Daryl woke up rubbing his face and squinting against the light shining in the window. Taking stock of his aching muscles and joints, he sat up, looking around him at his new surroundings. It was going to take him a while to get used to the place. Everything in his life had changed.

This house smelled different, looked different, tasted different.

He saw the sun peeking over the trees outside his curtain-less windows and figured he'd slept in pretty late. All the hard work yesterday had taken it out of him. He flipped his sleeping bag open and stood up, grimacing at the sharp pang shooting up from his foot. Hopping on one leg, he moved to the windowsill and pulled his ankle up to find the source of the pain. Embedded in the bottom of his foot was a large piece of glass.

"What the fu-"

He stiffened, memories flickering before his eyes...blood, glass, laughing...a little girl…

He yanked the glass out of his foot, spitting a few curses along the way, wrapped his old bandana around the wound and shoved his feet into his boots, headed towards the bathroom.

He inspected the floor as he went, seeing no evidence of anyone besides him having been in the house. No bloody footprints, no knife...nothing was out of place.

He peeked into the bathroom but nothing was out of order. The towel still lay in the sink where he had tossed it. He reached up to turn on the light and his hand froze at the chain.

The light fixture was untouched, the bulb intact.

He stared at the light, willing answers to appear before his eyes. When none came to him, he rubbed his hand over his face and went in search of some coffee. He had a lot to get done today, and he was obviously more exhausted than he knew, if he was imagining and dreaming the shit he was seeing.

The pain in his foot drew him up short.

If he had dreamed it all, how did he manage to step on glass?

Carol turned the coffee pot off and stood in front of the kitchen sink, staring out into the misty fog of the early morning hour. Holding her steaming mug up to her mouth, she savored the rich, dark-roasted brew that she started every day with, sipping while she gathered her thoughts for the day.

Last night had been an emotional one. She felt drained. The house had had an almost malevolent feel from the start, an evil residing within the walls. Something had happened. She could feel the terror reaching out to her while she sat in the common room asking questions while recording the encounter, digitally on video and audio devices. Whatever had happened in that house had been awful enough that the trauma was stamped indelibly across time, dimension, and spiritual realms.

Glenn was still combing through the data and compiling it so the team could examine what, if any, evidence there was to prove the house was "haunted." She hated that word. It implied, to her, that these suffering souls were lingering just to cause pain and heartache to those that came across their path.

It couldn't be further from the truth. They needed help. In almost every instance where Carol had come into contact with a spiritual being...a soul...they were hurting. Their pain so palpable that sometimes Carol couldn't even stand to be in the building and would have to leave.

In some cases, she was able to help ease the suffering of the troubled souls, allowing them to move on in peace. Those were the nights that made it all worth it. Those jobs were the reason she kept going out there. To make a difference.

"Mama."

The voice didn't startle her. Not anymore.

She turned and looked at her precious daughter standing there in the middle of the kitchen and her heart clenched in her chest. Every time.

"Yes, baby," she answered the little girl, her soft voice whispering through the quiet stillness that smothered the house, muting everything.

"Mama, he needs you."

Sophia stood there, skin almost translucent, eyes of murky gray boring into Carol, begging, pleading to be heard.

"I know sweetie, they all do." Carol sighed, turning back to the window.

"No, mama. He needs you, now! You have to help him."

Carol swallowed a gulp of coffee, burning her tongue and scorching her throat, eyes watering at the desperation in her baby's voice.

She turned to answer her, but she was already gone.

Daryl swung the ax over his head, wood splintering into pieces as the blade buried itself into the tree stump. He wiped the sweat from his brow and loaded the wood destined for the fireplace into a creaky old wheelbarrow that he had dug out of an old shed near the back of the property. He needed to run into town for provisions and reminded himself to get oil for the rusted wheel that cracked and groaned with each rotation over the hard packed dirt and nuts beneath his feet.

Pecans littered the ground as far as he could see, a grove of pecan trees taking up most of the rear acreage. Squirrels skittered and chattered in the trees and the leaves shook from their bushy tails hitting them as they jumped from tree to tree. He soaked in the sounds, the sights, the smells. The wonderful earthy scent permeating the air as the wind blew, carrying the scent of fall on its heels.

Once he hauled in the firewood, he needed to make sure the chimney was clear and the flue was working properly. It probably wouldn't hurt to check the gutters and the roof as well. He'd need to get a ladder in town. One more thing he added to the list he was making in his head.

He walked the wheelbarrow towards the house and as he went he got the strangest feeling, the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up. He felt like he was being watched. He turned, looking all around him and didn't see anything. He closed his eyes and listened but didn't hear anything.

He didn't hear anything.

The grove was eerily silent. No squirrels, no birds, no wind in the trees. The silence unnerved him and he opened his eyes. A flash of a blond braid disappeared behind a tree in front of him and he dropped the wheelbarrow, running to catch up to the girl.

"Little girl, little girl...wait! Hang on!" Daryl hollered, huffing as he ran to the tree.

He reached the tree but there was no one there. He walked around the whole trunk, scanning the property as he went, but there was no sign anyone had been there. He knelt to the ground, ignoring his own tracks, and searched for the girl's tracks.

There were no footprints but his own.

He heard laughter floating to him through the yard, the same silvery, sing-songy voice, echoing words that caused his adrenaline to spike, and his heart to pound. Blood roared in his ears, muffling the girlish voice.

"Play with me. Play with me."

There were two voices. One like ice, cold and thin, the one he had heard in his dream. The other was heated, harsh and grinding.

"She was my friend. She was my friend."

Daryl shook his head, as if he could rid the voices that way. When he lifted his head the grove was alive once more with the sounds of wildlife and nature. Something was beckoning him towards the house. He felt the same pull he'd felt yesterday when he arrived.

He left the wheelbarrow where it was in the yard, and turned to walk to his truck. He needed to get away from here for a while.