Her head throbbed, her mouth was sticky, and her lips were chapped and stuck together. She rubbed at her temples, recalling she'd hit her head, but unsure how—on a rock in the grass, or on the threshold when she'd been yanked over it?

Yanked over it.

She sat up at once, ignoring the dizziness induced by such a brutal motion. And it was brutal; a nasty taste swelled in her mouth and the throbbing seared across her forehead, making it difficult for her to remain conscious.

But she had to; she was in foreign territory, and needed all her senses to cooperate, all her body parts to be on the same page. And on that page right now was get up, get out.

She couldn't see anything, but figured that was due to her raging migraine. She set both feet firmly to the ground and after expelling a large breath, she heaved herself up. Wobbly, stars dancing in her eyes; but she was standing.

Darkness engulfed her, and a stuffy staleness burst into her nostrils.

She was inside the house.

No matter how much she blinked, expecting to adjust her eyesight, no images came to life in front of her. No forms in the obscurity, no outlines of furniture, no hints of doorways. No life at all; everything was dead.

The windows were boarded up—she recalled seeing that from the outside in the moments before she'd ran into the forest. And she'd noticed them again as her feet were suspended in air and she was dragged inside the house she'd been spying on, watching from afar.

It was no longer "afar". She was in it, breathing in its choked oxygen. If one could call it breathing—every breath she took was suffocating her, wrapping around her lungs, squeezing tight.

She wheezed. "It's dust," she whispered to herself, picking up on particles as they slithered up her nostrils. The place was covered in it, she smelled it now; but what was dusty? What was even in this house?

She hadn't lost her backpack when she'd been hauled inside. It still clung to her sweaty back and she let out a sigh of relief.

She removed the straps from her shoulders and crouched to the floor—which reeked of more dust—and felt around for the zipper. She unzipped, and dug inside to find her salvation—a flashlight. It'd be temporary, but it'd be enough to help her navigate and find the door and get out of here. She smiled, thankful that she was always prepared.

The smooth, cool surface of the flashlight sent a few reassuring waves through her as she stood up and flipped the switch.

The sudden light had her closing her eyes and cursing, but she lifted the thing and directed it straight ahead of her, desperate for a visual.

She opened her eyes and found that she'd been seconds away from colliding with a massive, ancient-looking staircase. One of those you'd see in a Victorian movie, with bronze banisters and flowery designs and carpeted steps. Except this carpet was singed in places, badly burnt, stained, ripped—not a single step was intact. The banisters weren't shiny when reflecting the light; they were matte, heavily coated with dust, causing her nostrils to itch again at the sight of the layers accumulating on the surface. Cobwebs hung near the beginning of the stairs that reached straight upwards, no curving or bending to arrive at the upper floor. The webs weaved around the railings, all the way to the top.

With a chill, she twisted to her left, finding a large doorway, also decorated with cobwebs. The frame was a warm, cherry wood shade, but splattered with dark spots and dented in the corners. Beyond it, she spotted a few pieces of decrepit furniture. An olive green couch with its seams pouring out, heaps of fuzz coming from the fabric. A turned-over coffee table, set up as if to hide behind it to protect oneself from bullets. A bookcase against the far wall, empty but for a few more thick cobwebs.

"Ew," she said, swirling to the other side, that she'd put her back to. Here was a similar doorframe but this one less chipped into.

She hesitated, but took a few steps towards it, aiming the light into the depths of the room. The lengthy table and the four crooked chairs signaled a dining room to her, and she wondered if there was more beyond it. Cabinets, drawers, a kitchen, with utensils she might use if she needed to pry the front door open.

It had opened so fast and swallowed her up—could it be opened again?

As she spun to look at said door, to see what she'd be working with, her breath came out in a fog in front of her. As if she'd been outside in glacial weather, expelling a frigid mist from her mouth.

This mist she recognized as meaning something was there with her.

"Shit."

As her heartbeats accelerated, the mist became heavier, denser.

The flashlight began to shake in her grasp. It wasn't her shaking—though she was panicking on the inside, she was usually good at keeping a grip on her emotions until things got severely out of hand.

She gripped the flashlight tighter, hoping to stop the shakes. But they worsened, forcing her entire hand to quiver, and for the quivering to ripple up her arm to her shoulder. It was as if the flashlight was alive, trying to free itself from her grip. As if it were about to explode from overuse, batteries expiring, something malicious attempting to take it from her—

With a gasp—the surface of the thing had gone from cold to hellishly hot—she dropped the flashlight and jumped backwards. She cursed, pissed that it'd break when it reached the floor, and conflicted over how it had grown so hot. Had her hands gotten clammy? Had her temperature risen?

To her surprise, the flashlight didn't shatter upon contact on the floor. It exploded before hitting the ground, and instants after leaving her hands.

The light went out immediately, and shards of glass and bits of metal blew out. She'd moved away, avoiding most of the impact, but still a few pieces packed into her forearm and one lodged into her thigh, sinking through her thick jeans.

"Shit," she mouthed, teeth gritted as she absorbed the shock and the pain of the particles slicing into her.

Biting her lip, she removed both pieces, hissing as they eased out of her skin. She felt the blood pumping out of her, but though she could no longer see, she doubted the injuries were severe. If she got out of here, she'd use the first-aid kit in her bag and get herself cleaned up.

If.

The single, doubtful word repeated in her mind, taunting her. She'd lost her source of light, was wounded, and had no idea which way the door was, all turned around in the commotion. And where the hell was her bag? She'd set it on the floor and walked away from it—rookie mistake. She knew better. She had to get the bag before trying to leave; her car keys were in it, for one thing, but also everything she'd need to fix her scrapes.

