Inside Paula's Ice Cream Parlour, the soft jingle of a bell announced our arrival. The air was thick with the scent of fresh waffle cones, cocoa powder, and a hint of cinnamon. The lighting was warm, golden against the wood-paneled walls and pastel-colored booths. It looked like the kind of place that hadn't changed in 30 years—and had no intention to.
Behind the counter stood an older woman with gentle eyes, white hair pulled into a loose braid, and an apron dusted with flour and powdered sugar.
"Well now," she said with a voice like warm cider, "new faces. You must be the Everstones."
"That obvious?" Mom smiled.
Paula chuckled. "BlackDale's small. News travels quicker than wildfire in July. I'm Paula King, and these two are my grandkids—Nora and Joseph."
Nora looked about my age. Hair black as pitch, tied neatly in a bun. She had sharp eyes, but they weren't unfriendly. "Welcome," she said, giving us a polite smile.
The younger one, Joseph, was maybe seven or eight. He peeked at us from behind the counter, half-hiding, then quickly ducked back down, returning to whatever held his attention under the register.
"What's he up to?" I asked, curiously.
"His usual," Paula said with a fond shake of her head. "He doesn't talk much, but give him toys or cartoons, and he's a different creature."
Snow and Mom were already picking flavors, chatting with Nora. Meanwhile, I crouched beside the counter, angling myself to see what Joseph was playing with.
He had two plastic figurines. One was a flaming T-Rex with fire bursting out its jaws and magma-cracked scales. The other was a sleek ice-colored Mosasaurus, its fins coated in crystal patterns. They were clashing in slow-motion, like he was animating a battle in his head.
I smiled. "Elemental Teeths?"
Joseph froze. His eyes—big and brown, like a startled deer—met mine.
"That's Pyrorex," I pointed, "and the other is Frostaur. Right?"
His mouth opened slightly. "You... you know them?"
"Dude, I watched all four seasons twice. Pyrorex's fire form in Season 2 is unbeatable—unless Frostaur uses his glacier spike tail."
His eyes lit up like Christmas. "Everyone says Pyrorex is better, but Frostaur's smarter."
"He is, isn't he?" I nodded. "That episode where he froze the lava lake with his ultimate—'Frozen Depths'—that was genius."
Joseph grinned. Actually grinned. He brought the two figures up and handed me Frostaur. "Wanna battle?"
I laughed. "Alright, but I warn you—I'm a very competitive Mosasaur."
We started mimicking battle sounds, plastic clicking against plastic.
"RAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!" I yelled.
Joseph giggled. "NOOO! You broke my Ice Wall!"
"You should've reinforced it with Coral Spikes!" I teased.
We played for a few minutes. Just a small moment, but I could see it meant something to him. When Nora came over with our cones, she blinked in surprise.
"Wow," she said, watching her little brother light up. "He usually doesn't say more than two words to strangers."
"Guess I have a Mosasaur advantage," I said, standing up and handing Frostaur back.
Joseph clutched both figurines, still grinning shyly. "Bye, Elijah," he said quietly.
"Catch you next time, Frostaur."
We left the shop, cones in hand. As soon as we were out, Snow elbowed me with a smirk.
"Look at you, the Kid Whisperer."
I rolled my eyes. "He had cool toys."
"Aww, admit it—you made a friend."
"You jealous?"
"Hardly. But I'm gonna tell Mom you played dinosaurs."
"They're elemental hybrids, thank you."
She laughed. "Sure. That's exactly what a grown man calls his dinosaur toys."
I shrugged, licking my cone. "Can't help it if I'm charming."
Snow chuckled, the wind catching her hair as we walked. "You might actually do okay in this town, Everstone."
We made our way through the tree-lined streets, the sun now just kissing the horizon. Ahead was our new house—a white two-story colonial with a wraparound porch and creaky shutters. It needed love, but somehow... it already felt like the start of something.
We finally reached our destination—a winding gravel road that twisted through thick woods, the sun filtering through skeletal branches like flickers of gold on glass. The town fell behind us, replaced by silence, birdsong, and the crunch of tires over fallen leaves.
And then… there it was.
Our ancestral house.
