Sally's gaze lingered on the chaotic yet organized board, a common way of their unconventional methods. Pins marked locations, threads connected seemingly disparate events, and symbols, some arcane, others mundane, hinted at possible connections. The fluorescent hum above cast an almost ethereal glow on her team, each face a study in focused intensity.

"Before we start on this new enigma," Sally announced, her voice crisp and clear, slicing through the anticipatory air, "let's give a resounding round of applause to our very own Cien Morris for the monumental success of the Royal case."

The room erupted in a cheer, a genuine appreciation for their celebrated lead investigator. Cien, usually composed, blushed slightly as he stood, a confident smile playing on his lips. He offered a slight bow, his eyes sparkling with the afterglow of recognition.

"While the jury's still out," Sally continued, her hand affectionately patting Cien's arm as he sat back down, "let's be honest, we all know Cien doesn't have 'losing' in his vocabulary." She chuckled, a warmth spreading through the room. "Alright folks, let's delve into the peculiar case of Mr. Martin."

A new set of images flashed on the projector, bathing the room in their stark light. "Imagine Mr. Martin's house," Sally began, her tone shifting to one of intrigue. "An old mansion, positively brimming with...unexplained occurrences."

She gestured towards the projected images. "Ghostly creaks, lights with a theatrical sense of timing, objects moving with an agency of their own. Classic hauntings, right?" A wry smile touched her lips. "Except, so far, no concrete evidence to substantiate Mr. Martin's fervent claims."

"These pictures," she continued, pointing with a laser pointer, "document some of the phenomena. A vase, apparently mid-flight, captured in shattered glory across the room, despite Mr. Martin being the sole occupant. Here's a door, inexplicably ajar, though Mr. Martin swears he secured it before retiring for the night. And this," she paused, a hint of theatricality in her voice, "a solitary footprint in the kitchen. Mr. Martin lives alone."

Curiosity sparked, and Officer Fannigan chimed in, "What about those EVP readings?"

"It was not conclusive," Kelly answered.
"We picked up some strange noises, but we couldn't be sure what they were."

Dr. Claire's brow furrowed inquisitively. "And what about the temperature readings?"

Sally cheekily replied, "Well, let's just say they played hard to get. There were some slight fluctuations, but attributing them to a single cause was like trying to catch a slippery ghost."

"I agree," said Officer Fannigan. "But it's hard to ignore the evidence. We've had multiple reports of strange noises, flickering lights, and missing objects coming from Mr. Martin's home. What do you think, Mr. Morris?"

Cien blinked, his mind snapping back to reality. The room seemed to have gone through an unlikely conversation shift.
"Uh, sorry, I just got lost in thought for a moment," he stammered, hoping to regain his composure.

Regretting his decision to indulge in the petty brawl with Madhar last night and a heavy head with blurry vision, he stared at the sketchy-looking page in scene of him. It was a peculiar case, just like everything else in his life. As he stole a glance at the board, he was met with a perplexed gaze from Sally, which she quickly brushed aside.

With the eye contact stiff, she shot him a questioning look but quickly shook it off.
"Anyway," she continued, "let's not get ahead of ourselves. We need to approach this investigation with an open mind and rule out any possible explanations before jumping to conclusions."

"So, we're back to square one," Claire said. "A classic haunted house scenario with no concrete evidence."

The team fell silent for a moment, each lost in thought. All five of them were pretty much into the case: Dr. Claire, the forensic head; Officer Fannigan; Sally Sulliven, the researcher of the team; Kelly Norgay, the techie; and Cien Morris, the head investigator.

The room grew quiet, and Sally took a deep breath and gathered her thoughts. "How about we approach this from a different angle?" she said. "Let's look at some alternative possibilities rather than focusing solely on the paranormal. Does Mr. Martin's observation of some events have a logical explanation?"

The group looked at each other, interested in Sally's suggestion. Cien nodded, still a little taken aback by his previous slip-up, but in agreement. His personal troubles could not impair his judgment or his commitment to the case. It was their responsibility to determine whether Mr. Martin's experiences had a rational explanation.

