The next morning sees her awake bright and early, surprisingly calm too, despite the nightmare she has had. Sloane only remembers fragments, but they are enough to be a tad more alert than usual. Though by the time Irene has accompanied her to breakfast she seems to have forgotten all about it. Such is the thing with dreams, they never stay for too long.

So, breakfast has her exchanging strained smiles with Lydia over their respective plates of scrambled eggs. It is quite awkward and she solely awards it to her own supreme ability to put her foot in her own mouth at inopportune moments. Really, it shouldn't surprise her anymore, but here she is having breakfast with people who may as well hate her and are just too polite to say so.

Irene is watching her like a hawk, as if Sloane will do something to insult her mistress any moment. Which truly might not be that far off. She has never really interacted with high society, so anything she says may as well be an insult for all she knows. Not that the silence feels any better, it is stifling. So, she decides to be a brave woman today.

"Uhm... I wanted to thank you for your hospitality. It was kind of you to let me stay the night even though you did not have to. So, thank you, but I will be on my way now. I would never want to overstay my welcome." She is so glad when her voice doesn't waver. That should have been formal enough, right?

Lydia looks at her now, still with that mask of neutrality, perhaps disinterest even. Her lips part to speak, though her mouth snaps shut with a harsh click only mere moments later. Irene has leaned down to whisper something to her. Sloane watches Lydia turn red and sees that as good as any sign to take her leave already. The chair scrapes across the floor with a harsh noise. It somehow startles all of them.

She leaves before anything can change.

Strangely enough her nightmare chooses that particular moment to creep back into her thoughts. The memory of being chased has her palms sweaty and her heart jackrabbit in her chest. It's like the anxiety attacks she used to get in school during group projects, only now the thing jeering at her is her own goddamn brain.

"Cool, cool. What now? I need money at least."

Sloane stuffs her sweaty hands into the pockets of her pants, curls and uncurls them there. It doesn't do anything to help her calm down. Maybe it is just the place in general that gives her the creeps now. She never thought urban legends would really get to her. After all, she used to be the kid weirdly fascinated by horror movies and everything unsolved.

For now she will have to get back to the village, maybe scour a few stores and see if they need a helping hand. She really doesn't need that much cash, just enough to maybe not die in the next coming days. Gladice might need someone to help around the B&B, or perhaps Cody wants to take a day off and she can just cover a shift. Those are all options that leave her more hopeful than devastated.

"As long as no nightmare demon gets to me I should be good. Today can be a good day, despite the minor inconveniences that turned into huge fucking problems. I can be an adult about all of this." Not like she could call her parents for help anyways, one would need a phone for that.

So off into the village she goes and finds mostly closed stores. Which is weird, but Cody and Gladice are still viable options that she has yet to try.

Naturally she thinks to try her luck with Cody first. It feels like she knows him more than Gladice, though that is not a difficult thing to achieve and still a pretty low bar. Well, no use to think about it now, seeing as she is already pushing the door to the store open,  grin firmly in place.

"Cody, my man-", she immediately halts.

The person facing her is most definitely not Cody. First of, the person is a woman and clearly older than her favorite store clerk and Sloan combined. Second, whereas Cody looked dead inside, as people his age usually do, the woman just looks... empty, hollow even. It is unsettling, mostly because this is Mawbrook and everything has been unsettling so far.

"Ahaha.... you're obviously not Cody. Sorry for just storming in and being loud." Her voice jitters with nervous embarrassment. Will there ever be a day where she does not feel out of place?

"Obviously...", the store clerk parrots in a voice that sounds rough and just barely human. Never has a word been pronounced with so little life in it.

The woman just stares. Her name tag is far too worn to discern a name. Sloane stares back. It strikes her how the clerk has yet to blink even once. Perhaps this is just a really big sign that she should take her chance with Gladice. When has the universe ever liked her enough for things to go well anyways? Bit by bit, Sloane begins to back out of the convenience store again. The bright fluorescent lights where beginning to hurt her eyes anyways.