But house wasn't the right word. This was a gothic mansion, resting on a lonely knoll like it had watched centuries pass from its ivy-covered windows. Its spires pierced the sky, the roof sloped and slate-black, turrets standing like silent sentinels. The brick was dark gray, nearly black in the fading light, and vines crept along its sides like it was being slowly reclaimed by nature. The mansion looked like it belonged in an old ghost story.
There was a shed house to the west, mostly rusted metal and leaning sideways, and a well house tucked behind, its wooden roof sagging under moss. Giant oaks stood all around like ancient guards, and a half-broken iron fence circled the estate.
"I love it!" I grinned wide, stepping out of the car. "It's like Dracula meets Batman! This place has vibes."
Snow, however, climbed out with a horrified look. "It looks like the set of a murder documentary."
"Exactly! It's awesome."
"I swear if I see one possessed doll or creepy rocking chair, I'm torching the place."
"I'm gonna set up my punching bag in the attic and make it my lair," I said with a mischievous grin. "Dibs on the master bedroom!"
Snow's eyes narrowed. "Elijah, that room has a balcony. I need it for my plants and sunlight therapy."
"You can have the sunlight when you stop being a vampire."
"Mom!" she shouted toward the front, where Ava was speaking to a well-dressed man by the porch. "He's claiming the best room again!"
"I called dibs," I replied smugly.
"Not how it works, you gremlin."
The man turned and extended a hand. "You must be the Everstones. I'm Mr. Alden—George's family lawyer. I've managed the property since... well, since it passed to him, though he never claimed it."
Mom nodded. "It's... a lot bigger than I expected."
He smiled. "It has history. Built in 1870, the house has been in the Everstone bloodline for generations. It's structurally sound, though there's some age to it, of course. I'll show you around."
The foyer creaked as we stepped inside. Tall ceilings with brass chandeliers, faded portraits on the walls, a massive mirror with spiderweb cracks at the edges. The scent of dust and lavender still lingered.
The drawing room had red wallpaper, velvet furniture covered in sheets, and an old phonograph in the corner.
The library took my breath away—two stories tall, with ladders sliding along the shelves and dust motes dancing in the light. "This is my real lair," I whispered reverently.
The living room had a fireplace that looked big enough to cook a cow in, and faded couches that probably hadn't seen use since the Cold War.
The kitchen was surprisingly modernized—someone had redone the counters and added a large island. The pantry, though, was a tiny door that led to what felt like Narnia.
A bathroom was tucked in the hallway, with a clawfoot tub and copper fixtures.
We followed Mr. Alden up the grand staircase, which groaned under our weight like it was waking up after a long sleep.
The second floor had three regular bedrooms, each with its own weird wallpaper and scent of history. The master bedroom was at the far end—with large double doors, a balcony that overlooked the front lawn, and an ornate fireplace.
"I repeat: Dibs," I said, flopping onto the dusty mattress with arms wide open.
"Unbelievable," Snow muttered, crossing her arms. "He gets the haunted king suite and I'll probably get the room with the peeling clown wallpaper."
"You're welcome to the attic."
"Yeah, so the ghosts can feed on my soul in peace?"
Mr. Alden cleared his throat awkwardly. "There is an attic, yes. And a basement, but I suggest staying out of that for now—it needs repairs."
"Oh god," Snow whispered. "We're going to die here."
By the time the tour ended, the sun had dipped below the treeline, casting shadows through the stained-glass windows. The house came alive in a different way—creaking, sighing, whispering stories we hadn't yet heard.
Mom rubbed her hands together. "Our stuff arrives tomorrow. For tonight, I've packed sleeping bags and takeout menus."
Snow blinked. "Please tell me we are not eating on the floor of this house."
"I vote library picnic," I said, already heading down. "We can light candles and pretend we're secret society members."
"We already are a secret society," Snow said. "You, me, and Mom—The Poor and the Mentally Unstable."
I snorted. "Catchy. Needs a theme song."
"I'm not writing it."
We both looked at each other... and laughed.
Yeah, it wasn't New York. It wasn't Dad. It wasn't even comfortable.
But it was ours.
And that night, under flickering candlelight in the dusty library, we ate cold pizza and argued about ghost stories.
It wasn't a beginning.
But maybe it was the start of something new.