Whispers in the Dark

The old apartment had been empty for years, except for the whispers. Mara never believed

in ghosts—until tonight. She was unpacking boxes in the dim light when she found

a small music box. It was dusty, its paint chipped, but when she wound it,

a soft melody filled the room. Strange, though—the tune was familiar.

Too familiar. Suddenly, the lights flickered. Shadows stretched across the walls,

twisting unnaturally. Mara froze as she heard a faint tapping behind her, like fingernails

scratching glass. She turned. Nothing.