1 A Tale to Terrify, or at least, a not boring one

Caleb Azalea, to anyone with an untrained eye, was insane. Delightfully and surely insane.

But, to any who knew him, he was not insane, rather, a most intelligent young man, despite, as will be seen, his hysterical antics.

His partner in crime, or rather, investigations, was Paris Chambers. She, on the other hand, was sophisticated and logical by all means. A perfect, and opposite match for Azalea.

And ever since they met, they became the bestest of friends. A dynamic duo, if you will. Sharing an unbreakable bond through their investigations into the unknown, the mysterious, and the alluring.

What exactly the duo investigated was, well, the supernatural. Or rather, as the bright and fanciful Azalea called it, the ultranatural.

"You're the investigator?!" a woman gasped, shocked. Sitting across the table inside a calm and flowery cafe was Azalea. He was a strange creature, dressed in an oversized coat, triangular glasses, matched with a snappy grin. Ah, and that he was smoking bubbles from a custom made toy pipe. "Sorry, I didn't expect someone so..."

"Young perhaps?" Azalea giggled, pausing only to blow bubbles, much to the annoyance of the other customers. "Or childish, I know you're thinking that. Perhaps you expected someone-"

"Your institute, the JPI has a reputation of solving things," the woman explained, a bit confused. "I just thought they would send someone… with a more professional look."

"Not to worry," Azalea replied. "I am professional enough."

"Well then, let us get to business." The woman revealed a purse, then reaching inside to find a notebook.

"Gladly, now, may I burn this teddy bear," Azalea asked, politely, if not, with a sense of absurd humour. Indeed, he was holding a homemade teddy bear in right hand, and a lighter in his left.

"Uh..." the woman murmured, more confused. "Why?"

"I like to start investigations like this." The flames touched the bear, and it was lit ablaze. Azalea yelped as a spark hit his hand. "Let's begin. Your name please?"

"Embrynn Jennett, but call me Brynn. And you are?"

"Caleb Azalea, but you can call me Azalea, or Azzie, or, and I like this one, the Great One- just joking, but feel free to call me that."

"Uh, alright... Azalea."

"Now, on with your story," Azalea grinned. "I believe you contacted us due to unusual and terrifying happenings in a house you rented."

"Yes, precisely."

"More like preslicely." Azalea pulled out an army knife from a pocket just for occasions such as those.

"Uh… what?"

"Nothing, I have no clue. Anyway, go on, let's take this from the very beginning."

Brynn sighed, but began. "I moved here to this town, Evertree in the middle of winter. It was a snowy day in January, I believe, the ninth. I arrived here to settle down, due to the great offer on the house."

"So you moved in the first day?" the now serious Azalea inquired, except for the burning teddy bear in his hands.

"No, I was told it was undergoing some tidying up," Brynn informed. "I stayed in a hotel, room 318 of the Eagle Crown. That happens to be where I'm staying now, if you'd like to visit. Staying at the manor is just… well, you'll see."

"A manor." Azalea dropped the charred toy to the ground, causing a bit of commotion. He blew some bubbles and asked, "According to our own initial investigation, it's quite large. How cheap was this rent?"

"Just six-hundred dollars," Brynn told, sighing.

"And this," Azalea began, tilting his head as a questionable gesture, "did not seem suspicious at all."

"I thought it might be a hoax, but after seeing it again and again, I realized it wasn't."

"Again and again?"

"I used to have a cousin who lived here, so I used to drive by this small town to get that nostalgia," Brynn confessed. "But I did question why nobody stayed in it, especially since the advertisements were up on walls everywhere, and for months."

"I too, now question that," Azalea commented, yet distracted by a particularly small bubble. "So, onwards, what happened next?"

"The first day, I stayed at the hotel. Strangely, I couldn't sleep. I had eaten some noodles from a generic looking takeout, but I usually fall fast asleep. It was as if, I somehow knew I wasn't supposed to be here, in this town, I mean, well, I can't exactly place it."

"Perhaps… askew?" Azalea suggested.

"Yes, that could be the word."

"How very not boring," Azalea giggled, putting away his childish pipe to focus on the context. "How not boring… Ah, what then?"

"Well, I tried to sleep. I tried all sorts of angles and positions, but it just couldn't find me," began Brynn. "Then I faced the window, which was covered in curtains. That's where… where I saw something... "

"What something? Do tell."

"I knew there couldn't have been anything, yet I felt like something was just outside, looking in, somehow gazing through the curtains, if that makes any sense. I wanted to shake the feeling, to move, but I just couldn't, like sleep paralysis- a grip of fear, except I've never had that before."

