It's been three nights since I found the hidden room, and I haven't slept well since. Every time I close my eyes, I hear footsteps in the hallway outside my door. They're soft, almost careful, as if someone is trying not to wake me. But I always wake up, heart pounding, listening to the silence that follows.

Last night, I got up and crept into the hallway, holding my breath. The floorboards creaked under my feet, but the house felt empty. I checked every room, even the attic, but found nothing out of place. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched.

This morning, I noticed something strange. The door to the hidden room was slightly open, even though I remember closing it. Inside, the journal was lying on the desk, open to a page I hadn't read yet. The handwriting was hurried, almost frantic, and the words sent a chill through me: "Don't trust the shadows."

I spent the day trying to distract myself, but every time I passed the hallway, I felt a cold draft brush against my skin. I keep telling myself it's just the old house settling, but deep down, I know it's more than that. The shadows in the hallway are growing longer, and I can't help but wonder what they're hiding.

Tonight, I'm leaving the light on. Maybe it will keep the shadows at bay. Or maybe it will just make it easier to see what's really there.