Frowning at the discharge of the weapon, Bill shook his head and shouted, “Sorry, sorry she gets a little…erm, excited at times.” Casting a glance at Ariana, he shook his head and walked towards the investigation lead, who was speaking.
Listening to the man, Bill looked around at each of those here, it seemed a goodly group of investigators, if there were of the scientific bent great it would mean they came here to not prove a haunting, but prove that it couldn’t be anything else. If they were of the touchy-feely new age types, well it might be another long night of “feelings”.
Checking his camera’s flash it wound up then just before he hit click, he turned around and held the camera up and aimed it at the frontage of the house, as it flashed it created a blue-white light that sparked and left after images of those who where behind him.
Turning back to the group, he said, “So what are we doing? Scanning the floors in teams and then coming back here every hour? Hour and a half to compare notes and then shift teams? Also does anyone have a thermal camera? And how long are we going to check out the house? I have a cooler full of soda, water, Gatorade, and a slew of cold cut sandwiches. You are all welcome to it after the first sweep if anyone is hungry.”
Glancing at the house and the approaching dark, Bill pulled the Faraday flashlight out of the belt sheath and started shaking it, and continued to shake it for a full five minutes before he stopped, seemingly satisfied.
The writer who cares more about words than about characters, action, setting, atmosphere is unlikely to create a vivid and continuous dream; he gets in his own way too much; in his poetic drunkenness, he can't tell the cart- and its cargo- from the horse.
John Gardner