As I hope are you.

Real or not, their feeling and presence was alive.

Something to fear, something to make you feel true

The screams of the dead can be beautiful like a song

"Phasmophobia" is a lie

They give the blessing of fears and adrenaline

But why even be afraid of unknown and undead

Shrieks of the unknown on a parallel plane hoping they can be heard

Footsteps belonging to a hypnotic dirge that fills the supposedly vacant air with hollow sound

A chilling tingle up one’s spine, hair standing up on end

Fog spilling out into an empty field, blue with misery 

Soaked in green ectoplasm from a cold and dead touch

An eerie presence locked behind an old and sunken door, fingers prying at its hinges

Let us in.