Jack Trader crept inside the last of the upstairs rooms, his flashlight gripped in his hand. The rickety floorboards groaned in protest under his weight. Considering the luck he’d had the last few months, the bottom would probably give way.

He forced his concern aside and glanced around. Pink-striped paper, tattered and faded, covered the walls of the only room on this level that showed any sign of use as a bedroom. A female’s.

Could she be the presence in the house? Or was it someone else?

“See anything, Jack?” The voice of his partner, Cody McCoy filled his left ear, the Bluetooth-type hardware transmitting with ease. The ultimate goal for his team was to catch sight of an orb of glowing energy, a sure indicator of paranormal activity.

“I’m in the last of the rooms. Give me a second.” Jack moved to the window, his eyes straining to make out anything that wasn’t illuminated by the light’s stream.

Nothing.

He glanced back toward the door.

Nope. Not a thing to indicate a ghost inhabited the house.

Maybe the reports of the old Martin place being haunted were merely rumor—blown out of proportion by a bunch of overzealous, trespassing kids. It’d hardly be the first time, or the last, for that matter. Jack was disappointed all the same. He needed something to film, or they’d have to write off this trip to the boot hills of Missouri as another wild goose chase. Specter, Inc. couldn’t afford many more of those, especially after losing their funding. A disaster he blamed on himself.

Heaving a sigh of frustration, he started for the door. In the middle of the room, a sudden chill engulfed him.

He stopped.

Was it an apparition or a simple draft?

“Cody,” he whispered, “I walked into a cold spot.” The temperature dipped lower, an arctic blast biting into his skin, and the hairs on his nape bristled.

A sharp, almost inaudible voice uttered, Get out.

Jack’s heart rate spiked.

The stories surrounding the abandoned pig farm claimed the ghost, or ghosts, involved in the haunting weren’t exactly friendly, and this seemed to fit. Those two words sure as hell didn’t sound like a, “Hello, welcome to my humble abode.”

He fumbled in his back pocket and pulled out the Tri-field EMT meter. With steady fingers, he switched the gadget on, and the red needle gave a frantic jump. A current filled the room, caused by no credible power source in the house. According to the Electrical Association’s records, there’d been no electricity running to this home in years—not since the last known resident left.

Now, if they could get their cameras set up in a hurry, they’d see what range of kinetic energy this spirit had.

“Bring up the equipment, Cody. I think we have something.”

“On my way.”

Intending to meet his partner halfway, Jack walked toward the entrance. Wham! The door slammed shut in front of him.

His heart collided with his ribcage. “Son of a...”

When the pace of his heartbeat calmed, he eased closer. He reached for the doorknob and pulled back when his palm made contact with frost. Okay, Jack, ol’ boy. Get a grip. Literally. Prepared for the cold this time, he grasped the knob and twisted, but the door refused to budge. Footsteps thudded on the stairs. Had to be Cody, on his way up.

“Where you at, Jack?”

“I’m in here,” he shouted. “I can’t get the door handle to turn.”

Glass shattered behind him, and Jack pivoted. A grayish, mist-like image hovered next to the now jagged edges in the frame of the window. An icy, gale-force wind whipped the thin sheers hanging from above.

Whoever haunted this house was pissed.

The knob behind him rattled, which prompted his attention toward the door again.

“Jack.” The hitch in Cody’s voice signaled his concern. “You okay in there?”

“We have an angry one.” Jack turned back to the window. The specter had disappeared.

Several bangs erupted from the door, and Cody charged through, his green eyes widening when they landed on the broken glass. “What the hell happened?”

“I guess it doesn’t like company.”

His partner looked around. “It?”

“The apparition I saw next to the window.”

Cody inched closer and held out the equipment bag, awe apparent in his slow stride and his hushed tone. “An actual specter? Was it in solid form, a misty image, or an orb?”

“A gray mist.” Jack reached for the bag. “We need to get everything set up, plugged in, then turn the power on in our van so we can have something to show at the Ghost Hunter’s forum in three months.”

Cody slapped his hands together and rubbed. “I can’t wait to see Giles Holland’s face when we have footage this year. It’s been such a dry spell for us. Hopefully, this will only be the beginning of what’s to come for Specter, Inc..”

Jack smiled. “From your lips to ghost’s ears.”