The house at the end of Cherry Falls towers over the rest. Two stories, plus a big attic. Frankie parks against the curb across the street. Her Outback, dusty and dented, doesn't fit in with the manicured lawns and white picket fences.
"A little too Stepford Wives, if you ask me," Frankie says, killing the engine. "Lock your door."
Claire giggles.
They grab their gear and cross the street. People peek through the blinds of their bay windows. A kid mowing the lawn spots them and bolts inside his house.
Claire goes to knock, but the door opens first. It's the guy from the office. "Welcome."
Frankie shoulders past him, into the living room. She kicks the empty coffee cups off the coffee table and drops the crate.
"Hello!" Claire says, waving with both hands.
"Um, hi," the guy says, closing the door. "Frankie and Claire, was it?"
"Claire Voyant," Claire says, twirling in a slow circle. "And she's Frankie Cross."
"Oh—uh, Calvin." He watches Claire wave her hands in slow arcs. "So, is this normal?"
"Yeah. She's doing… Psychic stuff. Walk me through your experience again," Frankie says.
"Well, like I said in my statement, when I fall asleep, I see a color. Then it's ripped away and I'm floating in space…"
Frankie scans the room. Empty caffeine pill bottles. Empty coffee cups. Scattered energy drinks and crushed soda cans.
"…Then I wake up. That's when I see him."
"The preacher," Frankie cuts in. "Where'd he show up?"
"Uh, right there. That corner." He points.
Frankie follows his finger to a corner with a large fern. A faint water stain climbs the wall. She pulls a notepad from her jacket and clicks her pen.
"Ever have sleep paralysis? You wake up, but can't move?"
"Yeah. Once or twice."
"Hallucinations? Buzzing in your ears?"
Calvin scratches his cheek. "Maybe back in school. We pulled a lot of all-nighters. Saw some weird stuff." He laughs.
Frankie jots a note and heads to the corner. She kneels and runs a hand along the floorboard.
Claire dances behind her, still waving.
Frankie stands, returns to the crate, and digs around. She pulls out a black meter and a plastic test kit.
"What are those?" Calvin asks.
"Mold tests. Gotta make sure your house isn't trying to kill you the old-fashioned way."
"Oh."
Frankie runs a swab over the water stain. She rubs the swab across a small circular dish, then returns it to the crate.
"Y'know what an electromagnetic field is?" She flicks a switch, and the black meter hums to life. "A strong enough magnetic field can cause the sensation of being watched."
"You think it's all in my head?"
Frankie smiles. "I think there is a sensible explanation for what you're experiencing. You cry paranormal, but science disagrees."
"So, you don't believe?"
"Not a bit."
"Well, what about her?" Calvin gestures to Claire. "She's psychic."
Frankie watches Claire swirl in a circle, waving her arms. She turns back to Calvin. "She's a teenager."
Frankie waves the EMF meter along the baseboards. Calvin trails behind her.
"When did this start?"
"Three weeks ago. Maybe four."
Frankie heads into the foyer and up the stairs. Family photos line the walls. Frankie stops at the first frame. A woman with Calvin's eyes holds a toddler. A sour-looking man stands next to them.
Frankie continues up the stairs. The rest of the photos are the same as the first, except for one thing.
Same man, older Calvin, no woman.
Frankie steps onto the landing. She shoves open the first door—Calvin's bedroom. The EMF meter stays quiet.
Books, wads of crumpled notebook paper, and electrical equipment cover every surface. Principles of Neural Science, The Evolution of Memory Systems,Behavioral Neurobiology. Graduate-level stuff. She grabs one and flips it open. Cramped notes choke the margins.
"You read all these?"
"Most of them."
Frankie scans the desk: circuit boards, copper coils, a miniature radar dish wired to a battery pack. Frankie picks up a metal cylinder. Tiny switches run along one side. She turns it over, frowns, and sets it back down.
"You know what this is for?"
"No. Dad left it."
She nods, sets it down, and checks the meter. Still dead.
Frankie crosses the hall and steps into the master bedroom. Pastel purple walls, floral bed sheets, frills, and lace. A framed photo of a mother and son above the bed. Dust covers everything but a clean path from the door to a second one across the room.
"Office?" Frankie asks, pointing.
"We can't go in there."
