Night 6 had a heavy air of anticipation as Travis Montgomery and Michael Cooper Williams sat in the dimly lit kitchen of their old stone house. The mystery surrounding the house had deepened considerably after their latest discoveries, and the connection to the rosary—the key that seemed to unlock the spirit's haunting presence—hung in the air like an unresolved question.

Travis leaned against the counter, absently running his fingers over the surface of the old, tarnished rosary they had found in the garage days earlier. The beads were cold, almost unnaturally so, and every time he touched it, he felt that same familiar wave of grief wash over him. It wasn't his sadness, but it felt powerful enough to suffocate him.

Michael, sitting across the table, tapped his phone nervously. He glanced up at Travis, sensing his husband's unease.

"We should call Andy again," Michael said, his voice soft but steady. "She's been with us through this whole thing. Maybe she'll have some ideas now that we know more about the family and the rosary."

Travis nodded slowly, but his mind was racing. The old woman—the mysterious spirit connected to the rosary—was still tied to this house, and the answers they had found so far only deepened the enigma. The connection to the Chau family had been a dead end in some ways, but the revelation about the previous occupant, the elderly woman who had lived and died alone, had given them a new direction. A spirit trapped in grief, holding onto her faith even in death.

With a sigh, Travis picked up his phone and dialed Andy Herrera. The phone rang twice before her familiar voice came through the line.

"Hey, Travis," Andy said. "What's the latest? You guys have been digging into the history of the house, right?"

Travis glanced at Michael before responding. "Yeah. It's... a lot. We found out that the Chaus didn't die in the house, but before them, an elderly woman lived here. She was devout, always carrying a rosary, and she died in the house—alone."

There was a pause on the other end of the line as Andy processed the information. "Wait—so it's not the Chaus haunting the place? It's this woman?"

"Exactly," Michael said, leaning in closer to the phone. "We think she's tied to the rosary we found. Her spirit's trapped here, full of grief, mourning something—or someone. And it's affecting the house."

Andy let out a long breath. "Okay, so we know who she is. Do you have any idea what she's mourning? If we can figure that out, we might be able to help her move on."

Travis nodded, though Andy couldn't see him. "That's the problem. We don't know. She didn't have much family left, from what we've gathered. And the grief we've felt—it's overwhelming. It's more than just sadness; it's like she's holding onto something from her past. But we don't know what."

"Well, now that you have some insight into her identity, you're closer to finding a solution," Andy said, her tone firm but supportive. "Maybe you could use the rosary as a way to reach out to her, help her find peace. I mean, you can't live in a house with that kind of energy forever."

"We've been thinking about that," Michael replied. "But before we do anything, we wanted to check with our neighbor. He knew the Chaus, so we thought maybe he could tell us more about the woman who lived here before them."

"That's a good plan," Andy said. "But just... be careful. It sounds like you're dealing with something really powerful. I don't want you guys to get caught up in something you can't control."

Travis and Michael exchanged a look, the gravity of Andy's words sinking in.

"We will," Travis said. "Thanks, Andy. We'll keep you posted."


After hanging up with Andy, Travis and Michael decided to bring the rosary to Mr. Davis, the neighbor across the street. If he had known the Chaus, maybe he had heard more about the woman who had lived there before them. If nothing else, they wanted to offer him the rosary—out of respect, and perhaps to see if it meant something to him or the neighborhood.

The night was chilly as they crossed the street and knocked on Mr. Davis's door. It took a few moments, but eventually, the older man opened the door, his curious eyes glancing between them and the object in Travis's hand.

"Evening, boys," Mr. Davis greeted, though there was a flicker of confusion in his gaze. "What brings you over here?"

Travis held up the rosary, the beads catching the faint porch light. "We found this in the garage when we were unpacking. We think it belonged to the woman who lived in our house before the Chaus. Do you know anything about her?"

Mr. Davis's expression shifted to one of surprise, and then, after a long moment, recognition.

"Oh, that... yes, I remember hearing about her. She was a quiet woman—kept to herself. She wasn't around much in the neighborhood, but I do remember her being deeply religious. Carried that rosary with her everywhere. But no one knew her well, not even the Chaus. The story was that she died in her sleep, all alone. It's a shame, really."

Michael frowned. "Do you know if she had any family? Or what she might have been mourning? We've been feeling this... sadness in the house. Like something's unresolved."

Mr. Davis shook his head, looking thoughtful. "Not much family, no. I remember hearing that her husband passed years before her, and they didn't have any children. Maybe she was mourning him, or maybe something else. I never got too close to her, but there was always a kind of heaviness around her. Like she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders."

Travis and Michael exchanged a glance, the pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together.

"We wanted to offer the rosary to you," Travis said, holding it out. "We weren't sure if it meant anything to the neighborhood, but we didn't want to keep it if it was important."

Mr. Davis shook his head, taking a step back. "No, no, that's not for me to keep. It belonged to her. I wouldn't feel right taking it. If you want my advice, boys... maybe you should return it to her. It might be what she needs to move on."

Michael's voice was quiet. "How do we do that?"

Mr. Davis shrugged, his eyes dark with understanding. "I'm no expert in these things, but if you believe in that kind of stuff, maybe all she needs is someone to acknowledge her. Sometimes, spirits just want to be remembered."


After their conversation with Mr. Davis, Travis and Michael walked back across the street, the rosary feeling heavier than ever in Travis's hand. The house loomed before them, its stone walls bathed in shadow, and for a moment, neither of them wanted to go back inside.

"What do you think?" Michael asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do we keep the rosary? Or... do we try to return it to her?"

Travis stared at the house, the oppressive energy already pressing down on him even before they stepped through the door. "I think we need to return it. Maybe that's what she's been waiting for. Maybe she's just... lost."

Michael nodded, though his face was pale. "Okay. Let's try it."


Once inside, the house felt colder, more suffocating than usual. They sat down at the kitchen table, the rosary placed in the center between them, like an offering to the invisible presence that haunted the house.

Dinner sat untouched on their plates, forgotten in the weight of the night's decisions.

Travis's voice broke the silence. "If she's really here... if this is what she needs, I hope it gives her peace."

Michael reached for Travis's hand, his grip tight. "We'll do it together. Whatever happens, we'll face it."

As they sat there, the air around them grew heavier, and for a brief moment, they both felt it—the overwhelming sadness that had become so familiar. It was as if the spirit was watching them, waiting for them to take the next step.

They didn't know if returning the rosary would free her or if it would only deepen the connection between the house and its haunting past.

But they knew one thing for sure: the spirit wasn't ready to leave yet.

And neither were they.

They had one final step to take, and only time would tell if it would be enough to lift the curse of grief that lingered in the shadows of the house.

The night was far from over.

And so was the haunting.