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[attr="class","skullbody"]The fireplace crackling? At this hour? While the adults were away?[break][break]

Ghost hunter instinct subsided and big brother instinct rushed to take its place. Even if these kids were little nightmares, and potentially literally possessed, they shouldn't be dealing with such a blatant fire hazard. Whatever the mystery rocks were could wait. At the very least, they needed to make sure this mansion didn't go up in flames on their watch.[break][break]

"Let's start here," Isaac said, coming to a halt in front of the fireplace door. "Either there are some people here we can ask about what's going on, or an unattended fire for us to snuff out before we have to pay for the damages."[break][break]

Or maybe Isaac was wrong, and it was just arsonists. Ghost arsonists. The worst kind of arsonists.[break][break]

Slowly, quietly, Isaac began to ease the door open. Knocking and announcing his presence, while the polite thing, also seemed like a big mistake fresh off of a showdown with a swarm of ghosts. The wayward spirits were tough enough in a fair encounter. The last thing Isaac wanted to do was make it easier for them to get the drop on him and Ash.

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[attr="class","skullbody"]A fireplace was burning away, but there was nobody around for it to warm. The parents had left home for the day. The children were nowhere to be seen. And the babysitters had barely even gotten a welcome wagon, let alone an entire fireplace lit up for them. That seemed like the kind of detail that they should have been in the know about.[break][break]

It was an oddity before. Then Ash found the newspaper clipping sitting amidst the ashes. Now it was a mystery.[break][break]

A Maria Truesdale had been found dead in her own home. A serial killer had been responsible, one with enough of an impact to have a name to himself. The couple who owned this house shared a last name, but there didn't seem to be any record of a Maria among them. And any other details had been lost to the searing flame.[break][break]

The searing flame that, judging by the poker, was very recent. The searing flame that, judging by how it consumed the newspaper article, wasn't what someone wanted to find. It was as if the fire had just started, say, right before the owners of the house left for the evening. The same owners who were untouched by the mobs of ghosts that seemed to immediately descend upon Isaac and Ash the second they entered the room.[break][break]

"So a Truesdale is found dead in her own home," Isaac said. "Now we're in a Truesdale's home and its swarming with ghosts. Ghosts that didn't start shit before, but went for the jugular once we came. There's a freshly lit fireplace that's being used as a garbage disposal. If we were held up by the fighting for a second longer, there'd probably only be ashes left."[break][break]

"Yeah. No. That tears it. Somebody, or something, didn't want us finding this." But what did that even mean? Did the ghosts do it? Or did the owners of the house? And if so, why? Were they trying to bump off a relative for inheritance money? Or were they not even real Truesdales at all? Were they the actual Butcher? Were the ghosts their butchers' blades?[break][break]

"Rich guys like this love talking about themselves. We need to get our hands on some kinda family history book. Now."

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[attr="class","skullbody"]That was true. If somebody wanted to bury some sort of evidence, it was strange that they chose now of all times to dispose of it. They were practically dangling the clues right in front of Isaac and Ashley's faces. But if they wanted Isaac and Ashley to find something, why would they do so by throwing it into the fire?[break][break]

Ashley's conclusion was the only valid one. They wanted to send a message, but leave no evidence behind. Yet when the evidence was written into the folds of the duo's brains . . . "When you put it that way? It makes me feel like they don't want us to live to tell the tale."[break][break]

So that was their new time limit. Not when the couple came back home (if they truly even left?), but when the ghosts decided to stop playing with their food and come for their lives. If there were enough of them to swarm them as a welcome wagon, who knew how many were just lurking in the wings, waiting for their chance to strike?[break][break]

A study. A library. Even a private quarters where they hung up their genealogy like the smug rich pricks or successful criminal masterminds they were. There had to be something they could use to connect these dots. "Let's give all the doors a check before our next pick," Isaac said. "Listen for sounds. Look for plaques. Shit, maybe even a map, in case they need to help servants navigate their quarters. Anything we can do to narrow down what room might be the study."[break][break]

But Ash brought up another idea. Of course! They had technology! "And while we do that, let's see if we can't tip the scales just a little bit more . . ." He whipped his phone from his pocket, grinning like he'd just had the smartest idea in the world. Googling Maria Truesdale should go off without a hitch, right?[break][break]

Not like there were ghosts who possessed technology or anything like that.

