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The floorboards creaked, not from the wind or the shifting of the house, but from a rhythmic, intentional pressure from below. Something was trying to get out, or perhaps, it was simply waiting for an invitation to be seen. James took a deep breath, the copper taste coating his tongue, and prepared to tell the story that would either purge the house or consume them all. The silence was over, and as the first words left his lips, the shadows in the corner finally began to recede, yielding to the terrible, necessary light of the truth.
