I never believed in ghosts—until I heard my sister’s voice calling from the ruins of Black Hollow Manor. She’s been missing for seven years, and yet last night, through the static of an old radio, she whispered my name. Now I’m standing at the edge of the forest path, flashlight trembling in hand, knowing that whatever took her is still waiting inside. This isn’t just a search anymore. It’s a reckoning.

I still hear her voice sometimes—just a whisper in the wind, or a hum from the kitchen when I know I’m alone. Three months ago, Clara vanished without a trace. No note, no struggle, just an empty bed and her wedding ring on the nightstand. The police closed the case. But I can’t. Because last night, I found a photograph that wasn’t mine. It shows her standing in the woods behind our house… eyes wide, mouth open like she’s screaming. And it was taken yesterday.