Felix Allsey is a travel article writer with an enthusiastic eyes for the paranormal, and he’s carved out a distinctive, if only slightly lucrative, specific niche market for himself in non-fiction; he writes travelogues from the country’s most haunted places, after haunting them himself.

When he convinces who owns the infamous Rotterdam Mansion to let him stay on the premises for two weeks, he believes he’s finally found the location which will bring him a bestseller. As with his various other gigs, he sets guidelines for himself: no departing about Twelve Evenings at Rotter House the house for just about any reason, refrain from outside contact, and sleep during the day.

When Thomas Ruth, Felix’s oldest friend and fellow horror film obsessive, joins him on the project, both dance around a recent and unspeakably painful rough-patch in their a friendly relationship, but ultimately fall to their old rhythms of dark laughter and movie trivia. That’s when items start going wrong: screams from upstairs, figures in the thresholds, and more than what should be in any basement. Felix realizes the reserve he’s composing, and his very mind-set, can be tilting from non-fiction into all out horror, and the surprising climax answers a query that’s been looking these males in the face all along: In Rotter House, who’s haunting who?