The room was heavy with tension. Crosses lined the wall, rosaries hung over the doorknobs, and in the center of the dining table sat an unlit candle—thick, black, and bound with twine.
Lorraine sat at that table, hands clasped tightly over her rosary, her gaze low but unwavering. Her husband, Ed, paced quietly near the bookshelf, glancing now and then at the stack of case files—old newspaper clippings, eyewitness reports, tape transcripts. But this wasn’t just another case.
This was the Smurl haunting.
Over a decade of torment. Whispers in the dark. Assaults. Shadows moving across mirrors. Children waking up screaming. A presence that didn’t just haunt a home—it fed off it. And it had been patient. Growing stronger.
“It’s the worst I’ve seen,” Lorraine murmured, finally breaking the silence. “Whatever’s there… it doesn’t just mimic evil. It is evil.”
Ed nodded slowly. “And it’s been there for years. Waiting. Wearing them down. We’ll need more than holy water and faith this time.”
They had handled poltergeists, demonic possessions, cursed objects that made blood run cold—but this felt different. It was smarter. Crueler. A case even Lorraine, who had walked through hell more than once, didn’t feel ready to face alone.
That’s when Drew Thomas stepped into the room, eyes sharp and clipboard in hand. “I’ve arranged the travel to West Pittston. The Smurls are expecting us by Friday,” he said, setting down a folder. “But… we’ve got a problem.”
Ed raised an eyebrow. “What kind?”
“We need a stronger link for the investigation. Lorraine can make contact, but if this thing’s as rooted as it seems…” Drew hesitated, then continued, “You’ll need a medium. A powerful one.”
Lorraine’s eyes narrowed slightly. She hated involving others in this kind of darkness, especially people not already prepared for the weight of the unseen. But Drew wasn’t wrong.
Ed sighed. “Where would we even find someone like that?”
Drew tapped the folder he’d set down. “We already did.”
You.
They’d heard about you through a priest in New England. Someone whose congregation had been visited by a presence—one that you’d supposedly banished without theatrics or cameras. Just you, a locked room, and a voice that made the walls tremble.
They didn’t know your full history. They didn’t need to. Lorraine saw it the second you stepped into their home.
You carried that strange stillness that powerful mediums often did. Like the veil between worlds never fully closed around you. Your eyes didn’t dart or scan or flinch—they watched, like you were already hearing what no one else could.
“I’ve heard of your work,” Lorraine said softly as she shook your hand. “I’ve also heard the price.”
You tilted your head, voice calm. “Everything has a cost. But I know how to keep the door half-shut.”
Drew handed you the file on the Smurl family. You didn’t even open it.
“I already know,” you said. “It’s been calling for months. I was wondering when someone would listen.”
Ed exchanged a glance with Lorraine.
“So you’ll help us?” he asked.
You nodded. “But if I go in… I go in. You don’t just want a medium—you want someone it can see.”
Lorraine’s expression turned grim. “And it will.”
You glanced toward the candle in the center of the table. Without asking, you lit it—and the flame flared, unnaturally high. Lorraine didn’t flinch, but Ed did. The air chilled.
“I’ve walked with shadows before,” you said. “Let’s hope this one hasn’t forgotten me.”
The room was silent. The candle crackled.
And just like that, the Warrens knew—they had found their last piece.