Chapter Thirty-Five: Granny’s Plot Twist and a Creepy Chuckle

I squinted at Tim, my brain rejecting his "I was napping" excuse. "Dreamwalking with your eyes open and a serial-killer stare? Yeah, that's not REM sleep, buddy," I said, my voice dripping with doubt. His zombie act in the tunnel wasn't adding up—those white eyes, that chokehold. No way it was just a bad nap.

Tim groaned, clutching his head like he'd been hit by a hangover truck. "I swear, Jake, it felt like I was trapped in a black fog, some evil mojo pinning me down. I fought, but it was like wrestling a smoke monster. Talk about a cosmic wedgie."

I rubbed my throbbing neck, the spot where I'd been clubbed screaming with every move. "Well, we got ambushed, that's for sure. Someone knew we'd hit that tunnel—probably Granny, setting us up like rats in a trap. She's got more tricks than a Vegas magician." My frustration boiled over. We'd come for answers, not to end up in a dank, locked cell that smelled like a sewer's armpit.

Tim's eyes darted around the cave-like room, lit only by a sliver of light from a tiny, unreachable window. "This place is dripping with bad juju," he whispered. "Ghosts, demons, or worse—keep your guard up."

I snorted, bitterness creeping in. "Careful? I got dragged here saving your possessed ass. You owe me a beer and a new neck." Tim winced, guilt flashing across his face. "You're a real one, Jake. I'll make it up to you, promise. But where's Ryan? Weren't we a trio?"

My jaw tightened. Ryan's bolt in the tunnel stung like a betrayal, but I got it—survival's a solo gig sometimes. "He bailed," I said, keeping it short. "Figured one of us had to keep the case alive. Ryan's the cop; he's got the best shot at cracking it." I shrugged, hiding the pang. "No hard feelings. Mostly."

Tim nodded, his silence heavy. "My fault," he muttered. "I don't know what hit me, but I didn't mean to go all Evil Dead on you."

Before I could respond, a scraping sound echoed outside the iron door—slow, deliberate, like something being dragged across the floor. My pulse spiked, and Tim's eyes widened, fear mirroring mine. We froze, ears straining as the noise grew closer, a creeping dread tightening my chest. "What fresh hell is this?" I whispered, my voice barely audible. Tim shot me a look, his usual bravado gone, replaced by raw panic.

The door's shadow stretched, and a hunched figure appeared, backlit like a horror movie poster. Granny's face slid into view, her eerie grin glowing in the dim light, eyes glinting with that death-game ghost vibe. Giggle-giggle-giggle. Her low, raspy laugh sent my skin crawling faster than a spider stampede. "She nabbed us," I hissed, my brain screaming run despite the locked door. "What's her game?"

Granny tilted her head, her voice a hollow croak. "Told you kids to stay away. Now look at ya, stuck like roaches in a jar." Her shoulders shook with another chuckle, creepy as a clown at midnight.

Tim shot to his feet, fists clenched. "You unholy hag! If you're not human, why're you haunting this dump? Get back to whatever grave you crawled out of!" His bravado was back, but it felt like poking a bear with a toothpick.

I braced for Granny to go full banshee, but instead, her trembling hands fumbled with the lock. "Lucky I found ya first," she said, her tone oddly soft. "Any later, and you'd be like me—stuck in limbo." Click. The lock snapped open, the sound echoing like a gunshot. The door creaked, but neither Tim nor I moved, our brains buffering. Did she just… save us?

"No way," I blurted, my neck throbbing as I stood, standing up to face her. "You expect us to buy that you're our fairy godmother? Prove it. Why'd you grab us? What's with Jasper's corpse in your shack? And that old neighbor who dropped dead after we talked to him? Too convenient, lady."

Tim nodded, piling on. "Yeah, and what was that thing on your tricycle the first night? Spill it, Granny. Who—or what—are you?"

Granny hobbled closer, her limp pronounced, her giggle fading to a smirk. "You think I'm the big bad? This village ain't what it seems. Folks look normal, but they're hiding rot deeper than a septic tank. Those bodies in my shack? Not my handiwork. I'm just the cleanup crew." She pointed to the open door. "Go. Scram. But don't come back. This place'll chew you up, and I ain't your nanny."

Tim and I stood dumbfounded, jaws on the floor. Was Granny innocent? A victim? Or was she playing us like a fiddle? My head spun, the case twisting into knots. "If you're not the mastermind," I said, stepping toward her, "then who is? Give us something, or we're not budging."

Granny's eyes flickered, a shadow crossing her face. "Some truths are better left buried. Dig too deep, and you'll wish you hadn't." Her words hung heavy, a warning wrapped in a threat, and I knew we were nowhere near the end of this nightmare.