Returning to the floor below, Kyrie found the room already feeling different now that she wasn’t weighed down by her backpack. She moved more freely, drifting from one detail to the next, letting curiosity guide her.
She had just reached the bottom of the stairs when her attention settled on one of the mounted creatures along the wall. It resembled something between a stag and a wolf, its antlers branching in unnatural directions, almost like twisted vines. The fur looked soft, layered with subtle color variations that gave it a disturbingly lifelike quality.
Kyrie frowned slightly, feeling a faint distaste at the thought that something like this, even if fictional, had been made to look so convincingly dead. At the same time, she couldn’t deny the fascination. The craftsmanship was incredible, the kind of detail she would expect in a major film production.
She leaned slightly closer, studying the creature’s glassy eyes, half-expecting them to shift. They didn’t. Still, something about them lingered in the back of her mind.
Nearby, David and Erica had already helped themselves to drinks from the bottles resting on the bar. The sound of liquid pouring into glasses filled the quiet space before they moved together toward the fireplace, crouching and running their hands along the stonework, searching for hidden switches or loose bricks.
“I bet there’s something behind here,” David muttered, tapping gently along the stone.
“Just don’t break anything,” Erica replied, though she was already pressing along the seams herself.
Phillip and Alicia had joined Kyrie near the mounted creatures, circling them slowly like museum curators examining a new exhibit.
“The fur texture is insane,” Phillip murmured, leaning in close.
Alicia shook her head, reaching out but stopping just short of touching it. “They blended it perfectly. Look at the muscle definition under the surface. That’s… that’s movie-quality at minimum.”
“Better than some movies,” Phillip added quietly.
They both fell silent for a moment, studying the creature again.
Across the room, Jennifer crouched slightly as she peered into a shelf nook near the bar. “I wonder if they have cameras placed all over and stuff?” she mused aloud. “I imagine they would, right? Has anyone found one yet?”
Patrick immediately joined her, scanning the corners of the ceiling and behind mounted decorations. “If they’re recording reactions, they’d probably hide them pretty well,” he said, leaning slightly to peer behind a shield.
The others seemed to consider the possibility as well, glancing upward or toward dark corners of the room.
Then, at exactly 8:00 PM, a resounding TICK cut through the tavern.
The sound was sharp and sudden, loud enough to echo through the wood and stone like a blade striking metal. Everyone froze.
The group looked first at each other, startled expressions passing silently between them, and then almost in unison, their gazes lifted toward the clock above the fireplace.
Kyrie was already moving. She climbed the stairs quickly, her boots thudding softly against the wood as she leaned closer to the ornate clock. Tilting her head, she studied the position of the hands.
“It’s at four minutes to twelve now,” she called down. “I’m sure it was at five before.”
Phillip followed her up, pulling his notebook from his pocket as he examined the strange symbols around the face.
“These symbols are weird,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Some of them are real astronomical symbols and astrological signs… but some of these look completely made up.” He leaned closer, pointing slightly. “One moon is in the proper phase… but the other side… I’ve got nothing.”
Alicia looked up at them from below, arms folded thoughtfully. “It must be part of the puzzle,” she called. “Maybe we’ll find the symbols in other locations around the tavern? We haven’t exactly gotten far yet.”
Kyrie listened quietly, her gaze lingering on the clock. Her expression remained faintly dubious. It could be part of the puzzle, it probably was, but something about it felt… deliberate in a way she couldn’t quite explain.
She slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out her watch. She had thought ahead, knowing her phone wouldn’t be much use out here. The time read just after 8:00 PM. She looked back up at the clock again.
“We should be here at 9 PM to see if it ticks again,” she said thoughtfully. “I think it’s moving one minute per hour that passes… which would put it at twelve at midnight tonight.”
That idea seemed to settle over the group. Midnight. Even as part of a themed mystery weekend, the word carried weight. Below them, the tavern felt just a little quieter. And above the fireplace, the clock sat unmoving once more; now at four minutes to twelve.