Lawrence lets out a shuddering breath, his body shaking against me as I cling to his arm. My eyes try to find something in the darkness, but all I can make out are shadows. Dark clouds have come up and covered whatever light the moon might have given us, and there's not a house insight for miles.

"It's uh, not just a bit gloomy. It's proper 'horror movie, can't see my own nose. Oh my God, what's that lucking in the bushes? Please let it be a cat' dark," He says, and Emma squeals.

"There's soemthin' in the bushes?! Where?! What is it?!"

"It was a metaphor... I mean, I think it was a metaphor. Is there something in the bushes?"

"I don't think so," Paul replies. "It's too dark to see."

"My point exactly."

I keep my grip on my Lawrence's arm, the sounds of the night causing a shiver to run up my spine. Tears prickle my eyes, roll down my cheeks. It's too dark for anyone to see it, and I'm glad. How embarrassing it would be for them to know I'm crying out of fear of the dark.

Although it's not really fear of the dark itself, but rather what lurks under the cover of it. Not to mention I can't tell what's real and what's a trick of my own mind, which causes me to worry more.

Suddenly Emma gasps. "Did you see that?"

"What?" Asks Stanton.

"A light! Out on the moor! A light! It flashed and then was gone."

"Could be the Burn."

"Could be a poacher after some game," Paul suggests.

Lawrence laughs, although I can tell it's forced from the way he tenses up. "Probably not the spirit of a wood elf come to give us some bread and a nice, warm bed, I suppose."

I give a smile that he can't see. "Probably not."

I look ahead, hoping that maybe the light will flash again, and I'll get to see what it was that Emma said she saw, but there's nothing but darkness and shadows. She could have easily just thought she saw something but didn't. It's hard to tell at night, especially when you're desperately wanting to see something other than endless black.

Exhaustion pulls at my muscles, and I hold back a yawn. We've been walking since early this morning, with our only times of rest being a few bathroom breaks, when Lawrence and I got stuck in the bog, and when we saw the crime scene in the manor. My feet are beginning to ache, and every inch of the lower half of my body is starting to ich from the dried mud that's caked to me. The discomfort keeps me awake, but it also makes me want nothing more than to stop and rest.

I scoff. Like I would be able to get a hint of rest while out here.

Suddenly Emma gasps, and I look around, thinking maybe she's spotted a flash of light again. I see nothing.

"I remember where I heard the name Harshem House," She whispers. There's a tremble in her voice that I immediately notice.

"What? Fifty best places to get murdered and dumped in a bog in Britain?" Lawrence guesses with a raised brow. "Honestly, sometimes those guardians' supplements do feel like they're trying too hard."

"Most haunted!" She shouts. "It was on Most Haunted! It's possessed by a monovalent spirit!"

For the first time in what feels like forever, Charlie speaks. "Emma, that's ridiculous. You can't be thinking it was ghosts that caused what you guys found in there."

"I'm not sayin' it was ghosts! But I am sayin' that there are ghosts in Harshem House."

Charlie groans, and if I would cover my ears to shut out any talk of ghosts if it meant I didn't have to let go of Lawrence's arm. I mean, I don't believe in ghosts. I don't believe spirits can stay on earth after death, being Christian and all, but that doesn't mean I want to hear about it.

My eyes are burning again as more tears slip down my cheeks. My face burns in embarrassment and I'm once again thankful no one can see me. Thankfully I keep the sniffles at bay, and most of them would think it's from the cold anyway. Thankfully they're all too busy listening to Emma and Charlie argue about ghosts.

I can just barely make out Stanton's features, but I see the stony, annoyed look she wears as she hears only Emma's side of things. Paul looks perplexed, disbelieving, but it's clear he isn't going to step in.

"I'm telling you, though! It's ridiculous!" Charlie argues. "There's no such thing as ghosts!"

Lawrence lets out an unsure noise. "Do you know what happens to people who say those things in movies, Charlie?"

"Don't you think there's such a thing as a presence though?" Emma asks. "Somethin' like, you know, not a person, but a kind of intelligence that can linger over physical objects and places? We've talked about this, haven't we? How consciousnesses arises in all sorts of ways. I mean, who are we to say a house can't have a spirit?"

Charlie doesn't give a reply at first. She takes a long minute before sighing out, "I suppose so."

"This is absurd!" Stanton snaps, causing Lawrence and I both to flinch. "Lawrence, Emma, Charlie, there will be no more talk of ghosts. We are on a dangerous mission. We can't afford to have our heads out of the game. Focus! Discipline. We will walk on in silence, moving silently. We will present less of a target t the enemy. Is that understood?"

"Yes," Emma and Lawrence both say lowly, and silence falls over all of us.

I don't quite care for Stanton's tone as she orders us around like her little soldiers, but I am grateful the talk of ghosts has stopped. She is right that we can't afford to be out of the game. We need to be careful out here since we have no idea who did that at Harshem House or if the Burn are near us.