Just before the door manages to fall shut behind her, she catches the murmur of a question that sends a cold shiver down her spine.

"Who is Cody?"

She carefully files that away under 'Things that make this entire island very, very wrong', then immediately tries to calm herself with the fact that some people just don't memorize all the names of their coworkers like she did in her first year of working for a local newspaper back home. This situation is perfectly alright.

'But not on an island like Mawbrook.', her mind chimes in, ever the helpful bastard.

Really, she would love to experience one day that does not feel haunted in any way shape or form. Yeah, that would actually be nice.

When she arrives at the B&B, it is close indefinitely due to a burst pipe. Well, that just sucks. Unbidden, she remembers the museum. It might have been weird, downright creepy even, but Mr. Kelly had not looked like he had anyone to help him with the tours. As far as immediate chances for getting cash go, this might be a last ditch effort worth making.

Now that she has been at the museum before, its presence looms over her. That sense of awed curiosity gone, replaced by a foreboding sense of dread. Still, she does not have a lot of options, none anymore, really. Sloane steps into the entrance hall, pointedly ignoring the cold shivers that simple action sends down her spine.

"Back so soon, little lady?", Mr. Kelly's voice booms from somewhere deep within.

She can hear his heavy footsteps thumping down the hallway. He is coming towards her. Something within her tenses with the realization. Mr. Kelly's frame is still as bulging as she remembers and like the building, he easily looms over her.

"Here for another grand tour?", he asks, an easy smile stretching across his face.

"No, not really...I...uh..", she halts, unsure of how to voice the request. The words don't come to her immediately, "I wanted to ask if I could work here actually."

The words feel a little like pulling her own teeth. Everything tells her to turn around and leave, though Sloane has never been good at following her gut feeling.

Mr. Kelly's eyes light up at her words. That smile stretches just a bit farther across his face, bordering on being unnatural. Any more and it might break his face open. His teeth, all shiny and white, seem too sharp, too many in number to belong there.

"Such a splendid idea. Help around here would be greatly appreciated by everyone. Let me get the papers." His joy is too loud.

Mr. Kelly is gone in a blink, leaving Sloane behind in the enormous entrance hall. The silence creeps in, slow and heavy. Minutes pass. He does not return. The silence twists, grows loud suddenly, deafening. A thousand voices hidden in the walls. They whisper. They scream.

"Stay."

"Stay with Us."

"Sleep."

"Run."

"Stay forever."

"Be with us."

"GET OUT!"

The last bit is a thunderous roar amidst the flood of auditory assault. Her chest hurts with each wheezing breath. Why are they so loud? Before she move, she finds papers pressed into her trembling hands. She blinks up at Mr. Kelly and his too wide smile. His neck is all wrong and torn, oozing thick ichor. His arms are bend at worrying angles, bits of bone poking at stretched skin. Sloane blinks again, terror trapped in her body. He returns to normal, all smiles and broad shoulders. Yet the whispers do not stop. There are eyes in the cracks of the painted walls. They are watching her. No, watching him?

"GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT."

The sudden urge to bolts wracks through her. Sloane wheels around, sending the papers flying in the process. Mr. Kelly shouts in confusion, but she is already running. The entrance hall seems to stretch. Where is the exit? It should not be too far away. Something wants to keep her here. She can feel it in her flesh. It is trying to convince her that staying would be easier.

The voices scream and howl, a cacophony of noise. It keeps her going, the fear their words ignite. It is absolute terror that breathes new determination into her movements. Behind her, Mr. Kelly roars, guttural and angry. He sounds like a beast. She does not dare turn to look, knows it will be her end if she does. In spite of all that, cold hands still wrap around her throat. They squeeze. She chokes, but she does not stop running. She can see the entrance. Cold fingers dig into her feel, almost sink it as if her skin where a rotten fruit. Just when she thinks those fingers will scrape across bone she burst out of the building. The hands release her and she staggers forward out into the street.

Sloane doesn't stop here. She keeps running until she recognizes the shops that line the main street. Once she does stop, lungs aching and legs wobbly, she promptly vomits into one of the nearby trash bins. The acid burns her throat. She tastes blood. Not good.

