This same night, Phoebe was awoken by the sound of something scratching on her window. She opened her eyes, sat up and threw a pillow at the window.
"It is bedtime, don't you guys sleep?" she croaked out crabbily.
Her voice woke David up, he sat up and looked in the direction of the window. "What's wrong? Is it another ghost?"
She nodded, waved her hand and the window opened. The air grew colder as a figure emerged out of the darkness-a man, translucent and pale, his eyes dark with sorrow. The Saxon spirit, America and Sylvester came out of the space to see what help the ghost needed to come looking for a shaman in the night.
"Do you need my help?" Phoebe asked.
"Please," the ghost said in a voice that was softer than the wind rustling through dry leaves. "I am Stanley Basten, I was in the underwater hotel that collapsed. I need you to deliver a message to my wife Catia Basten. I heard from others that you do this sort of thing."
