Mabel hammered the last nail into the wooden sign and stepped back to check her work. The clearing sat halfway between the village and Creepy's cave, flat and open enough that no one could claim they felt trapped. She'd swept away the rocks and brought a water jug and two benches. She walked to the edge of the clearing and placed bright candies in a bowl on a flat stone. The colors caught the afternoon light—pink swirls, blue stars, yellow hearts. Anyone passing by would see them and know this place welcomed everyone. She added a second bowl beside it, this one filled with the purple crystals Creepy had brought down from the mountain last week. He'd been so careful carrying them, like they were fragile eggs instead of stone. Mabel sat on one bench and waited. Birds called from the trees. A squirrel darted across the path. She counted her breaths and watched the three stone paths that led down from Creepy's cave. He would come—she'd asked him this morning, and he'd nodded in that slow, thoughtful way of his. But would anyone from the village show up? Footsteps crunched on gravel. Mabel's head turned. An older woman appeared on the western path, walking slowly with a cane. She stopped at the edge of the clearing, eyes moving from the sign to the benches to the bowls of candy and crystals. Then she stepped forward and sat on the empty bench. She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. Mabel smiled and turned back toward the mountain path, watching for Creepy.

Mabel watched the older woman settle onto the bench, her fingers wrapped around the handle of her cane. The clearing felt almost complete now—two people waiting, candy and crystals laid out like promises. But Creepy still hadn't appeared on the mountain path. A small figure darted into the clearing from the western path, moving faster than the adults behind could follow. The child stopped at the bowl of purple crystals, eyes wide. One piece caught the sunlight and threw rainbow sparks across the ground. The child reached down and picked up a smooth amethyst stone, turning it over in their palm. Behind them, voices called out—sharp with worry. Two adults rushed into the clearing and froze when they saw the mountain paths stretching upward into shadow. The marker stone Creepy had placed at the trail entrance loomed dark against the trees. The man grabbed the child's shoulder and pulled them back toward the western path. The woman snatched the crystal from the child's hand and dropped it like it burned. The older woman on the bench stood and held out her hand, saying something Mabel couldn't hear. The parents didn't listen. They hurried away, the child twisting to look back at the glittering bowls. Mabel picked up the dropped crystal and placed it back in the bowl. She sat on her bench and looked at the older woman, who had settled back down with a slow shake of her head. They both understood—fear moved faster than curiosity. But the child had reached for the crystal without hesitation, had held it like treasure. Mabel pulled out her small notebook and wrote: "A child saw beauty first. The parents only saw danger. Start younger." The older woman watched her write and nodded once, firm and deliberate.

By evening, the parents had told their neighbors. Mabel heard the whispers before she saw the crowd gathered near the western path. A woman pointed toward the mountain. A man shook his head and pulled his daughter closer. Someone said the word "candy" like it was poison. Mabel walked straight into the crowd. She needed to hear what they were saying—needed to know exactly what version of the story they were telling each other. The parents from the clearing stood in the center, and between them sat one of the purple crystals on a cloth. It glowed faintly in the dimming light, throwing soft colors across the faces around it. The father gestured at it like evidence. "He leaves these out to lure children," he said. "Candy and shiny things. What kind of creature does that?" Murmurs rippled through the group. A few mothers nodded and stepped back, as if the crystal itself could reach for them. Mabel picked up the crystal. The crowd went quiet. She held it up so everyone could see the light dancing through it. "Creepy makes these," she said. "He gave them as gifts because he wanted to share something beautiful." The father shook his head. "You don't understand. We saw the path markers. We saw the mountain. He's trying to draw our children up there." Mabel looked at the faces around her—some uncertain, some already decided. She set the crystal back down and pulled out her notebook. "I'm collecting stories about Creepy," she said. "Real ones. Not the ones fear invents. If anyone wants to know what he's actually like, I'll be at the clearing tomorrow morning." No one answered. The crowd shifted, and a few people walked away. But three mothers stayed where they were, watching her. By the time Mabel left, thin wisps of mist had begun settling outside several homes along the path—bowls of water mixed with herbs, meant to keep danger away. The parents were building walls made of fear. But those three mothers had stayed. They hadn't agreed with her, but they hadn't walked away either. Mabel wrote in her notebook as she walked: "Three stayed. Fear spreads fast, but curiosity is slower and sticks longer." She had lost the crowd, but she'd found her next three listeners. That was enough to keep going.