It started as a faint noise, barely audible above the hum of the old house. At first, Emma thought it was the pipes—this place was ancient, after all. But late at night, when the world was silent, she heard it clearly. A whisper. "Emma…" She froze the first time it said her name, clutching her blanket like a shield. The voice was soft, almost pleading, as if it were trapped somewhere deep inside the walls. She wanted to believe it was just her imagination. But then it began moving. One night, it was in the kitchen. The next, in the hallway outside her bedroom. And last night... it was behind her mirror. Now, as Emma sat in the dark, the house was deathly silent. Too silent. Her breath fogged the glass as she leaned closer to the mirror, trying to convince herself there was nothing there. And then it whispered again—louder this time, more insistent. "Emma… let me in." Her reflection smiled. Emma did not.