Mrs. Manson looked at Jazz quizzically and watched the girl scan book after book from the inn's little library. It wasn't really a library, it was a bookcase in the parlor that was filled up with books that guests had accidentally left behind after checking out. Thanks to Jack's recent attempt to catch the ghost, parlor was now completely slimed, including the books Jazz was reading, and the furniture had been shoved about. Thankfully, nothing was broken. Jack and Jeremy had left the parlor and were now in another part of the inn, probably arguing again about the Manson Inn ghost, judging from all the shouting. Mrs. Manson could hear her son calling for her repeatedly, but didn't feel like breaking up yet another fight. So, she stayed with Jazz, wondering why the girl looked so frustrated with each book she put back in the bookcase.

"What exactly was it you were looking for again, dearie," she finally asked.

"I'm trying to see if I can find something about Daniel Masters," she replied, taking out another book.

"Who?"

"But," she said, speaking to herself, "It doesn't look like he's in any of these books. If I had a computer, I could just use Google, but I left my laptop at home! I'm never going to find him at this rate."

"Why do you need to find him? Are you writing some sort of school assignment on him or something?"

"Are you sure you don't have any other books around here?" Jazz asked, ignoring Mrs. Manson's question, "Or a computer?"

"We have a computer, dearie, but that blizzard out there disabled the wi-fi. I don't think we'll be having any internet here for a while. Why is it so important you find this Daniel Masters person anyway?"

"Great," she sighed, slamming the book in her hand shut, "Looks like I won't be finding his next note."

"Next note? What note? Dearie, you're not really making much sense here. Are you feeling alright?"

"Mother!" Jeremy came stomping into the parlor with a furious look on his face, "Mother, do you have any idea what that idiot's doing now?!"

"I thought he was hunting our ghost."

"Our ghost?! What ghost?! Ghosts don't- Oh, nevermind! The point is he's now blasting that disgusting slime all over my own room!"

"It's just slime, Jeremy. Don't be so dramatic over a little slime. You can just wash it right off. Your room could use a good cleaning anyway."

"He shouldn't be in my room! He shouldn't even be in the staff's sleeping hall in the first place!"

"I'll get him out," Jazz sighed, exasperatedly.

She stomped down into the staff hall and groaned when she heard her father's shouting from one of the rooms. She went over to the room and stood in the doorway, staring in despair as she watched him run around and cover everything in goop.

"I'll get you, ecto-freak!" Jack shouted, firing off a blob of goo onto the ceiling, "You can't escape Jack Fenton!"

"Dad," Jazz groaned, "Will you please just stop? You're making Jeremy angry."

"That's not Jeremy, Jazzy," he replied, sending another shot of slime at the curtains, "That's the ghost's evil influencing the inn and Jeremy's mood is changed because of it! Trust me, when I finally get this ghost, Jeremy will be thanking me!"

"He'd probably thank you right now if you stopped destroying everything."

"Destroying everything?" he turned around and fired again at the wall, "Is that what Jeremy told you? It's even worse than I thought!"

"Yeah! It is worse! Do you have any idea how much trouble-!"

"Not only is that ghost influencing Jeremy's moods, he must be influencing his logical reasoning, too!"

"Huh?" she stared blankly at him, "What? But that doesn't make-"

"Of course! It makes so much more sense now! A normal reaction to a ghost hunter's hunt would be tears of relief that the ghost will finally be gone . That's only logical."

"No it's not! It's-!"

"But his reaction to me is anger and accusing me of destruction. He's not in his right mind! The ghost has taken over!"

"No! Dad! That's not-!"

"Of course! How could I have missed that! Oh, you're very clever, ghost-scum! Very clever! But not clever enough for Jack Fenton!"

Before Jazz could stop him, Jack ran out of the room and into the parlor where Jeremy and his mother were still arguing. Jeremy only had enough time to look up before he was promptly tackled by Jack.

"OOF! You moron!" Jeremy shouted, "What do you think you're doing?!"

"Never fear!" Jack aimed the Foamer at him, "That ghost will be out of you in no time! You hear that, ghost!"

"What the hell are you talking about, you nitwit?! Get off me!"

"Dad! Stop! Get off him!"

Jazz had followed him to the parlor and reached for his arm. But she was already too late. Jack had fired the Foamer into Jeremy's eyes.

"My eyes! Mother! Help me!"

But Mrs. Manson had found the entire thing quite amusing and was currently chuckling to herself. She had figured the Foamer wasn't dangerous and Jeremy was perfectly fine and saw no reason to end this rather extraordinary scene in front of her so soon. For the next minute or so, Jeremy was shouting at Jack while Jack shot goo at Jeremy. Meanwhile, Jazz was shouting at Jack and trying to pull him off Jeremy. Really, is it any wonder why Mrs. Manson found this entertaining? At long last, Jeremy was finally able to wriggle himself free from Jack and fled up the stairs with Jack in pursuit.

