Somehow, Cookie was right, and the weather had mysteriously gone away, as strange and spontaneously as it had begun.
Azzie and Chambers had just woken up, and looking outside the window, they saw a clear and sunny day, save for the snow covered ground and a group of people sitting around a fire eating s'mores.
Through the window, Paris swore she thought one of them had looked up and through the window, at her. A staring, almost learning gaze.
Confused but not threatened, the investigator brushed it away. Perhaps it was the eerie weather yesterday, or the bizarre storm of stones. Either way, she decided that the strange feeling of being observed was probably her own imagination.
"Ah, a new day!" whooped Azalea waking. "Paris, do you want to hear about my dream-"
"That's not a thing anyone wants," Paris snapped. "Now, let's get to breakfast, meet with Cookie, and get our bags up here."
"I'll get the bags later," Azalea volunteered, "since you had to drive up here and I used a train."
"That will make up for calling me 'my dear Paris' yesterday."
"Whaaat? That never happened," joked Azalea and he waltzed out the room. Paris giggled in response, then walked out as well.
Breakfast was done, but as they walked out, they were stopped.
A large, rather strong looking police officer tapped Azalea. "Are you Caleb Azalea sir?"
"I am, what do you require of me."
"I need you to come with me to go to the station," the officer announced.
"Wait, what?!" Azalea exclaimed. "Why?!"
"You spoke to Embrynn Jennett yesterday, yes?"
"I did," Azalea confirmed. "Why?"
"She's gone missing."
"I'll go with you, but my partner Paris here has nothing to do with this," Azalea pleaded.
"I'll allow that, but I'll need both of your contact information."
Paris provided her own card and a JPI card.
Azalea and the officer headed into a police car and disappeared into the inner town. Paris headed into her own car and after verifying it was close to ten, headed off to meet Professor Cookie McDeux.
The drive was quick and scenic, passing by the forests of dark green and living browns. Once or twice, Paris thought she saw an animal. Once, an animal appeared, though not in the physical plane, but in her mind.
Like a memory not fully there, a cloud in a dream, stuck in a world between reality and dreamscape. Exactly the same feeling as the morning, or being observed, but within mind only.
And then she snapped out of it and whatever had been there was gone.
Further up the mountain, Grandtree Manor watched the small town of Evertree. It's clocks ticked out of pace, as if anxious for the day.
The professor was a neat person, having experienced far too many of the world's dark and strange for their young age.
"Paris Chambers?" the professor called, seeing Paris enter the Helix Cafe.
"Ah, yes, Professor..."
"Cookie is fine, but personally, I've had enough of the Cookie Dough puns. I was named weird, don't ask how."
"I wasn't going to mention that, but okay," Paris confessed, taking a seat and sitting across Cookie. "By the way, is the weather always so weird here?"
"No, but occasionally a thick fog rolls in before something bad happens," Cookie informed. "Or so that's what the conspiracies say. In truth, the strange fog rolls up every month during the snow season."
"Odd indeed," Paris murmured. "Is there, perhaps, a scientific reason for this?"
"It's a small town, so no scientist really comes here, so not that we know of."
It was at this point when a waiter stopped by and asked what they would like to order. The two each ordered a double helix ice cream, which was, as the name suggests, ice cream shaped as a DNA double helix.
"Peculiar," continued Paris. "You were the medical professional who autopsied the bodies found in Grandtree Manor?"
"Yes, that was me a couple years back," Cookie confirmed, chuckling at the nostalgia. "One hell of a case that one was. Still have no clue what actually happened to them."
"According to what the news told us," Paris began, stopping to taste a bit of dessert, "they died of running."
"More exhaustion than just plain running," Cookie explained. "There was also too much wear and tear, enough that it should have taken them years to have their bodies be that broken."
"Tell me more. I have time," Paris said. "Also, may I record this conversation? It's for evidence and data purposes."
"You may," Cookie agreed. "Back to the bodies when I found them they seemed almost… alive, if you will. They look heartier and more lifelike than any other dead body I've ever seen. And then there was that weather again..."
