The attic was cramped, filled with the forgotten relics of years gone by. Old furniture, boxes labeled with years and contents that hinted at family history. Yet, the tapping was louder here, insistent. He followed the sound, his heart pounding in time with it.

And then he saw it — a small door, almost hidden behind a stack of boxes. An oddity, something that should not be there. With a deep breath, he opened it, revealing a narrow passageway, a relic of old architectural designs.

Inside, crouched in the shadows, was a figure. Small, ragged, eyes wide with fear, mirroring Emily’s. A boy, no older than ten, clutching a worn blanket. His face was smudged with dust and tears.