The night refused to let them go.
Emma lay in her bed, unable to sleep. The house whispered around her—creaks, distant rustles, sounds like torn fragments of breath—keeping her wide awake.
She had hidden the spiral pendant beneath her pillow, yet its coldness still seemed to seep into her skin.
A faint shuffling noise came from the hallway.
Bare feet on wood.
Emma sat up. She listened.
The steps stopped at her door.
A shadow lingered just beyond the threshold—barely visible, but Emma was sure it was there.
The doorknob turned slowly, but the door did not open.
Only the metal groaned, then sprang back into place.
And then… the whispering.
Not words—more like emotions: fear, pain, and loss.
Emma stepped closer, hesitant. She didn't open the door—just pressed her ear against the wood.
It was cold. Stone cold.
On the other side, something tapped lightly, as if fingers were drumming on the surface.
Emma stepped back.
The whispers faded.
And silence returned to the hallway.
Emma knew she wouldn't be able to fall back asleep.
And she also knew—she had to return to the hidden door.
Something was pulling her back.
Something rooted deeper in her than reason.
She grabbed her sweater, the candle she had brought up earlier, and slipped out of her room.
The house breathed around her—in long, heavy sighs only she could hear.
She reached the end of the corridor.
The hidden door waited.
The wallpaper hung in strips, revealing the pale wood underneath.
Emma, with trembling hands, opened it.
Behind the door, a narrow, steep staircase led downward—into the belly of the house.
In the flickering candlelight, she could see only the first few steps.
But below… something waited.
Or someone.
Emma took a deep breath.
And stepped forward.