It wasn't Coop's.

Leslie's heart leapt into her throat. Ivy's hand flew to her mouth, and Willy took an involuntary step back. The scream echoed out of the mausoleum, sharp and shrill, and for a terrifying moment, Leslie's mind raced with worst-case scenarios.

Before anyone could move, Coop emerged from the darkness, dragging someone behind him. Leslie blinked, her brain struggling to catch up with what she was seeing. It wasn't a monster or some ghost risen from the grave. It was an old woman—disheveled but glamorous in a trashy, over-the-top sense of the word. Her white hair was teased into a wild, chaotic mess, her makeup smudged but still vibrant. Her clothes—a tight leopard print blouse and a bright red skirt—clung to her like she was on her way to a party, not creeping around a graveyard.

Willy's face drained of color. "Jane?"

The old woman shot him a smirk, wiping dirt off her hands. "Nice to see you too, Willy."

Leslie had no idea who she was, but the way Willy said her name made it clear she was no stranger to him. The old woman, Jane, looked around at the group like she'd been caught red-handed in some embarrassing act, but there was no fear in her eyes—only irritation, and maybe a little amusement.

"What the hell are you doing in there?" Josiah's voice was sharp, the easy-going air he usually had vanishing. He glanced between her and the darkened mausoleum, his jaw tightening.

Coop grunted, still holding his axe as if he wasn't entirely sure whether he was done needing it. "Caught her trying to open Willy's grandfather's sarcophagus."

Leslie's gaze snapped to Willy, who was staring wide-eyed at Jane, his face ashen. The tension in the air thickened as Jane dusted herself off, like she hadn't just been found skulking around a graveyard at all.

"For God's sake. Yes, I was trying to open it... so what?" Jane snapped, rolling her eyes like the accusation was an inconvenience. "I was trying, but I forgot how heavy they make those... lids." She waved her hand in the air, gesturing toward the sarcophagus inside, as though the stone slab's weight was the problem and not the fact that she was trying to remove it from atop of someone's resting place.

Leslie's pulse quickened. "What were you trying to do?!" she blurted, her voice sharper than she intended. She needed answers. This felt wrong. All of it.

Jane crossed her arms. "I'm quite familiar with the curse we're dealing with," she said, almost casually. "It's called an Octagon. Nasty piece of work. Same curse the mother of the spiders used to kill the eight men who murdered her all those years ago."

Leslie felt a chill run through her, but she stayed quiet.

Jane scanned the group as if sizing them up. "This has all happened before," she said. "And believe me, it was horrible the first time. People died. Children... unspeakable things happened to them. Families were torn apart."

Leslie wasn't sure what was going on anymore, but Jane's words had a heaviness to them that kept her from asking questions.

"What we need to do," Jane continued, "is find the other two, then get all eight of us together at Loomridge Haven. That's where we'll start. We need a plan."

Josiah frowned, glancing at her, then back at the others. "Why Loomridge Haven?"

Jane's gaze flicked to him, a shadow of something unreadable in her expression. "Your family's estate is full of secrets, Josiah. More than you could imagine."

"Secrets?" Ivy asked, eyebrows raised. "What kind of secrets?"

Jane didn't answer directly, just gave a knowing smile. It didn't sit right with Leslie. Nothing did. The air felt tense, but not in the way that made sense to her. Something about Jane's confidence, the way she spoke, felt... off.

Coop rubbed the back of his neck, his voice breaking the silence. "Are we all on crazy pills, here? I mean, are we really entertaining this?"

"I'm with Coop," Willy said, though his tone was shakier. "This is starting to sound like one of those... I don't know. Nonsense stories people tell when they want to freak everyone out."

Leslie kept her eyes on the ground, the confusion inside her swirling. She didn't know what to believe. Old Sam's warnings, Jane's sudden appearance... none of it made sense.

"I've got a shift at Pam's this afternoon," Ivy said, already taking a step back. "I need to head home and shower first. We can... figure this out later."

Jane straightened, her old eyes creasing with frustration. "We can't split up now," she urged. "That's exactly what we shouldn't do. If we split up, we lose any chance of stopping this before it starts."

The others hesitated, glancing at one another. Leslie noticed Josiah's uncertainty, the doubt creeping across his face. He wasn't convinced, either.

"I don't want to get carried away," Josiah said softly. "Maybe we all need to calm down and think this through."

Jane raised her voice. "You don't get it. We don't have time to 'calm down!'"

But it was too late. Ivy was already stepping away, and Willy and Coop exchanged uneasy glances. The tension in the group dissolved, replaced by awkwardness. They all mumbled their goodbyes, the unease hanging in the air like smoke.

Leslie stayed quiet. She didn't even know what to say.

"Wait—don't go," Jane said with desperation. "You don't know what's coming. We can't—"

They were already walking away, ignoring her protests.

