The Ghost’s Diary

It was the attic that drew me in. I had been exploring the old house when I found the dusty journal tucked away under a pile of forgotten books. The pages were yellowed with age, the ink faded, but the words—strangely—seemed to shift as I read them. I didn’t know what to make of it. My fingers traced the letters, and I could swear the words changed under my touch. Then, to my surprise, the page flipped, as if a wind had blown through the room. I turned around, but the window was closed. And that’s when I heard it. A soft whisper, like a voice from the past, filling the air around me.