Timeskip. I think it would be easier just to say we went there. And... if you know about town hall, they took their own time going through your records until they updated the information about the home's owner. By the time all was said and done, we had left the town hall and are headed back to your home. It is starting to get dark outside.

"They always seem to take their time as slowly as possible... I wanted to get you back home soon so that we could have either me or Barkley stand guard. If someone is targeting your home for child trafficking or abduction, we need someone there to help stop this activity. It's strange... I haven't seen any crimes like this in this town. The only other missing child's report happened about 80 years ago. This town, although superstitious as who knows what, is usually very crime free. Did you have any neighbors or people nearby that your family didn't get along with?" Anthony had a number of things to say about what was going on. Clear Creek wasn't really known for much, but crime in this town was actually very low. They only had two sheriffs now because Barkley's former partner retired, leaving an open position for Anthony to take. He implied that he or Barkley would stay on guard for her. In case someone happened to return to the scene. There was something strange in the air, and they were not going to stop until they had the boy back. They had to.

He drove out until her driveway and this time instead of leaving his car parked blatantly out on the front of the entrance, he parked the car in between some of the low trees and behind a few bushes. It was hard to camoflague in the morning but now that it was getting darker it would have been easier. He helped out Bethany so that she didn't fall onto the prickly branches. He wondered what motives were there to kidnap Michael Stanton. His family seemed to fit in just like the others in that part of the neighborhood. Bethany who rarely ventured into town couldn't have many enemies, as you would have to know someone in order for them to hate you.

He was upset at his lack of clues. Shoe prints of a particular boot on glass that may have been there from a few days ago to a maybe over a week, as it hadn't rained for at least 8 days now. It wasn't much to go on. But perhaps with some digging, something could pop up? He had to hope. He wondered as well... what did Bethany do when she was here? It must be rather sad, being alone? He believed. He really didn't know a way to ask her without sounding rude or invasive... So he left a simple message for Barkley to call him back in a few hours, and then kept his mouth shut.

The deputy didn't seem to obtain much information, but Bethany was quite thankful for the help. It almost was enough to encourage her to clean her house, though it would take a while to do so. The place needed a deep cleaning. She felt intensely nervous about going to the Town Hall. No one would do anything, not if she got the Deputy to tag along. He must be new to the town, if he wasn't under the superstition that everyone else was. Looking him over, she assumed that she was right. She had identification, that was no problem. Maybe things would start going well for her, finally.

The way he spoke made Bethany laugh, and she simply laughed at him for a few moments before she calmed herself down. "I scared him away, deputy. I'm a Witch. All I did was open the door and he ran off." She shook her head and smiled. "Sometimes, it was fun. I'd set up this whole scheme for the next kids to come up and I'd give them something to be scared about." Chuckling, she bit her lip and examined the exterior of the manor. "I could have sworn that he wasn't the only one. I saw other people, maybe just another person, but he wasn't alone. Sure, he was the only one that came up here this close, but back over there," she pointed toward the trees that led to the forest. "Someone was hiding." She shrugged and looked over the yard. It was clean. Well, despite the branches and other debris. But that would be far easier to get out.

Frowning, she tilted her head and looked down the road at his car, screaming its presence as the vehicle of a policeman. "Why would that be something nobody wants to hear?" she wondered aloud, then grinned. "Of course. Only if he doesn't gawk at me. Trust me, there'll be plenty of that elsewhere. Hold on." She hurried inside, whether they were leaving right then or not she didn't care, but she grabbed her purse, checked to make sure her proof of identification was inside, and made her way back outside. "When are we leaving?"

He wasn't very glad to find the lack of clues. With the note, and what her description of the night were: there seemed to be a match. There were impressions in the glass that looked like sneakers because of the patterns left on them. The more he learned about her, he began to feel like she didn't have the heart for the task of taking a child that wasn't her own, let alone harming the boy. She almost seemed desperate to talk to people. This town has been rough on her. But she's toughened too, and now with this missing child's case, it may be enough to clear her family's name.

He called the town hall soon after the first rundown of the perimeter. He set up an appointment to have Bethany Adams listed as the primary owner of the home. The town itself tried condemning the home once, but the council weren't exactly willing to do so after Mr. Adam's death. I think I'm going to have to look into that as well. He thought that to himself. "Miss Adams, I have the town hall setting up an appointment. They'll probably call within a few hours. They're going to need proof of Identification. Then, this way no one will have to believe a witch is living here. Just another person from Clear Creek living her life."