Nor do we know where Jackson went.

A scream hits the air, and I jerk, letting go of Lawrence's arm as terror shoots through me like an arrow.

"What is that?!"

"It's just foxes," Paul answers calmly. "That's their mating call."

The fox screams again, but even the knowledge of what it is doesn't bring me comfort. I bite back a whimper when Emma comments how it sounds just like someone screaming in pain.

"It isn't," Paul replies. "It... almost certainly isn't."

I hate the slight hesitancy I hear in his voice.

"Just keep walking," Stanton states, her voice firm and demanding. "It does us no good jumping at shadows."

She says that, but even she flinches when the foxes scream.

And keep screaming.

I try to count how long it is between each one, but the sound scrambles my thoughts so much I start to forget how to count. I start to forget how to even think, do anything besides put one step in front of the other. I keep looking around, trying to make the outlines of the others just to make sure they're still there. As the night lingers on, more and more I must look and make sure that I'm not alone, that things haven't gone badly, that I haven't lost them-

I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be left in the dark.

"Still, those of us who didn't make it, all of us ghosts, we hope you remember the wages of sin is death."

A full-body shudder passes through me, and I bite my lip as I contemplate reaching out to grab Lawrence's hand again. Or anyone's hand really. Just something to bring some comfort.

I think I can hear my own heart beating as the foxes keep screaming, and I can just make out Lawrence wrapping his arms around himself for comfort.

"And we're-we're quite sure those are foxes and not something unspeakable happening to Jackson?" He asks.

"It's too high to be a man's voice," Paul answers plainly.

I swallow thickly. "So, it could be a woman's voice?"

Emma looks at me, green eyes bright in the black surrounding us. "That's what the legends were about when it came to Harshem House. It was that someone had lived there once. A Duke or a Lord or soemthin', who liked to torture his staff for fun. Especially the women, the young women."

A whine leaves my throat, but it's quickly overshadowed by the growl that leaves Stanton's. "That's enough!"

Beside me, Lawrence bristles. "Um, yeah, um, who made you the boss exactly? I mean, I know you're military and everything, but we're the ones risking out lives by carrying these boxes with us. You don't get to tell us what we can and can't say, what we can and can't do. Me, Emma, and Walker-we get to decide for ourselves."

The fox screams again.

"It's my duty to protect you," She says.

"You can't protect us from everything."

Whatever reply Stanton was going to give is quickly cut off by Charlie. "There's something-I don't know-something on my screens. Something that keeps... coming and going."

About ten seconds later, I hear something.... It's low, constant. I think it's an organ playing, like the kind you would hear in an old vampire movie or something.

I shake my head, as if to shake the music away, but I still hear it. I bite my lip, wondering if this is another hallucination. But then Emma speaks up.

"Please tell me you hear that," She says, and Paul sucks in a breath through his teeth.

"We hear it."

"Do you think it's Jackson?" Lawrence asks. "Like, maybe he's playing some stupid, funny joke on us?"

"It could be the Burn, trying to lure us off the path."

My throat tightens as the music slowly starts to get louder. "Whatever it is, it's getting closer."

The music continues floating through the air, but it's hard to tell just where it's coming from. It obviously must be a recording, since I can't imagine anyone bringing out an instrument and just playing it out here in the dead of night. But even if it was just a recording, why would someone be out here playing it?

What is going on?

"Someone's out there," Paul murmurs after a few minutes.

"Someone or something?" Lawrence asks, but he frowns when the music seems to stop getting louder. "It's not getting any closer anymore, at least."

"But it's not getting further away, either."

A light flashes up ahead. It burns my eyes after having been in the dark for so long, but within in a second, it's gone. Emma starts stuttering and babbling, asking if we saw it this time. We had to have seen it this time, and we all agree.

"Could be marsh gas," Paul says.

"Isn't it comin' from the forest though?"

Stanton's face twists in concern. "Charlie, is there anything out there?"

"I... I can't see anything, but my signals are confused," She admits. There's worry laced in her voice. "It's-it's as if something-something's scrambling the signal, focused on the house."

It must be the Burn.

"I remember this on Most Haunted," Emma says. "When they came there, their equipment went all funny, and then there was this voice. It's the psychic forces!"

"Could be some kind of... magnetic rock under the house," Charlie suggests, although she doesn't sound like she actually believes it.

I wrap my arms around myself. "But it didn't do that when we arrived in daylight."

I look over at Emma, who's brows are furrowed. "I don't think... I think we shouldn't be walking this path. I remember that too. There was a road. A road away from the house he used to walk, dragging them behind him, and there's now a woman who walks it still."

I cover my ears, not wanting to listen to such a thing.

Then I hear static through my earpiece, followed by Charlie's panicked voice.