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[attr="class","skullbody"]The good news; no Rotom were coming to beat Isaac up and take his phone (not in that order). The bad news; the article didn't shed a ton of light onto the situation. It at least confirmed that Elvira Truesdale was who she said she was, but the dates lined up weirdly. 40 years ago? How would a newspaper article from way back when survive for all this time?[break][break]

What was Ash suggesting? That so much time passed and the Butcher was still alive? The dude had to be, like, in his 60s at the youngest by now. Most likely, he'd be pushing 70, maybe even 80. Was this seriously the work of some kinda murder grandpa? Because on the long, long, long list of ways Isaac expected to die, that was far from the ideal choice.[break][break]

Or maybe the Butcher was dead. And that wasn't even stopping him.[break][break]

Before he could say anything, the candles went dark and the room went frigid. Isaac visibly shivered, the mixture of fear and cold making it nigh-impossible not to. They'd either lingered too long or learned too much, and the powers that be lurking within this mansion had become fed up with their meddling.[break][break]

"You stay here," Isaac said to Ash. He walked over to Echo, looking down towards the Ralts with a slight smile on his face. "I know this feels like a lot, buddy. But I'm gonna need you to back me up here, okay? Just a quick little scouting run. We go right in. We come right back out. And then we tell Ash what we saw, okay?" As far as Isaac could tell, it would be the fastest way to see what was going on without committing to a struggle.[break][break]

Echo nodded, scrambling up onto Isaac's shoulders and holding him tight. The two took a deep, long breath, released it in a shuddering sigh, and then they prepared for the inevitable.[break][break]

Hopefully nothing would be able to interrupt them as they Teleported in and out of the lobby.

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[attr="class","skullbody"]Get out.[break][break]

Being in Cillian Quinn's quarters had taught Isaac the true meaning of fear. To feel such Pressure without him even being around was the first sign to Isaac that something was horribly, horribly wrong. He tried and he tried to will himself to leave, yet he found himself incapable of mustering up the command.[break][break]

Get. Out.[break][break]

A shiver slipped down Isaac's spine as pieces of the being made themselves clear, one after the other. One beady white eye opened, and then the next. As they recognized Isaac, they were joined by a steadily widening smile. And then came the large, jagged blade it dragged behind it, shining as if being hit by an invisible light. His feet felt frozen to the ground.[break][break]

Get out![break][break]

Echo was trembling against Isaac's shoulders, and frankly, so was Isaac himself. Each heavy footstep landed with the force of a slamming door on a rusty hinge. The grind of the blade on the floorboards bounced around in Isaac's head like an echo of madness. The being moved in an unnatural way; jaw grinding back and forth, entire body shuddering with each movement. Isaac could barely comprehend what he was looking at, and when he tried to remember how to run his brain had forgotten the instructions.[break][break]

Get out! Get out![break][break]

And then he saw the flesh between his teeth.[break][break]

That was all he needed. Isaac turned and bolted, ducking to lower his profile and avoid the inevitable swipe that this . . . Thing would take at him. He beelined through the darkness, but not back towards Ash. No, instead he headed to the rooms on the left, the ones set apart by that l-bend hallway. Echo wailed in distress and confusion, wondering what had gotten into Isaac. But through his Telepathy, he started picking up on what he'd put down.[break][break]

He turned the corner, then had Echo Teleport them away.[break][break]

When he landed back in Ashley's presence, he whispered at a mile a panicked minute. His skin was deathly pale, his hair seemed to stare on end, and he could barely breathe between words. "Not okay. Shadow man. Big knife. Eating flesh. We're next. Tried to bait him. Might have time? Might not?"[break][break]

Poor guy. Even after his clever ploy, he just had no idea what to do here.

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[attr="class","skullbody"]"Okay. Yeah. Good now. Rock in a stream and all that bullshit. Yeah. Okay. Alright." It took a little bit of self roasting, a lot of steady breathing, and some pat appreciation, but Isaac was slowly winding himself back down from that fright. "Sorry, man. It's just . . . the pressure. The sight. The smell." He shuddered even remembering it.[break][break]

The Butcher had to be here. It was the only explanation. And, confirming Isaac's worst theories, he did indeed seem to be some kind of horrifying ghost murderer. If he was truly haunting this place, and all of the ghosts in the manor were marching to the beat of his drum, then there truly was no escape.[break][break]

Their options were to sneak around and delay the inevitable, or charge at the unknown with knives out.[break][break]

"He sure as shit didn't look like some kinda grandpa," Isaac pointed out. "So that's telling me he's some kind of ghost instead. And ghost types might be easy pickings, but an actual-ass, this-was-a-dead-guy, I-have-come-back-from-my-grave-to-kill-and-eat-your-ass ghost? I don't know if we can even fight those. Sounds like a death wish, if you ask me."[break][break]

And yet, it might be a death wish they needed to pursue. "If we're gonna do it, we need to be smart about it. Strike from the shadows so if it goes wrong, we're not ghost food. But I think we're better served scouting around first. Info. Clues. Gear. Whatever we can scrounge up to tip the scales. And until then we just steer the hell clear of him, much as we can."[break][break]

There was that unchecked room, and stairs just the right of them. "I tried to juke him to the side. Ran down that corner and teleported away. While he's busy checking those rooms, we might be able to slip up those stairs. Figure we'll have free reign of that floor until he's caught on to my bullshit, yeah?" Anything they missed down here they could always come back to later.[break][break]

Right?

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