Nausea churned my stomach, threatening to have me upchucking all over Lucas’s oh-my-god-are-you-for-real black-and-white saddle shoes.

“What did I just watch?” I asked at last, hoping against all hope that Lucas would confirm what Charlotte had said about the episode being fake. Because, more than anything, I wanted to believe that was true. But the moth. It had been the same kind I’d been seeing all over our estate. And that name. At least now I knew why Charlotte had assumed I’d gotten it from this DVD. Unless another kid at school had told Charlie about this documentary, and I was seeing things, then all of this was real.

Our house had a demon. And it had Erik, too.

Erik. He’d told me from the start that I needed to leave. He’d been trying to protect me—my family, too. What had he endured because of that?

And how the hell was I going to tell Dad we needed to move?

If he refused, it would be impossible to convince him we could never go down to the basement.

“That’s why the moth worried me so much,” Lucas said. “Charlotte thinks that Paranormal Spectator planted them on the estate when filming the episode. But some people say that Rastin inadvertently bridged to an alternate dimension—where the moths come from.”

When I didn’t say anything, Lucas laid a warm palm on my spine.

“Why did you show me this?” I asked.

“So . . . so that you would know what I know,” he replied.

“That can’t be the only reason.”

“Stephanie,” he said, like the answer was beyond obvious. And it was. But I still wanted him to say it. “We need to get in there. We need to start documenting solid evidence.”

We? He was talking about SPOoKy. But Erik had told me explicitly not to let Lucas or anyone else like him onto the property. That had to mean paranormal investigators. I didn’t want to consider the repercussions if I did have Lucas back. But then, hadn’t I just seen what could happen if I didn’t?

“I don’t need evidence,” I said. “I need help.”

“Stephanie. In this field, evidence is the only way to get help.”

I could read between the lines. He was trying to tell me, as gently as he could, that what was going on in my house required more help than he, or SPOoKy, could offer. He was telling me we needed professional help.

“You . . . you said Joe Boq died,” I said. “But what about Rastin? What happened to him?”

“They wouldn’t have aired the episode if he hadn’t lived,” said Lucas. “Actually, Charlotte’s main reason for believing it was a hoax is because they did air it. That, and Rastin came out and said it was a hoax. But, clearly, that was just to keep people away.”

“So . . . he’s okay?” I sat up, though my eyes remained in my lap, as if that could protect me from the answers I didn’t want.