The house feels heavy, with an almost ominous feeling. Zeke places his hands on my shoulders and guides me toward the living room. As we step deeper into the area, the air no longer presses against my chest like a weight; it slowly lifts. The cold that once seeped into my bones is gone, replaced by a strange stillness, as if the house is holding its breath.
We sit on the couch by the window. Zeke sits close to me, his hand brushing mine every few seconds, grounding me without needing to be asked. Uncle Donovan walks in a few minutes after us, scanning the room as if expecting Elias to reappear at any moment. Andy and Sharon hover behind him, whispering to each other, still shaken from everything they witnessed.
Agent Williams picks up his briefcase from the floor in the office and then stands near the living room doorway, looking pale and tense. His eyes dart around the room as if he anticipates the wall will start bleeding or objects will hurl toward his head. Once he is sure the room is safe, he clears his throat to get our attention.
"I, uh… brought something that I thought you all should see," he says, lifting a slim folder tucked under his arm. "Something I wasn't able to show you before because everything went to hell."
He moves closer, then presents Uncle Donovan with a folder clearly marked with both a date and a regional designation. The simple act of handing over the folder sparks intrigue among everyone present, and questions about its contents immediately arise. Uncle Donovan takes the manila folder from him, cautiously, gripping it with a tension that suggests he expects it to reveal something explosive at any moment. He turns the folder over in his hands repeatedly, his movements deliberate and hesitant, as though he hopes the exterior might somehow betray the secrets hidden inside.
"What is it?" Uncle Donovan asks. He taps the folder with one finger. "Please tell me this one doesn't require holy water, bail money, or both."
"Old case notes," Agent Williams replies, his voice low and careful. "They're from an agent who used to handle this region before I transferred here. That agent retired years ago, but when he left, he passed on a handful of unsolved files connected to the sheriff's office." Agent Williams pauses, his gaze drifting to the spot where Elias had been obliterated. "To be honest, I didn't think much of those files at first, not until I witnessed what happened here. That changed everything. The things I've seen made me revisit those old notes, and I started to wonder why they'd been set aside and left alone. It almost felt like someone was intentionally keeping those cases from being investigated—like someone was protecting someone else."
"What's in the notes?" I ask, as my stomach tightens.
Agent Williams's expression grows more serious as he points to the files. "A name," he says, his voice steady but slightly tense. "One that keeps coming up in connection with your family." Everyone's attention snaps to Uncle Donovan and the folder in his hand. We wait for the name that has haunted our family in the present and past investigations.
Uncle Donovan flips through the pages frantically, his eyes narrowing. "Dunhill," he says.
"The mayor?" I ask, even though I already know the answer. I met him at the signing for my house, and his secretary even showed up here.
Agent Williams nods. "Your grandfather filed a complaint against him twenty-six years ago. Something about harassment, threats, and… an unusual interest in your grandmother."
My heart drops to my stomach as the journal in my hands suddenly grows warm—not painfully, but insistently, like it wants my attention. I look down just as the cover pulses faintly beneath my fingers.
"Rocky?" Zeke asks, noticing my expression.
"It's the journal," I whisper. "It's reacting." Before anyone can respond, the journal flips open on its own. Pages flutter rapidly, faster than any draft could cause, until they stop on a page I haven't seen before. The ink shimmers faintly, as if freshly written.
"That wasn't there yesterday," Donovan says, leaning over my shoulder, and he is right. A new entry in my grandmother's writing has appeared on a blank page. I swallow hard and begin to read silently.
My dear girl,
His work is not finished. The one who came after me will soon search for you. Though he appears powerful, beneath the surface, he's driven by longing. Be cautious of the living man obsessed with the departed. He is nearer than you realize.
With love, Grandma
A chill runs down my back. "Roxanne?" Andy asks softly. "What does it say?"
I close the journal slowly, my hands trembling. "It's warning me and warning us, actually. About someone who wanted Grandma's gift. Someone who still wants it."
"Dunhill," Agent Williams says, exhaling sharply. The room falls silent.
A faint creak echoes from upstairs, soft but unmistakable. Everyone freezes. Zeke steps in front of me instinctively. Uncle Donovan's eyes dart toward the staircase.
"Elias is gone," I whisper. "I felt him leave."
"Then what the hell is that?" Williams asks, his hand drifting toward his holster even though we all know a gun won't help. The house groans again, but this time it isn't threatening. It feels tired, like an older man settling into a chair after a long day.
"It's the house," I say quietly. "It's adjusting. Elias was here for so long that his absence is like a missing limb. It will take time."
"That's unsettling," Sharon says, shivering.
UncleDonovan raises a hand. "For the record, if the house starts adjusting by throwing furniture again, I'm filing a complaint with whoever manages haunted real estate."
"Yeah," Zeke mutters, "but at least it's not trying to kill us."
Uncle Donovan closes the folder, a serious look etched into his face as he hands it back to Agent Williams. "We need to know everything you have on Mayor Dunhill: every file, every rumor, and every connection."
Agent Williams nods. "I'll get everything I can, but be careful. Dunhill has friends in high places. That's why every incident got covered up. If he finds out you're digging into him, the consequences could be dire. I will do what I can to help protect you all."
"He already knows," I say softly. Everyone turns to me, shocked. "He knew who I was the moment he met me. I look so much like my mom and grandma that there was no mistaking my lineage. He knew Grandma had the gift, and I might have inherited it from her. I know he's waiting for a chance to get to me."