"Don't you worry!" Jack shouted as Jeremy hurled insults at him, "That ghost won't be able to control you for long!"

Jazz was about to chase after her father, but then decided not to bother. He wouldn't listen to her. She'd just be wasting her time. Mrs. Manson sighed in disappointment that her fun was now over.

"Oh, well," she shrugged to herself, starting to wheel herself out, "Might as well start cleaning up that goop off Jeremy's things now so they'll be clean by tonight."

"Here," Jazz started to follow her, "This is our fault. I'll help."

"Oh, no no, dearie. You're fine."

"No, I insist."

"And I insist you stay here. The rooms in the staff hall are the staff's responsibility and the staff cleans them up. Not the guests."

Jazz was going to help anyway since she felt so guilty about the mess, even though it was her father that made it in the first place. It was the least she could do. It was the least her dad could do as well, but she knew he wouldn't. He'd just blame the entire thing on the stupid ghost.

Jazz was halfway to the staff hall when she heard a THUD! come from the parlor. Thinking that her dad had once again destroyed something, she furiously marched back only to find he wasn't there. She looked around in confusion for a moment until she noticed a blue leather-bound book on the floor right in front of the bookcase. Whoops. It must have fallen out. She smiled in relief that the sound wasn't from her father for once and bent over to pick it up. But before she could touch it, the book suddenly popped open and the pages began flipping. Jazz gasped and stared in astonishment, not really sure of what to do. The pages stopped flipping. She hesitated and stared at the book for about thirty seconds, still not sure what she ought to do.

"It was the wind," she muttered to herself, "The wind did that. Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense. The wind opened the book."

Finally, she picked up the open book and looked curiously at where the pages had stopped. On one page was a black-and-white photograph of a tall, slender man with a goatee and his hair in a ponytail. On the other page was the name Vlad Masters. Mayor of Amity Park. She was about to read the entry about Vlad Masters when she heard Mrs. Manson whistling to herself in another room. Dammit! Mrs. Manson! She had forgotten about helping Mrs. Manson! She dog-eared the page and closed the book before tucking it under her arm and racing into Jeremy's room. She found the old lady stripping off the slime-covered comforter and bed-sheets from the bed and tossing them into a plastic laundry basket.

"Here," Jazz bent down to take the basket, "Why don't I-"

"You'll do nothing except relax, dearie. I've handled worse messes than this."

"Really," Jazz arched one of her eyebrows, skeptical of Mrs. Manson's claim, "I highly doubt any of your previous guests shot Jeremy in the face with a slime gun."

"Well, no. I have to admit, that's never happened before. But trust me, dearie, your father's messes are nothing compared to what I've seen over the years. Now, perhaps you'd be interested in heading back to the parlor and see if you can find a book you like."

She suddenly reached out and grabbed Jazz's arm and held her with a tight grip. To Jazz's surprise, the little old lady in the motorized scooter was actually very strong and was able to lead Jazz out of Jeremy's room with ease. As she entered the staff hall, Jazz noticed for the first time a brick wall right at the very end of the hallway. Actually, it was what appeared to be an entrance into another room sealed off with bricks. She broke away from Mrs. Manson's grip and walked towards it until it was just a few inches from her face. She examined it more closely for a crack or hole to peep through, but found nothing. Whoever sealed off this entrance wanted to make damn sure people stayed out.

"The original owner built that," Mrs. Manson said, startling Jazz, "The one that had this place built."

"Why's this room sealed off? What's in it?"

"I'm afraid I don't know," she shrugged, "The only thing I know about it is the original owner had that wall put in in 1873. That's it. Everything else is a big mystery"

Jazz stood back and looked at the sealed entrance in awe, curiosity, and confusion. What's behind all those bricks? What's the original owner hiding in there? Was it something bad? Did it have to do with Daniel Masters?

She didn't have much time to mull over these questions because Mrs. Manson had taken a hold of Jazz's wrist and resumed pulling her into the parlor.

"There you are, dearie," she stopped at the bookcase and let go, "Now you relax and find something to read. Pay no mind to me. I'll just be cleaning."

"But-"

She was already gone before Jazz could finish. As she watched the back of the old lady and her scooter disappear, drooped her head a little, feeling guilty. Even though she wasn't the one who ought to be feeling guilty. But lord knows the true responsible party would never feel it. Maybe she was feeling guilty for not being able to control him? Yes, he was an adult and was SUPPOSEDLY able to control himself. Too bad he couldn't. And too bad Jazz was so completely powerless to stop him. So, why does she even try?

Jazz sighedas she sat down one one of the leather seat. She glanced down at the book she was holding in her hands, having forgotten she still had it. Quickly, she snapped out of her little pity party and opened the book to the dog-eared mark. Maybe her mood would lighten up a bit after a little reading. Hopefully, this book would have the answers she was looking for. She read the little chapter and learned that the former mayor had one son. His name was Daniel. Daniel Masters.