"You're going to die tonight."

Clear as a whistle on a winter night. Holy shit.

I rewind the digital voice recorder, the DVR, the one that sat overnight on the window sill in the old Belanger house. You know, the house with the family of four. Yep, that one. All four of them fell through the floor. Construction codes weren't what they are now. It'd be funny if it weren't so tragic.

They hit the basement hard. All four broke their backs. They shouted for help, but no one came. The house is on the far side of nowhere. The whole family died. Everyone around here's heard the story a million times, mostly about how it's now haunted.

The Ghost Chasers - that's the name of the ghost hunting group I started - went in for an "investigation." It served as a nice introduction for the newbie in the group, an enthusiastic young man still in college.

I taught him about "investigating" old houses. Hint: Stick close to the walls, they're usually more reinforced. Oh, and avoid the gaping hole in the living room where the floor collapsed. Duh. That's where the family died. Lots of debris at the bottom of that hole. Wouldn't want the Belanger house to claim another victim.

Anyway, nothing much happened while he and I were out there. I had the DVR on during the "investigation," then left it overnight. I hoped to pick up an EVP, or "electronic voice phenomenon." Those spirit voices are like diamonds for ghost hunters.

I went back in the morning, grabbed the DVR off the window sill and took it to my car. That's where I am now, feeling like a prospector holding a golden nugget.

I play the EVP over again.

"You're going to die tonight."

There's a bit of static coating the EVP. I turn the volume up and hold the speaker to my ear.

"You're going to die tonight."

It's a woman's voice, that's for sure. Sounds familiar.

I let the recording run.

No way.

This is better than diamonds.

There's an angry, muffled shout. Heavy breathing. Fast footsteps. A man screaming. It's a deep, frantic hollering, as if he shouted with his guts instead of his throat. It sizzles the audio in my ear. I can only make out, "Please, someone help me," after he catches his breath.

Then comes a snap, a moan and a jarring silence. Like guitar strings breaking in mid-song.

My guts list in their casing. I grip the steering wheel with my free hand and squeeze tight. The car feels like it's an elevator in free fall. I keep listening. This is incredible.

Then a woman's voice says something like, "Get into there" or "Get over here." Then comes a sound like a thousand crunches rolled into a single, quick thud.

No more screaming. No more nothing.

I play the scene back again. It's like listening to hell. Beautiful, sweet, sexy, hell. The kind of misery that can make a ghost hunter rich.

I play it over and over until I have it memorized. I start to hum along with it. The violence is like a tune.

The raw abuse in the woman's voice makes my pulse dizzy. It's terrifying. Thrilling.

I drain half the battery before looking up at my reflection in the rearview mirror. The long scratch marks on my face from last night scabbed over. I'll have to let those heal completely before releasing the EVP. He got me, but not good enough. It didn't stop me from throwing him down that hole.

I smile and start the car up. I can't wait to tell the world about my "EVP."

The End