First timer

Previously

…With a deep, steadying breath, I closed the journal, the brittle pages rustling like dry leaves. The air in the room felt colder now, the shadows longer, as if the house itself was holding its breath, waiting. I stood, my limbs stiff, and made my way towards the door. The grandfather clock chimed the hour, its deep resonance vibrating through the floorboards, a somber countdown. The journey into the house’s heart, and my own, had truly begun. I had to find that alcove in the cellar. I had to see those carvings. I had to understand. Because the whispers were growing louder, and the shadows were no longer content to stay in the corners. They were beginning to reach.