elegance unmatched. Set amid meticulously manicured gardens and grand trees, the estate boasted a stunning façade with intricate carvings and gleaming windows. A majestic entrance, flanked by stone lions, led into a lavishly decorated hall with marble floors and glittering chandeliers.

But as the scene shifted, decay took hold. The gardens were overtaken by weeds, and the manor’s façade crumbled, with columns sagging and intricate carvings obscured by vines. Windows shattered, and balconies twisted as wood rotted. The grand entrance became a splintered relic, the stone lions eroded beyond recognition.

Inside, marble floors were cracked and stained, chandeliers rusted and hanging precariously. The once-elegant furnishings were lost to dust and decay. The manor, once a symbol of opulence, now stood as a haunting shell of its former self, a beautiful memory turned into a sombre ruin

I staggered back from the book, the last echoes of pain fading from my head. My heart pounded, and my breaths came in short, sharp bursts as I tried to process what I had just seen. The visions had been so vivid, so real, yet completely inconceivable. A grand manor reduced to decay, shifting before my eyes like a grotesque mirage—this wasn’t the sort of thing I typically dealt with.

I sat down on a dusty chair, the book still clutched tightly in my hand. The air in the old tavern felt heavier now, suffused with an unnameable tension. I had always prided myself on being grounded, a skeptic who preferred logical explanations over fantastical ones. But what I had just witnessed defied all rational understanding.

“This can’t be right,” I muttered, trying to steady my thoughts. “Books don’t just show you visions—especially not of decaying manors.” I rubbed my temples, half-expecting the pain to flare up again, like a hangover from too much bourbon. But this wasn’t a headache I could drink away. I’d spent years building a career on logic and reason—facts, evidence, the tangible. Yet here I was, being led by an old book into the heart of Hollow Town’s most twisted legend. It didn’t make sense, but something in me—a primal, irrational part—was compelling me to keep going, even as my mind screamed for a rational explanation.

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The connections were clearer now: the manor, the book, the dark history. Yet, despite the clarity of the visions, I couldn’t shake my disbelief. Was this really happening, or was my mind playing tricks on me?

But reality had shifted, and as much as I wanted to cling to my skepticism, the undeniable truth remained: the manor was important, and I needed to find it. Something told me that the final piece of the puzzle lay within those crooked halls. If there was even a sliver of truth to what I had seen, then the manor was where I needed to go next.

I pulled out my map of old Hollow Town and quickly pinpointed the manor from the vision. It didn’t take long to identify it. Elmer Manor. The name sent a shiver down my spine. This was the residence of Silas Elmer, the first accuser of the witch trials.

“Alright, Silas, let’s see what you were hiding.” I tried to inject some confidence into my voice, but it rang hollow in the silence. I’ve handled cheating spouses, tracked down runaways, and pieced together puzzles that others couldn’t—because there was always a logic to it, a reason behind the madness. But this? This was something else. This was like stepping into one of those fairy tales where the rules of reality bent and twisted until you didn’t know what was up or down. And yet, here I was, feeling that same magnetic pull, that need to see this through, even though every rational part of me was screaming to turn back.

The manor wasn’t far—just a few minutes' walk—but every step felt like a slog through quicksand. My legs were heavier than they should’ve been, my mind clouded with an exhaustion that didn’t make sense. It was as if the very air around this place was trying to wear me down. The dreary scenery, the oppressive silence—it all seemed to drain the life out of me. I pushed forward, forcing one foot in front of the other, telling myself it was just the nerves.

Then it hit me—this place was too quiet. The usual sounds of nature had vanished, replaced by an unsettling stillness that set my teeth on edge. That’s when I realized: there was wildlife here, all right, but not the kind I was used to.

A chill ran down my spine as the sensation of being watched grew stronger. I froze, every muscle in my body tightening with instinctual fear. My eyes swept the darkened landscape, searching for the source, and then I saw them—wolves, their eyes glowing with an eerie, unnatural light as they prowled between the trees.

Their movements were too fast, too fluid, like they were slipping in and out of reality itself. One second, they were there, and the next, they’d vanished into the shadows, leaving only the faintest trace of their presence. Their forms blurred at the edges, making them seem almost ghostly, like figments of a fevered imagination.

I forced myself to stay calm, straining every sense to keep track of their movements. My ears picked up the soft thud of paws on the earth, the whisper of a branch as a wolf brushed past. My heart pounded in my chest, every beat loud enough to drown out the thoughts racing through my mind. The wolves moved with a grace and speed that was as mesmerizing as it was terrifying, and yet somehow, I managed to follow their elusive trail.

They were always just out of reach, flickering in and out of my peripheral vision like shadows dancing at the edge of a firelight. I had to rely on fleeting glimpses and the faint rustle of the underbrush to keep track of them. Each time I thought I’d lost them, a subtle shift in the darkness or the glint of those unnatural eyes reminded me that they were still there, circling me like silent, watchful spectres.

Then, as I caught sight of one wolf slipping between the trees, I noticed something that made my breath catch in my throat: it had more than two eyes. For a split second, its head seemed to split into several facets, each with its own pair of eyes, blinking and shifting independently. The sight was so surreal, so impossible, that it made me question the very fabric of reality.

I shook my head, trying to clear the image from my mind and refocus on the task at hand. My hand found the cold, reassuring weight of my gun, and I readied it, knowing full well that it might not be enough. The wolves stayed just out of reach, their presence a constant, gnawing reminder of the danger lurking in the shadows. But as I pressed on, the melody—haunting and insistent—grew louder, drawing me closer to the looming silhouette of the mansion.

Every instinct screamed at me to turn back, to flee from whatever malevolent force was at work here. But I couldn’t—not now. With a deep breath, I steeled myself and moved forward, my determination outweighing the fear that gnawed at me. Whatever lay ahead in those ruins, I had to face it, even with the supernatural wolves watching my every move.

I took a deep breath, my fingers tightening around the grip of my gun as I approached the manor. The sharp ringing pain in my head began once more, the burning sensation in my eyes almost becoming familiar to me now. The wolves, their eyes still gleaming with that unearthly light, kept their distance, as if waiting for something. Then, just as I reached the crumbling steps of the manor, they stopped.

In the sudden silence, the pain went away, replaced by a low, guttural static that seemed to reverberate through my whole body. The air grew colder, and for the briefest moment, everything was still. Then, with a sound like distant thunder, the front door of the manor swung open, revealing nothing but a yawning darkness within.

I stood frozen at the threshold, every instinct screaming at me to run. But before I could decide, the wind picked up, carrying with it a whisper—faint, almost imperceptible, but clear enough to chill me to the bone.

"Welcome home, Catherine."