"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."

Elias spun around, but the kitchen was empty. Or so it seemed. A cold mist began to swirl around his ankles, and the light in the hallway began to flicker in a frantic, dying heartbeat. He realized too late that he hadn't checked for a hiding spot.

When the van’s siren finally wailed, signaling the end of the hunt, Elias stumbled out into the rain. He hadn't found the bone or captured a perfect photo, but he had learned the most important lesson for any ghost hunter:

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.

He dove into the small closet next to the fridge, pulling the door shut just as the heavy, dragging footsteps entered the kitchen. He held his breath, staring through the slats of the closet door. A tall, shadowy figure with elongated limbs drifted past, its head tilted at an unnatural angle.

For a moment, only static. Then, a voice—raspy, ancient, and impossibly close to his ear—breathed a single word:

"I’ve got something," Elias called out, his voice shaking. "Level two. Maybe three."