Dismissing it as a trick of the light, she tried to calm herself. But the unease lingered, like an itch she couldn’t scratch. That night, as she lay in bed, she heard faint whispering. At first, she thought it was the wind, but as the whispers grew louder, she could make out words. They were calling her daughter’s name.

Panic gripped her heart. She clung to her pillow, trying to convince herself it was a dream. Yet, when morning came, the whispers persisted. She moved through the mansion, room by room, searching for the source of the voices. In her daughter’s old room, she found it—a small music box, one she hadn’t seen in years. It was playing a haunting melody, one that her daughter loved as a child. It should have been comforting, but it felt eerie, almost mocking.