Foster's

Jack Campbell .1

Jack had wanted a quiet month, but he was not that lucky.

It used to be he'd go months before needing to do any real police work, but no, now that Angelica Foster had moved into the House of Death, it seemed he was busier than ever.

The fact of the matter was that the public was unnerved. It was one thing betting on how long it would take the house to kill it's new owner, but it was something completely different when the house started killing other people.

Because that was the real problem.

The house killed someone other then it's new owner, it killed locals. It was supposed to kill the people living in it. It had never once protected an owner.

The way the town saw it, Tommy Black, Dan McCallum and Sloan Martinez should be alive and well and Angelica should have just died. That's how it always worked. The inhabitant died, the townsfolk lived. Mostly. But Angelica had flipped the script on them and if she had done it once it could happen again.

No one was going to be safe until Culverton was boarded up again.

Not that anyone would actually voice that. Not to Jack anyway. How could they really look their sheriff in the eye and say that Angelica should have been murdered instead? They'd sound crazy.

That didn't stop them from freezing her out.

Jack watched it happen, all around town. They wouldn't let her into their shops, they'd cross the street when she came by, and on more than one occasion she was chased out of stores, mostly the grocery store. She had called in several complaints about her mail not showing up, or threateningly vague notes showing up on her car if she parked it around town, or being stuffed in her mailbox.

As if that wasn't bad enough, her neighbours were constantly calling in complaints about her.

And she wasn't doing anything.

He'd go over to check and sure enough she'd be doing something completely mundane, though slightly weird. Not enough to have the cops called, just, like, slightly off.

A good example would be the time there had been a call about a fire on her property but the firehouse refused to acknowledge the alarm. It wasn't very professional but Jack had ended up cussing them out and calling them cowards when they said they'd rather just let Culverton burn, new owner and all.

Jack had to drive all the way out there only to discover that the fire was in a safe fire pit that she must have made or put in herself and she was roasting marshmallows for s'mores.

Normal right? Except for the fact that it was just her out there, but she had a circle of chairs and spits around the fire. Four empty chairs, one massive space between the chair next to her and herself, but a total of 6 spits stuck into the ground, roasting marshmallows, not including the one she had in her hands which was clearly for herself.

But again, no one else was there with her. So what were the extra chairs and spits for?

As she did every time she saw him, she asked if she could have her clock back. He'd say no and she'd say: "Alright, your funeral," and then change the topic. That time she offered him a s'more.

He had taken it but he hadn't stayed there with her. She was safe, the fire wasn't out of control, he was not going to stay at Culverton after dark.

He had to admit that Angelica was being awfully understanding about the situation, and she adapted very well.

Upon realizing that she wouldn't be allowed in the shops closest to her, she started leaving, once a week, to go to Nacekitlan Hills Proper for what she needed.