The front door didn't creak when Elias pushed it; it groaned, a deep, structural sound that vibrated through the floorboards. Beside him, Toby, the cameraman, adjusted the night-vision filter. The world turned a grainy, ghostly green. "Did you hear that?" Toby whispered, freezing. "Hear what?" "A whistle. Like a teakettle."

Toby spun around, his camera light sweeping the empty corner. Nothing. "There's no one here, Sarah!"

The cameras were found neatly stacked by the door. The last frame recorded on Toby’s lens wasn't a ghost, but a reflection in a polished spoon: Elias and Toby, sitting at the table, their eyes milky white, waiting for the next course to be served.