When Nadia inherited her grandmother’s cottage, the villagers warned her: never stay after dark. Ignoring them, she moved in. The first night, faint whispers drifted from the walls. She pressed her ear close—nothing. By midnight, the whispers grew into pleading voices. They spoke her name, begging to be let out. In the morning, the house was silent. Determined to prove it was just her imagination, she tore down the wallpaper. Behind the plaster, she discovered nails, scratches, and fragments of words carved into the wood. Help us. That night, the voices screamed. Shadows formed in the corne