He stepped closer.
That’s when she saw the key in his hand—old, darkened, stained with something time had not erased.
“My children didn’t die,” he said softly. “I couldn’t let them go.”
Her breath caught.
“They’re still here,” he continued. “And now… you will be too.”
He slid the key into the lock.
The door opened with a groan that echoed through the house.
A smell rushed out—stale, heavy, unnatural.
The light flicked on.
And María understood, too late, that the cries she’d heard were not coming from living children at all.
They were echoes.
Memories trapped in the dark.
And the truth waiting in that room was far worse than death.
The Truth Nobody Expected
The room was full of dolls. Dozens and dozens of dolls the size of real children, sitting in small chairs, wearing real children’s clothes.
But these were not ordinary dolls.
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