The thuds went on all night again, so Lizzie came upstairs with me and promised to stay until sunrise, to help me feel safe. Edward was down in the basement, keeping an eye on the shadow, and his last report was that it was in its corner, banging the boards and growling, but he didn't think it had enough energy to keep it up much longer.

"Maybe my fear feeds him too," I said to Lizzie, getting in bed.

"Yes, it's possible," she replied.

Another reason to face it. I didn't know why, but I was sure that doing it would help me figure out the whole situation.

"We need to contact a medium or something," I muttered, searching my phone.

Of course Trisha was still awake. She freaked out when I told her what was going on, minus the Blotters part, of course, and volunteered to help me find somebody that could at least advise me. She thought I needed the kind of psychic able not only to feel entities, but also see them and interact with them.

"Give me a couple of days," she said, just like Price had.

To my surprise, I fell asleep despite the thuds, and they woke me up only a couple of times. So I was able to get up early as usual. I grabbed laptop and phone, filled my mug with fresh coffee and headed to the guesthouse, leaving Susan to make a breakfast I wasn't about to touch.

I'd decided to watch some more Haunters. Not that I'd become a fan overnight. The change I'd seen in Brandon Price from the first episode at the Manor to the last one had made me curious, and I wanted to see if it was only because he was dealing with the shadow he'd left here, or if it showed on later episodes.

"Are you okay?" asked my phone when I walked into the guesthouse.

I didn't know which Blotter it was, but it didn't matter. I explained what I was about to do while I settled my laptop on the coffee table.

"Leave you to it."

I just nodded with a quick smile and sat back to watch the amazing paranormal adventures of Brandon Price and friends. Their second investigation at the Manor had been the season five finale, so I started with season six and went on from there. I would watch the first, mid and final episode of each season. That way, I spared myself most of his showing off and their circus, but I could still observe the changes over time.

It didn't take a psychic, not even a regular therapist, to notice the way his demeanor kept changing. It was hard to believe. This hot tough guy, all muscles and testosterone, seemed to shrink as seasons went by. Not because he'd stopped working out, but because of the way he stood, walked, moved. He didn't keep his head held high anymore. It looked like sank between his shoulders, as if he had cold water raining down on him around the clock. And he kept his arms close to his sides all the time, always like about to fold them in a defensive gesture to shield his chest.

He still kept wearing black from head to toe, but he started changing his style by the end of season six. His tight-around-his-pretty-ass jeans gave way to baggy cargo pants, and by mid-season seven, his tight short-sleeved tees disappeared for good, replaced by loose long-sleeved tees he wore under a hoodie and a jacket, even if he was under the noon sun in the middle of Death Valley. His new style and his body language suggested he was trying to cover, protect, hide himself, keeping as much distance as possible from whatever surrounded him.

He started wearing big thick glasses, and he wouldn't take his baseball hat or beanie off even if his life depended on it. A neat stubble covered his pointy chin, adding to the glasses and the caps to hide almost completely his face, unless it showed on a closeup with the right light.

Makeup still did the trick, making the visible two inches of skin look ten years younger than he actually was

But it was there: the weariness, the fear, the restlessness of one who played with fire for a living, the mental toll of knowing so much more than back in season one, especially about bad, dark things. It gave me the chills.

To match his diminished, almost dull demeanor, he spoke slower, and his voice had grown deeper, like I'd heard him the night before. Not only that, the way he described the cases, the kinds of things he said, everything about him screamed about a fixation with death that bordered obsession. But also about the path he'd chosen turning out to be so much more dangerous than what he'd ever expected. About considering to walk away, but knowing he was already in too deep to quit, because the power that came with fame and fortune was addictive and he wouldn't give it up, even if it cost him his very soul.

I left the guesthouse just before noon, wondering if I'd gotten it —him— right or it was just my usual wild imagination. On the way to the Manor, I went around the house, finding the line of narrow awning windows that opened not a foot above the grass on one side of the building. Meaning the basement did have windows, and daylight got in for many hours.

I put to make lunch and sent Susan away when she tried to take over the kitchen. My eyes kept darting to the basement door and its key, now hanging from the panel on the wall along with the rest of the keys of the house. By the time I finished having lunch, I'd decided I wouldn't wait for Price or Trisha to get back at me. I needed to face it myself.

So, after cleaning the kitchen, I headed straight to the east parlor, tablet in hand. The Collins were already gone for the day, so the cat ball flashed the moment I stopped at the doorway. Once again, I didn't bother to ask who was in the room.

"I'm going downstairs," I said, serious and determined.

"A moment, please," said the tablet.

The faint shuffle of footsteps hurried down the hall and came back with somebody else.

"This is Joseph. Are you sure?"

I nodded, breathing deep.

"Momma wants to give you something."

"My room," said my phone.

I frowned, hearing the softest creak on the first step of the stairs.

"Come."

"Yes, ma'am."

