And then the host moves.
By the time he crosses the distance to the boy, the snow is falling in heavy sheets. The sky is a blur of gray, closer than it should be. Stifling. The host grabs the boy and there is no going back.
The boy’s eyes catch the host’s for a moment, flashing from sorrow to surprise to recognition. He does not scream. Above them, the sky is gray, then black, then nothing.
The Dark slides deeper into the host, sinks its claws in, roots itself in the rot.
After thirteen years, the Dark has finally come home.
1
Love, Hollywood
BRANDON VOICEOVER: We’re back in the basement of the Calloway House in New Prague, Minnesota. Local legend says that Agatha Calloway once used this basement for satanic rituals, but no evidence to back up such claims has been found. While the daytime tour of the house turned up no unusual readings, Alejo and I return to the basement at night to see what spirits might linger between these walls.
ALEJO: Brandon, did you feel that? It was here.
[Alejo shakes his head, eyes color-inverted by the infrared camera. He waves a hand through the air in front of him, clutching his chest with the other. Brandon tentatively approaches. He adjusts his spectacles and powers up a clunky device.]
BRANDON: What did it do? What did it feel like?
[Alejo is silent.]
BRANDON: Alejo?
[Alejo’s grip tightens on the stitching of his cardigan. His eyelids flutter shut and he collapses against the wall.]
ALEJO: It went through me. God, it’s so cold.
[Brandon takes Alejo’s hands. The ThermoGeist Temperature Detection device flashes a startling shade of blue between their fingers, detecting an anomaly nearby. The two men look tenderly into each other’s eyes.]
BRANDON: We’ll survive. We’ve been through worse.
Logan scoffed and shoved another balled-up turtleneck into her suitcase. We’ve been through worse. She seriously doubted it. She’d seen every episode of this show, from the haunted windmill to the satanic rock museum to the toilet that doubled as a portal to hell, and this was the corniest one yet. ParaSpectors never shied from melodrama, but as the show crawled into its sixth season, these cheesy tear-jerker moments seemed to come every other episode. Logan wasn’t sure if it was the network’s idea or just her fathers’ penchant for drama.
She pulled two packed suitcases from the pyramid of bags at her feet and walked them into the hallway. Other than Brandon and Alejo muttering back and forth on the TV, the house was quiet. Logan sulked back into her bedroom and stood at the second-story bay window. White morning sun glinted off the surface of the swimming pool. Beyond her backyard, sprawling geometric houses rolled down the valley one after the other. She pressed her fingertips to the window and closed her eyes.
She really didn’t want to leave LA.
Behind her, boots crunched the loose popcorn kernels littering her carpet. Alejo Ortiz—the Alejo Ortiz of ghost-hunting fame—leaned against her bedroom door. Between his half-up black hair and lanky frame, he looked like he’d been plucked right from Logan’s TV. He surveyed her luggage, holding his phone walkie-talkie style. The real Alejo held himself differently than the one on TV. He was quieter, less dramatic, always slouched like he was trying to hear a little clearer.
“The lady of the house is in good shape,” Alejo said into his phone. He swept the popcorn kernels out of the doorway with the edge of his boot and raised a brow at Logan like the mess was their little secret. “We’ve got a few more suitcases to load up, then we can hit the road.”
“Nice.” Brandon’s tinny voice crackled on the other end of the line. “No bodies under the mattress?”
Alejo chuckled. “The dirty clothes put up a fight, but we showed them who’s boss.”