Joey Cymet is 11. He has dead parents and a backpack full of ghost hunting gear he begged, borrowed, and stole. His mission isn't to contact his parents—he's not that naive. They’re obviously at the bottom of the river. It's to prove the afterlife exists. Armed with a directional microphone, thermometer worn like a necklace, and a fishing reel of yellow string (always tied to the front door, so he can find his way back), Joey explores abandoned homes alone.

Until one night, something very real attacks from a dark corner. The photos he takes are useless—blurry, out of focus garbage. That's when it hits him: Toby, the 12-year-old aspiring filmmaker next door. Joey doesn't have friends, but he has a plan: Toby films the ghosts, gets Hollywood-quality footage for his movies, and Joey gets his proof.

Together they explore an abandoned asylum where things go horribly wrong—they lose Toby's cat Winston Purrchill (though Joey lies about what really happened to him), encounter a recently dead body, and Joey's precious tape recorder—containing his mother's bedtime stories—breaks beyond repair.

Their final destination: an old mansion where pianos play themselves, rooms shift locations, and an antique bed of nails refuses to stay covered. As their friendship fractures over Joey's lies, he hears his mother's voice from behind a door: "Joey, it's so cold in here. Can you please open the door?" Meanwhile, Toby dangles from the second-floor railing, the nail bed waiting below.

For the first time, Joey stops listening for ghosts—and hears his friend screaming his name.

This isn't just about finding specters. It's about a boy learning that the living matter more than the dead.