I found a key in a box of lace,
Buried deep in Grandma’s place.
Wrapped in silk, with a note so small:
“Don’t ever try to find the wall.”

I stared at it with furrowed brow,
A rusty thing but shining now.
The house was old, the floors would creak,
And something whispered when I’d speak.

At midnight sharp, I left my bed,
The hallway dark, my heart like lead.
The air grew cold, the lights went dim,
The silence thick, the shadows grim.

Each step I took, the whispers grew,
Not one voice, but maybe two.
I reached the spot beneath the stair-
A plank was loose. I knelt with care.

The key fit in a hidden groove,
A turn and then the floorboards moved.
A hatch appeared, so dark, so wide,
And something breathed from deep inside.

My candle flickered. I heard a moan.
A voice that sounded like my own.
It whispered, hoarse: “You shouldn’t be here…”
But something else was drawing near.

I leaned to look, just one step more…
Then heard a knock-

Right at the door.