"So, to clarify," Azalea started, "you turned to face a window, which was covered by a curtain. But somehow you felt that something was behind it?"

"Not just felt, it was like I knew."

"Odd indeed, please, go on."

"The air conditioner was underneath the curtains, which made it move."

"Casting shadows? Perhaps that caused your fear? Do be as descriptive as possible."

"No, but the way the shadows moved seemed almost living. And then when sleep came, I dreamt of the strangest things."

"What things?" Azalea asked, blowing some bubbles, then taking out a small notepad and a pen.

"It seemed like reality, but in the dream, I saw this abstract shape, moving like a rough drawing, if you will. Some sort of shadowy figure with a hat, a fedora, I think, that casted shadows on where it's face should be. But there were eyes, crimson, glowing eyes staring deep into my room through the window and curtains- in the dream, of course."

"That sounds not boring at all," the investigator murmured. "But aha- your room, 318, that's on the third floor, I suppose?"

"It was," Brynn confirmed. "This shadow figure, it had long legs that stretched down, with too many joints and segments that folded upon each other. And the arms, just as long, shorter, just a bit. It's arms were on the balcony, propping up it's neck and head to look inside."

"Fascinating..."

"And that's when I woke up to find the window open."

"What a twist!" Azalea cheered, somehow happy at the expense another's fear. Others turned their heads, annoyed and slowly starting to get sick of the quirky investigator. "Not to be inconsiderate, but I do love a good, true, story. What next?"

"It was six in the morning, and the wind was especially strong. Some snow had drifted in, and the curtains were blowing in the breeze. I was afraid, tired, and confused, but I did my best to gain control and shut the window," Brynn continued, though less trusting of the peculiar Azalea. "I decided to ask the hotel staff at breakfast to find out what was going on. But when I turned to leave the room, I swear, I could have sworn there was something behind me, inside that room. It was like something put its image inside my mind, where behind me I would see that strange shadow figure on the floor, its elongated arms and jointed legs spread across the room."

"Did you look back?"

"No, I ran, to the door, and I felt something, no, the mind's image of something, that thin and elongated shadow chasing me through the halls-"

"You've been describing the encounter so well," Azalea intercepted. "It seems too well."

"The images in my mind they… I can't explain it, but I can recount every detail of what happened there. When I speak about it, it seems like the words craft themselves."

"Not the first time I've heard that," noted Azalea, writing it down so that he would remember later. "But continue."

"The halls warped and twisted, like they never seemed to end. I was beyond terrified at whatever had put itself in my mind, chasing me. Until at last I found the elevator. As soon as I stepped inside, I felt whatever was chasing me disappear. I looked back to see the hall, and it was normal, exactly where everything should have been."

"So then you questioned the staff about the open balcony window?"

"I did, but all I remember is that they said I might've forgotten, that I had opened it, then forgotten to close. Not like I could prove my events, or tell them that something, or rather, the feeling of something had just chased me through a maze of halls," Brynn told. "I eventually mustered up enough courage to return to my room, well, not alone. I found someone who also had a room on the third floor. I asked them if they had encountered any mysterious events, but they said no, they were only on vacation to visit a friend."

"Interesting… not boring at all," Azalea muttered, writing down key bits of the information.

"I came back up, entered my room, and the window, curtains, bed, everything felt comfortable, as it should have been before. No fear this time, no feeling of..."

"Askew."

"Yes, that word."

"That day, I went to check out the house, so I left most of my bags in the hotel, except for my essentials. I packed that in my car and drove."

"The manor, right. What is it's name?"

"Grandtree Manor, I don't quite remember why it was named that, but it is what it is."

"And where is the manor located?"

Brynn took out a small map and found the location. "There's a road called Treefall that leads you into the forest and up a hill. That's where Grandtree Manor is."

Without warning, a sharp ringing alarm cut through the air. Azalea jumped in shock as he realized it was his own phone. Someone was calling him.

"I need to take this call, I'll be back." Azalea walked outside into the cold, yet sunny day, and answered the phone.

"Azzie!" the voice on the other end snapped. Azalea jumped a bit, recognizing the voice. It was his partner in investigations and dearest friend, Paris Chambers. "I'm approaching the town, where exactly are we meeting?"

"Ah, kittens! I forgot."

"Every time you use kittens to curse it always fascinates me," laughed Paris. "There's a bit of a fog- and… hail? No matter. Azzie, what hotel are we staying at? The map shows only two hotels- the Eagle Crown and the Cryptid Spot."

"Uh, I think we're staying in the Cryptid Spot," Azalea told, though hesitantly. Paris usually dealt with the details, but this time, Azalea had arrived in town earlier. "Wait, hail?"