"Why?"
"Only Dad's allowed."
Frankie stares. "He's not here."
Calvin doesn't move, just shakes his head.
They head downstairs. Claire twirls in the living room, eyes shut and still humming.
"Find anything?" Claire asks without opening her eyes.
"Old house. Old wiring." Frankie packs the meter back in the crate. "When was this place built?"
Calvin shrugs. "Fifties?"
"Original electrical?"
"I think so."
Frankie clicks her pen. Writes it down.
"What about you?" Frankie asks Claire.
Claire stops mid-twirl. "Nothing. Zilch. Zippo, Miss Frank." She salutes.
"Knock it off."
Claire giggles. She faces Calvin. "No ghosts, just a thirsty plant."
"No ghosts?"
"I'm not saying there's nothing. I'm just not picking anything up."
Calvin glances at Frankie. "So that's it?"
"Sure is." Frankie lifts the crate. "We'll write something dramatic. You'll come off great." She heads towards the door. "Call an electrician. Cut the caffeine."
Claire opens the door. But Calvin pushes it shut. He plants himself in front of them. "You can't leave."
"Move, Calvin. This craps heavy."
"Yeah, c'mon, dude." Claire hits her vape.
"Please. I need your help. I can't take another night of this."
Frankie glances at Claire, who shrugs.
"Paranormal investigating makes me hungry," Frankie says.
Calvin perks up. "I can cook."
"I want takeout. Expensive." Frankie says.
"Fine."
Claire puffs a marshmallow cloud and giggles.
Takeout boxes cover the coffee table. Claire smears a spring roll through a puddle of sweet and sour. She takes a bite and hides it behind her hand. "Thanks for the food, Calvin."
"No problem. I appreciate the help," he rolls a chunk of lemon chicken with his fork. Calvin eyes Frankie. "So, you write for a paranormal blog, but you don't believe in ghosts?"
Frankie shoves in a wad of noodles, chews, and swallows. "No."
"Really?
"Say a house is haunted, people'll see a ghost in every shadow."
She slurps a forkful of noodles; a few strays hang from her mouth before she sucks them in. "Give a person a good setup, they'll write the rest."
Claire waves a dismissive hand. "She hasn't had her believer moment yet."
Frankie rolls her eyes and digs back into her noodles.
Calvin dabs his mouth. "My dad believed. Thought he found some big deal UFO in the Arctic. Alien colonists or whatever. He took a research crew out there."
"And?" Frankie asks.
"He never came back."
Claire's face softens. "I'm sorry."
"Like I said. You were raised on this stuff. Your crazy dad conditioned you to see ghosts, so now you do," Frankie says with a slurp of noodles.
Claire elbows Frankie. "Don't be rude."
"What'd I say?"
Claire glares at her. "The 'C' word."
"I didn't say the 'C' word—oh. That one." She faces Calvin. "I didn't mean it," she says, then shovels more noodles into her mouth and slurps.
Calvin shifts, his voice quiet. "The preacher was real."
Frankie drops her fork inside her empty container. "Thanks for dinner, Calvin."
Calvin trails them to the door and swings it open. The porch light flickers in the dark.
"Thanks," Calvin mutters.
Claire gives him a quick smile and rests a hand on his.
"You'll be OK."
She winces. Her fingers tighten over his hand.
"Get some sleep," Frankie tells him. "Call an electrician tomorrow. And remember... It's not real."
Calvin exhales and nods.
The girls step off the porch, and Calvin closes the door.
Frankie pops the trunk.
Across the street, the neighbors peek through their blinds.
Frankie chuckles, drops the crate, and slams the trunk. "Real Stepford Wives, shit."
Frankie plops into the driver's seat. Claire sits quietly, hands in her lap.
Frankie glances over. "What?"
Claire stares forward. "We need to go back."
"What? Why?"
Claire turns. "When I touched his hand? I felt something."
Frankie groans. "Claire, c'mon—"
"I'm serious. I don't know what it was, but it felt... bad. Big time bad."
"The kind of help he needs, we can't give."
Frankie watches her. Claire doesn't blink.
Frankie sighs, yanks the keys from the ignition.
"Big time, huh?"
Calvin opens the door. Frankie's holding her crate. Claire beams.
"Ready for a sleepover?"