The Discovery
Janelle’s breath came in shallow gasps as she flipped open the journal. The pages were delicate, the ink faded but still legible. Evelyn March had written in desperate strokes—warnings, pleas, fragments of fear woven into every line.
“The house knows I’m here. It watches. It whispers.”
Janelle’s pulse quickened. She glanced at the key beside the journal, its brass tarnished with time. What door did it unlock? And why had it been hidden so deliberately?
Just as she reached for it, a soft, deliberate creak echoed through the room—not hers. The stillness around her grew oppressive, like the air itself was waiting for her next move.
Then, the pages rustled.
Not from her touch.
A chill settled over Janelle’s skin. She backed toward the door, her instincts screaming at her to leave. But the journal remained open, the key unmoved—as if waiting for her to choose.
“What do I do next? Do I take the key and dig deeper, or do I walk away before it’s too late?” Janelle thought out loud.