You arrive at the sight of Agatha's remains, buried three hundred years ago, now the source of a supernatural storm; a clearing sculpted out of the forest by Aggie's fury. In the center of it all is the tree, bleached white as bone and grotesquely twisted. The trees around it creak and groan as though they'd like to uproot and plant themselves someplace else. The site of Aggie's remains are now a mess of roots and rocks open out like an ugly wound, and within them a tiny childlike figure is barely visible through a spitting furnace of spectral energy. Ectoplasm rages up around the tree's finger-like branches like a mushroom cloud of negative energy. It's a child's tantrum turned atomic. Agatha speaks in a stern, curt, and uninviting tone, her every word echoing.

"You're not welcome here. Go away."