"Yes, hail, and an annoying fog. In any case, I'll be arriving in around fifteen or so minutes."

"That can't be," Azalea argued. "There isn't any hail where I am. The sky is clear, and not a cloud in sight."

"Azzie, this is no time to be joking. It's hailing like hell where I am. I can't see the sky, but if I'm nearby, there should be fog where you are."

"Paris, I swear by my bubbles that..." Around the corner of the street, a thick and dark grey fog began to roll, covering all in its dark mist. Nobody seemed to run, and instead, appeared to shrug it off, as if nothing was strange about the strange, impossible weather.

"Azzie? Hellooo?"

"A fog just rolled in… just flowed in… like water."

"Azzie, this better not be a joke."

"I'm not joking. A thick fog literally just appeared."

"I am starting to hate this small town nestled in the mountains," Paris sighed. "Meet me at the hotel."

"I'm actually interviewing the uh, the person who rented the house, Brynn."

"We'll see to that later. Let's stick together for now."

"As much as I want to continue learning about the house, you're right."

"Remember the last time we were separated in the fog?"

"Ah, yes."

"Now," Paris began, "I take it the hail hasn't started where you are?"

"No," Azalea answered.

"Get to safety. These ice meteors are vicious."

With that, the call ended, and the first flakes of hail began to fall. Azalea returned into the cafe and found Brynn. He informed her he would set up another interview, and would need her contact information.

When that was gathered, Azalea made his way onto the nearest bus and rode it to the stop nearest to the Cryptid Spot Hotel and Diner.

As Paris would have said, 'poor, dear, Azzie' had only just managed to enter the hotel when the meteors of ice began to intensify.

"Yikes you almost got stoned to death," the receptionist rambled, fiddling with his suit and tie as he said so.

"Indeed I did," Azalea agreed. "Now, do you mind if I blow some bubbles?"

"Did I hear correctly?" the receptionist inquired, fixing his glasses as if that could help him understand.

"Yes," Azalea stated, pulling out his bubble blowing pipe.

"Sorry sir, you can't smoke in here," the receptionist warned, misunderstanding Azalea's true intentions.

"Oops." Azalea blew on the pipe, releasing a decent amount of shining bubbles. "So?"

"Uh… I guess there isn't a rule on bubbles?"

"Thank you," Azalea thanked. "Now, I'm here to check in. The name's Azalea, Caleb Azalea. Or it might be under a Paris Chambers."

After a moment of typing, the receptionist found the room. "Ah, it's for a Paris Chambers, so we'll need some identity."

"Ah kittens," cursed Azalea. "Paris will be here soon."

"In the meantime, I could tell you all about Cryptids and spooky rumours. That is, of course, what our hotels are for."

"In that case, I'd like to know about a manor. Grandtree Manor."

The receptionist sighed, as if he had heard the question a thousand times before. "You're one of those people, aren't you- a ghost hunter, a paranormal enthusiast. Well, in my opinion you should just leave. No way you're setting foot there."

"Why would you assume I'm an enthusiast?" Azalea asked, a bit annoyed. "Why can't I enter the Manor?"

"First of all, your clothes are what so called 'unique' people wear- a dead giveaway," chuckled the receptionist as Azalea looked in fake, sarcastic, horror. "Also, you can't enter because the owner won't let anyone except people renting the place to live to document the place. It's, in my opinion, the most haunted house ever, just that nobody knows it cause that stupid owner won't share it."

"And... how do you know?"

"I work with Crypto Global, the world's leading organization in all things unusual. The name's Christopher by the way, but you can call me Toph."

"Then I believe you," Azalea decided, having heard of Crypto Global, the most famous cryptid hunting organization, which, by relation to other cryptid hunters, profited, and worked. "But," Azalea began, with a twinkle in his triangle glasses, "I'm with the J-P-I," he continued, doing a little dance. "You know, Julian Page Institute!"

"No way," gasped Toph, who took off his glasses to stare. "You're seriously with them?!"

"Yup, we just turn up whenever something odd happens-"

Behind them, the door opened and in walked a woman, young, and a similar age to Azalea. Long blonde hair swayed in the wind, covered by bits of snow. A beige, neatly fitted trench coat was worn, as well as a tag that read her name- Paris Chambers.

"-and we investigate, by kittens we do. It's a J-P-I thing."

"Azzie!" Paris called, causing her partner to jump, having been so engrossed in telling Toph about what the JPI did. "Are you going around telling everyone we work for the JPI?!"

"Uh… maybe?" Azzie shrugged. Paris laughed and handed him a coffee. "Glad to see you're still alive."

