The key fit perfectly. I found it yesterday, hidden inside the old grandfather clock that hasn't worked in years. It was taped to the back of the pendulum, just like the letter said it would be. And tonight, under the full moon, I finally understand why the girl with the red umbrella led me here.

The door is in the basement, behind a wall of old boxes. I never noticed it before, but now it's impossible to miss. The wood is dark and worn, with a lock that gleams in the moonlight streaming through the small window. My hands are shaking as I insert the key, but it turns smoothly, like it's been waiting for this moment.

The door opens to reveal a narrow staircase leading down. The air is cool and smells of old paper and lavender. At the bottom, I find a small room, perfectly preserved. There's a desk with a journal, a red umbrella propped in the corner, and a photograph on the wall. The girl in the photo is the same one I've been seeing on Maple Street. She's standing in front of this very house, smiling at the camera, the red umbrella in her hand.

The journal is filled with entries, all written in the same flowing script as the letter. As I read, pieces of the puzzle start to fall into place. The girl with the red umbrella was my great aunt, who disappeared one rainy night fifty years ago. But she didn't disappear she found a way to reach across time, to guide me here, to show me the truth about our family's past.

I don't know what happens next. The journal speaks of a choice I'll have to make, of a door that opens both ways. But for now, I'm sitting in this room, surrounded by the echoes of a story that's been waiting for me to find it. The girl with the red umbrella has led me home, and I'm ready to discover what comes next.