The van door hissed open, revealing the rain-slicked driveway of . Elias checked his equipment one last time. In his left hand, a flickering flashlight; in his right, an EMF reader that felt far too light for the weight of the task ahead.
He clicked the flashlight off. The darkness was absolute. He waited, seconds stretching into an eternity, until the dragging footsteps finally faded toward the basement.
He followed the signal into the kitchen. The sink tap began to turn, seemingly on its own, a slow drip-drip-drip echoing against the tile. He reached for his spirit box, clicking the receiver to life. The static was a harsh, rhythmic roar. "Is there anyone here?" he asked the empty room.
The ghost stopped. It turned slowly toward the closet. Elias felt his heart hammering against his ribs—a sound so loud he was sure the entity could hear it. He remembered the veteran's advice: Don't speak. Don't move. Turn off your light.
They entered the house, the floorboards groaning under their boots. The air inside was thick, smelling of old wallpaper and stagnant dust. Elias moved toward the back of the house, his flashlight cutting a narrow path through the darkness. Suddenly, the EMF reader in his hand chirped. Chirp. Chirp-chirp.
"I’ve got something," Elias called out, his voice shaking. "Level two. Maybe three."
"Stay close," Sarah whispered, her breath visible in the freezing October air. "The client reported strange noises in the nursery. If the temperature drops, we move fast."
