IN THE DARK…
He stood motionless in the center of the farmhouse kitchen, his pistol raised in a two-handed grip, his cop instincts warning him to go slow, clearing the hall, then the parlor, then the kitchen, and now the room past the kitchen. The old floorboards creaked beneath his boots.
Somewhere upstairs, the sounds of team a’s footfalls were muffled by warped wood and decades of decay. They were in the master bathroom, allegedly the ghost room. Their voices drifted faintly through his earpiece, punctuated by bursts of static.
“The temp’s staying steady at 39…no freezing yet,” someone said.
A second voice replied, “Have you checked the hall? It might have moved.”
Ayden barely paid attention to them. His attention remained fixed on the doorway beyond the kitchen. He could hear them, but he had his mic off. He could also hear Pat if she contacted him on a different channel.
The sound sensor had picked up a voice.
Not a creak.
Not a thump.
A voice.
Low. Female.
And it had said his name.
His…name.
“Ayden,” Pat whispered over his phone in his pocket. He’d slipped it into the jacket pocket along with his monitoring watch. “I don’t like this. I’m calling Doc.”
Static from Team A. “I’m not seeing any U.V.”
An answer came. “Any D.O.T.s?”
“No.”
Every instinct he possessed told him there was someone else in the house.
The room beyond the doorway sat in absolute darkness. Moonlight reached the kitchen windows but seemed unwilling to cross the threshold. The blackness inside felt thick, almost physical.
The smell hit him again. Mold. The earthy scent of mildew. Rotting wood swollen from years of moisture.
The dampness mixed with cold clung to his skin like a wet blanket. He was sweating beneath his sweater and C.O.R.E. jacket. Outside, December winds rattled against the farmhouse siding.
He abruptly felt the drop in temperature.
“Temp’s back up…I think it moved. Doc’s headed down with Rick to check on Patty,” came a voice through the static.
Well, he was pretty sure he was going to get yelled at for going into the house, but at least it was Doc heading down and not Team A’s leader. He’d never met Milhouse Rose, but he’d heard enough about him from his sister.
A noise caught his attention and he spun toward it. He could see by the light of the kitchen doorway that the room was empty. What fascinated him was the wall of paneling in front of him, the molding grain barely visible.
He took a cautious step toward it. The darkness seemed to shift. His finger tightened against the trigger guard. Something icy cold brushed his cheek.
“Who’s there?” he called.
Silence.
Then—
A breath. Not his. Right beside his ear.
Ayden spun, the gun at arm’s length. His intention had been to clear the room, to protect the team upstairs. But…
Nothing.
Just darkness. His pulse hammered in his ears.
Every hair stood on end. Something was behind him. He knew it with absolute certainty. Slowly, he turned to where the kitchen door should be, his back toward the darkened room.
A pale shape floated in front of him.
Human-sized.
Motionless.
Watching.
His breath caught. The figure smiled. And something impossibly cold closed around his throat. His gun struck the floor with a deafening crack.
The pressure increased.
Crushing. Relentless.
He clawed at his neck, but there was nothing there. Yet the grip remained as it lifted him in the air and he kicked out with his boots. The darkness beyond the doorway seemed to swell and breathe.
The pale figure stepped forward.
Its smile widened to garish proportions.
And for the first time since entering the farmhouse, Ayden realized the voice on the sensor hadn’t belonged to an intruder at all, but the very thing the Team upstairs was looking for.
“Eres perfecto, Ayden. Te amo.”