The FFs (now Fantastic Fours) hiked through the forest. According to the paper map that Indira brought, there was a highway somewhere close to the forest. Ashur wasn't positive this was going to end up well, but they couldn't end up like Marcel.

The girls stuck together while Erwin moved closer to Ashur. "Hey, uhm, Ash," he said casually, as if the world hadn't changed at all. "I-I just want to say sorry."

"Why?" Ashur was confused as they kept walking. "You didn't kill Marcel."

"No, but one of my ancestors...they were one of the co-owners of the slave. According to his will, I technically own Bombard Forest's property since my dad's dead," Erwin gulped as the twigs crunched under his feet. "I don't know, I just feel sorry since I'm descended from a douchebag—"

"Erwin," Ashur clapped Erwin on the back. "You're nothing like your co-owner of an ancestor. You're a good guy, not some douchebag who kept slaves, you're too nice for that."

Erwin gave a small smile, but it faded. Suddenly, the silhouette of a cabin outlined the forest. Lindsey paused, gasping. "A cabin, that means that something is living here!"

"Who even owns a freaking cabin in freaking Oahu?" Erwin said, exhausted.

Lin rolled her eyes. "Dude, you said freaking way too many times."

The FFs walked cautiously closer to the wooden cabin with a rusty porch. It was moderate and small, but Ashur agreed with Erwin, why the hell was there a cabin in hot-weathered Oahu? "We should go inside," Lin whispered.

Indira groaned. "No, we'll end up dead, that could legit be the killer's home."

Can ghosts own cabins? Ashur knew everyone else didn't take the idea of vengeful Graham Johnston seriously, but he did. "Indira, I get it, but what other choice do we have? It's getting dark and our beach day is ruined."

"I can't believe you're still wound up about the beach day thingy," she muttered.

"I have to side with Ash," Lin said sheepishly and Ashur knew he could count on Lindsey. "Even if the highway is our best bet, maybe we can steal some stuff from the cabin if nobody is home."

"Steal?" Indira looked baffled.

"Only if it's necessary," Ashur reminded Lin. He picked up a heavy branch and swung it in the air. Looks sturdy enough, he thought. "Follow me," he ordered as the FFs trailed after him. The floorboards on the porch groaned and creaked as they moved closer to the door.

He knocked on the door, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. Please, don't let it be a serial killer. After a split second, the door swung open and Ashur immediately pointed the sharp branch at the person.

"My goodness!" an old woman shrieked. She had light brown skin and papery wrinkles. She looked like she walked straight into the Victorian era, and from judging what her foyer looked like through the door frame, Ashur assumed the rest of the house was vintage. He lowered the branch, embarrassed.

"Sorry, ma'am."

Indira stepped forward, her lips quivering. "Our friend, Marcel Fontaine, is dead. There w-was an axe in his chest and someone killed him...Oh God, you have to help us, ma'am, please."

"Oh, you poor dear," the woman wrapped an arm around Indira's shoulder, coaxing her. She motioned for the FFs to step inside the foyer and Ashur got a better view of the cabin. It was like stepping into a museum, it was so vintage and old. "My name is Phillipa, I got a pot of tea brewing in the kitchen."

The woman waddled to the kitchen as Ashur set down the branch. "Jesus, I feel so bad for poking that branch in her face," he wrinkled his nose. "This cabin is so old and odd."

"Yeah, but Phillipa will help us," Lin nudged Indira. "See? We'll come back for Marcel."

"But that old granny will murder us," she mumbled.

Erwin crossed his arms. "I hope the killer isn't out there."

"Why did he—or she—want to hurt Marcel?" Lin asked, curious.

"I told the story of Graham Johnston already," Ashur insisted. "Guys, Bombard Forest is a mess in general. The ghost is real and he murdered Marcel out of revenge. I don't know how Phillipa has lived in Bombard so long without dying!"

"Ash! The woman is in the room next to ours," Lin hissed loudly. Ashur winced, sighing. He left the FFs to bicker while heading into the kitchen. He saw Phillipa watching the old tea brew on the stove, teacups already set up.

"Oh, I didn't notice you, dear," Phillipa turned around, smiling. "You know, it's not every day that I see youths around these lands."

"Well, Bombard Forest isn't really popular since Graham Johnston died," Ashur pointed out, closely watching Phillipa for a reaction. She didn't say anything as the teapot whistled, steam gushing out. She took it off the stove and carefully poured tea into each of the cups.

"A shame."

"Did you know anything about Graham?"

"No." Phillipa's gaze wavered on Ashur. "Stop asking sensitive questions, young man."

"Are you married?" Ashur eyed her silver wedding ring. It was simple, no rocks or gems on the bud. Phillipa and her husband must have led a normal life, as normal as it can get in Bombard. "What's your last name?"

"Phillipa Elisabeth Williams is my full name," she said casually, handing a cup to Ashur. He eyed it wearily, not lifting it to his lips. Could it be poison? He didn't want to test fate.

"Is that your maiden or married name?"

She looked down at her feet. "My married name is Phillipa Elisabeth Williams-Johnston. Damnnit, I shouldn't h-have brought you all into our house, my husband will be upset. He doesn't trust anyone since his death, especially your light-skinned friend, Erwin Holland."

Ashur set down the teacup. "P-Phillipa, your husband is Graham? Why did he kill my other friend, Marcel?"

Phillipa rubbed her hands together anxiously. "Graham had always told me, 'Payback is the best revenge.' After he died, I moved out of the forest but came back out of remorse. G-Graham was waiting for me, ordering me to live in the cabin where the slave owners once did. He told me I'd keep him well-fed and to never ask about his business."

"Holy cow."

"Graham will be back home soon—"

A sudden slam of a door. The FFs ran into the kitchen, yelling and shouting. Ashur's blood went cold when he saw what Graham looked like. His face was completely screwed up, it appeared as if an axe was smashed into his skull. He sported a big axe, swinging it at the FFs.

"Phillipa. You brought me new prey, how clever."