A ParaHouse Ghost Story: Steel and Silence

The locket arrived in a plain brown box, no return address, postmarked from a town whose name Eliza had never heard. Inside lay a silver oval no larger than a quail’s egg, its filigree blackened with age. When she pried it open, a single lock of auburn hair slid against her thumb like silk soaked in ice water. A note, written in violet ink, read only: Wear me if you dare to know.

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