5. Sloane

Sloane spends two more of her days with research that leads her absolutely nowhere. People do not seem to know anything, do not even seem to remember if any tourists have come by in the last decade. It is annoying if she is being honest with herself. The tiny conspiracy theorist within her keeps whispering that the entire town is in on it. Which is nearly impossible, because someone would have slipped up after all these years.

So, without any real info, she goes to sleep on her seventh day, only to wake up right back at the pier. In the distance the horn of a ship sounds, an echoing retreat. Her clothes are damp from the ocean spray, salt has coated her skin in a thin layer. It doesn't quite register as reality yet, so she rolls over, reaches out with her hand to pull a blanket up that should be there. Only that her fingers do not brush the coarse fabric. There is only her damp clothing and the echoing crash of waves.

It sinks in slowly, that she definitely is not in her bed. A seagull cries somewhere to the left of her and it jolts her up, cheek scraping across rough stone in the flailing attempts she makes at getting up. With a cold sense of dread, Sloane realizes that she is back by the piers without any recollection as to why or how. Mist hangs heavy over the entire place, painting all in dull grays and vague shapes, like phantoms. Strangely enough, her camera rests besides her in its case, but not her keys, nor her phone.

Has she lost them somehow?

It's not like she has to walk long to return the Bed & Breakfast, yet still she gets an eerie sense of deja vu.

The old lady manning the counter looks at her, not unkindly, but without recognition. Has she always had a name tag that read Gladice?

"Hi- Uhmm.... I had a room booked here and seem to have misplaced my keys. You don't happen to have any spares?"

Gladice meets her gaze, sucks on her teeth in thought. "I don't think I had anybody book anything this week? What was your name, dearie? Perhaps my memory isn't what it used to be."

"Sloane Aldrich. I checked in last week?"

Gladice nods, heft an enormous ledger onto the counter. Most of its pages are worn and yellowed from use, yet it appears to be only halfway filled with names.

"I'm sorry, but I can't seem to find your name anywhere. Are you certain you booked here?"

Sloane frowns, feels agitated. "I did. You gave me the room with the moth on it."

"We have no such a room. Unless it is a new one and we haven't renovated in nearly fifty years."

"No, I'm sure I rented here. Can I just go check? I'd at least prefer to get my things back."

Gladice stares at her for a moment, contemplating. After a few more minutes she gives a nod.

"If it helps you believe me, then go on, dearie."

"Cool, thanks."

Sloane is taking two steps at once as she makes her way up the stairs. The old wood creaks underneath her feet like old, hollowed ghosts. Here within the long, nearly endless hallway and its many doors is not one that depicts a moth. In fact there is not any depiction of an animal on the doors. Instead, all of them are neatly numbered. There is no trace of her luggage, no trace she was here at all.

"What the fuck..."

Sloane doesn't know what to do with the situation. She cannot even fathom if there are any explanations for all of this. On moment there is proof of her visit to Mawbrooke and the next there is nothing but her own unwavering existence. Dejected, she makes her way downstairs again. Not much she can do about her rooming situation at the B&B now. She doesn't say anything to Gladice, just steps out of the door.

Such things are strange, luggage shouldn't just disappear. Perhaps she is just being tricked, though to what end she does not know. A scam perhaps? So, what she does, like an sane (?) and well adjusted citizen, is sneak behind the establishment and dig through its dumpsters in order to find hints about the whereabouts of her belongings. Unfortunately, the only things she finds are pieces of moldy food. Well, if not here, then her things have to be somewhere else. Anything else would just defy logic at this point.

Half of her day she spends running around, finding all the weird corners of town and being chased out of at least two backyards that did not really look like backyards in her search for the lost luggage.To nobody's surprise, she ends up with absolutely nothing. No hints, no clue. Fuck.

Now, she has two choices. She can speak to Mr. Kelly and see if he knows another good place to stay, seeing as he seems to know the town like the back of his hand. Or she could speak to Cody and hope for the best. at the thought of Mr. Kelly she shivers, not that he has been unpleasant as a person, but something about him still seems off. So Sloane's best bet is most likely Cody. Poor man, he has only seen her a few times, yet she always falls back to him with her antics.

The man in question, as always, looks utterly unimpressed upon her arrival at the store.

"Cody, bad news. It appears I have gotten myself into quite a pickle."

He nods, still unimpressed.

"It seems like I have misplaced all my luggage, wallet included. Any chance you know a place where I could stay for the time being until I have everything figured out."

"I don't think I can. Nobody I know would be willing to house a stranger for free." Oh, that sounds harsh, cold. It sounds like he does not know her and that sends a cold shudder down her back.

"That's valid. I'll just see myself out then. See ya..." Her shoulders slump. Go figure that a possibly haunted town is trying to fuck her over.

