With Preston at the wheel, Clarence ploughed through the downpour; the headlights cutting a path through the darkness. The quiet road was lined on both sides by large eastern white pines, their blue-green colouring bleached out by the night.

After a few minutes, Scott silently pointed out a clearing ahead of them. Preston signalled, the blinking orange lighting up the line of pines rhythmically. Clarence slowed, veering off the blacktop onto the grass, the trailer tent bouncing joyfully along behind. Preston guided the Range Rover part way into the clearing, pointing the headlights towards the mass of eastern whites as they withdrew from the highway, revealing a stretch of flat ground forty feet deep.

Preston squinted out of the side window. “This clearing?”

“Yeah, it looks clear enough.” Scott watched the beams from the headlights as they lit the open grass between them and the tree line. The pines stood in the glow, ominously still. The flow of raindrops had begun to slow, and instead of pounding the ground, the vehicle and everything in between, they almost floated, catching in the headlights like a heavy mist. “Oh look …” he said as he glanced out of his side window, peering up into the night sky, “It’s stopped raining.”

“Debatable,” returned Preston, wearily. As much as he tried, he wasn’t getting out of this.

“Let’s jump to it.” Scott popped the door and pushed himself out, pulling the zip on his windbreaker all the way to the top. Defeated, Preston pushed the driver’s seat back as far as it would go and reached behind it, pulling out his emergency rain boots. He traded them for his Walmart dress shoes and reluctantly hopped down from the Range Rover, mud squelching underfoot.

“I keep telling you, you need to start dressing more appropriately,” said Scott, who was always ready for any condition or situation; his rugged walking boots and heavy duty cargo trousers were a staple of his day-to-day attire. His pockets were loaded with both useful and obscure gadgets because, well, you never know. He scolded Preston regularly for sticking to his white-collar roots. Cut the cord, Scott had said. But Preston didn’t seem willing to fully let go of the life he chose to leave behind, no matter how awkward it made things on the road.

Scott had already unhooked the trailer tent from the tow-bar and with Preston’s assistance, wheeled it ahead of the parked Range Rover into the high beams. With the trailer positioned, Scott set about lowering feet from the corners to stabilise it. Preston slapped his hands together, shaking them free of rain water. “The day I start dressing like you is the day the Sandford’s ghost shows its face and waves hello.”

Scott struggled with the final foot, working the latch loose. “Nice to see you’re as optimistic as ever.”

“They know exactly what’s going on in that house. We should have just left when we had the chance.” Preston stood back, inspecting his hands for dirt. He wiped them delicately with his handkerchief.

Scott rolled back the dark blue trailer cover, and squatted down to slide it onto his shoulder. “I’ve never been closer. We both know Mr Sandford’s attitude is only going to get in the way, and I’m not in the mood to be butting heads.” He carried the roll to the Range Rover and slung it onto the roof. “But Mrs Sandford’s reaction to us leaving …” His mind flashed back to the house. "She really had me convinced there for a second.”

“Don’t do that again,” said Preston. He stood by one end of the trailer as Scott made his way back towards him.

“What?” Scott lifted a hinged set of legs and locked them in place. The pair each took hold of the platform they were connected to and heaved it upwards.

“Where you start thinking it’s actually going to be genuine activity.” The legs pushed through the grass into the softened mud under the weight of the platform, which now sat flush with the top of the trailer.

“I don’t. I’ve been doing this too long, seen too many cases go the same way to think anything’s genuine anymore.” Scott unfolded the legs on the one remaining platform, and they began lifting it, straightening out the large hinges that attached it to the side of the trailer.

“That’s not what happened in—”

Scott dropped the platform. Preston jumped as it swung back down, musty air forced out from within the folds of the canvas beneath. “Don’t you dare bring up Albuquerque again.”

Preston pointed an accusatory finger at Scott over the trailer, his eyes widening: “I’m going to bring up Albuquerque. It was as plain as the plaid in your wardrobe that those kids were hoaxing us, but you ate it all up. Every word.”

Scott rubbed his forehead with frustration: round in circles with the non-believer again. He was struggling to come to terms with the idea of never finding any genuine evidence, but despite his growing scepticism he had somehow managed to remain open-minded. Preston had a complete lack of interest in entertaining even the remotest possibility of the paranormal. It didn’t half grate his tits. “That’s not how it went and you know it.”

“I beg to differ,” argued Preston.

Scott wasn’t in the mood. “You know what, Preston? I don’t care.” He hoisted the platform, pushing it upwards with enough force to unfold it, the legs forcing their way deep into the dirt. He stared at Preston, his jaw expanding as he gritted his teeth. “You are my employee. You do what I say.” He span towards the Range Rover.

“But—”

“Shut your mouth. Put the tent up.” Scott threw open the passenger side door and slid inside heavily. He yanked on the door handle, Clarence shuddering as it slammed shut, and as if the vibrations had travelled all the way to the heavens themselves, rain exploded from the sky.