Nightmare by Robin Parrish Page A

life-becomes an echo, playing on a loop that we can perceive. They're not dangerous, but they are fascinating
to witness, and they rarely have any idea that we're here."

    "So there's probably a lot of residual ghosts here at Waverly,
because of how they died?"
    "Without a doubt," I replied. "But the most unpredictable
type of haunting, the third classification, is the intelligent haunt.
This is what most people think of when they think of a ghost: a
disembodied soul who's completely aware of their surroundings,
their memories ... and any living people they come in contact
with. Why they linger is a huge mystery. It's unknown if they're
stuck in one location-almost always the place where they died-or
they're simply unwilling to leave. But they come in every temperament and variety, just like the living: they can be playful and
harmless, or they can be wicked and vengeful. They're the most
erratic type of haunting, and accordingly, the most hazardous
to your health. But they're the most sought-after type for paranormal investigators, because anything with intelligence can
find a way to communicate, and with communication comes
the possibility of collecting real evidence."
    "Okay. So, three types of hauntings,"Jordin repeated. "Got
it. Anything else?"
    "Well, there is a fourth type, actually ... but we won't be
going near any of those."
    She stopped short. "What is it? Tell me."
    "Demonic," I replied, matter-of-fact. "Not all investigators consider those cases to be hauntings, since no humans are
involved. But like I said, it doesn't matter, because we're steering
clear of known demonic haunts."
    Jordin shivered. "You're sure there's nothing like that here?"
    I nodded, confident. "Countless investigators have spent hundreds of hours in this place, and no one has ever reported
an encounter with anything terribly threatening."

    She didn't look reassured.

    We stationed ourselves in a central hallway on the notorious
fifth floor, where the highest rate of paranormal activity was
regularly reported, and where I had once seen and heard some
very strange things myself. The walls around us were again tagged
with layers of multicolor graffiti, courtesy of locals and visitors
who felt the need to leave their own mark on the place.
    But it was the dead who had left the most of themselves
here. The fifth floor was the ward where patients were sent when
the disease affected their minds, the place where the mentally
disturbed lived and died.
    Tonight, instead of actively searching for activity, we waited
for it to come to us. I sat cross-legged on the floor with my
Advanced Psychology textbook, studying for my first exam of
the semester by flashlight. I was only half listening as Jordin
prattled on.
    As much as I wanted Jordin to feel like she'd gotten her money's worth on this trip, there were limits to my patience. To my
dismay, she seemed incapable of maintaining silence for very long.
And I began contemplating the fact that despite her grandiose
wealth, even Jordin Cole might not have enough money to get
me to go on another of these trips. It was the first small feeling
of encouragement I'd felt since we'd arrived.
    "We've been here for six hours," said Jordin.
    "Mm-hmm," I said absently, snuggling deeper into my sleeping bag to stave off the freezing cold.

    "This place is creepy as all get-out," she said, rubbing her
arms nervously. "I still feel sick to my stomach."
    "You mentioned that."
    "It smells funny, too."
    "Yep," I replied with a sigh.
    Jordin glanced over, watching me study as if I were oblivious
to our bizarre surroundings. A tinge of impatience seemed to
strike her. "So is anything else going to happen, or what?"
    I looked up at last. "Whatever's in this place, it doesn't operate on our timetable."
    She frowned, her shoulders slumping. "I didn't think it would
be so ... dull."
    I grinned. "Welcome to paranormal investigation. Hours
of tedium, punctuated with seconds of skin-peeling