A.N Those forests actually exist and they really are haunted. Same goes for the The Dakota. The townhouse in this story is made up. As far as I know at least.

Chapter 1: The Incident

Sector 6 is a branch of the Penguin Agency that serves the purpose of investigating supposed paranormal hot spots. Since the Agency has deemed such things as dangerous to their agents as a bullet in the head, such locations have to be determined and marked off limits for their general well-fare. And that's where my team came in. We were some of the best. At least until the incident that ruined us.

We were ordered to go to New York City, a place already famous for several haunted locations including The Dakota where John Lennon was shot and killed. But where we had been ordered to go was a new location. A team of two penguin agents had entered the area, and had not been heard from. The Agency suspected more than just the usual foul play, which is why they contacted Sector 6 in the first place.

It was supposed to have been a routine mission. Go in, investigate the area, assess the danger level of the area, report back. Not to say that all our missions are easy; they certainly were never safe. The mission to investigate the Hoia-Baciu forest in Romania wasn't; and neither was the mission to investigate the Aokigahara forest in Japan. But this one topped them all.

The area in question was an old abandoned townhouse on the upper east side. We flew there at dusk, making sure to fly as high as possible. A puffin, a mallard, and a black-backed gull are odd enough and might attract some attention. But if the mallard and gull are lugging a trunk full of equipment between them? Yeah, that will definitely attract some attention. That's why we had to be so careful in our approach. But that turned out to be the least our problems.

"Zut alors," came the grumbled complaint from the mallard upon landing. Gerard always complained when we first touched down. He was our tech guy; good with mathematics and electronics. Heavy lifting wasn't his thing, but technically speaking he was stronger than me physically. But physical things like carrying the equipment or fighting, wasn't what he was good at. Actually, chasing girls was more his thing. I can't even begin to count the number of times Michael and I had to go looking for him after a mission was over, all because he went try and get a date. Which never worked by the way.

Michael didn't say anything. He rarely did. And when he did speak, it was sometimes hard to understand him with that thick Irish brogue of his. Especially when he became angry; which was often. He got into fights almost as often as Gerard went out to try and get a date. Only in Michael's case, the fights were usually successful. Which wasn't a good thing. The guy was covered almost beak to tail in battle scars. If it weren't for the fact that he had a high level of psychic sensitivities, he would have been booted out of Sector 6 long ago. But someone with his ability is highly valued, so he tended to get away with more things than others do.

As the scholar of the group, I had already did research about the townhouse. It had been owned by a wealthy business man who, in the 1930's, suddenly murdered his family before committing suicide. Rumors started to fly about why he had done it; everything from insanity to demonic possession. And it didn't help that after the deaths, people who had moved in experienced strange phenomenon. Disembodied voices, shadow figures; things like that. The place was left empty after another murder/suicide occurred in the 1980's. Since the townhouse had been deemed a "historical landmark" was probably the only reason it was still standing. But as far as my research could turn up, no one had entered the place since the 80's. Except the two penguin agents that had gone M.I.A.

I noticed Michael shivering out of the corner of my eye. That was never a good sign. He always sensed the spirits before our electronics picked them up and verified it. And we hadn't even set foot in the place yet. I didn't know if I should be worried or not. But in the end I decided to go through with the mission anyway.

"Come on. Let's do this, then we can go back to the base camp and snooze."

Gerard started toward the building, but Michael hadn't moved.

"Michael? Snap of it; come on," I insisted. Foolishly perhaps.

The gull shook his head as if trying to clear something from it. He stared at me blankly for a moment; as if he didn't recognize me. And that did send a chill up my spine. But then, Michael always had chilled me in a way. Probably because black-backed gulls are the natural predator of puffins. Then his eyes cleared and he seemed to see me again. He smiled, a little sadly I thought.

"Aye. Ima comin', dinna worry. Not yet anyway."

He walked past me dragging the trunk behind him and I shivered; more at his words then his manner. What did he mean that I shouldn't worry yet? I think he knew what was going to happen; he knew, and he knew that there was no avoiding it. I looked up at the overcast sky where the first flicker of lightening streaked across it. It was going to be a stormy night; good for our work since that increases the power that spirits have to draw from. I didn't know that it was actually a bad thing this night.

I entered the building and noticed that Gerard was already setting up the equipment. I cast about for Michael, until I spotted him at the foot of the stairs. He was just standing there; looking up. I didn't know what he was seeing, but from the look on his face I don't think it was anything pleasant.

"There. All ready to go. EMF detectors, thermal imaging scanners, EVP recorders, night vision goggles. Now where to first?"

Gerard looked at me, then at Michael, then back at me. I was the leader, so I had to make the decisions, but Michael was the one who sensed the spirits. I looked over at the gull. He was still standing at the foot of the stairs looking up. I knew from the building plans what was up there; bedrooms, bathroom, and a small set of stairs leading up to the attic.

