Amityville.
Inside a house, tech gear was being packed away.
"Hey, Drew, can you stash this in that backpack?"
Ed Warren, whom they hadn't seen for a while, pulled an infrared camera from a hiking pack and grinned at the ever-more-plainly dressed Drew.
"Okay."
Drew shrugged, relaxed, took the device and tucked it into another pack.
When Ed saw that, he too scooped up a second video recorder from the floor, slid it into the shoulder-bag in front of him, and zipped it shut.
Done, Ed clapped the still-packing Drew on the shoulder, then stood and walked into the adjoining living-room.
The room looked ordinary—only the furniture was old, even the tablecloth in medieval style. Beyond the table stood a full sofa set.
People were already seated on it.
Lorraine, who had phoned Father Yorkes, sat beside the lady of the house, patting her hand, asking questions, soothing her.
Ed's brows lifted slightly; it had been nearly a week since they first heard what happened here.
By now they had pretty much finished investigating the house.
As with previous hauntings, strange things had begun the moment new owners moved in.
Every night at ten o'clock footsteps sounded in the hallway. At first only Mrs. Tracy heard them.
She assumed it was one of her children and thought nothing of it.
But from that first night on, the heavy tread returned at exactly ten o'clock.
Tracy finally sensed something was wrong and opened the door—nothing there—yet she felt something unseen in the dim corridor watching her. That intuition seeded her fear.
Next night the steps came again at ten. She forced the door open: still empty, yet the invisible presence felt nearer.
Night three: the footsteps struck at ten, one step closer.
Night four: closer still. Terror peaked; she told her family, but only she could hear it, and nothing changed.
On the seventh night her husband Theodore finally heard what his wife had described.
He opened the door—footsteps, corridor empty—yet both spouses sensed the unseen thing standing very near.
By the eighth night their child Abbott heard it too. Convinced, Theodore sought the Church's help before the thing reached them.
Because they weren't parishioners, the Church demanded proof of a haunting before it would send anyone to perform an exorcism.
With no choice, the family returned home.
On the tenth night they checked into a motel—yet at ten the footsteps still came. By then all of them felt the unseen thing pacing steadily, step by step, toward them…
Recalling the interview, Ed quietly moved to a tripod beside his wife, packing gear while he listened.
"No matter where we go…" Tracy, eyes brimming, told the ever-gentle woman.
"It follows us!"
Lorraine, still listening, glanced past Tracy to where Theodore and their child watched her.
"It's all right, Mrs. Tracy. Think of it like stepping in gum—once it sticks, it keeps clinging…"
Lorraine said softly.
"We have the evidence now. Father Yorkes is on his way. When he arrives, this ends today."
At that, Theodore beside her spoke up.
"We're not believers; we don't have Church authorization—"
Ed, tripod folded, cut in with his usual shrug.
"Father Yorkes is… special. He doesn't bother with authorizations or consent forms."
Theodore blinked, looked to Lorraine.
"He's serious?"
Remembering the towering priest, Lorraine smiled gently.
"Yes. Father Yorkes never cares about paperwork. Where there's evil, he says, there he'll be."
The family exchanged glances; the words conjured an image of a compassionate priest battling evil wherever it walked.
By noon that image shattered: Father Yorkes looked nothing like they'd imagined—massive, his cassock nearly skin-tight—yet the sight of that muscular man stepping from an equally muscular car filled them with sudden, solid calm.
"Father Yorkes!"
Ed, smiling, greeted the priest as he climbed out.
"Close drive this time?"
He spoke easily, moving to the rear door to unload gear.
"Not bad."
York replied, eyes finding Lorraine—then frowning slightly.
"Father Yorkes," Lorraine stepped up, voice warm.
"Long drive?"
"No matter," he said, ignoring the thicker pall of darkness around her.
"Only a short hop."
Lorraine's smile held.
"Father Yorkes!" Drew burst forward the moment The Warrens finished greeting him, thrusting out a hand.
"You remember me?"
"Of course," York clasped the eager hand.
"I'll need tools, Drew—count on you."