It took sometime, but they did manage to move away a lot of glass from the front of the home. He took the pieces that held shoeprints into an evidence bag. They would likely match his soccer shoe prints. With these, one part of the story was confirmed, Michael Stanton had been here. There was no evidence of him entering the home though. "Well... you're right about him being at the house last night Miss Adams, I'm starting to believe he meant to meet someone here? But something or I'm assuming someone must've lead him away... and didn't bring him back." He said this to miss Adams, not using her first name out of respect.

He called Barkely as well. "Yes sir... I know you told me not to go--- Yeah. I did. The owner is here. Yes. I knocked an asked for, -- What?! No. She's not a witch... she did that to scare people away. You should see the glass they're dumping here, if we were reinforcing the dumping fines here we'd have half the town's budget covered." Barkley's gruff laughter can be heard. "Yes I have prints here that match the shoes Stanton wore last night. Yes, and location is just how she described. She heard him trespassing, and yes, the sound of this glass crunching is actually very audible here. It echoes out.--- Yes I know. We need more answers. Alright, I'll head back by 19:00 hours." He closed the phone.

He looked over to her after the conversation subsided. He asked in an even tone: "I know this isn't what most people would like to hear, but mind if I take you down to the station?" Sheriff Barkley wanted to meet the Witch of Clear Creek Manor in person. And will confirm her fingerprints with the ones from her grade school years.

Chuckling good-naturedly at the deputy, she shook her head. "You think? I've been completely shut off from society. I'm twenty two years old and I've no friends, not even a pet." She shrugged. "I don't know why I haven't just left this dusty old place. I can't even take care of it. But it was my fathers.." She trailed off, looking away and biting her lip. He'd eaten her brownies with a ferocity that would've done a starving boy credit; apparently her baking skills were decent. Sighing and smiling softly, she looked at him. At least they weren't all going to fatten her up.

"And, yes, I am Bethany Adams." She hesitated. "He didn't have me listed?" She frowned, because the thought stung. "If that's the case, of course it wasn't claimed, I was twelve." She shrugged and bit into one of her brownies. "I don't talk to anybody. Last time I tried all they did was stare suspiciously at me and try oh so very hard not to upset me." She scowled at the plate of brownies. "I'm tired of the facade and having to deal with people and their superstitions, so I decided to just stay here all the time. People whisper and it's so obvious what certain Witch they're talking about." She rolled her eyes. "I work in Summerset, as well as shop and do whatever else there. I've had a nice conversation or two."

He had offered to take her to town hall and to even clean up the glass in her lawn, and she agreed gratefully. It was nice to have someone willing to do anything normal around her, and she was thankful for it. She finished her tea and helped him empty the plate of brownies before they headed outside to pick up the glass. She wasn't sure if she was helping but she grabbed anything that wasn't hers and wasn't glass, offering it to him. There wasn't much. "Oh, last night, he was coming up, most likely to my front door, but he wandered around the side of my house. I wasn't sure where he went. I opened the door and went to say something to him but he ran away, back around my house. So I went to bed. I'd have heard if he'd tried to break in or something. Though I doubt he'd have been brave enough." She chuckled.

His interaction with her seemed to be providing some progress. Her answers appeared to be genuine, she had to have spent time here if she knew where the supplies were located to cook her meals. Plus of course, if she had killed him... she would have left the place. He thought about what she had said. He was surprised to find someone like her. She was unlike the other townsfolk. She also seemed a lot lonelier than anyone he's met so far. Her attempt at a joke... pretty much confirmed that.

"Well... I see these townsfolk have you pegged wrong. Hmmm. Seeing as how you lived here your whole life, you must be Mr. Adams' daughter? You should probably go down to the town hall and get the deed changed for your name." He paused for a moment. "After his, um, passing... It seems as though his property was handed back to the town because there was no one to claim it about eight or ten years ago. I don't have you listed Miss Adams. As for the brownies... I um... well sure can't hurt to have one." He smiled. He hadn't had homemade brownies, in years. He lived about three states away from mom and dad, so he saw them very few times.

