- ONE WEEK EARLIER -

"So, let me get this straight," Velma said, crossing her arms as she looked at her dad. "You asked us to come here for a vacation - but not really a vacation - because you want us to chase after something you've never seen?"

Mr. Dinkley shifted uncomfortably, his eyes shifting between Daphne, Fred, and Velma.

"Well . . . yes."

Fred let out an exasperated sigh. "Mr. Dinkley, please. How can we help if all you've got for evidence are flickering lights and faulty computers . . ."

"And you think there's an evil presence behind it?" Daphne added.

"Yes," Mr. Dinkley said tightly.

"Dad, electrical issues and disappearing wildlife don't really scream 'paranormal.' The missing wildlife could be due to disease, and the power failures could be a satellite problem. I know you said you checked on these things, but –

"Listen to me," Mr. Dinkley interrupted, his brow furrowing. "Do you remember the map I showed you earlier?"

All three nodded.

"It's connected to the dark past of this place . . ." Mr. Dinkley's voice lowered. "Something terrible happened here."

"You mentioned the Red War," Velma said cautiously. "Is that what you're talking about?"

Mr. Dinkley nodded, his face grim. "The Red War . . . only a handful know about it. Most people believe this town was destroyed by the Battle of Crescent Hill."

Velma blinked. "But wasn't it? That's what the history books say! I even read about it in your pamphlet!" Velma pulled out a brochure from her coat pocket. On the front cover, the words: CRESCENT HILL FOREST AND HISTORIC PRESERVE: FEATURING THE BATTLE OF CRESCENT HILL were displayed in bold, colorful letters.

"No." Mr. Dinkley glanced over his shoulder as though someone might be listening in. His voice dropped to a whisper. "I – I really shouldn't be telling you kids this, but the Battle of Crescent Hill was a cover-up. It was made up by my superiors to hide what really happened."

Daphne looked between Fred and Mr. Dinkley, her fingers folded in her lap. "Why would anyone make that up?"

Mr. Dinkley adjusted his glasses, his face darkening. "Because the Red War was much worse. No guest in their right mind would want to come visit if they knew the truth."

Fred crossed his arms impatiently. "And what's the truth?"

Mr. Dinkley sighed. "It all started in the spring of 1862. Crescent Hill was a thriving town, built just below the hill that gave it its name. It was the perfect place for young couples to start families. It was a peaceful place . . . until the Civil War changed everything."

"Husbands left to fight, leaving their wives and children behind. There was a young woman, a little older than you all - Celia Williams. She was well-known in the town; her husband, Henry, the local farmer, was eventually drafted, leaving her and their son, Richard, behind."

"That's heartbreaking," Daphne whispered, tears forming in her eyes. "What happened to them?"

Mr. Dinkley hesitated before continuing. "At first, she prayed. Every day, she attended the Chapel of St. Augustus, begging God for the war to end. She'd confided in the town's pastor, Father George McGrath. She told him about her worries. But according to the town's historical records . . . their relationship became something more. The townspeople began to spread word about the affair."

"Henry came back from the war a year later," Mr. Dinkley went on. "He'd changed, as one does from his time in battle. When he came home, he knew something was wrong. Something was off with Celia. Just days after he returned, he was found dead in his cabin. Stabbed through the chest . . . Celia was standing above him, holding the knife. Their son was there, too."

Velma stiffened. "Did that happen in the cabin you mentioned earlier? The one that's still standing?"

Mr. Dinkley nodded slowly. "The letter carrier discovered the scene of the crime. The evidence was undeniable. Celia killed her husband. She betrayed him, and she wanted him gone. Once the word got out, the riots started. The town was in flames. Some called it the Red War. The townspeople were furious with Father McGrath, who fled. The pastor they trusted – who'd been their spiritual leader – was a sinner. The entire town burned . . . except for the Williams' cabin."

Mr. Dinkley paused, as though waiting for the tension in the room to settle. "As for Celia, they hanged her at the top of Crescent Hill for everyone to see. A warning to anyone who even thought about murder and deception."

The room was silent. No one knew what to say.

"The thing that bothers me is that the Williams family cabin somehow survived those fires. The riots. The destruction . . . and I'm not sure why . . . but now I understand there's something more to it. Celia's evil energy is still here. She's tied to something in this place. That's what I need you to find out."

Velma stood, her fists clenched. "I can't believe you've been hiding the truth of Crescent Hill! And from me, your own daughter! What's wrong with you!"

"I – I couldn't disclose this information to anyone! I shouldn't have even told you, but after all that's been happening –

"Everyone needs to calm down!" Fred also stood. "Listen. Thank you for telling us this story, Mr. Dinkley. At least now we have some information."

Fred placed a hand on Velma's shoulder. "Thank you for sharing this with us, Mr. Dinkley. Now at least we have some historical context . . . and Velma, please don't jump to conclusions, here."

