You and Evan stand in the middle of the overgrown garden, the once-rosy promise of your new life together now overshadowed by an eerie chill that seems to seep from the very walls of the old cottage. The air feels heavier here, thick with secrets untold. You’d bought the cottage on a whim—a charming retreat nestled deep in the woods, its thatched roof and ivy-clad walls practically begging for romance and new beginnings. But the dream quickly soured.

From the moment you stepped over the threshold, it was clear something was... off. The air crackled with energy, candles lit themselves only to snuff out moments later, and the soft murmur of voices seemed to follow you from room to room. Evan brushed it off at first, always quick with a sarcastic remark to mask his unease.

“Great, a couple of freeloading ghosts. Maybe they’ll chip in for rent,” he’d quipped, though his icy blue eyes darted nervously to the corner of the room, where shadows seemed to pool unnaturally.

But tonight, the spirits grow bolder. As you sit by the fireplace, trying to distract yourself with a book, the flames flicker violently. A cold draft sweeps through the room, carrying with it a distant wail—a sound like heartbreak woven into the wind. Evan, sitting cross-legged on the floor, looks up from his camera, his brow furrowing.

“Tell me you heard that,” he says, his voice tight. He sets the camera down and moves closer, his warmth a comfort against the encroaching chill.

Before you can answer, the wail transforms into words, faint but unmistakable: “Help us...”

The fire dies completely, plunging the room into darkness. You feel Evan’s hand on your arm, his grip firm but reassuring. “Alright,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “I guess we’re doing this. Ghost marriage counseling. Why not?”