"Wait! Take this."

A sandwich is pressed into her hands, to which she can only nod in thanks. Her stomach rumbles. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Amidst everything that has happened, Sloane may or may not have forgotten to somehow find ways to eat.

She slips out of the store, gazes towards the horizon where the sun has already begun its descent and finds herself a nice bench to rest on. The sandwich tastes a bit stale, but it is still better than anything she could have gotten at the B&B.

"Just how did I get here?", she sighs, tilting her head up toward the darkening sky.

Really, one would think being fired from her dream job would be her lowest point in her short life, yet here she is, alone. Maybe she should just have moved back in with her parents instead of trying to solve unsolved mysteries. It just didn't make sense back then. Perhaps her pride didn't let her. The again, the barrage of 'I told you so' from both her parents would have driven her insane within the first few days.

Sloane spends a few more moments reminiscing, or rather wallowing in self pity, really, before resolution sets in once more. This is a setback, a huge one maybe, but nothing that will stop her in the end. She stands up, dusts off and has absolutely no idea where she is headed.

"Well, I can't really sleep out in the open. So I better find myself a nice ditch to hopefully not die in." The words ring hollow, the joke falls flat. She has never been the best audience for herself.

It is easier said than done. The ditches aren't really that nice and a village this size has only so many nooks and crannies she can check. Sloane doesn't even wear clothes that stand a chance at weathering a cold night. Most of the spaces she checks are already inhabited by local wildlife. She really isn't that keen on starting a fight with a family of feral racoons.

By the time she has checked most of the places she could think of to check night has crept up on her. What little light the moon might have provided is blocked by thick, heavy clouds. A dense mist has settled as well. With it each vague shape has turned into haunting phantoms. In the distance she spots a tall, thin figure. It stands there, unmoving, maybe even unblinking. Like a fucking idiot, Sloane doesn't stop walking. No, she walks towards the figure, heart hammering in her chest, because she never bothered to look up the definition of self preservation.

She is just about to speak up when her shoulder connects with something solid, something cold. Her heart jackrabbits. An aborted scream gets stuck in her throat. The strange figure in the mist turns into a flickering lantern. Her heart still gives out for a couple of beats. Suddenly she is glad that nobody was around to witness that.

Of course it is then that she makes note of the possibly glowing set of eyes somewhere just to her left watching her through the fog.

Sloane blinks, disbelieving.

The eyes blink back and when they open it is just not one pair anymore.

"Yeah, fuck no..."

Self preservation wins out for once and she takes off in the opposite direction. The fog has gotten heavier, so thick she thinks it might thwart her escape from whatever is hiding within it. Sloane has no idea where she is, nor where she is going, but she is not dead yet, so something must be going well for her. That is exactly why her foot catches on something in that very moment, sending her down a particularly steep ditch.

Even as she falls, branches and rocks digging and slicing tender skin, all she can really think to herself is the following.

'God hates me.'

She skids to halt somewhere at the bottom of the ditch, just at the border to the forest. For a moment she just lies there, head in the dirt and contemplates if getting up is even worth it. Her body aches and what chances does she have anyways?

A twig behind Sloane snaps. Gravel and forest dirt crunch underneath light, uneven steps. Does that thing have multiple legs or is it hurt? She inhales sharply, pushes herself up on shaky limbs.

"Momma did not raise a quitter." The words whiz past clenched teeth.

This is taking more out of her than any normal job ever could. She seriously regrets having skipped P.E for most of her educational career. She doesn't dare turn around. It wouldn't do any good anyways. She might fall again, or actually see how close that 'thing' is to actually getting her. The trees have turned into a blur, branches catch at her face or the skin of her arms. Whatever hunts her is snarling in the distance, never too far.

And just when her lungs begin to ache in mild desperation, just when she things she will keel over any moment and just perish, Sloane bursts through the treeline onto an all to familiar hill. In the distance is the gentle ebb and flow of waves crashing into rock. Closer, just in front of her, sits the manor illuminated by dying moonlight like a wicked saint. She runs, tumbles, crawls her way to the front door, heart leaping in her throat with barely concealed hope. She will not die tonight.

Her fists beat against the worn door in a frantic rhythm, long enough for the skin to break open in tiny, bloodied cracks. Sloane does not quite notice, not when the 'thing' is so close that she can feel one of its sharps claws trail over her shoulder. The door opens just before that claw can dig in and pull her back into the mist.

Sloane crashes forward, comes face to foot with the maid. The woman; Irene she remembers in a sudden pang of clarity, is glaring at her. it is a wonder that her red lips do not pull up into a perfect sneer. The door falls shut behind her with a too quiet click.

