The smell of decay wafts through the house. I’m not supposed to be here, but yet I find myself shuffling across the creaking hardwood floor.

Scattered near the entrance, shards of glass glisten in the moonlight. Feathers rustle in the distance, and an owl stares back at me. Watching every move I make.

Warning me.

Trudging through the house, my flashlight exploring every angle. Out of the corner of my eye, a picture catches my attention. Its circular frame’s chipping ebony paint, the crack of the glass slicing perfectly through the center of the portrait. A beautiful woman with sorrowful eyes stares back at me. Her raven hair cascades down her back as her lips look unamused.

I can’t take my eyes off the photo. The whispers of the wind plead with me to turn around, but I must know what happened to the sorrowed woman.

Slowly, I caress the frame. Flecks of ebony paint transfer to my finger tips, and I realize I have nothing to worry about.

I chuckle to myself. How stupid could I have been, to think the winds were speaking. Click, my flashlight illuminates the room. Only this time, a headless shadow stares back at me.