Sorry for the long wait. I'd sent this off to my beta, Grissomgal71, but haven't heard back from her yet. Jamie, I'm sending search dogs!

So…any mistakes are my own fault.

"Well, the upstairs seems to be in much better condition," Brass commented as he swept his flashlight over the furniture. "No plastic coverings, but there's only a little dust." He ran his finger across the surface of a small table. "Not much at all. Not enough for a house that's been abandoned as long as this one."

"You think someone's been living here?" Greg asked, studying a faded painting hanging on the wall."

"Well, they may have been in the past, but not now. There's a little too much dust for a person to be living here. Keep your eyes open though, just in case."

Greg watched Brass as he unclipped his gun, though he left it in the holster. This made Greg even more nervous, knowing that there had to be a good reason for the captain to ready his weapon. He swallowed a lump in his throat. "You think we'll ever get out of here?"

Brass snorted. "Of course. Everything has to end. If it takes us breaking a window and climbing out, we'll get out of this hellhole of a house."

"What if the windows are like that door, and we can't get through those either?"

"Glass always breaks, Greg. Even bullet-proof glass, eventually," he added, scanning the hallway they had just entered. He sighed. "Great. More doors."

"Well…what if the glass is haunted and won't break?" Greg asked, ignoring Brass' comment.

"Then we'll play Santa and go up a chimney. Now will you shut up with the questions?" Brass snapped, turning abruptly to face Greg, who nodded quickly. The detective studied him for a moment, then turned back to the hall.

Quietly, they made their way down the hall, peering in doors as they passed. Unlike the lower floor, all of the doors were open, allowing them to see inside without stepping inside. Most of the rooms were bedrooms, but every now and then they would see a small library instead.

Eventually, the hallway opened up into a large, nearly empty room. The only pieces of furniture were a grand piano situated in the middle of the floor and a bench. Dust covered the top and the keys, while cobwebs spanned from leg to leg. Brass made his way to the instrument and ran his hand over the keys.

He lifted it up to show Greg. "Plenty of dust on this."

Greg nodded, then proceeded to scan the rest of the room. Aside from the hallway they had just come out of, there were only three doors. There were no decorations on the walls and no windows. Greg was in the process of studying the floors when he heard a few tunes of a song being played out on the piano. He turned around to see Brass idly pressing the keys.

Brass caught Greg's stare and stopped, giving the younger man a small, embarrassed smile. He cleared his throat, then resumed his inspection of the room in a slightly exaggerated manner. Greg smirked and turned his attention back to the floor. He caught sight of what looked like a footprint in the dust, and was kneeling down to peer closer when the music started up again. 'Waltz of the Flowers', Greg thought idly.

Greg rolled his eyes and turned back to the piano, getting ready to have a sarcastic comment ready for the captain. However, when he saw the piano, there was no one there. He looked around, seeing Brass standing near one of the doors, staring fearfully at the piano. Looking closer, Greg could see that while the keys were being pressed as well as the pedals, there was nobody there.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Greg carefully took a few steps towards the piano, holding a hand out.

Brass watched with wide eyes. "Sanders…what the hell are you doing?" he asked in a harsh whisper. While Brass wasn't the kind to usually believe in ghosts and curses, he really didn't want to piss of whatever spirits were haunting them.

"I just…I just want to see," Greg answered, taking another few steps. Finally he reached the piano, which continued to play. Watching the keys depress, he slowly put his hand down on the ivory. He immediately recoiled, clutching his hand to his chest. "It's freezing!"

The music stopped, leaving the pair in silence that seemed almost deafening. The soft sound of wind whistling filled the room, unnerving them even more. Brass put his hand on his gun, though he knew it would be of no use against anything that attacked them in this house. Greg quickly moved away from the piano, choosing to stand against a wall.

The whistling increased in intensity, and Brass swore that he could hear a voice whispering in the sound of the wind. His pulse quickened, and he could feel the sweat forming on his brow. Normally, such a show of fear would have embarrassed him, but he really didn't care now. He was scared out of his wits.

Brass heard a whisper right by his ear and instinctively turned to find the source. He saw nothing, and the whisper moved to the other side. He couldn't make out words, but could tell that the 'speaker' wasn't a happy camper. A wind picked up around him, stirring up dust and dirt.

He coughed as it filled his lungs and stung his eyes. It was getting hard to breathe. He covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve and looked up to try and locate Greg. He couldn't see through the dust cloud that enveloped him, and the fact that he couldn't breathe didn't help him either. He narrowed his eyes and took a step forward, attempting to get to fresh air.

Then, the whispers around him stopped, and were replaced by a horrible scream. Brass was vaguely reminded of a banshee. He coughed again and looked up into the cloud. The dust swirled in front of him, darkening as he watched. He frowned and peered closer…Only to let out a straggled cry as the smoky form of a skull flew at him, sprung from the dust cloud itself.

