The rain was drumming against the tin roof of the townhouse when Julia decided to enter the attic of her new home for the first time. She was sixteen years old, a fan of old things and had always felt that objects had more to say than just collecting dust on shelves. She opened the creaky door and looked at the rows of dusty crates, the scattered books and the old mantel clock buried under a pile of bedspreads. The objects in the attic looked as if they hadn't seen the light for decades, and the air smelled of dust and history. She lifted the clock gently. It didn't work, but it attracted something strange - like a whisper inside the mechanism. Julia brushed her hair away from her face and rubbed the dial. In a flash she felt she was being watched. She glanced over her shoulder, but no one was there. Then the hands of the clock vibrated slightly. Julia stepped back, her heart racing. Then she heard a voice, quiet, metallic: "Finally someone can hear me." She dropped the clock almost to the floor. A moment later, another whisper sounded, this time from the cupboard in the corner: "If you open my door, you will find out the truth." Julia held her breath. Was she going mad? Was this place really speaking to her in whispers? There were more sounds in the room - the creaking of mattress springs, the pulsing tinkle of an old lamp. She took a deep breath. Her hand hovered over the wardrobe handle. She heard another voice - the quietest but most emphatic: "Not every secret should be revealed." Frightened but as intrigued as ever, Julia decided....