The containment team spread through the mansion's ground floor with practiced efficiency, their equipment casting eerie shadows on the wood-paneled walls. Mishka watched as they set up monitoring stations around the prototype fabric, which continued its hypnotic pulsing on the phonograph.
"Those lights in the woods," the team leader said, adjusting something on his tablet, "we're getting some unusual readings."
"Define unusual," Shaun replied, his businessman's demeanor a stark contrast to the supernatural chaos unfolding around them.
"Sir, these energy signatures..." The team leader hesitated, glancing at his readings. "They're similar to what we recorded at the naval base, but more... structured."
From upstairs came the sound of Myrtle's theatrical chanting, punctuated by what sounded suspiciously like wind chimes.
"Mother," Shaun called out, pinching the bridge of his nose, "the upper wards don't need musical accompaniment!"