"I guess we'll start upstairs and work our way back down. No harm in that, right?" was my decision.

Gerard went along with it; he hadn't seen how Michael was acting before we even entered. And Michael didn't say anything at all to my decision. So we all put on a pair of goggles and trooped upstairs. But as I started to head towards the master bedroom, Michael said something for the first time since we entered the townhouse.

"Nay. Let's go to tha attic. That's were it is."

Gerard and I shared an uncomfortable glance. Things like this had happened before, and they always spelled trouble. But we always managed to handle it before. So we made our way to the little stairs, the mallard preceding me. Just as I was about to start up the stairs, Michael grabbed me by the wing. He had a wild frantic look in his eyes. I had never seen him like that before.

"Clarice. We gotta git outta here. Now, before it's too late."

I didn't know what to do or say. Gerard shouted down; asked if we were coming up or if we're were going to leave him up there by himself. I glanced quickly at the gaping black hole illuminated in green by the night vision goggles, then back at the gull who still had a tight hold on my wing. Suddenly his grip relaxed and the look in his eyes faded.

"C'mon. Cain't keep 'im waiting. Let's go."

Michael started up the stairs ahead of me, almost like a sleepwalker or zombie. I stood there for a moment, still undecided, and that's when I heard shouting from above. Gerard panicked; demanding to know what Michael was doing. And the only response was a savage roar. I raced up the stairs, as stupid as I knew that to be; I have seen a lot of horror movies so trust me on that one. And the sight that met me certainly seemed like something from one.

Gerard's neck was bent at an unnatural angle, one wing was ripped off entirely, and as I stood there staring, Michael grabbed the unfortunate mallard's legs and yanked in different directions suddenly and violently; ripping the water fowl almost in two. Just then the storm let loose fully; a torrential downpour beat upon the grime caked windows while staccato lightening raced across the heavens.

Michael stood there panting, covered in the blood of our mutual friend; holding the remains in either wing. Suddenly he stiffened, and slowly turned towards me. I will never forget his eyes. Those eyes were not the eyes of the friend and teammate that I had known. No; those were the eyes of a monster. He grinned at me suddenly; not a nice grin either. More like the grin of a predator who has just spotted fresh prey.

He dropped what was left of Gerard and started to shamble towards me. I couldn't think of what to do. Michael had always been stronger than me; always been the better fighter. But I was the faster of us. I was beginning to think that maybe if I could lead him out of the attic, I'd have a better advantage in a fight when he spoke.

"Ah. Fresh meat. You know with no one coming to live here anymore, it's hard on someone like myself."

That shocked me. Michael had a very pronounced Irish brogue. But he was talking, and it wasn't present. And it was then I realized, that that wasn't Michael. Something in the townhouse had possessed him. Which meant that the theory about demonic possession being the reason for the first murder/suicide in the 30's, and later in the 80's, might just be true. And if so, that would also explain the disappearance of the two penguin agents. Now, I knew I wasn't really a match for Michael but I also knew that I had to get out and get back to base.

The demon possessed gull didn't give me anymore time to think. He, or perhaps I should say it, attacked. I tried my best to avoid getting hit, but at some point during the fight my left wing was slashed. It was a deep cut, but I didn't have time to consider it. I was a little too busy with trying to stay alive. After sustaining a broken leg, I knew I had to end it quick. I didn't want to kill it; Michael was still in there somewhere. So I somehow managed to knock him out. But it took everything I had left in me to do it.

Next step was to get out and get back to base. It took a lot of scraping and prying, but I managed to get the attic window open. I thought flying back would be best. A puffin covered in blood with a broken leg roaming the streets? Might as well put up a sign that says "Free food to all stray cats and dogs" because that's what I'd end up being. I didn't know how bad the injury to my wing was, but the temporary base in New York wasn't that far away. At least it hadn't seemed that way on the trip to the townhouse.

I winced as I spread my battered wings and took to the stormy night skies. The wind had picked up by this time, but I still thought I could make it to base. Then trauma kicked in. I became overwhelmed by what had just happened and started to cry. I tried to stop, tears weren't going to make things better, actually they'd make things worse since I was currently flying. But I couldn't. And I guess I was injured worse than I thought I was. Because suddenly I stalled in mid flap; the wind caught me and veered me sideways, and then I was free falling towards the ground.

It was a good thing that it had been raining for some time; the dirt had turned to mud and that cushioned the fall a bit. If it hadn't, I would had been killed on impact. As it was, I ended up seeing stars. It was either the fall or the blood lost, but I blacked out. And the sudden embrace of oblivion from all the pain was the only thing that I was thankful for that night.

This is my first story here. Please be kind with your reviews. Not that I think you will.