Brass felt an impact against his chest, and the next thing he knew, he was flying backwards. His back hit the door behind him, but it gave way and he was falling…

Sara eyed the door nervously, her hand poised above the doorknob. Grissom sat behind her, trying to get his thoughts together through the pounding headache. She glanced at him, sitting in the musty chair with his head in his hands. Then she glanced at the door, knowing that behind it was a room filled with homicidal china.

"Grissom…I'm going to get our kits."

He pulled his head out of his hands and looked up at her. "What?"

"Our kits. I'm going to get them."

"Sara, no. It's too dangerous in there."

"Grissom, we haven't heard anything in there for at least twenty minutes. I'm just going to run in and out."

"We don't need the kits. There's nothing in them that can help us."

"How do you know that? We could always play MacGyver if needed."

Grissom smirked, then grimaced as his head pounded. He shook it gently. "I just don't want you getting hurt," he said softly, then turned his head towards a wall.

Sara turned back to the door and let out a smile. The comment was so Grissom, simple, but with so much meaning behind it. "I'll be right back. I'll prop the door open for an easy escape."

"Also so we don't get separated. You know how this house likes to shuffle rooms," he commented.

"Yeah…" she said, though honestly she hadn't given that a thought.

Recalling what had happened to Brass, she first tapped the doorknob a few times to make sure that she didn't get any third-degree-burns. Then she slowly pushed the door open and used a heavy chair to prop it open.

Inside, she saw the same dining room she and Grissom had fled from earlier. But any evidence of what had occurred earlier was gone. She saw no shattered plates on the floor, no indents in the wall from the impact of the plates, and no splintered chairs. Everything looked as though a maid had just come through and cleaned. Sara took a few steps further into the room, then glanced back at Grissom, who watched her with wide eyes. She looked forward and caught sight of their field kits neatly set on top of the dining table.

Cautiously, she made her way up to the table, casting a glance at the china cabinet that loomed a few feet away. She quickly grabbed both field kits and rushed out of the room, kicking the chair out of the way so the door could swing shut. She set the kits down on the floor and sank down next to them.

Grissom gave a concerned glance. "Are you okay? Nothing happened, right?"

Sara shook her head. "Nothing happened. It was just…unnerving being back in that room, so close to that cabinet."

"I'll bet," was all Grissom had in reply.

Sara rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. "Now we can get you that aspirin you need. And don't try and say you don't need it," she added before Grissom could open his mouth. She pulled her case closer to her and opened it up, trying to remember where she kept her stash.

She had the sudden sensation that her skin was crawling. She shivered and pulled her hand out of the case. Crawling on her hand was a single, black spider. She frowned and flicked it off, annoyed that it was even there. She was about to reach back into her case when she saw hundreds and hundreds of little black spiders crawling out of her case.

She could only watch, frozen, as they crawled onto her arms, her legs, and made their way towards her face. Finally, the reality of what was happening hit her, and she screamed, kicking away from the case as she frantically slapped at her arms and face, trying to get the spiders off.

Something suddenly grabbed her about her waist, lifting her up. She screamed again, blindly swatting at the figure that now held her. She felt strong hands on either side of her face, shaking her gently.

"Sara, it's all right!" she heard a voice say. A very familiar voice…

She forced her eyes open, looking into the very concerned face of Grissom. His eyes studied her face for a moment, and she slowed her breathing.

"It's all right," he repeated, releasing her, though her kept a hand on her back.

She turned back to her case, which had been covered with spiders seconds before. But there was nothing. No spiders. She frowned and looked to Grissom for an answer.

He reached up to push a stray strand of hair out of her face. "The house. It's just the house messing with your head. There was nothing there. Nothing," he said with emphasis.

She nodded and shakily went back to her kit, reaching in and pulling out a foil packet of aspirin. She sheepishly handed them to Grissom, who accepted them with a smile.

She was about to ask him what they needed to do now when she heard something. Frowning, she stepped past him to try to identify the sound. She turned back to Grissom, who had his head cocked to the side as he too listened.

"'Waltz of the Flowers', I believe," he said.

"What?"

"It's a piano. Can't you hear it?" he asked, stepping across the room. He paused at a door, and listened before opening it.

Sara grabbed both kits and rushed after him and stepping past him to allow him to shut the door. She stood and studied the new room they had entered. A very large room, it had four doors lined up on the walls, couches set up for friendly conversations, and a flight of stairs leading up with a door at the top.

Grissom headed towards the stairs, still straining to hear the faint music. Finally he shook his head. "It stopped." He took a few steps up the stairs, his face a mask of concentration.

"Where are you going?" Sara asked, alarmed by the fact that he might be thinking of going into another room without her.

"I think it came from up here…" he said, taking more steps up the stairs until he was three-fourths of the way up. He turned back to look down at Sara, then heard a cry. He turned back to the door, just in time to see the door fly open and a dark figure fall towards him.

The figure hit him hard, knocking the breath out of him, and both tumbled down the stairs. Grissom was only vaguely aware of Sara shouting in alarm, and the muffled groans of the other falling figure. Then it was darkness…

TBC…