The situation was growing worse by the minute, and her instincts were telling her to run. But where? She'd been dragged into this place by something she hadn't been able to see, but had felt its clutch around her ankles, its malice as it ignored her screams, her protests. It had sealed her in this obscurity for her to fend for herself, but where was it?

Why hadn't this thing—she couldn't yet define it, no matter her experience with paranormal beings—come back to confront her? To possess her? Surely it was a demon, acting with such violence. Didn't it want to drive her mad with ghastly whispers? Or try to drop things onto her and render her immobile?

She'd encountered vicious spirits like that before; those who hadn't come to terms with their death, or hadn't understood they had unfinished business, and went around hurting humans in any way they could. Haunting, poltergeist-level activities, disruption—she'd investigated them all and caught them on camera.

This one she'd been careless with. Her phone—equipped with a high-tech camera and all her recording software—was outside, where she'd dropped it upon being grabbed by an unknown, dark force. And though she'd dealt with dark forces before, she'd normally been able to see them—this one hadn't manifested. She'd sensed it coming, somehow, and thought she was ready for it, ready to tell it to leave her alone. But it had been too quick; it had tipped her halfway upside down and tugged her out of the forest and towards the house. Into the house.

She hadn't expected it to disappear afterwards.

Had it consumed too much energy? Was it resting, lurking, observing her, figuring out how to best spook her? What kind of entity was it?

She'd come across her fair share of ghosts, some clueless, some borderline demonic. And she'd definitely encountered things she'd have no trouble calling demons, cruel and malevolent as they'd been. Had they tried to kill her? She'd never been sure she could prove that, and she'd proven many supernatural elements in her videos. But she'd caught their recklessness on camera, she'd showed the world that specters were real, they were here, and their motives were yet to be determined.

To get out of here, she really needed her phone, and its flashlight. There were a few devices in her bag; the EMF detector, the voice-recorder. They'd be great if she were hoping to investigate this place; but she wasn't. She was hoping to get the hell out, and alive.

She cringed, attempting to piece together her current location.

When the flashlight had started getting out of control, she'd wriggled, fidgeted, and she didn't remember facing the dining room doorway anymore. Had she flipped to the front door, or the stairs? Or had she done a full spin and was now facing the room with the couch?

As if in response to her internal questions, something flickered in the corner of her vision, diagonally from where she stood. It was blurry, like a chunky smoke, swirling and white, undulating to life.

She slowly turned towards it and squinted, cocking her head. It flashed at her, causing her to stumble backwards.

"What the..."

Another smoky glob joined this one, and the way they hovered, circling one another, drew her closer despite having been shocked by their appearance. What were they?

They were globe-like, spherical, and gaining depth, their blurriness evaporating as she stared at them.

Pop—another one arrived, startling her enough to stop her heart for a moment, before she continued advancing on them.

The three things lit up the space beneath them—they were over the stairs. Good; their light would help steer her to the door.

But she couldn't turn away from them. They didn't have faces, but she felt that they were looking at her. Observing her. Reading her.

They stopped swirling around one another and fixed in the air, shivering, as if readying to shoot into her.

"Oh," she gulped, "orbs. Orbs, of course."

They were ghosts manifesting in orb-like fashion, which was rare. Habitually, one caught spirits in this form on camera. The naked eye only saw shadows or glimpses of outlines that were impossible to sight through a lens. Some investigators claimed to have captured full-bodied apparitions and not that she doubted them, but she'd yet to prove that they weren't lying for attention, either.

Something drew her closer and closer to the orbs. She should have been edging backwards, out of their passage—if they shot into her, they'd control her, drain her energy, and she needed all her strength to flee this place.

Yet she couldn't move away, couldn't break eye-contact with them.

She could have sworn she heard them, too; tiny whispers worming their way into her ears, indecipherable words that repeated into her mind. Were they trying to bring her to them? Maybe they didn't have the ability to zoom into her, like some spirits did. Maybe they were weak, old, confused—

As she prepared to lift her foot onto the first step, a gust of energy shoved her backwards. It was rough, as if she'd slammed into a brick wall; she'd felt her nose flatten and her breasts smooshed in the contact.

"What the fuck?" She shook her head, regathering herself. "Wait, what am I doing?"

She snickered at the spirits, still floating nearby, glaring at her, angry that she'd tried to breach farther into their territory.

No, they didn't want to get in her; they wanted her out. She picked up on their negative energy now that it had jammed into her.

Unwilling to turn her back on them, she tiptoed backwards, hoping she'd locate her bag on the way. The orbs remained on the stairs, but hopefully their light would give her a visual of the full foyer, and indicate where the front door was.

More orbs popped up. One, two, three—they shone over the entire staircase, illuminating the railings, the ground floor on either side. There were more doors, more places to explore, more ghosts to see, she sensed it; but she needed to leave.

One last orb appeared, but this one was different. It wasn't white, but bright blue. And it was larger, less foggy, more... human. It had the figure of an hour-glass shaped person, with long hair and smoky fingers that curled at the ends. And its eyes were actually defined, visible from where she was standing, panicked.

They zoned in on her, unfaltering, unblinking. Worrisome, colorless but clear as day.

"Oh," it said, its mouth forming and opening wide, its voice not malicious, but far from kind. "You're not her."

The orbs disappeared, as if someone had turned them off, flipped off their switches. The area drowned in darkness again, aside from the blue creature levitating above the third step.

Without warning, the blue being zipped over and grabbed her by the throat.

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