Ava's breath caught in her throat as she stared at the fresh crimson handprint on the banister. The air grew colder, and the silence of the manor pressed heavily around her. She reached out, hesitating before her fingers met the sticky residue. It was warm.
A sudden creak echoed from above. Ava's flashlight flickered, casting dancing shadows on the walls. She looked up the staircase, its steps disappearing into darkness. Summoning her courage, she ascended, each step protesting under her weight.
At the top, a long hallway stretched before her, lined with closed doors. The third door on the left stood ajar, a faint light seeping through the gap. As she approached, a soft whisper reached her ears - a voice, indistinct yet beckoning.
Pushing the door open, Ava entered a room bathed in a pale, unnatural glow. Dust motes danced in the air, and the scent of decay was stronger here. In the center stood a child's crib, its mobile gently spinning despite the still air. Inside the crib lay a doll, its porcelain face cracked, one eye missing.
Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind her. The whispering intensified, surrounding her, growing louder, more insistent. The doll's remaining eye seemed to follow her movements. Ava backed away, her heart pounding, but the room felt smaller, the walls closing in.
She reached for the door, but it wouldn't budge. The whispers turned into cries, then screams. The doll sat up.