Hearing the shuffle of footsteps getting closer, an unsettling feeling rose in my stomach.
Closely followed by a flurry of excitement.
‘The house is still active,’ I whispered to my crew who had spaced themselves out in the room around me.
With the lights flickering and jet-black water streaming from the taps, I knew that an entity was nearby.
‘You’ve been scratched,’ I said to the camera man who hurried downstairs. He had a fresh 2 inch mark on his neck.
‘The house is attacking,’ the owner started panicking. ‘It’s not supposed to be haunted.’
An overwhelming amount of energy had surged into the room.
Only, just when I felt as if something was luring over my shoulder, everything stopped.
The Black Forest Tavern in Brownsville,