"There's something on the signal..." She tries to keep talking, but her voice starts fading again.

Lawrence gasps. "The music stopped. Listen. It-it stopped. It's gone."

The wind picks up, cold and painful. Through the static, I hear Charlie say one last thing.

"They're coming for you."

•

The wind is blowing so hard it nearly knocks me off my feet.

"Charlie! Charlie, where are you?" Emma shouts, fear laced in her voice. "You have to tell us where to go!"

"She's gone," Lawrence says, his voice empty but somehow still horrified. "We're on our own."

"We have to keep moving," Stanton says.

"Can't we use torches?"

"If someone's comin', they'll see us."

My entire body locks up as another gust of wind blows by.

And within it, there are voices. I cover my ears, fear racking up my entire body. I don't close my eyes, but I press my hands so hard against my ears it starts to hurt. Even with them, I hear Emma ask, "Did you hear that?"

"I didn't hear anything," Stanton replies. "Come on. Keep moving."

We do, with the wind blowing harder and harder and panic causing me to worry more about what is real and what is due to my poor grip with sanity. I keep my ears covered, trying to focus on how the mud on my legs make my skin itch, or how my feet ache from the hours of constant walking. I almost want to ask Lawrence for the time, but he wouldn't be able to see anything on that pocket watch of his in the dark like this.

I want to believe it's past midnight, that it's in the early morning hours so that hopefully, maybe, the dawn will come soon. Burning pain pulses in my eyes, exhaustion and tears proving to be a horrible combination. The harsh wind doesn't help, and I find myself stumbling every few steps. It doesn't stop me from keeping my ears covered. I won't, not with how heavy my chest feels at the thought of that music starting up again or those weird voices whispering to me in the wind as soon as I uncover them.

I want my Dad.

I think if I could talk to him, he'd tell me the same thing Stanton is. He'd say that we need to keep moving, need to keep silent, need to go without light if we can to not be caught. I wonder if I told him all that I'd done so far if he'd be proud.

With so much of my memory gone, I can't remember if he was disappointed to know that I'd never be the kind of person he was, that I could never do the kind of work he does. He never seemed to be over these past few years while I was getting my master's. But I think him seeing what I'm doing now, saving the world even though no one would ever know, taking down enemies no one ever suspected, he'd be proud to know I'm something like him.

Although he's not a spy like I'm assumed to be by Charlie.

I think he would laugh if he knew I of all people was mistaken for some super-secret spy.

The wind sends a painful chill across my skin despite my multiple layers of clothing. Taking a chance, I lower my hands from my ears and wrap them around my arms in an attempt to block out the cold. My eyes grow wide as light flashes ahead, steady, growing brighter the more we walk.

"Look there!" I croak. "There! Lights!"

"I see it," Paul says in surprise. "That's not marsh gas."

"Is it headlights?" Stanton asks, and he shakes his head.

"No, no. It's too bright. It's-it's a house. Keep walking."

Emma sucks in a sharp breath. "But there... aren't any other houses near here..."

I shiver at her words, but don't say anything. My eyes focus on the light, relief and worrying fighting for dominance in my chest. For one, it's light! It feels like it's been an eternity since we've seen it, and yet, as Emma says, there aren't any other houses around, so what could this be?

What if it's a trap and we don't have Charlie to warn us?

The wind keeps blowing, whipping my hair around and getting it in my face. Wrapping my arms tighter around myself, I focus on one agonizing step after the other. Minutes tick by as we get closer, closer. The light gets brighter and splits off. What once looked to be one light is now multiple.

"It's windows," I mutter, blinking my burning eyes multiple times to make sure they aren't deceiving me. A sob nearly escapes me when Paul confirms it.

"It is. It's a house. Six windows on the ground floor, all lit."

I stumble, my legs nearly giving out as relief washes over me at the thought of rest, of shelter from this horrible night. I look at the house as we get closer. It's really big, but I can't make out much of the outside features, even with the lights.

But when we get closer, a very particular scent hits my nose.

Gasoline, and the smell of smoke as if something's been burning.

Oh, God. No.

"It's-it's..." Lawrence trembles. "No, that can't-"

"We've come 'round in a circle!" Emma shrieks. "It's Harshem House again."

Something whispers in the wind.

I drop to my knees and cover my ears, trying to block out the noise. I can still hear it, but I can't make out any words. I don't try to. I don't want to! I want it to stop! A little cry escapes my mouth, tears running down my face as I try to block out the noise.

Please stop. Please stop. Please stop.

Everyone else is arguing.

"We've got to get away!" Emma screams.

"We can't get away!" Lawrence shouts.

"We have to think this through," Stanton replies. "I've been following the compass-"

"How were you even able to see a compass when it's dark?"

She growls. "Because I could see enough of the shadows to know which way the arrow was pointing. There must be some magnetic disturbance."