"I think it's pretty clear we have all the information we need!" Velma said through clenched teeth. "A woman killed her husband to be with someone else . . . but her cabin survived the fires? That's impossible!"

"That cabin was near the center of the fires! Their entire farmhouse burned down!" Mr. Dinkley's voice was rising with frustration. "Something supernatural is going on here!"

"How can you be sure? How can you really know the facts of what happened based on the documentation? Who was writing down all of this?"

"We don't know!" Mr. Dinkley exclaimed in frustration, throwing his hands into the air. "They think it was one of the townsfolk, but I don't know who!"

Daphne raised her hand hesitantly, trying to break the tension. "Um . . . Mr. Dinkley, how can you be so sure the electrical issues are from Celia? Couldn't all of this be a coincidence?"

Mr. Dinkley turned to Velma. "I was actually about to show you proof before my lovely daughter so rudely interrupted me . . . all of you stay here." He glared at Velma before he swiftly stood and left the room.

Daphne turned to Velma. "Okay, what was that?"

"He's out of his mind again . . . my Dad . . . he goes through these phases. You know, after the divorce. He believed in the paranormal since I can remember, but it's never been this bad . . . He's delusional!"

The three of them sat in silence for what felt like forever before Mr. Dinkley returned, holding a small, ornate iron box about the size of a shoebox. He placed the box on his lap. "This is my proof. My intern found it buried behind Celia's cabin when we were doing a dig there weeks ago . . . I – I shouldn't have opened it!"

Velma raised an eyebrow. "And what's this got to do with the supernatural?"

Without speaking, Mr. Dinkley unclasped the broken lock of the box and slowly opened the lid. He took out a piece of worn parchment. He handed it to Velma. Daphne and Fred peered over her shoulders.

The note was scrawled in a messy cursive: OPEN THIS BOX AND I SHALL COME BACK. I WILL MAKE YOU ALL PAY. MAY MY CURSE BE HEAVY ON YOUR SOULS.

"This is Celia's curse. She must've written this before she was executed." Mr. Dinkley whispered.

Velma stared at the note, a shiver running down her spine. She met her father's gaze. "I'm sorry, but this is almost too suspicious . . ."

Fred rubbed his chin. "Was there anything else in the box?"

Mr. Dinkley slowly nodded, pulling out a gold chain necklace with an oval-shaped locket. The locket had a pine tree embellished on its front. Mr. Dinkley opened it and handed it to Daphne.

The letters C & G were inscribed. Daphne breathed. "Celia and George . . ."

"Celia's husband was just a small-town farmer," Mr. Dinkley said. "He couldn't have afforded something like this. Father McGrath gave this to her."

Velma's curiosity piqued. "Was there anything else in the box?"

"No, that's all we found, unfortunately," Mr. Dinkley sighed, taking the pendant and note back. "But there are rumors of Celia's diary being out there somewhere. The townsfolk said she wrote in it everywhere she went . . . they think she was writing down curses and spells."

Fred frowned. "Do you know of any sightings of a spirit?"

"That's the issue," Mr. Dinkley sighed. "Most left after the night of the Red War. Those who stayed didn't notice anything strange. The state discovered the town's land in 1891 after the United States' forest preservation efforts began. Some old residents of the town came back and gave their explanation for what happened during the night of the Red War. Then, Crescent Hill became a forest preserve park, and after several decades, it became a tourist attraction . . . and now we're here."

Mr. Dinkley hesitated before continuing. "But there was one old fellow, Charles Baker, who used to live in Crescent Hill with his family. He told reporters he saw a black shadow dancing around his room. But he was a child. There's no solid evidence it wasn't his imagination."

There was a long pause as the sunlight started to fade from the large grimy windows. It was nearly sunset.

"All of this is great, Mr. Dinkley. Thank you," Fred said as he stood up and stretched. "All of this information can help us find a good lead."

"Very well!" Mr. Dinkley said as he stood up and clapped his hands together.

Mr. Dinkley thumped Fred's back in appreciation. "Is there anything I can do for you kids? It's the least I can offer!"

"Well . . . the Mystery Machine is pretty beat up from our little incident," Fred said. "Would you mind calling a mechanic for us tomorrow?"

"Of course!" Mr. Dinkley said with a smile as Fred and the girls began to leave. "I'll do that right in the morning! Oh, and keep the box and the items! It won't do me much good!"

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"God, what a terrible story," Daphne murmured as the three of them exited the museum and back into the cold. "Do you think any of it is true?"

"I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt . . . for now," Fred said as he stuffed his hands into his coat pocket.

"I think my dad really thinks this is happening," Velma said, her breath pluming. She looked down at that iron box held tightly in her hands. "But there's something he's not telling us . . . I just know it."