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"My brain is playing tricks," he muttered, his voice raspy from years of smoke. "Hypnogogic hallucinations. Lack of sleep. Stress."
"Refaat," she whispered, her voice echoing not in the room, but inside his skull. "You promised to play."
It was 1969. Refaat had been summoned by an old friend, but as he stepped into the foyer, the air grew thick with the scent of wet earth and ancient dust. This was the beginning of what would become known as the "Mansion of Khadrawi" incident, the first true test of his skepticism.
As the mansion began to dissolve into a swirl of shadows and light, Refaat reached for his notebook. If he couldn't defeat the paranormal with medicine, he would document it with the cold precision of a researcher. He watched as the phantom of Shiraz drifted through a solid wall, her laughter sounding like breaking glass.