"This is not worth it. Fuck this." Admitting defeat tastes sour on her tongue. Or perhaps that is the leftover bile.

In the distance echoes a lonely ship horn.

Of course! How could she forget to harbor?! Fuck getting something out of this. Fuck solving a mystery if things feel this wrong all the time. She will be going home. One way or another. Sloane may have to drag herself to the harbor, but she will not stay. Her heart hammers away. It is a painful thud, thud, thud in her rib cage, like fists beating against raw meat.

The air stinks of fish and salt. It burns in her nostrils. The docks look old and feel empty. Like a ghost town hanging on its last breath. The thought has something heavy settle in the pit of her stomach. Further back, near the end of a rundown warehouse she hears a clutter of sorts. Like an idiot, she follows the noise. Desperation drives her forward and when she spots the dockworker, her heart plummets with relief. This time she did not stumble right into a nightmare, no. This is a man, his hair gray with age, clothing damp from the ocean spray.

"Hey.", she shouts. Too loud. "Hey, sorry. Are there any boats headed for the mainland? I can't pay right now, but if I manage to contact someone they can vouch for me. I just really need to get off this island."

The man stares, rubs his stubbly chin as if in thought. His mouth opens. It forms the beginnings of words, then his jaw snaps shut. He just breathes for a while, his empty stare fixed to something right behind her.

"Apologies, miss, but no boat has docked or left the harbor in years. Not since the accident." The words gurgle past his lips, as if there is water trapped in his lungs.

He still isn't looking at her and Sloane, curious or foolish, turns around to see what has him this enchanted. It is just another mistake that she makes.

There in the distance she sees pairs of bright, red eyes And mouths with too many teeth.

"No, no, no... please, no."

Fear clogs her throat. She was so close to leaving. Why can't she just leave?

Sloane runs, weaves through the spaces between abandoned warehouses. It follows. She knows it does, can hear its hungry pants right behind her. As she clambers up the stone steps she can feel its breath on her neck. Hot and moist, a scrape of sharp teeth across skin. A bead of blood gathers where the teeth slice open flesh, it trickles down along her spine. Buildings blur past. She tries to scream for help, but there is no one who would hear the choked sounds torn from her throat.

Sloane knows this is it. She will die here, right now. That thing has tasted blood and now there is nothing that can keep her from it. She can only keep running, can only hope and pray that somehow she will elude death yet again. Somehow, through sheer luck perhaps, she reaches the manor again. It stands atop the small hill like a beacon. Sloane crashes into the front door in sprawl of limbs. She cannot breathe. Where is it? Where is the creature? Is she already-

The door swings open. She flops to the ground, too weak to keep herself up. She swallows lungfuls of air at Irene's feet, gasping and heaving. It is quite frankly a bit pathetic, but she does not have the energy to feel ashamed this very moment.

"The local wildlife must really like me." The words sound like she is being strangled.

There is a hint of confusion on the other woman's face. The she is out for a hot second. Though she feels soft hands helping her to sit up. A warm palm settles against her back. A voice instructs her to breathe. Once her breathing has somewhat settled, Irene helps her up to stand. The maid steadies her as she guides Sloane back that same room she occupied the night before. She is made to sit on the bed while Irene retrieves a first aid kid. She hadn't even realized how banged up she had gotten during the chase, there are scrapes all over her body, some cuts too.

Irene is careful as she cleans the cuts on her neck and hands. Her hands are soft, gentle even. It is entirely different from the woman Sloane met just a week ago. It's nice to be cared for. With all the events that saw her terrified and running.

And just for a moment, for the first time in days, she feels safe. Irene is kind, the manor is warm. She can't leave yet anyways, why not seek solace in this. No one can judge her if she leans in the touches just a bit.

"Perhaps I can convince the lady to let you stay just a bit longer." The words drip with different kinds of meanings as Irene slowly drags her fingertips across the exposed skin of her neck.

Perhaps someone has been judging her.

Perhaps she is not safe at all.