"Let's see... according to the records on Mr. Adams, you must be Bethany. For some reason, there's no record of you here after highschool. You don't work in this town, or shop, or... um... talk with neighbors?" It was interesting how superstition allowed for people to do their job incorrectly. People just don't drop off the face of the Earth, and for Michael Stanton, that would hold true. He had to find him.

He had offered to take Bethany with him to the town hall. The deed thing should be sorted out, if not... the town could, if they wanted to, repossess the house and claim the land. Best to handle things properly. He sipped from the tea, and ate from the brownies she offered. He wasn't a big fan of the bitter taste in most teas, he thought about pretending to choke, but he decided it was best not to. Not while he is on the job. Which reminded him, he asked if she needed help tidying up the place, it could benefit both of them. He may find clues, she'd have a glass free yard.

The look on his face as he scrutinized her was enough to really tick Bethany off. She eyed the archway that went from the foyer to the kitchen, wishing she could just go finish her brownies. Already there was a batch baking, but she had another mix in a bowl just waiting to be poured. It was a bit much for one person, but she enjoyed cooking and baking, even if it was only for herself. She felt a little embarrassed about the condition of her house, dusty and unkempt, save for the kitchen- only because she used it often- and the bathrooms. He looked around and then to her, as if to ask why she was staying here.

Making an effort not to clench her jaw in irritation, she gestured to the sitting room. "Why don't we sit." She listened to him speak and clicked her tongue a few times as her eyes scanned the note. An eyebrow rose delicately to question him. "Surely you understand, Deputy, that mine is a house of curiosity. Children and people come wandering around my property more often than you'd expect. There were some boys last night, or at least one." She paused. "So, technically, it isn't out of the ordinary. But the glass all over my driveway is." She almost informed him that it was too bad she couldn't call the authorities, for they'd never help out of fear. It was exhausting, being a 'Witch.'

After a few minutes of studying the note, she stood and began to walk to the kitchen. "Would you like something to drink? Don't worry, it's not poison," she called out dryly, pulling the brownies out of the oven and setting them on the counter to cool. She finished the bowl she'd been mixing and placed them in the oven, not even bothering to answer his question about guests. She brought out tea and a plate with some of the warm brownies, deciding she didn't care if he liked tea or not. "I've lived here my entire life, Deputy." She raised an eyebrow and sipped from her drink, hitching a hip on the arm of the sofa. "Do you really think I'd have guests?" She finally asked incredulously. "You know, willing ones?" She laughed suddenly, the ringing tone echoing eerily through the large manor.

It didn't very long for him to get an answer. He was answered by a young woman. Surprisingly, she didn't look anything like a witch. He had actually suspected that the person living here would have been a vagrant, seeing as how the last person on paper who had owned the place died about ten years ago. But this, this was quite different from what he believed he would encounter. Was there the faint scent of chocolate in the air? For some reason... the story of Hansel and Gretel came to mind. But of course, someone in his profession can not be so quick to judge.

He found something to say after she had allowed him in. He could see by the conditions of the house, that this woman lived alone, or at least had terrible housemates. There must've been too much work for her to keep the place running. And what with the locals and their ignorance... it doesn't help her at all. He was silent as he walked in. He looked back to her as he passed. She has to be in her twenties. But... why live here? "Thank you for inviting me in. Yes there is a boy named Michael Stanton. He went missing last night but there are very few clues about where he would've ran off to. This is the only physical evidence, found in his bedroom, and confirmed to be his handwriting." He handed the note to her as he slowly walked closer to the smell of baking chocolate, perhaps cookies? No... the fudgy wafts of Brownies, had to be. He looked to her again after she had the time to read it over a few times. He asked her a few questions. "Something tells us he meant this place, I've come to this conclusion by talking with Sheriff Barkley. Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary last night? Any headlights driveby, or have you heard any footsteps, something that seemed out of place?" Then judging by how strong the brownies smelled, they must have been near done. He had given her time to answer those as well as ask the next few. "Were you planning on having guests tonight? You're baking something. I could smell the chocolate from the door. Have you been... staying here very long?" He still couldn't believe her to be a homeless person. She was well dressed. Her hair brushed neat not unkempt, she looked clean, and not under any drugs as he could tell by her physical appearance. If she lived here... it must be for something important, but the thing was that there was not a living person listed on the deed. Why would a normal person put up with this house, and all the superstition that came with it? When she answered him earlier, he could tell she was thinking of a number of things, he could pick up on the emotion in her voice. Now he had to get her to focus on what was going on last night.

