There’s something undeniably strange about secondhand things—an energy that clings, whispers that trail behind lace curtains, and cold spots that aren’t tied to faulty vents. You think you’re getting a good deal: a vintage photo, an antique shawl, a porcelain cat. But what if those items come with something… more? A shadow that moves without light. A face that shows up in photos you didn’t take. A voice that only speaks when you’re alone.

buried in the rubble is another story: one about a wealthy debutante, a swastika tattoo, and warnings that came too late.

Some things don’t want to be seen… but they still show up. In a flicker of motion at the edge of a stairwell. In the sound of knuckles tapping from inside the walls. In a face that looks familiar—until it doesn’t.