Sloane spends two more of her days with research that leads her absolutely nowhere. People do not seem to know anything, do not even seem to remember if any tourists have come by in the last decade. It is annoying if she is being honest with herself. The tiny conspiracy theorist within her keeps whispering that the entire town is in on it. Which is nearly impossible, because someone would have slipped up after all these years.

So, without any real info, she goes to sleep on her seventh day, only to wake up right back at the pier. In the distance the horn of a ship sounds, an echoing retreat. Her clothes are damp from the ocean spray, salt has coated her skin in a thin layer. It doesn't quite register as reality yet, so she rolls over, reaches out with her hand to pull a blanket up that should be there. Only that her fingers do not brush the coarse fabric. There is only her damp clothing and the echoing crash of waves.

It sinks in slowly, that she definitely is not in her bed. A seagull cries somewhere to the left of her and it jolts her up, cheek scraping across rough stone in the flailing attempts she makes at getting up. With a cold sense of dread, Sloane realizes that she is back by the piers without any recollection as to why or how. Mist hangs heavy over the entire place, painting all in dull grays and vague shapes, like phantoms. Strangely enough, her camera rests besides her in its case, but not her keys, nor her phone.

Has she lost them somehow?

It's not like she has to walk long to return the Bed & Breakfast, yet still she gets an eerie sense of deja vu.

The old lady manning the counter looks at her, not unkindly, but without recognition. Has she always had a name tag that read Gladice?

"Hi- Uhmm.... I had a room booked here and seem to have misplaced my keys. You don't happen to have any spares?"

Gladice meets her gaze, sucks on her teeth in thought. "I don't think I had anybody book anything this week? What was your name, dearie? Perhaps my memory isn't what it used to be."

"Sloane Aldrich. I checked in last week?"

Gladice nods, heft an enormous ledger onto the counter. Most of its pages are worn and yellowed from use, yet it appears to be only halfway filled with names.

"I'm sorry, but I can't seem to find your name anywhere. Are you certain you booked here?"

Sloane frowns, feels agitated. "I did. You gave me the room with the moth on it."

"We have no such a room. Unless it is a new one and we haven't renovated in nearly fifty years."

"No, I'm sure I rented here. Can I just go check? I'd at least prefer to get my things back."

Gladice stares at her for a moment, contemplating. After a few more minutes she gives a nod.

"If it helps you believe me, then go on, dearie."

"Cool, thanks."

Sloane is taking two steps at once as she makes her way up the stairs. The old wood creaks underneath her feet like old, hollowed ghosts. Here within the long, nearly endless hallway and its many doors is not one that depicts a moth. In fact there is not any depiction of an animal on the doors. Instead, all of them are neatly numbered. There is no trace of her luggage, no trace she was here at all.

"What the fuck..."

Sloane doesn't know what to do with the situation. She cannot even fathom if there are any explanations for all of this. On moment there is proof of her visit to Mawbrooke and the next there is nothing but her own unwavering existence. Dejected, she makes her way downstairs again. Not much she can do about her rooming situation at the B&B now. She doesn't say anything to Gladice, just steps out of the door.

Such things are strange, luggage shouldn't just disappear. Perhaps she is just being tricked, though to what end she does not know. A scam perhaps? So, what she does, like an sane (?) and well adjusted citizen, is sneak behind the establishment and dig through its dumpsters in order to find hints about the whereabouts of her belongings. Unfortunately, the only things she finds are pieces of moldy food. Well, if not here, then her things have to be somewhere else. Anything else would just defy logic at this point.

Half of her day she spends running around, finding all the weird corners of town and being chased out of at least two backyards that did not really look like backyards in her search for the lost luggage.To nobody's surprise, she ends up with absolutely nothing. No hints, no clue. Fuck.

Now, she has two choices. She can speak to Mr. Kelly and see if he knows another good place to stay, seeing as he seems to know the town like the back of his hand. Or she could speak to Cody and hope for the best. at the thought of Mr. Kelly she shivers, not that he has been unpleasant as a person, but something about him still seems off.  So Sloane's best bet is most likely Cody. Poor man, he has only seen her a few times, yet she always falls back to him with her antics.

The man in question, as always, looks utterly unimpressed upon her arrival at the store.

"Cody, bad news. It appears I have gotten myself into quite a pickle."

He nods, still unimpressed.

"It seems like I have misplaced all my luggage, wallet included. Any chance you know a place where I could stay for the time being until I have everything figured out."

"I don't think I can. Nobody I know would be willing to house a stranger for free." Oh, that sounds harsh, cold. It sounds like he does not know her and that sends a cold shudder down her back.

"That's valid. I'll just see myself out then. See ya..." Her shoulders slump. Go figure that a possibly haunted town is trying to fuck her over.

"Wait! Take this."

A sandwich is pressed into her hands, to which she can only nod in thanks. Her stomach rumbles. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Amidst everything that has happened, Sloane may or may not have forgotten to somehow find ways to eat.

She slips out of the store, gazes towards the horizon where the sun has already begun its descent and finds herself a nice bench to rest on. The sandwich tastes a bit stale, but it is still better than anything she could have gotten at the B&B.

"Just how did I get here?", she sighs, tilting her head up toward the darkening sky.

Really, one would think being fired from her dream job would be her lowest point in her short life, yet here she is, alone. Maybe she should just have moved back in with her parents instead of trying to solve unsolved mysteries. It just didn't make sense back then. Perhaps her pride didn't let her. The again, the barrage of  'I told you so' from both her parents would have driven her insane within the first few days.

Sloane spends a few more moments reminiscing, or rather wallowing in self pity, really, before resolution sets in once more. This is a setback, a huge one maybe, but nothing that will stop her in the end. She stands up, dusts off and has absolutely no idea where she is headed.

"Well, I can't really sleep out in the open. So I better find myself a nice ditch to hopefully not die in." The words ring hollow, the joke falls flat. She has never been the best audience for herself.

It is easier said than done. The ditches aren't really that nice and a village this size has only so many nooks and crannies she can check. Sloane doesn't even wear clothes that stand a chance at weathering a cold night. Most of the spaces she checks are already inhabited by local wildlife. She really isn't that keen on starting a fight with a family of feral racoons.

By the time she has checked most of the places she could think of to check night has crept up on her. What little light the moon might have provided is blocked by thick, heavy clouds. A dense mist has settled as well. With it each vague shape has turned into haunting phantoms. In the distance she spots a tall, thin figure. It stands there, unmoving, maybe even unblinking. Like a fucking idiot, Sloane doesn't stop walking. No, she walks towards the figure, heart hammering in her chest, because she never bothered to look up the definition of self preservation.

She is just about to speak up when her shoulder connects with something solid, something cold. Her heart jackrabbits. An aborted scream gets stuck in her throat. The strange figure in the mist turns into a flickering lantern. Her heart still gives out for a couple of beats. Suddenly she is glad that nobody was around to witness that.

Of course it is then that she makes note of the possibly glowing set of eyes somewhere just to her left watching her through the fog.

Sloane blinks, disbelieving.

The eyes blink back and when they open it is just not one pair anymore.

"Yeah, fuck no..."