Emma Taylor, a young woman in her late twenties with curious eyes and a nervous smile, stands by the open car door, scanning the façade of her new home. The wind rustles through the tall grass, carrying with it the faint scent of rain and something older, mustier. Her husband, Mark Taylor, follows behind, arms full of boxes, trying to reassure her with his easy grin. "Come on, Em. It’s just a house. We’ll make it feel like home in no time,"

Emma trails her fingers along the wall, pausing by a door at the end of the hallway that’s slightly ajar. She senses a chill radiating from within, and her breath fogs in the air. "Mark, did you feel that? It’s freezing over here," Mark shrugs, but his eyes linger on the door, unease flickering across his face.

Emma opens a worn trunk to find faded photographs, brittle letters, and a porcelain doll with cracked cheeks. Its glass eyes stare blankly, and a strange, wet stain mars its dress. "These must have belonged to the previous owners… Why would they leave all this behind?" A sudden thump from the far corner makes both Emma and Mark freeze, hearts pounding.

Mark fumbles for a flashlight, the beam cutting through the blackness as he searches for the fuse box. Emma hears whispers—soft, pleading, and indistinct—floating through the air. The sound seems to seep from the walls themselves. "Mark, I think something’s in here with us," "It’s just the wind. Stay close," he replies, though his voice trembles.

Suddenly, the porcelain doll topples from the attic stairs and lands at Emma's feet. Its painted lips curve into a faint, unnatural smile. A cold hand brushes her shoulder, invisible but unmistakable, and the whispers swell into anguished cries. "What do you want from us?" she gasps, voice shaking.

Emma and Mark, pale and shaken, gather their things and retreat to the porch, unwilling to step back inside. The doll sits in the window, eyes glinting with silent menace. "We’re not staying here, Em. Let’s go. Now," As they drive away, the house stands silent and watchful, its secrets waiting for the next arrival.