The mansion stood silhouetted against the twilight, its crumbling facade a monument to decay and forgotten secrets.
Leo pushed open the heavy, groaning front door, which was hanging precariously on a single hinge.
Dust motes, ancient and undisturbed, danced in the sparse beams of fading light that pierced the grimy windows.
The air inside was thick and cold, smelling of rot and forgotten things. Every sound was magnified—the creak of a floorboard under Leo's boot, the drip of water from some unseen leak, the soft thud of Milo's paws on the dusty floor.
The setting was ripe for misinterpretation. Even Leo, who knew better, felt a primal urge to look over his shoulder.
He pulled out his phone, the Codex's map glowing faintly. A single, erratic blob of red pulsed from somewhere deep within the house. It was stronger than the pigeon's energy, but it felt… chaotic. Pained.
"Okay, Milo," Leo whispered, his voice sounding loud in the oppressive silence. "Time for your 'Ghost Hunt'."
Milo didn't need to be told twice. He was on a mission for spectral delicacies.
His entire demeanor shifted. The lazy, treat-motivated housecat vanished, replaced by a silent, focused predator.
His 'Ghost Hunt' ability, a refined combination of spiritual perception and advanced stealth, activated.
To Leo, it looked as if Milo's form softened at the edges, his silver fur absorbing the shadows around him.
He moved with an impossible silence, his paws making no sound on the creaking floorboards.
His eyes, now glowing with a faint, silvery light, scanned the darkness, seeing things Leo could not. He was following a trail of spiritual residue, an invisible breadcrumb path of pain and fear.
They moved through the decaying grandeur of the mansion.
A grand ballroom, its chandelier shrouded in a thick cocoon of cobwebs.
A library, where books with cracked leather spines lay scattered on the floor, their pages swollen and warped from damp.
A formal dining room, where a long, dust-covered table was set for a dinner party that had ended decades ago.
Throughout the exploration, Leo's nerves were stretched taut. Every shadow seemed to move, every creak of the old house sounded like a footstep.
Milo, however, was a picture of calm professionalism. He occasionally paused, his head cocked, tasting the air, then would continue with unwavering certainty.
He was not hunting a ghost. He was tracking a scent.
They ascended a wide, sweeping staircase, one of the railings rotted through.
The spiritual signature on the Codex grew stronger, the red blob pulsing more frantically.
They were getting closer.
Milo led him down a long, dark hallway on the second floor. He stopped in front of a heavy oak door at the very end of the hall.
He sat down and looked up at Leo, then back at the door. A single, soft meow.
In there.
Leo took a deep breath, his hand resting on the cold, brass doorknob. He could hear a faint sound from within. A low, pathetic whimpering. A desperate, scratching sound.
He pushed the door open.
The room inside was a child's nursery, frozen in time. A rocking horse stood silent in the corner. Faded, peeling wallpaper depicted smiling teddy bears. In the center of the room, near a collapsed section of the floorboards, was the source of the haunting.
It wasn't a ghost.
It wasn't a poltergeist.
It wasn't a Class-4 Ectoplasmic Manifestation.
It was a dog.
A scruffy, emaciated stray, its fur a matted mess of brown and grey. One of its hind legs was trapped in the broken floorboards, clearly injured. Its eyes were wide with terror and pain, and its aura, visible to Leo through the Codex, was a chaotic storm of flickering, desperate energy. This was the source of the "major spectral disturbance." This was Elara's monster.
Milo looked at the trapped dog, then up at Leo, his expression one of profound, withering condescension.
A ghost? his inner monologue dripped with sarcasm. More like a very sad, very hungry dog. Humans and their dramatic delusions. This one is suffering, not haunting. My human needs to stop listening to that loud female human. Where is the food for this poor creature?
Leo felt a pang of pity for the trapped animal, immediately followed by a wave of exasperation at Elara's well-meaning but utterly inept investigation. She would have shown up here with salt circles and chanting, terrifying the poor creature even more.
He knelt, approaching the dog slowly. "Hey there, fella. It's okay. We're here to help."
The dog let out a low, warning growl, its body trembling.
Leo knew he couldn't just pull its leg free. It was likely broken, and the sudden movement would be agonizing.
His mind raced. He had to help the dog. But he also had to maintain his cover. Elara was probably on her way, armed with her dowsing rod and a head full of nonsense. When she arrived, she would need an explanation. A believable one.
Okay, he thought, his mind workshopping the lie. So, not a poltergeist. Just a very sad dog. Which is a relief, but also infinitely harder to explain to a 'paranormal investigator' who's convinced it's a malevolent spirit. Time for some rapid-fire, scientifically-plausible, yet utterly false, jargon.
He would tell her that the dog wasn't the ghost, but was attracted to the haunting. That its pain and fear were amplifying the "negative energy residue" in the mansion. Yes, that sounded good. It was just the right mix of compassionate and paranormal nonsense. It was a lie Elara would absolutely believe.
First, though, he had to deal with the actual problem. The pained, terrified animal in front of him.
He looked at the trembling, emaciated dog, its aura flickering with pain and fear.
This wasn't a ghost. It was a tragedy.
And against his better judgment, he knew he couldn't just walk away.