Zeke's hand tightens around mine. "Then he's about to be disappointed."
I want to believe him. I want to believe that banishing Elias means the worst is behind us, but deep down, I know the truth. Elias was just a shadow. Dunhill is the man who cast it, and he is still alive. The journal pulses again, a soft heartbeat against my palm.
"We're not done," I whisper.
"No, we're just getting started," Uncle Donovan says, agreeing, his voice grim.
To ease everyone's nerves, we decide to search the house but find nothing. By the time we finish walking through the house, confirming Elias is truly gone, the adrenaline has worn off. What replaces it is exhaustion and the realization that we still need to report the break-in, even if the sheriff won't do a damn thing.
Zeke glances at me. "We need to report the break-in. Do you want me to call the sheriff's office?" he asks.
"No," I sigh. "I'll do it." Reluctantly, I dial the sheriff's office, and of course, he answers himself as if he has been waiting for my call.
"What now?" Sheriff Dawson barks. I close my eyes, trying to rein in my annoyance at his rudeness.
"Now, Gramps, is that any way to answer the office phone?" I ask in the sweetest voice I can muster.
"Oh, it's you again," he says. "What did you do now? Break a nail, maybe?" he says sarcastically. I want to reach through the phone and either strangle him or punch him, but I decide to hold back. It isn't worth going to jail over.
"Someone broke into my house again, and by someone, I mean Ted. You need to come out here," I say.
A long, irritated exhale cracks through the phone. "Fine, but don't touch anything," he says, then hangs up before I can respond.
Uncle Donovan squints at the dead phone. "Well, there goes his shot at Employee of the Month."
"He's a delight," Zeke mutters.
"Yeah, he is," I reply, knowing it's not going to be a pleasant interaction.
Ten minutes later, his cruiser rolls into the driveway like he is arriving at a crime scene he already hates. We are all sitting on the porch, awaiting his arrival. He slams his door shut and stomps toward us, his sunglasses still on and his jaw clenched.
"Well," he says, "what catastrophe are we pretending happened today?" My head quickly turns in his direction, outraged by his attitude.
"Pretending?" I spit out, blinking.
"You people call me out here every other day," he says, waving his hand at the house. "For stupid reasons like shadows, noises, break-ins, and assaults that magically leave no evidence. Maybe the problem is not the house."
"Oh, I agree," I say sweetly. "The problem is definitely not the house, but maybe it's the person investigating the incidents." I let the words tumble out of my mouth, knowing they will hit a nerve.
"Watch it," Sheriff Dawson says angrily, his eyes narrowing. Zeke takes a step closer to me, but I hold up a hand to stop him. I'm not letting Sheriff Dawson bully me anymore, even if he is my biological grandfather. This ends now.
"Do you want to see the damage or not?" I ask. "Or are you here to practice your customer service voice?"
Uncle Donovan snorts. Sharon covers her mouth to hold a laugh back. Zeke and Andy look like they are about to explode with anger over the disrespect the sheriff is showing toward me.
Sheriff Dawson's face reddens. "You think this is funny, little girl? You think wastin' my time and taxpayers' money is funny?"
"Do you think doing your job properly is a waste of time?" I shoot back.
He steps forward, pointing a long, calloused finger at my face. "Listen here, you little…"
Before he can finish his sentence, Andy snaps at him. "No." The sheriff freezes as Andy steps between us, his shoulders squared, voice low and shaking with fury. "You don't ever talk to her like that again. Not anymore. Never again," he says to his father, shoving the sheriff's finger out of my face.
"Andy..." the sheriff starts to say.
"No," Andy repeats louder. "You've treated her like garbage since the day she got here. You did the same thing to her mother, and now you're standing on her property acting like she's the problem. She's the victim of all this twisted crap. Dad, she's my daughter," he says.
"You don't know what you're saying, son," the sheriff says, his jaw tightening.
"I know exactly what I'm saying," Andy growls. "And if you can't handle being a sheriff without harassing my kid, then get the hell off her property."
Sheriff Dawson looks stunned—genuinely stunned. Andy never talked to his father like this until I came back into the picture. The sheriff's gaze flicks to me, then to Zeke, and then back to Andy.
"This isn't over," he says.
"Yeah," I say, crossing my arms, "you keep saying that. I'm starting to think it's your catchphrase." The sheriff's eyes flash with anger, but he doesn't bother responding. Instead, he turns sharply, stomping back to his cruiser, and peels out of the driveway. The moment his car disappears down the road, the tension snaps like a rubber band.
"Well, that went great," Zeke says, letting out a breath.
Uncle Donovan lifts one shoulder. "I've had dentist appointments with warmer emotional closure."
He glances toward the road. "I'd say we should send him a fruit basket, but I'm pretty sure he'd arrest the cantaloupe."
"You okay?" I hear Sharon ask as she rubs Andy's back.
"No," Andy says honestly. "But I'm done letting him treat her like the enemy."
"Thank you," I say, swallowing hard, emotion tightening in my throat.
"Always," he says, pulling me into a hug. As he holds me, the journal warms faintly again against my side; not burning, not waning, but reminding. The sheriff isn't the real threat. He is just another shadow cast by the man behind all this. As I step back from Andy, I feel it—a faint tug in my chest, like the veil is shifting. Someone is coming.