"I believe you are Paris Chambers?" the receptionist questioned. "I'll need some identification-"

Before Toph even finished his words, Paris had tossed what he needed into his hands.

Moments later, a key was given to them, and by then, Azalea had introduced Paris to the receptionist, and were now gathering information about the house.

Well, as it would turn out, the JPI was a formidable group indeed.

The JPI itself was nested inside a sizable building, a skyscraper, in fact, which one random day, started construction. A year later, it was complete. This was the Julian Page Institute, a service that dedicated itself to collect stories and investigate, as the name suggests.

What also came with the service, were employees already working there. People who were seemingly nobodies came with the service, except for the few interns that were selected.

People were confused, as nobody knew why or who wanted the service created. At first, people were reluctant, but in a month, they had risen to popularity for their cheap services and their stunning accuracy.

Except there was a catch. Nobody could simply walk-in or contact the agency. They, it seemed, found you.

Outside the hotel, the hail and fog intensified, denying Azalea and Paris the chance to get their bags from Paris' car. This, in turn, led to an annoyed yet charmed Paris to follow Azalea into the gift store, where he would, like a thousand times before, spend half the budget on souvenirs.

By the time the two had entered the room and washed up it was evening, and they were ready to get to business.

Dressed in clothes bought from the gift store, the duo decided to talk over it during dinner, and so they went to the basement floor, where a famed restaurant awaited them.

"So, according to our dear receptionist Toph, we can't step foot on the grounds," Azalea informed.

"Dear receptionist, really?" Paris chatted.

"Whatever you want, dear Paris," Azalea joked.

"Aww, how sweet of you, dear Azalea," Paris countered. "But seriously, I didn't drive up this mountain for four hours while you took a train for nothing."

Azalea smiled and shrugged. Paris mimed a throat being cut. "Toph also told us that some professor that lived here knew the most about Grandtree Manor. What was the name?"

"Ah, yes, that was," Paris began, pausing to take a peek at her notes, "Cookie McDeux."

"Brilliant my dear Paris, Cookie McDough."

Paris just sighed. "Really Caleb? Really? Cookie McDough?"

"Yes, my dear Paris."

"Are you going all out with this dear Paris theme?"

"Precisely, I'm the Sherlock and you're my Watson."

"I am not a side character, Azalea. Now stop your antics and get to work!"

"Yes, fine," Azalea groaned, drawing out the 'fine'. "We'll need to set up a meeting with this Professor Cookie."

"Already ahead of you," Paris replied, showing him her phone. A text message had been sent to Cookie. "Let's just hope for a reply."

"Ah, and we will need a second interview with Brynn Jennett," Azalea reminded.

"You do that," Paris suggested. "Now, from what I've gathered, the owner's name is Andras Andern. The house recently fell into his possession, and after- get this- the first batch of renters mysteriously was found dead there, he has kept it away from the eyes of ghost hunters and only allowing people needing a cheap but probably a dangerous place to live."

"The deaths," Azalea started, pausing to blow a bubble, "how mysterious are they?"

"Very, but not much detail was given to the public," Paris informed, paraphrasing what she read on her phone. "There were six people, all found just outside their rooms. The evidence suggested they had run an impossibly long time, then fell to the ground. That's when they died of unknown causes. Oh, and Cookie McDeux was on that case- they autopsied the bodies."

"I'm betting that's where our money is. Also, they?"

"They're nonbinary."

Perfectly on time came a soft bell. Paris looked to her phone, and there was a text message back from Cookie.

Paris has sent- I'm Paris Chambers with the JPI, and we're looking to gather as much information as we can about Grandtree Manor. Me and my partner would like to set up a meeting.

The response was exactly what they hoped for- Sure. According to the forecast this freak weather should be over by tomorrow, so let's say ten?

Agreed -Paris replied.

Perfect, let's meet at Helix Cafe.

I, or my partner will be there. We'll be wearing Crypto Global clothes.

And that, was that.

"Let's bring cookies!" Azalea whooped, still as insane as ever.

"Azzie, no."

"Please?"

"No."

"Fine, but what about owner dude? We'll need to convince him to get on his property," Azalea pointed out.

"I think," Paris started, "we should gather data first to seem to convince the owner, Andras Andern of our pure intentions."

"Looks like our work here is done, my dear Watson- er, Paris," Azalea babbled, blowing bubbles as he did. "Now what do you say to spaghetti?"

"Delightful," Paris concluded. "Also, one more thing."

"Yes?"

"Never call me 'dear Paris' in the context of Sherlock Holmes again."

Azalea sarcastically pouted.

Paris laughed.