Offscreen narrator during night time establishing shot of an old house turned business: "Once a month, when the moon was full, a man in white appears somewhere in Missouri." (Camera slowly zooms in on approaching figure) "Nearly seven feet tall, he always has a bag of something slung over one shoulder, worn combat boots quietly padding the pavement on his unseen way to somewhere until a paranormal team of experts finally caught him on tape."

*Streetlight cam, 1a.*

Buzzcut blonde hair flecked with pink glitter which shines in the moonlight and a nearby security light. Tuxedo and tails so white they glow, offset by gloves, one pink, one blue and a blood red bow tie.

He knocks on the door of the Morse Mill Hotel in Hillsboro, Missouri. A young woman with bobbed hair dressed as a flapper, answers.

She giggles, batting her eyes up at him, thinking he is here for the Mill's original "business". Her demeanor goes serious when he says something too low for the microphones set up around the site to catch so that it's just a partial murmur. His voice is a surprising tenor for someone so large.

She looks away, nodding sadly as she stands to one side to let the man in as he removes his white top hat with the pink hatband and hangs on the battered hatstand just inside the front door.

*inner cam, 1b.*

"Thank you for taking her. She may have been born out of wedlock when I was 13, but she's all I have. I love her more than anything. This place isn't… suitable." She told him as they walked through the Piano Room, with her leading slightly.

*Stairway Cam, 2a*

The man drops the bag to the floor, asking, "What is her favorite animal, or color?"

The woman bit her painted beestung lower lip before quietly answering, "She loves blue things, fluffy things."

He nods, pulling out a blue rabbit plushie with an appallingly red ribbon around its neck. It's unnaturally green eyes stared blankly up at the camera.

*Cam 2b, unopenable door.*

They disappear inside the door that no one can open, yet the flapper opens it effortlessly.

(off camera) "Duuuuuude, we tried every key in the place so we could get in and set up a camera and they just walk in like nothing!"

Announcer: "The following transcript is what was recorded by microphones set up outside the door. We apologize in advance for the poor sound quality."

Still image of previously unopenable door, overlaid with rolling text and distorted recording:

"Where's Janice? She said she would come back." A child's voice.

"Rachel darling. You need to understand that she's moved away, and she can't come back."

Sound of small child whimpering.

"Please get off of that broken chair, I don't want you to get hurt again."

Solid thump as of feet hitting the floor off camera.

A man's voice: "We have a special present for you."

A child's pattering footsteps.

"Thank you Mister, he's very fluffy."

Quick cut to *Cam 2a, Stairway.*

The man stares directly at the audience through the camera, the un-openable door, which is now shut, frames him. His face ripples like water.

"Boys and girls who don't listen don't get treats. No peeking!" This time his voice sounds like two people are trying to speak at once as his bllue gloved hand fills the frame.

The screen goes black. What sounds like, "Don't tell Charlie." hisses through the static.

Voiceover: "This is the most openly aggressive ghost we've documented to date and the first time we've ever needed to replace a camera after a sighting. "

Quick cut to *cam 1b.*, Piano Room.

The man in white looks away, slings the bag over one broad shoulder and holds out his hand to a formerly unseen blonde child in a shabby dress and sweater wearing scuffed bunny slippers. The flapper joins them as they enter the Piano Room.

The trio disappear into the front hallway.

*Door cam, 1a.*

The child, now rides his other shoulder holding the toy rabbit like a baby. He ducks under the lintel and now stands outside the front door looking down at the flapper, who now appears to be barely sixteen and holds his hat in her hands, nervously turning it 'round and 'round by the brim.

The large man stoops. Reluctantly she places the hat upon his head. He straightens, looks down at her, face unreadable and turns away, the child, Rachel sliding down so that he cradles her in his free arm as he walks back into the shadows.

There is the sound of a whip, a burst of static, and the screen goes blank, switching to a rainbow test pattern and accompanying flat hum.

Buffy, alone and nursing a fruity drink at the bar fresh from a bit of patrolling after a full shift at the Doublemeat Palace, looked away from the large screen where she'd been smirking at the latest episode of the reality show, American Spooks in time to notice the highly attractive tall dark-haired woman that had been sitting on the stool next to hers hurry towards the ladies room, tears running down her face.