In the quiet town of Elmsworth, where the trees whispered secrets and the wind carried forgotten lullabies, there stood an old building known only as the Hollow House. It was never officially named, but its presence was felt by all who passed it. Built in the 1800s, it had once been a school for orphans, but after a fire that left no survivors, it was abandoned. The town elders claimed the fire was started by a child, though no one could say which one. The Hollow House sat at the edge of the woods, its windows like hollow eyes staring into the distance. Over the years, it became a place of curiosity and fear. Children dared each other to touch the rusted gate, while adults avoided the area altogether. No one knew why, but the air around the house felt different—thicker, heavier, as if the very atmosphere resisted being disturbed. One autumn evening, a young woman named Lila found herself wandering the outskirts of town. She had recently moved to Elmsworth to escape the noise of the city, seeking peace and quiet. But the silence here was too deep, too still. As she walked past the woods, she noticed the Hollow House standing in the distance, its silhouette dark against the fading light. Something pulled her toward it. Not a force, not a voice, but a feeling—a whisper of memory she couldn’t quite place. She hesitated, then stepped through the broken gate. The ground crunched beneath her boots, and the air grew colder with every step. The door creaked open without her touching it, as if it had been waiting. Inside, the air smelled of dust and decay. Faded murals adorned the walls, depicting children playing in a sunlit field. But something about them was wrong—too still, too perfect. A grand staircase led upward, its banister warped with age. Lila climbed slowly, her breath shallow, her heart pounding in rhythm with the echo of her footsteps. She reached the second floor and found a long hallway lined with doors. Each one was slightly ajar, as if someone had just left. One door, however, was closed. A soft hum filled the air, almost like a lullaby. She reached out and touched the knob. It was warm, pulsing slightly, as if it were alive. As she opened the door, a wave of cold washed over her. Inside was a small room, bare except for a single rocking chair in the center. A child’s doll sat on the floor beside it, its head tilted unnaturally. Lila stepped inside, and the door closed behind her with a soft click. The room was silent, save for the faint sound of a lullaby. She turned around and saw a figure in the corner—a small child, sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching her. The child didn’t move, didn’t blink, just stared. Lila felt her throat tighten, but she forced herself to stay calm. “Hello?” she whispered. The child tilted its head, then smiled. It was a strange, knowing smile, as if it had been waiting for her all along. Lila took a step back, but the door wouldn’t open. The lullaby grew louder, more insistent. The walls began to pulse, the shadows stretching and shifting. The child stood up, its movements slow and deliberate, and walked toward her. Then, suddenly, the room went dark. When the light returned, the child was gone. The doll was now sitting in the rocking chair, its head swaying gently. Lila ran to the door, but it was locked. Panic surged through her, but she forced herself to breathe. She looked around again and noticed something new: a small, faded photograph on the wall. It showed a group of children, all smiling, their faces blurred. In the center stood a girl with bright blue eyes, identical to the one she had seen. Lila stumbled out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her. The hallway was empty, the lullaby gone. She ran down the stairs, out the front door, and into the night. The wind howled as she fled, the Hollow House behind her, silent and watching. Days later, Lila returned to the town, but the Hollow House was gone. The land was bare, as if it had never existed. No one remembered it, no records of it. Only Lila knew what had happened, and she kept the secret buried deep within her. But sometimes, when the wind blew just right, she swore she heard a lullaby echoing through the trees, and in the distance, a child’s laughter.