Moonlit Whispers

It started one night during the full moon—three gentle knocks on her window. Tap.

Tap. Tap. She brushed it off as tree branches. But when she looked,

the branches were still. Nothing outside moved. The next month,

the same thing happened. Tap. Tap. Tap. She peeked through

the curtain. There, glowing faintly on the glass, was a handprint.

Small. Pale. She pressed her hand against it—it was icy cold.

“Who’s there?” she whispered. A soft voice answered, so close it made her jump.

“Someone who never got to come inside.” She yanked the curtain shut and ran to her bed,