Paranelope, a ghost hunter who's been cancelled for faking evidence, must discover the truth behind a local cryptid in order to clear her name.
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Penelope, better known as the ghost hunter PARANELOPE to her millions of followers, has only ever want...
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Penelope rubbed at her arms as a chill settled on her skin, despite her oversized hoodie. The weather was distinctly un-summerlike, grey and cold. Something about the weather bothered Penelope. It reminded her of something she couldn't quite put her finger on, like some kind of weird déja-vu.
It didn't help that Liam was ignoring her, separating himself from her by standing on the other side of his mom. Penelope let him; she didn't want to talk to him either right now. Her dad noticed that something was off. Every once in a while, his gaze would dart between the two of them, his eyebrows raised. But he said nothing for which Penelope was grateful. Instead, he just put his arm around her shoulders, squeezing her now and then, while they waited for the search to begin.
Someone had just come around and passed out flyers with the profiles of the missing crew. A photo of Daevon was at the very top, right next to what looked like an actor's headshot of Xander, followed by pictures of the rest of the crew. There were rough descriptions of them, what they had been wearing, and where they had last been seen. It seemed their team had the same idea Penelope had: to venture into the woods where Henry had encountered the Raven and try to make contact for themselves.
Only, unlike her, they had never made it back.
Thinking about it made Penelope feel like a pit had opened up in her stomach. She scrunched up the flyer and shoved it into her pocket.
The same harried officer from before—Duncan—shuffled over to the front of the crow, ready to address the volunteers. Though it was barely nine in the morning, there were already dark shadows under his eyes. His arms were full of maps, printouts, and rolls of neon pink plastic tape. He dumped it all out on a small fold-out table set up in front of them. A roll of neon tape rolled off the edge of the table and disappeared into the grass. He didn't chase after it.
"Alright, folks," he said, his deep voice carrying over the crowd though it sounded weary and tired. "We're going to use you to help us do what we call a grid search. We're gonna split you up into groups, assign you to a square of the grid on the map—" he held up a map which had a grid drawn on it with a thick black marker, "—and then you'll walk along in a line scanning the ground. Please look to the left, where my fellow officers are demonstrating the technique."