More tears slip down my cheeks as the wind whispers. Little whimpers turn to sobs then to wails.

"The path. We stayed on the path," Paul says. "It must go in a circle."

"We'll have to go off it then," Stanton replies.

"But we-" Lawrence starts, but he cuts himself off with a gasp as more inaudible whispers fill the air. I sob louder.

"You all hear that, don't you?" Emma asks.

"Yes, we all hear it," Stanton says. "We'll go off the path. It's the only way. Walker, get up! We have to move now."

Paul and Lawrence grab my arms and help me stand, but they don't pull my hands away from my ears, nor do they tell me to stop crying. I don't think I could even if they did tell me to. It's as if a floodgate has been opened and I can't stop it, everything hitting me full force. I hiccup on a sob, continuing until I have nothing left to cry. By the time the tears stop, my stomach hurts from the hiccups and my eyes burn worse than before.

I'm teetering on an edge of a cliff, exhausted and dehydrated, but still close to breaking if something else happens.

Paul pats my arm as I lower my hand from my ears, still hiccupping and sniffling.

"I'm sorry," I whisper silently. None of them say anything. They don't tell me it's okay, but they don't tell me it's not either. I'm surprised, since I thought Stanton would say something about the tears, how they don't do us any good. I appreciate that she spares me from the humiliation.

I wipe at my wet face. It must be red as can be from crying, and my eyes feel swollen. The wind keeps blowing, giving no mercy. We walk off the path, our steps light as we search to make sure we haven't stepped into a bog. The last thing we need is for all of us to get stuck in sucking mud in the dark with no Charlie to help us out.

Occasionally, there's a crackle of static, but Charlie's voice never comes through. I remember her last words before she went silent, that they were coming for us. She didn't say who they were, but it's an easy guess that it's the Burn. That's what keep me going, even when my legs shake and feel weaker with each step.

The wind is still whispering to us. I can make out voices, but not what words are being spoken. It carries on, rushing through the trees and across the ground as if it too has its own destination to get through. I reach out, feeling the wind against my fingertips. It's almost as if the words of the voices wrap around my skin, clinging for just a minute before letting go and carrying onward, forever silent.

Stanton is muttering to herself, probably to block out the voices of the wind. "Have to think it through. Have to think it through. Some magnetic disturbance-counts for Charlie, the compass, the noises on the headset."

"And the music? And the whispering?" Lawrence asks.

"Suggestion. Power of suggestion. it has to be. Has to be!"

"What happened in that house?!" Emma trembles, her chest heaving. I can make out her form in the shadows a little bit easier. "Why did they kill them? Why was no one there?!"

Stanton doesn't give her an answer. "Head left. Has to be left."

"Yes," Paul agrees. "Come on, further left. Away from the light. Away from the-"

Paul screams, and his silhouette that's in front of my disappears. There's a crack below-branches breaking.

My eyes grow wide as I try to process what's happened. "Paul? Paul! Where'd you go!"

"Help!" Paul shoots from below. "Help! I'm stuck!"

"We must be on the edge of a cliff," Stanton says, grabbing my arm and pulling me back.

"Or someone's dug a trap," Lawrence says.

"Or there's an old mine," Emma adds.

Stanton sits down, pulling me to the ground with her. She doesn't look at me as I pull my knees towards my chest. "We have to sit down. We have to wait."

Lawrence chokes. "Wait? Wait here?!"

She nods. "There's nothing here. There's nothing that can't be explained. I do not believe in nonsense. Anything real can be fought and anything not real doesn't exist. No demons, no ghosts, no shadows." She reaches out and grabs my hand. "Lawrence, Emma, hold hands, and one of you hold Walker's free hand. We're not going to leave you, Paul!"

"What are we waiting for?" Lawrence asks shakily as Emma grabs my free hand. "For the Burn to come and get us? For whatever's here to come and take its revenge on us?"

"There's nothing here! We're waiting for... Look to the east. that's what we're waiting for."

He frowns. "To the east?"

"Look. Just look."

We do, and a sob of relief leaves my lips when I spot the sky turning pink, the touch of the sun on the horizon.

"Oh, thank God," Lawrence sighs. "It's dawn! I can see-I can see the edge of the cliff. I can start to see it."

The wind starts to die down, and my shoulders shake as I hold back tears of joy. This nightmare of a night is about to end.

"You only ever have to wait until dawn. I used to say that to myself as I kid, when I was by myself, and my mum was..." She winces but recovers quickly. "Dawn always comes."

"Come in. Come in!" Charlie yells, and I let my head hang at hearing her voice. "Emma, Lawrence, Walker, if you can hear me, answer me."

"Yes!" Emma shouts. "We can hear you, Charlie! We can hear you! We're okay. We're okay..."

A/N: Here you go, guys! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please be sure to vote and comment. Thank you and have a blessed day.