In her room they gave her condolences, had a few laughs, and Birch placed a photo of it in her box of forgotten things. One final goodbye and Birch took the rest of the day to center herself again. Watching B movie horror flicks, talking with her friends over the phone, working on her Lovecraftian fanfiction, whatever she could do to move on past the thing. And it works, by the end of the day she was joking around with Shaliver.

For such heartfelt effort being put into it, she was even surprised how quickly she rebounded. In the dead of the night, the thought was far behind her as she continued her diligent work. Just as she was getting to the comically loving resolution between Oct-Foth and his P-amily.

There is so many ways this can end gruesomely, a little inspiration couldn't hurt.

Putting on incognito mode she dives into the most ridiculous yet uncanny deaths possible. Death by rubber ducky? Way too out of place, even for Lovecraftian horror. Cut in two by a piece of paper? Has potential when using a giant sorry card, maybe. Random car massacring pedestrians? Cliche- wait this is local! Clicking on the article brings up an 18 or older screen, and like any wise 16 year old she clicks the yes button.

Red lights scattered across her face. Bodies reminiscent of the driven-over crows of Old Fate. Streaks of blood disappeared into the shadows from the images displayed. Comments were posted mentioning how the vehicle was so fast that cops couldn't read the plates. Other sites added about how spectators couldn't hear it coming. But that was not where her focus was. It was the tracks, and just how short of a distance they had between one another.

Closing the tab, shutting down the laptop, she silently stalks into bed. Her eyes take hours before finally shutting, too tired to have any more thoughts running through her head. Her sleep was dreamless, but somehow still disturbed. Waking up was a struggle, the warmth of the sheet too-good a distraction from the night's discovery. Shaliver appeared to not mind, content to not be kicked off the bed again.

When the smell of pancakes and waffles emanated from downstairs she would release herself from the covers allure. In her skull-patterned housecoat, she wobbled down the steps till thumping onto her seat at the kitchen table. Her mother drank her tea with the magazine in hand, "Improvising to Success." Meanwhile, her father was busy working with breakfast for the family, a small bowl of bacon set aside for a certain someone. Barely cooked as suited.

"Sweetie you can't keep staying up this late even if it's summer break. Adjusting to school will be far harder that way." She didn't even need to look away from her magazine to know of Birch's condition, a thing she has dubbed the Mom Sense. Birch's eyes closed; by the time they opened she found her favourite mug placed in front of her. From the sweet citrus on her tongue, it was OJ. A peck on the head and the woman had gone back to her magazine in nearly the same position as before.

Hot pancakes with a side of casual chit-chat later and the mother was off to run the local department store. Her father grooved along to the punk music playing over the stereo, cleaning up the dishes as he did. The daughter joined and together the dancing duo would complete the chore before the fourth song's end. But before they turned it off the two competed to see who had the superior hair flipping. Ending in the tie Shaliver got there just in time to see the display, using his neverending tail to swipe the bowl of nearly raw bacon with him elsewhere.

Birch's feet left the ground as her father picked her up into one of his power hugs. From the corner near the stairs, Shaliver watched as the teen laughed while her father spun her around. Putting her down and petting both the remaining resident's heads goodbye, he left to go assist with the summer camp. Door locks clicking the engine outside roared, getting more muffled and distant till it was nothing. Quiet once more was the house, the breakfast's scent now just a ghost haunting the home. He and Birch stood by the door for a short time, but the two would return upstairs to her domain.

Shaliver could see Birch as a dog. Friendly, talkative and filled with love toward her family. Around them she smiles the brightest, whether it's the goofiness of her Dad or the understanding of her Mom she found herself embracing it all. Which coming from someone who has lived with her this long makes him far more aware of the face she makes when they're gone. Somehow her eyes seem a little less bright, some of the sparkle has disappeared. And as if on cue she will dive into doing something, with company if possible, till they return.

A procrastinator of emotion, putting away such feelings for another time.

And now she was intently delving into the online world, or working on what she dubbed "fanfiction." A cramp becoming more inevitable sitting below he leaps onto the desk to get a better view. What a view it was. Her eyes locked on the screen like magpies to roadkill. Shaliver hadn't learned to read in his many, many years of existence so he had to guess based off of pictures. Mangled corpses, some of which have tire track marks over their torso, were littered across the screen. The text was the only separator, it being the focus of her scanning gaze, which somehow made her more terrified than the bodies themselves. Shaliver wiped the small bits of drool as he gauged on what he assumed was an article to get to the bottom of Birch's interest.

It wasn't till he noticed the distance between tires he understood. One look at her face was all he needed, "Looks like you might have found it." Her eyes darted back to him and his cocky grin.

"Or maybe it's a rogue clown car," he laughs.

People, innocent and unassuming people were killed out of an act of kindness. Despite herself, she knew that the connections were too strong to ignore. Instead of sitting around and doing nothing, she remains seated to do a proper dive into the recent clown car killer. If she had any doubts before it would be hard to challenge after.

Some videos were able to capture it in the act, a vehicle that would reach waist height. A pink streak whizzed past the camera as it slammed into multiple bystanders. And much like they mention, not a single whisper of an engine. Pausing, watching and pausing again may have been entertaining for Shaliver but Birch now had to lay the responsibility of it all on her. All of this over doing one good thing?

Shaliver just continued laughing at the ragdolling pedestrians while the troubled teen sunk the feeling in. By about the thirtieth watch she stopped, exhaling a breath that could rival Zeus the god of wind himself. He finally stopped giggling and asked about her next step. She remembered the video's locations, took a loose leaf of paper and wrote them down in chronological order. It clicked. She brought up the online map and wrote down a certain street.

"I'm gonna show you how a Practiced Paranormal Investigator stops this." Birch bounded from her chair and grabbed the shower towel in a hurry. Shaliver found he didn't have to stick around to know what would likely happen, leaving through the window to go on another of his many solo strolls.

By the time she got back, the sun-glowing curtains were shifting from the summer breeze. "Forgot to close it again," she smiled.

Adorning her attire she sprints towards the front door, taking her backpack as she did. Locking it behind her she's off to set her trap to write her wrong. All she would need is a few supplies, stopping by a few local shops should suffice. Even with her complicated feelings toward the small car, she somehow felt her heart fluttering at the thought of a truly real supernatural encounter. She hadn't found something this big of a deal since the time she met her future roommate.

Heart hardened, she swore to herself to prove that faux-cat of her status as a paranormal/supernatural investigator and stop that terrorizing tyke toy.