Mrs. Collins wasn’t the type to weave tall tales, so when she cornered me at the fence, her trembling hands told a story my rational mind refused to accept. She claimed my empty house was screaming while I was at work, a notion I dismissed until the weight of her terror became my own. I decided to play a dangerous game of pretend, hiding beneath my bed to catch a phantom, but as the bedroom door creaked open, I realized… Continue reading…
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