The air inside was thick with dust and the smell of decay. Our footsteps echoed off the cracked marble floor, and cobwebs draped the corners like ghostly curtains. The walls were lined with faded portraits, their subjects staring down at us with hollow eyes.

"This place is ancient," Tom said, shining his flashlight around. "How is it still standing?"

"Magic," Rena said, her voice light but her expression serious.

We wandered through the rooms, each one more unsettling than the last. The dining room had a long table covered in rotting food, as if someone had left in the middle of a feast. The kitchen was filled with broken dishes and rusted utensils. But the worst was the nursery.

The walls were painted with faded murals of smiling children and animals, but the cribs were overturned, their wooden bars splintered. Toys lay scattered across the floor, their cheerful faces cracked and faded.

"This is messed up," Tom said, his voice shaking.

Rena picked up a small doll with one eye missing. "What do you think happened here?"

"Let's not find out," I said, my throat dry.

But as we turned to leave, a noise stopped us.

A faint whisper, like someone calling our names.