286 THE GHOST HUNT

Janice, her face a mask of nervous sweat, fumbled with the rusty padlock on the warehouse door. The late-night air hung heavy with the stench of damp concrete and decay. Luke, a tense coil of muscle beside her, scanned the deserted street, his eyes flitting in the shadows like a cornered animal. "Are you sure this is the place?" he hissed, his voice barely a whisper. Janice, usually calm, nodded frantically, her eyes wide with fear and defiance. "Yes, Mr. Henderson. Tyler mentioned it once, a place he and his friends used to hang out in high school." With a sickening groan, the heavy metal door swinging open on rusted hinges, the lock finally yielded. A blast of stale air, thick with dust motes illuminated by the weak beam of Luke's flashlight, assaulted them. "Stay close," Luke murmured, stepping cautiously past the threshold. The cavernous warehouse swallowed their whispers. Cobwebs, like tattered shrouds, hung from the exposed rafters. Broken crates and rusty machinery scatter