First Sloane starts with the farmers market, which is, cozy to say the least. For once the streets are filled with people shopping at the various stalls. There is so much repetitive nice, the haggling, the slogans being called out to attract customers. At one point it just turns into white noise and whoever she stops to question about the tourists just looks at her all confused, then shrugs before going about their day. Like, sure, it does not concern them personally, but at this point the nonchalance has a seedling of fury settle in the pit of her stomach. How can people care so little? Right here, that is another hour wasted.

Next is the quaint museum sitting somewhere further back in town. All she really found about it, was a clearly outdated article in an old newspaper informing about the Grand Opening of the Museum of Mysteries. Frankly, the building doesn't look like much, the sign is already half destroyed and the windows are caked with so much dirt that it is impossible to see through. It is almost off putting, though not nearly enough to keep her away.

Sloane steps in and nearly jumps right back out when a burly man almost twice as tall as her stands in the entrance. There are traces of a huge smile somewhere beneath his mighty mustache, which is about the only hair on his head that she can spot.

"Welcome, little lady, to the Museum of Mysteries. You are just in time for the tour." His booming voice practically bounces of the empty walls of the entrance hall.

"That's...nice, Mr-?"

"Mr. Kelly, a pleasure to meet you,", he says, adding, "A hopefully paying customer.", as he points towards the tour rates.

"Yeah, of course. I came for the tour... obviously.", Sloane mutters in reply, already digging up the fifteen dollars this investigation will cost her. "The full tour, please."

Mr. Kelly nods, somehow managing to use his entire body as he does so. "Follow me, little lady."

First he leads her through a long and empty hallway, which seems to lead to larger hall filled with what she assumes to be wax statues. The sign by the entrance reads 'Hall of Hauntings'. Depicted here are all those stories the villagers have picked up over the centuries after settling here. There is something of everything, from the witch who would lure children away to eat them, to the psycho murderer who presumably killed all the people visiting the local summer camp. Some trinkets have been displayed as well, like a knife that will only ever cut the guilty.

Second he brings her to a room filled with paintings. Upon further inspection they seem to change every single time she doesn't seem to be paying too much attention to them. The fascinating thing, they appear to be oil paintings with no way of being tampered with. It is marvelous, in that slightly off putting kind of way. She never knows if they truly changed, or if she didn't look properly and forgot how they actually looked. Though all paintings have an empty set of eyes, watching from somewhere, no matter how hidden.

The end of the tour sees them enter a room that is just... quiet. There is nothing here besides a well, just spouting from the ground, old and worn. The rock is smooth, shiny and slick, like nothing she has ever seen before. It looks like it is a living breathing thing. When she tries to ask Mr. Kelly what it means, she finds that her voice does not carry in the spaces, like the sound just gets sucked away into the well. Sloane thinks briefly that she can hear the faint echo of her words bouncing off its walls. Mr. Kelly merely smiles at her, points towards the door just opposite of them, clearly labeled exit in bright, crumpling letters. She realizes she does not want to stay here. Perhaps it is the silence, or the well that doesn't belong here.

The moment they step out, Sloane's senses are assaulted with noise. The AC, their footsteps, the mere thundering of her heart. It is all so loud and suddenly grating. Just next to her, lining the long wall, are a dozen pictures of people.

"Those are the people who stayed in there for an hour, or those who went down the well and never came back out.  Some says it leads you to the spaces in between, the blank spaces reality doesn't dare touch." Mr. Kelly doesn't blink as he says it, just stares and stares, until something seems to draw him back to the present. His eyes aren't even tearing up, he still doesn't blink.

"What... what exactly does that mean?"

Finally he blinks, his eyes red, unnatural. "The room steals sound, you do not hear anything and if you hear the well speak to you, then you follow. Few manage to remain in the room long enough, even fewer hear this otherworldly syllables that beckon so sweetly."

Sloane swallows nervously, turns away from the man to inspect the pictures on the wall. There are so many, all of them marked with either 'passed' or 'taken'. It cannot be true, can it? There are way more people who supposedly went down the well than people that where reported missing in Mawbrooke. It has to be a myth. People do not disappear and the only one who takes notice is a cheerful, burly man that knew the repercussions of that room.

Her eyes trail over more picture frames until they halt, there, right in between so many people who 'fell', is that woman from the cliffs looking back at her. She is smiling here, face still intact and young and oh so pretty. Sloane reaches out, touches the metal plate and traces the words etched into it.

'Passed. 1933.'

That...that year. It shouldn't be possible. Sloane saw her today, but this picture was taken decades ago. The woman did not look that much older than in this very photograph. How is that even possible? How is anything on this god forsaken island possible? A large, heavy hand settles on her shoulder. It squeezes, its grip hard as iron. She whirls around, once more met with Mr. Kelly's unblinking stare.

"I am afraid the tour is over now. I have another group waiting and it would be uncouth to be tardy." He releases her, blinks once like he only just remembered that he has to do so.

He leads her back, not once taking his hand off her shoulder. His palm feels cold, even through the thick fabric of her jacket. Or perhaps it is simply the situation sending a chill through her. Surely enough, the entrance hall is packed with a sudden influx of people, people she has not seen on the island before. Perhaps another ferry arrived today, bringing new tourists and possible victims. Which would mean, if Sloane does not solve this mystery quickly, just more people will disappear and this time she could have done something.

None of the tourists seem to notice her. All of their eyes are drawn to Mr. Kelly, gazes piercing right through her as if she were someone not truly there. Just like him, they do not seem to blink.They stand and stare, like empty puppets. Only now does Mr. Kelly release her, giving her one last gentle push towards the exit.

"I do so hope you will enjoy the reminder of your stay, Ms. Aldrich.", he calls after her just before the doors can fall shut.

She shakes herself, hopes to rid herself of the sudden cold that has dug itself deep into her bones. The museum has given her more questions than answers. Maybe the rumors she heard before going here are true and this place is just haunted and cursed. Though, even such things would have explanations, facts the people should know of. Sloane did not come here to give up, her pride could not take it.

She huffs, straightens her shoulder and begins to walk. She could check out the cliffs again, just to see if something is off about them, something she did not see before. Just like the last time, when she walks past Reed Manor she feels like she is being watched. Though this time that feeling follows her to the cliffs. The wind is pushing and pulling at her, almost like it wants her to fall with every step she takes. Every time her foot catches on a rock, or uneven ground she thinks she might, only to regain her balance at the last possible moment. Though, despite it all, there is nothing out of the ordinary at the cliffs this time.

In bed, back the B&B, she finds her dreams eerily silent.