The Trident Grove Natural History Museum was a small, unimpressive building, shaped like a lighthouse, not much bigger than the average home. But, it held multiple artifacts, pamphlets about the town's history of being a well-known port in the past, and an odd, mysterious history of an unknown tribe that was believed to have inhabited the area hundreds of years ago.

The building smelled of must, and Michael was quick to mutter about it smelling of old people. The comment was once again followed by a slap on the back of his head. Terry walked around gazing at the small glass boxes protecting artifacts and fossils. He saw arrowheads and skulls of long-extinct species. Bella found more interest in the small port section with displays of old sailor knots, and captain's clothing. Misses Stephens strolled and read the different stories about the objects on display, and occasionally took a look at the pamphlet she was handed when they walked in.

Terry kept his hands in his pockets. He stared at a fossilized bone in its glass. The description under it said that it belonged to an unknown species, but tests suggested it dated back to before the birth of Christ. Considering how fossils worked, He wondered why that would be an important note. He tried to imagine what the bone, which was the size of his arm, could have belonged to and stood there in thought. Michael read a taped note on an empty glass case. He made a displeased sound before walking to a sitting bench and crossing his arms.

Terry walked to the empty case. There was some dust at the bottom and an empty book holder. Beside it, near the wall, were a few pictures of the writing and art contained in the book. All the scribblings were indecipherable, messy, and gave a pitted feeling in Terry’s chest. There was one page with drawings of a woman holding the head of a pale man, while she stood triumphant with dark figures circling. But, there was no book. Instead, just a hand-written note sat taped to the glass. It read: Attention! Due to recent events, the Book of The Trident Grove Natives has become missing.

He looked back to the same picture with the blood-thirsty woman. And he looked hard, and he could barely see a figure, showing up behind the woman, with a spear and a broken arm. It looked familiar, so close in appearance to someone. Someone he saw every day.

Terry jumped to the surprise of Misses Stephens peeking her head over his shoulder. “I read in the newspaper that the book went missing.”

“We have a newspaper?” Terry asked.

Misses Stephens didn’t acknowledge his question. She said, “I’m sure there’s just some miscommunication and it got put in a box in the back or something.”

He nodded then walked over to where Bella was watching a small screen with a repetitive film of fishing boats bouncing against the pier. When it finished, it turned into a slideshow of caught fish, sailors, and different boats.

In an hour, the four of them finished their self-guided tour. Misses Stephens took them to a park near the Bayfront.

When they drove up to the park, Emma pointed out a shaved ice stand. Terry stared at it. It was a shabby food truck with no wheels and rust that was beginning to peel off the paint. On the side, in large frosty letters, it read, ‘Snow’s Cones’.

“You want one?” she asked Terry.

“I ain’t got any money,” Terry said.

“I’ll buy,” Misses Stephens interrupted.

When they ordered, Terry could see the inside through the window. The register was a dinosaur, and the inside was the kind of dirty that could never be cleaned. Terry chose one of the only four flavors.

When he got his shaved ice, he walked off to sit at the edge of the water, letting his legs dangle above the waves.

Misses Stephens and Michael went and sat at a nearby picnic table. Their bickering was audible and Michael seemed to have done something he shouldn’t have done again and was getting a firm talk. Bella came and sat by Terry, likely to escape the bickering.

Bella pointed at a jellyfish the size of a rusty dime floating by. They shared small talk as they ate their snow cones.

Bella spoke up, “I’d like to be a jellyfish.”

Terry raised an eyebrow. “Why, so it’ll hurt when people touch you?”

“No, it just sounds nice to float along. Not really knowing what’s going on.”

“I guess so.” Terry wanted to throw up, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of the snowcone, or because of Bella.

The sun began to set in a drip of watercolors. With exhaustion, they went back to the Stephens' home where they found Mr. Stephens cooking dinner. They ate while watching a movie. Finally, the phone rang and Misses Stephens took Terry home. When he left, Michael was asleep on the couch bundled in covers, and Bella gave him an awkward goodbye hug. When he got home, he talked to his mom and went to sleep shortly after. It wasn’t as restful of a night as he would have thought it to be.

“Wassit called?” Sheriff Johanson asked.

He turned the black gem around in his hands. His mustache quivered as he narrowed his eyes to study the object Clines had handed him. It was precisely and perfectly sculpted into a triangular prism with a smooth surface and sharp edges.

Clines was leaning back in his chair, and he kept his hands on the armrests as he stared up at the ceiling of his dirty apartment.

Clines answered. “I can’t really pronounce it. But, it translates, very very roughly, to The Crystal of The Gate Keeper.”

“Gate ta what?”

“A world of horror.”

Johanson peered at Clines with raised eyebrows. “Ya mean this is actually all real.”

“Yep.”

“Shit. Now what?”

Clines stood up half-heartedly and stumbled over to his wall while scratching the red greasy hair on his head. Right next to a hole was a large detailed map of the town. It was covered in sticky notes, pins, and red thread tangled in incomprehensible ways that only Clines was able to decipher.

“Ya know the fountain outside?” Clines said.

“Ya.”

Clines continued, “there used to be two others. And, they wern’t fountains, they were springs. From what I understand, the ancient tribe knew of the springs and believed them to be a kinda portal. The portal would always open up at certain times, so they made three markers, one being what is now the fountain outside, and created the crystals and put them in these spots ta keep it shut.”

“‘Kay, I’m following.” The sheriff joined him in front of the map.

Clines lit up a cigarette and breathed the smoke away from the sheriff.

Then, Clines continued, speaking between drags of smoke. “The fountain has a out of place brick, which I think is its crystal. Which means one of the other two are missing their crystal.”

“Where tha other two markers?”

Clines sighed. “I dunno.” He pointed at a few blue pins on the map. There were four. “This where I’m thinking they are.”

Sheriff Johanson put his knuckles to his chin and reflected.

“How much time we got?”

“Tonightsa ‘nother full moon. So ‘round two weeks.”

Clines took the crystal back from the sheriff and put it back into the old box that had been containing it.

“I’ll start searching immediately.” The sheriff jotted the locations down on a writing pad.

Then, the sheriff left to do both his rounds and search.

Clines put out his cigarette and stepped to his desk. He used some tweezers to turn the page of the Natives Book. He stared at the page. A woman with scales held the disembodied head of a red-haired man. He scratched the hair on his head and looked at the little boy with a spear approaching in the background. Clines frowned, and walked to his unmade bed. He grabbed a liquor bottle from the bed stand, took a few gulps, then laid down. He stared at the ceiling before falling to sleep.