But then something happened that none of them expected.

The ground beneath them trembled. A low, rumbling vibration that seemed to come from the very bones of the earth. Ivy's words caught in her throat, her eyes widening with terror as the tremor passed through them. The air grew colder.

And then, from deep within the mausoleum, came a voice...

"FOOOOOOLS!"

Everyone froze. Leslie's heart jumped into her throat as she whipped her head toward the sound.

Willy's face went ghost-white. His eyes widened in terror, and he stumbled back, his breath catching. "That... that's his voice," he whispered, his own voice cracking. "He's coming for me!"

Without another word, Willy turned and bolted, running as fast as he could."Willy, wait!" Ivy screamed after him. But Willy didn't slow down, didn't look back. The only answer was the fading sound of his frantic retreat.

Leslie whipped her head around, looking at the others, her breath hitching. Their faces were blank, stunned, each of them standing still as statues. No one moved, no one spoke. Fear had paralyzed them all, wrapping them in its suffocating grip.

Jane broke the silence with a sharp huff, shaking her head. Her lips curled in what might have been disgust, or maybe amusement—it was hard to tell. Without a word, she turned on her heel and strode away, her steps unhurried, heading toward a little house on the edge of the Grove.

The others watched her go, but none of them followed.

*****

That night, Jane whistled to herself as she poured hot water over tea leaves, watching the steam rise from the kettle in lazy spirals. The small kitchen was dimly lit, long shadows stretching into the corners of the room. She moved with practiced ease, not in any rush, but her mind was elsewhere. 

A young man was on his way to see her.

A sweet, soft-spoken 20-something, nervous in that endearing way boys could be when they wanted something they didn't fully understand. He was ready to lose his virgin card, and he'd come to her for that, just like many before him.

After all, she was "Babysitter Jane," wasn't she? The town tramp. The local whore. That's what they called her.

She chuckled under her breath, the sound bitter but amused. Let them talk. Let them think what they wanted. They always had. The reality was, she had grown accustomed to the whispers of the townsfolk. They slid off her now, part of the armor she wore every day, a protection against the world she knew too well.

Jane glanced out the window as she stirred her tea. Beyond the graveyard, the dense line of trees at the forest's edge was just visible in the moonlight. And there, illuminated by the soft glow, stood Old Sam, watching her. His figure was barely more than a silhouette, but she knew it was him. She could feel it, the weight of his gaze as familiar as ever.

He was taunting her. The same way he always had.

But she just chuckled, shaking her head as she brought the teacup to her lips. As if he still has any power over me.

There had been a time, back when Old Sam wasn't so old, when his presence in the window would have sent a shiver of fear down her spine. 

Back in the days when she'd been his first victim. 

Way back when the town hadn't known him as "Old" Sam but as charming young Samuel Calloway. He had been strong, dangerous, taking whatever he wanted. And she was a child back then. Innocent. Naïve. 

But not anymore.

She sipped her tea slowly, her eyes never leaving the figure in the distance. He hadn't changed. Not really. He might be older, slower, but the same darkness clung to him like a shadow, twisting around him in ways no one else had ever seen. 

But Jane had. 

She could have left town long ago. She could have packed up, escaped the endless rumors, the judgements. But she hadn't. She stayed. Right here on the edge of the Grove, where she could keep her eye on him. She wasn't stupid—she didn't underestimate him, not for a second. She knew what he was capable of, what he had done before, and what he might still do...

But she wasn't afraid of him anymore.

She had the upper hand now. She had lived with the knowledge of his danger for years, grown used to it, even thrived in its shadow. But more than that, she knew something he didn't. Something that would be his undoing. She could feel it. As long as this octagon could be drawn together, and held together, they would not be defeated by him.

 Old Sam would get what was coming to him. 

Jane set the teacup down on the table, the clink of ceramic on wood breaking the silence. She glanced again toward the window, but Old Sam was already gone, melted back into the shadows of the trees. Good. Let him play his little tricks on her. Let him think he still had control. He would learn soon enough.

A soft knock came at the door, and Jane smiled. She wasn't surprised—she had known he'd be on time. Elijah Loomridge, Josiah's older brother. She'd seen the way he'd lingered around town, the way his eyes had followed her when he thought no one was watching.

She glanced at herself in the mirror. She still had it.

Eli was different from other men. He was special. And Jane had every intention of keeping him close.

With a knowing smile, she stepped away from the mirror, smoothing down her robe, and moved toward the door. 

Eli was going to get what he wanted tonight...

But as Jane opened the door, Eli grabbed her arm, his eyes wide with fear. He backed her into the house and closed the door behind him.

"We don't have much time," he said. "He's coming."

Who's coming? What do you think of Jane? Will the Octagon hold together?

Let me know what you think in the comments!

Thank you for reading.

-K.R.H.