"Ms. Aldrich... What brings you to the manor at such an ungodly time. Not another set of invasive questions for my mistress I hope.", she says, voice dripping with disdain.

Under any circumstances Sloane might would have found that hot. However, she is quite frightened right now. So instead, she exhales in shaky almost sobs, draws herself up into an almost sitting position and just tries to make the words that spill from her lips make sense.

"First of, the name's Sloane Aldrich. Second, I lost my things and then I searched for a place, but there was none. So then I kinda lost track of time and something chased me and a fell down a ditch, like an idiot, and then I ran. Now I'm here and I really just need a place to stay for tonight. I will die if I go back out there."

Which each words that escapes her in a trembling ramble, the burning behind her eyes seems to intensify. It would be very nice if she didn't start crying right this instant. She hates it when she does.

A weight settles atop her shoulder. In her daze she realizes that it is the maid's hand. The woman gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze. Her emerald gaze, too, has softened somewhat.

"I will inform Lady Reed of the situation. Please wait here for the time being."

And with that Irene is gone, leaving Sloane in the enormous entrance hall. Only now she realizes how cold she truly is, body shaking uncontrollably. Though, part of it may or may not be due to the near death experience.

While she waits, Sloane lets her eyes trail over the lush decorations, just so she has something to do. Flanked by the twin staircase, stands a grand oaken grandfather clock. It's old, the pain worn at its edges. At one of the sides, quite close to the bottom, sits something that has been edged quite crudely into the wood. She kneels down, intrigued, and manages to decipher half a heart and the shape of the letter L in cursive when a noise to her side startles her. It is getting annoying how often it keeps happening to her.

Sloane only barely manages to keep her balance as she shoots up to stand once more. Her gaze meets Irene's delighted one, then Lydia's, who appears to be excruciating emotional pain. Though the lady of the house quickly schools her features back into a mask of neutrality.

"Irene has informed me of your unfortunate run in with the local wildlife." Even though the words are laced with exhaustion, there is still an underlying echo of regalness. Can a voice sound regal?

"Er...yeah. That's me. Sloane Aldrich getting spooked by the local wildlife.", she chuckles nervously, ears growing hot. While she may be embarrassed, she is certain that no animal would have so many eyes, or even be that big.

Irene grins, it is near feral.

"Visitors usually get frightened, no need to feel ashamed. They are never quite prepared for the things Mawbrooke has to offer."

Lydia sends her a cold look at that, but the maid merely snickers, wholly unbothered.

Sloane watches the exchange, fascinated. Something almost clicks, when the words fully register. Irene's actions are suspicious, or perhaps it is her own growing dislike of the woman. Though something is definitely going on here, something-

"I am willing to let you stay the night, so long as you remain in your assigned room until Irene fetches you in the morning, and please do refrain from snooping around. I know you investigative types do so enjoy ignoring the boundaries of private property."

"What? Got anything to hide?", she asks, like a fucking idiot. Now both Irene and Lydia level her with an icy glare. Whoops...

"I am extending an act of kindness, all I ask in return is that you respect my privacy. If that however, is too much for you to handle, Miss Aldrich, then I kindly for you to leave my home."

Nothing about that sounds soft, or kind and Sloane knows that she has completely overstepped in her own stupidity.

"Sorry, bad joke. I am in fact capable of respecting privacy, promise."

At that, Lydia merely raises an eyebrow in mild disbelief. "Mhm.... Irene will see to it."

"Of course, mistress. I will see to it right away, mistress."

Sloane already finds herself being ushered up the stairs before the maid has fully finished her sentence. Really, it takes so much time before the actual situation sinks in and when it does she is swept up in relief that has been dipped in a sense of dread. Irene's hand squeezes her shoulder, nails sharply digging into the skin, even though she is wearing her shirt. That feeling of dread intensifies, joined by another complicated mix of emotions she will definitely not address right now, perhaps never.

She finds herself ushered through a long hallway, past all its important looking doors. The reporter inside her wants to open every single one and just uncover everything. However, she already finds herself pushed into a luxurious guest room before she can even begin to beat that part of herself back with a stick.

"Good night, Miss Aldrich."

And with that the door clicks shut, maybe even locks. Sloane doesn't really know, still dazed for the entirety of this situation.

"Well, at least the bed looks nice."

It really does look comfortable, with its satin sheets and thick mattress. Really, she is already exhausted and half asleep before she can even fully slip underneath the covers. Nevermind the fact that the entire mansion is giving her seriously bad vibes. Sloane will ignore them for now, not willing to take her chances with whatever may or may not be lingering outside. If she is not dead by the end of the night then she will count that as an absolute win. Sleep claims her before she can truly note the sound of fists banging on her door. That does not stop the sound from slipping into her dreams instead.