"I think we should approach this from that angle," Cien finally said. "Have we thoroughly checked for any physical explanations? Faulty wiring, a potential intruder, or even psychological factors?"

Sally's eyes brightened, revealing a glint of glee. "We might have overlooked actual, physical clues because we were so focused on hunting for paranormal activity."

"But where should we start?" Kelly's voice pierced through the air once again.

Cien leaned forward, a cog finally turning in his mind. "The footprint," he almost screamed.
"Think about the footprint. It's a physical piece of evidence, unlike the sounds or the temperature fluctuations. What kind of shoe made that print? Was it a common tread? And why only one? If it was an intruder, wouldn't there be more?"

He paused, letting the questions hang in the air. "And the vase. Was it thrown with force, or was it perhaps... nudged? Could the open door be explained by a faulty latch or a draft?"

Cien walked over to the board, his gaze fixed on the photograph of the single footprint. It was a clear print, clean lines against the dusty kitchen floor. Too clean, perhaps? And too... deliberate? A genuine intruder wouldn't likely leave such a pristine single print.

A thought struck him, a discordant note in the symphony of the seemingly supernatural. He remembered the Royal case, the intricate web of lies and misdirection. Could Mr. Martin be orchestrating this? For attention? Insurance fraud? Or something more sinister?

He turned back to his colleagues, a newfound energy in his stride. "Kelly," he said, "can you enhance the footprint image? See if we can get a better read on the tread. Sally, dig into Mr. Martin's background. Financial records, insurance policies, any history of odd behaviour. Fannigan, I want you to check him or his family's legal loopholes, but this time, focus on the practicalities."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across their faces. "Let's stop chasing ghosts and start looking for a human hand behind these 'paranormal' events. I have a feeling we might be surprised by what we find. Let's visit him."

...

"Mr. Martin is at the local eatery and will be home soon. He didn't know you all would be arriving today. Please come inside." It was Blake, the caretaker of the manor.

Cien could vaguely remember seeing his face in the one picture that hung on the lower-left corner of their case board. But either way, none of them were to blame for being uninvited guests. They were invited, but not the way guests are usually.

Letting the thought pass, the team made their way inside, and the creaking floorboards echoed through the dimly lit entrance hall. Dust particles danced in the scarce rays of sunlight that managed to peek through the long-forgotten curtains.

It looked older than time had turned it out to be. Or perhaps caught the ticks of the clock that had stopped ages ago.

Their first step took them into an opulent hall filled with fading pictures and abandoned chandeliers. Cien's gaze flitted from photo to portrait, his thoughts assembling the mysterious puzzle in front of them. Driven by a strong will, he was determined to unravel every brushstroke as if they were telling a story.

Out of the blue, a gust of wind swirled through the corridor, taking out the sole flickering candle that dared to cast eerie shadows. The investigators stood rooted in their tracks, their senses tingling with vigilance. The putrid smell of fish wafted through the air, making their stomachs convulse in distaste.

They need to mop the house, Cien thought.

They hadn't embarked on this endeavour because of some supernatural shenanigans. It wasn't because of any paranormal mischief that they had started this endeavour.

And Cien knew better than anybody that giving in to fear would only make things more difficult for them. They didn't have time to spend on jitters, and time was of the importance. Nope.

"Ah, Mr. Morris! To what do I owe the presence of satire in disguise himself?"

Cien was not hallucinating. This wasn't something offbeat, but for a few minutes, the circuit of his brain rewired into a whole new get-up. This encounter was anything but ordinary, for there was an air of mystery surrounding it. Cien couldn't shake the feeling that something peculiar was at play.

The man stood tall, clutching a cane stick tightly in his hand. At the hem, his tattered red sweater showed signs of wear, while the white collar starkly contrasted against it. With the entrance behind him, the shining red sun creeping in gave a stan-like aura that whispered one tainted charisma.

__________

Shoutout to the talented Tory xxsoteriafor the amazing cover ♡
Isn't it beautiful?