"I don't think it's rats, sonny", revealed the exterminator that my father had called in earlier. "They ain't going for the trap or the poison."

Ever since we had bought this eerie house on the edge of a cemetery our nights had been constantly invaded by the repetitive scratching from down this corridor.

As I stared out of the windows over the graveyard, watching the early mist stirring and flowing around the graves, I pondered over exactly what could be causing the unusual sounds.

I turned to Matt, the exterminator. "What should we do?" I asked. He pointed to an old bookcase. "Shift that. See what’s behind it".

Come to think of it, the scratches did seem to come from behind the bookcase. So, mustering unearthly strength, Matt and myself moved the antique along the wall.

To our surprise, when we examined the uncovered wall, there was a door there. Matt tried the handle. "Locked", he said.

That night I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows of clouds drifting eerily across it. "What is behind that door?" I asked myself.

I had little time to answer my question before I drifted off to sleep. For a short time. I was awoken at the strike of midnight by a cold draft lapping at my feet.

I sat up with a start to see a light mist standing by my door. I reached for my glasses, my hand ambling and knocking over my light, placing them on the end of my nose. Slowly the mist sharpened.

The fog had features, and without better knowledge, it resembled a young girl. She was walking, no, floating towards me, carrying a box.

Swallowing my fear, I plucked up courage to talk to the apparition. "W-What do you want?" I stuttered. She stopped moving. "Peace" was the only word she uttered before evaporating in front of me.

I could not rest until I investigated. I slowly walked along the corridor, warily and wearily scanning the graveyard for any movement.

I averted my gaze over to the bookcase, bathed in moonlight. I walked to the front of the bookcase, scanning the tomes.

My examining finger came to rest on one titled "The Locked Door" - a name that struck me as apt. I took out the dusty volume, blew off the cobwebs and opened it.

To my surprise it was hollowed out, with a key slotted in. I removed the key and placed it in my sweaty palm. I slowly edged my way to the door, and placed the antique key in the door, cautiously turning it in the lock, which gave a satisfying click.

I opened the door with hesitation, afraid of what may be inside.

My heart was now beating too quickly. I looked behind the door and realised how I was going to give the girl peace - By burying her bones, which lay before me.

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