A delicate, pale hand lifted the faded pink curtain over one of the living room windows. Bethany Adams' eyes narrowed as she watched the young boy traipse along her driveway, the darkness of the night blanketing him in its chilled air. He was jittery, most likely from fear. The young woman's lip curled in disgust. What had she done to deserve that terror or the lack of visitors? Alone as she was, it was difficult to keep the manor looking clean and well, and the place was over a century old. A long, drawn out sigh sounded as she allowed the curtain to fall. Hopefully the boy wouldn't hurt himself on all that glass, the broken shards left there by superstitious men that weren't quite old enough to be drinking in the first place. If the boy got hurt and went running back to his family, all the more blame would fall upon herself.

The Witch.

Shaking her head, she moved slowly through her old house, the floorboards creaking under her weight. She had turned the lights off, preparing for bed, when that boy's laughter brought her to inspect. Most likely it was a dare, for them to 'go touch the house and run back before she ate them' or something similar. Over the past few years it had become something of a habit for her to scare them off. They wanted a Witch? She would give them a Witch. So those young children that wandered up to her porch would be sent off screaming as her face, covered in makeup, hissed at the window, or as the door opened and a soft, lilting yet eerie voice beckoned them inside. No doubt she'd dug herself a hole, but there was no changing what had already been assumed by the people of Clear Creek. They were so in fear of her that she had to be troubled to traverse to the next town over to buy food and whatever other necessities she needed. Tonight, perhaps it was that this boy was alone, though Bethany could have sworn she'd seen other boys far off behind the safety of the trees, but the young woman didn't have it in her to scare him. She wanted to invite him in, to give him hot chocolate or anything, have a nice talk. Bethany longed for conversation, one that didn't involve accusations or screaming and fear. She was in her early twenties, left by her father to illness a decade earlier. Another sigh escaped her lips.
---
Waking in the morning was a hard process. Especially when it was just cozy enough that a day of reading or cleaning wasn't entirely welcoming. Maybe she'd go out on a limb and take a walk. Or clean her driveway. Perhaps she could go to Summerset, the closest town, and purchase some seeds to plant a garden. The reminder that if the next people that came to scare themselves discovered it and crushed it beneath their feet caused her to throw that idea away. What would they think? The Witch has planted evil things for her spells! seemed most likely. Frowning, she reluctantly got out of bed and dressed herself, preparing for her day. She decided the least she could do was water her lawn for the first time in a few months.

The morning had passed normally, but the afternoon provided a shock when a knock stopped her in her tracks. She had been walking through the foyer to the kitchen to bake some brownies for herself, as cooking often passed the time and resulted in something sweet to snack on for a while. Her heart stopped for a beat as her gaze shifted to the door. Who on earth would knock on her door? For a few moments she waited, until a male voice called out. A deputy. The sneer of disgust returned to her face, and she walked over to the door. It was probably about that boy, but never before had anyone willingly come to her house to question her. She didn't open the door just yet, instead she waited near it. "I don't know any Michael Stanton," she said just loud enough for him to hear. "But if it's that boy that came waltzing up on my property, tell him to stay off it when you find him." Her voice was sharp with anger and hurt, and she yanked the door open. "Go ahead, ask your questions." She stepped aside, daring him to come inside. He didn't look terrified or angry. She silently begged him to talk, to not accuse her of anything and then run off to spread rumors to everyone. The idea of a normal conversation stopped her from slamming the door in his face and going to make her brownies.

One week. It's been one week since Anthony Brayson had been transferred over to the small town of Clear Creek. He had recently graduated from one of the state's universities, his major was in Criminal Justice of course. During his time at the university, Anthony had been enrolled in several police training programs and private investigator courses. It was during one of these sessions that he learned the town was in need of new law enforcement. He, being nearly complete in his studies, realized this was an opportunity to enter the field and gain reputation. In actuality, his goal was to be a State Marshall. But now, at 24, he had to pick up refences and experience. This seemed like the best chance, becoming a deputy sheriff and then moving onto the bigger game after a few years of service.

