For weeks, a strange tension clung to our home, as if the walls themselves were holding secrets we weren’t meant to know. It wasn’t loud, it wasn’t overt — it was subtle, insidious, a feeling that gnawed at the edges of your consciousness. Something was wrong. Something alive. Something growing. At first, we dismissed it. Old houses creak, settle, and sigh. The wind can whistle through gaps, and small animals sometimes…
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