Alex watched Ariana storm off, acting like the stuck up little child she was, a frown etched in his face. More gunfire and a fight with the reporter that had shown up, His hand was wiping itself on the black leather jacket hanging from his shoulders, as if to rid itself of the taint from holding a gun. It had been a relieve when she had taken her toys back from him and emptied them.
"Your are correct miss Jones" said Alex, still a little stiff, with his anger burning away, "Hopefully, the spirits in this house wont attack us right away from all this up roar." He drew deep breaths, calming down and putting out the fire that was his temper.
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By now, all the spirits in the house were drawn back from what ever limbo they inhabit when not interacting with the living. The Dog in particular was riled up, had it been still living, a dreadful howling and barking would have risen from the cellar by now. Instead a unearthly, mournful, wail of self-pity and anger filled the house and only the house. The cellar door shook with the foot steps of The Dog charging up the stairs.

Its easy to be brave behind a castle wall
Twelve highlanders and a bagpipe make a rebellion
A king's son is no nobler then the food he eats