He arrived into the town with much welcome, it was one of those small towns where... well, whenever something happened almost everybody knew about it. Yep. Brayson was used to the big city life, but this change of pace wasn't so bad. The locals were... well they were generally kind people, many of them modest and hard working folk. The sheriff, Sheriff Thomas Barkley was a gruff yet serious guy, but even so, you could tell he was a softy whenever his grandkids came down to the station. Today had been different, compared to the last few days that Anthony worked there. For there was an air, an uneasy feeling just seemed to hang about. Brayson was at his desk, and the phone had rang. A woman answered, she spoke of her son's disappearance. She told him that her son hadn't been home since the night before, and went on to say that none of his friends knew where he went off to after their soccer practice. Michael Stanton, in sixth grade, completely vanished off the face of the earth? Unlikely. Anthony had been raised to look toward the logical side of things, and what happened here had to have one answer, something physical, something real, and it had to be solved... by him! He would get a good amount of attention for solving a missing persons case. He explained the siuation to Sheriff Barkley.

"She says that her kid just never showed up afterschool, none of his friends seem to know where in the world this kid's got himself into. It seems like he just disappeared. We should go check this out, after talking with her she said that the kids were planning on going to check out the um-- The 'Clear Creek Manor,' to prove how tough they were. By the sounds of this, I'm thinking he probably got stuck in there somehow. Maybe locked inside by accident? Either way, we should get there and---" He was cut off by the Sheriff.

"Listen Brayson my boy, we've seen things like this before. Shouldn't be much to get excited about. Last year some the kids around here did the same thing, they got lost in the woods for a few days, a bet that went on longer than it should have. They had to spend the night in the woods, they called it Survival Man or some crap off of the tube... Kids these days don't know how to stay put and listen to their parents. I blame TV and those new fangled Ipods and gizmos. They never seem to learn." He sighed, and then continued. Brayson, out of respect remained silent, as he would never have interrupted this guy midspeech, not so early in his career... Barkley continued. "I do think what we have here is a something that we do have to look into, but for Pete's sake, the old Manor? They say that's place is watched over by some kind of witch. And well, I don't plan on getting myself damned anytime soon. I'll take the dogs with me and I'll check out the woods around these parts, kids seem to take to the woods whenever they feel like being deliquents. I'll talk to the mother first, get a scent for Pat and Duke to follow. You can go ahead if you're feeling like risking your soul... but that Manor... I'd stay away from it if I were you. This town has had a bunch of, um, let's call them mishaps that have come out of that place. It's a breeding ground for trouble." He finished his sentence biting into a donut, yes that was clichè but it's what happened. Brayson didn't stick around to hear anymore of the superstitious talk that dribbled out of the Sheriff's mouth, he had to do something more than file paperwork and look for cats in trees. This time this was a real case, he let the sheriff know he was going out by rattling his keys, it signified taking out your car.

The Manor itself stood in the outskirts of the town, the road wasn't even finished in that area, they stopped working there. "A house on the outskirts of the outskirts, just my luck." He muttered after crossing through the dirt path that led to the house. Brayson pulled up slowly, he only went half way to the driveway, he could see a dull rainbow of broken beer glass that scattered across the rest of the way. Kids must of drank there before doing other stupid crap... at least that's what he thought. He didn't want to ruin his tires, he'd have to wait a few days to have it towed and have the wheels replaced if he punctured one. He turned the car off, and sat. Anthony studied the Manor, it really did seem pretty old, and at least it was the afternoon, for it would've been a lot creepier had it been nighttime. He sighed, and stepped out of the car onto the gravelly ground. His footsteps crunched, even though he moved slowly, trying to quietly advance to the door. He knew he couldn't just barge in, even if the Sheriff and that lady said it was the Old Manor, because it was abandoned. Brayson still knew that he would need a warrant if he wanted to kick the door down, the sheriff didn't say if somebody still held a record of the place. Then as he neared the front door, he could've sworn a shadowy figure moved past one of the windows... he was a little shaken by that, but not enough that he couldn't knock on the door. If no one answered, he would have to assume that the kid was stuck inside, and then he'd have probable cause to bust in. He cleared his throat, "Deputy Brayson here, I'm looking for Michael Stanton, anyone... home?" He asked. Anthony looked at the window again, he waited there at the door, for some kind of response.