I followed the soft noises all the way to the master bedroom, where Ann Marie guided me to open a secret drawer in her dressing table, an antique that was surely worth thousands. The small drawer contained only one thing: a golden chain with a golden cross and a St. Michael medal.

"Wear it."

My eyes welled, like every time they did something like that.

"Thanks," I muttered, hanging it around my neck. It felt light and warm, and full of love.

"Be careful. Listen to Edward."

"Yes, ma'am."

I felt like a cool gust slide down my head and left the room before crying like a baby in front of her.

Back to the first floor, Joseph called me to the east parlor, where they made one last attempt to stop me. So I sat at my usual end of the couch under the window, laid tablet and phone on the coffee table, and let them try. They suggested to call Father Thompson, try to find help in town, whatever to keep me from going to the basement.

"Had I paid attention to the rumors about you, I would've had the house exorcised a dozen times already," I said softly. "Instead, I tried to reach out to you first, to see if you were good or bad by myself. And that's how we got to meet and communicate, right? Well, now I wanna give the same chance to this thing."

"Chances to a demon?"

They listened to my scavenger theory in complete silence.

"If that thing were a real demon from hell, then Brandon Price is St. Michael's incarnation. And we all know he's not," I said to end my exposition, and stood up. "So I'm going."

"Let's go," said Edward.

No more objections? Okay, I wouldn't give them time to change their mind. I grabbed my things and hurried out of the parlor. In the kitchen, Edward told me to leave the tablet. I decided I'd take the phone to be able to hear him, because he would be the middleman in case the thing tried to communicate.

The ominous creak of the basement door opening sent cold chills down my spine. Good thing there was a light switch at the top of the stairs. I walked down the steep stone steps slowly. A sudden hesitation made me pause at the last step. I breathed deep and crossed the threshold.

The basement opened under the back half of the Manor: the kitchen, the dining room and the north parlor. Sunlight came in through the windows. Just like Mike had said when I'd moved in, it was full of old furniture and stuff, and I noticed it didn't look as tidy as on the Haunters episode anymore. Of course, nobody would come down to clean up the place after dear Brandon left his friend there.

It was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

I navigated my way to the central pillar and stood on a patch of floor where the sunlight fell, looking around, waiting. My heart decided it was a good moment to start pounding.

"Where is it, Edward?" I whispered.

"Left corner."

I'd forgotten to lower my phone's volume, and the loud response gave me a nice start. A sound like a muffled shuffling came from that corner, between the boiler and the left wall, the only spot daylight didn't reach.

"It's awake. Watching us."

"Okay," I muttered to myself. "Let's do this."

I went halfway from the pillar to the corner. I thought maybe the phone cam would see something I didn't and tried to film. A low growl came from the shadows as the light from my phone swept the corner.

"Sorry," I said aloud, and turned it off. "Better now?"

"Odd," Edward said.

"Why odd?"

"It's afraid of us."

Needless to say that boosted my courage. What I didn't anticipate was that it would make me feel sorry for the thing. My phone didn't show anything special, so I stopped filming and crouched down, face to the dark corner.

"I can't see you, but I know you're there," I said to the dust dancing in the scant daylight that reached the spot. "I'm Fran, and this is my friend Edward. Do you have a name?"

The only answer we got was another growl, more menacing because I was closer.

"D'you think it can speak, Edward?" I asked, my eyes still scanning the corner for any kind of shadow that didn't belong there.

"I don't know."

"Can you hear me? Can you understand me?" I huffed. "Sorry. Let's do something: if you do, please knock or tap on anything, make a noise other than a growl."

Twenty whole seconds went by, and I was about to give up when I heard a little knock on the boards piled against the wall.

"Thank you!" I said, excited. "May I ask you a few questions?"

"Too weak," Edward said.

I don't know what got to me then, but an overwhelming sadness filled my heart, mixed with pity. This poor thing everybody called a demon was so weak it couldn't even audibly tap on a board. It'd been starving down here, trapped in a place full of light and good vibes, to suffer in eternal agony just because. I mean, yeah, it was a nasty parasite that fed on the negative energy humans radiate, be it residual or live, but I didn't think it had a choice. That was its nature. Nobody calls horses mass murderers because they eat loads of grass, right? It's what they're born to eat.

"Say goodbye."

"Why?" I asked, taken aback.

"Do it."

"Okay." I flashed an understanding smile. "I came here to meet you and tell you I don't mean you any harm. I want to help you. I'm letting you rest now. I'll come back tomorrow, and maybe then we can communicate, okay?"

The responsive knock came right away this time, and a tad stronger.

"Thank you. Bye."

I straightened up and everything spun around. I was so dizzy, I had to reach out to the boxes against the wall for support.

"Careful. Hurry."

I started to the stairs, my sight a little blurry. I'd taken hardly three steps when a faint growl echoed behind me, followed by a muffled thump, like somebody had just stumbled onto a closed door.

"Go!"