"The fog and hail?"
"Yes, the day before the bodies were found, a thick fog rolled into town, just like yesterday. Same with the hail. It's been a conspiracy thing ever since then, at least for residents here."
"An omen, perhaps?" suggested Paris, nodding subconsciously.
"Exactly," Cookie responded. "But, the odd thing is that was the first time the weird fog and hail started up. Nowadays it just appears randomly."
"Something in the town changed then?"
"Perhaps. Again, the deaths were an odd thing. One peculiar thing is that while the owner, Andras Andern- well, he claimed only six people lived there. We did find six bodies, but we also found evidence of another person, a seventh."
"Maybe it was the owner himself?" Paris brought out.
"No, he doesn't live in the house," Cookie revealed. "He's too scared, in my opinion."
"Where does he live then?"
"There's an apartment building he owns in the outskirts of town. Topmost floor."
"So he believes that the house may be haunted?"
"On the contrary- he believes a murderer killed them. He's an atheist and believes nothing of that sort."
"Ah," Paris sighed, having hoped that she would be able to play on fear to gain entry into the manor.
"The history of the house is quite dark as well. Would you like to know?" Cookie offered.
"Very much, yes."
It was at this point that the doors of the cafe opened and in walked an annoyed Caleb Azalea. "Paris!" he called, hoping to see a familiar face.
"Azalea? You're back."
"And this is?" Cookie asked, wanting to know who Azalea was.
"Ah, my partner, Caleb Azalea," Paris clarified. "He's also with the JPI."
"Yes, yes indeed," Azalea babbled, blowing bubbles. "The police station was a waste of time!"
"What happened?" Paris asked.
"They asked me some questions about Brynn Jennett," Azalea told. "I didn't really know much, so they let me go."
"Ah." Paris found Azalea a seat. "Join us, Cookie's telling us about the house's history."
"Lovely." Azalea sat down, smiling like the world had gone mad. "One more thing- I got us a meeting with Andras Andern at Grandtree Manor."
"Care to join us later?" Paris asked, turning to the professor.
"Yes," Cookie decided. "Back to the house's history, it was built by a man named Leonidas Card. The reason it's called Grandtree Manor is that it was once a sacred site for a people called the Koekeux. They seemed to regard a massive tree there, holy. In the end, there was a massive bloodbath between the colonizers and the natives. Except as you know, this just might be the years of racism and stereotyping."
"Cursed soil, I see," Azalea joked.
"Close, perhaps," Cookie speculated. "A local legend tells that the Koekeux's leader cursed the place, this entire town. An everlasting spirit would one day destroy all and return the tree back to life. Somehow, over time, that translated to an everlasting forest, which became an everlasting tree, and there, we find our town's name, Evertree."
"Fascinating," Azalea murmured, engrossed in the tale of the town. So fascinated in the tale that he had put down his bubble blowing pipe.
"The builder lived there with his family," Cookie continued. "A wife, a son and a daughter. Not long after, the wife died of malaria while travelling somewhere in Europe. It is said after that, the builder went insane, making unnecessary and unusual changes to the house."
"Changes? Such as?" Paris questioned, hoping to know as much information as possible.
"Everything was changed to become-"
"-slightly askew," Azalea finished.
"Yes, how did you know that?"
"I brought that word up while talking to Brynn Jennett, the last person who lived there."
"It's correct, a better word than what I had in mind," Cookie remarked. "And it is right. The house's elevation was changed, angles became different, just the right way that it would be impossible to keep a door open. The floor, I think, it tilted downwards, just a bit, enough that it won't bother you, but just enough to keep it in the back of your mind."
"Sounds dizzy," Azalea piped. "Wonder why he made those changes?"
"Insanity, or whatever was wrong with him does things like that," Cookie theorized. "But he died shortly after."
"And his spooky spirit haunts the house?" Azalea jested.
"No, he actually died in Europe. His carriage was attacked by thieves."
"Then the house," Paris began, "it then belonged to his son?"
"Daughter, actually," Cookie corrected. "The son wanted nothing to do with the place. But the daughter loved it."
"I grow suspicious of this daughter," Paris commented. "Why stay at a place borne of blood?"
"Nobody really knows," Cookie added. "But, it's said she spent the rest of her days in the house, guardian valuables left by the father, the builder and his wife. The brother wanted some valuables of his own, and the daughter reported that the house was burgled every now and then."
"Then this son went to jail?" Paris asked. "I don't quite like him."
"No, no evidence was ever found," Cookie informed. "But she died by her own hand two years later. Coincidentally, so did her brother."
"I don't believe in coincidences," Azalea conversed. "Some sort of higher power perhaps?"
"I find this fascinating," Paris added. "This story should be in a museum."
"Oh, we have a local museum," Cookie boasted. "I'm also the historian. We don't tell parts of the story because we can't back it up with enough archeological evidence. Like the Koekeux probably never existed, though we have writings by the builder claiming their existence."
"So the house might not be haunted," Paris ascertained. "At least, not by some ancient and evil curse."
"No, but I'd think that it is," Cookie confessed. "Adds a new layer of mystery to the town."
"Do continue," Azalea pleaded, blowing a bubble. "I'm liking this backstory."
"Well, it doesn't really get further than that. The house switched owners after a while and all those people died in mysterious circumstances."
"Sounds spooky," Azalea mumbled, too focused on a lollipop.
"Murder, hanging, stoned, burned, poisoned, and more. I believe one guest, when they decided to leave the house, was trampled by their own horse. Of course, there are lucky survivors. But after years and years of death, it became stigmatized, and rumours arose," Cookie described. "Eventually it fell into the hands of Vilette Andern, an ancestor of today's owner. She ignored it, and it fell into disrepair."
"Interesting indeed," Azalea decided. "Anything else we should know? Because we're supposed to meet Andras Andern in ten minutes."
"Oh, the mines," Cookie remembered. "They are abandoned now, but they were once used to draw in a big source of money for the Andern family. It dried out a long time ago, but that's not the real reason why it's abandoned."
"Then why is it?" Azalea inquired.
"Children died there, so most of the mine was collapsed. They never found any bodies."
"Then, if there were no bodies, how did they know the children were dead?" Paris pointed out.
"They didn't," Cookie sighed. "Nobody, it seems, bothered to check."
"We have a bit of time, tell us the full story," Azalea asked.
"Sure. The mines were built by a previous owner whose name is now lost to time. It became a source of profit for the town. According to historical documents, it yielded all sorts of gemstones and metals. According to a legend, once, someone found an ancient temple, buried into the ground. It may be true, but we've never been allowed to check, since Andras Andern keeps all the researchers away. A stone red like blood, yet not crystal like ruby was supposedly found, then placed deep into the belly of the manor as a decoration. Many accidents happen in mines, and this was not so different. They used to say that a dead miner could be seen in the darkness, searching for a way out. I believe that is all."
"Fascinating..." Paris whispered. "But, time to go."
But just as Paris spoke those words, the fog began to roll in, just like yesterday. The pitter patter of hail began to fall outside, as if the weather itself was alive, existing only to slow down the investigation.
"We'd better get to the car before that stuff worsens," Paris hissed. "Come on!"
Against their better judgement, Azalea rushed after Paris, coats trailing in the breeze, snow falling upon them until they reached Paris' car and entered. Cookie had already entered their car and was already on the road.
The pitter patter of snow and hail began to turn into a storm of stones.
Through the dense fog and storm, lightning flashed the skies, revealing all to Grandtree Manor. The old house watched higher up the mountain, seeing all, and waiting, watching, learning.
The older the house, the more the memory.
And Grandtree Manor was old, as old as the lands, as the people before. The town too, was old, but not as old as the wood the manor from. For Grandtree Manor was made from the unknowable and ancient tree that had once stood where it was.
An ancient temple did lie in mines, built by a people lost to time.
What curses and bizarre dreams await there. For it has been millennia, centuries, decades, since the mine and temple was even thought of, or ventured.
What dreams were laid to rest in Grandtree Manor, what nightmares?
What would await them?