Elena: I swear I did not mean to drop the ring down here, Mr. Carter. I was just cleaning the mopboard.

David: Don't worry about it, Elena. Just keep holding the light steady. Toby, step back a little bit, buddy.

Toby: Daddy, why is there a gap between the wooden planks? Is something under the house?

David: It’s just old floorboards, son. This house was built back in the nineties. Let me get the claw hammer from the tool bag.

Elena held the flashlight low against the pristine white oak flooring of the suburban Dallas foyer. She had worked as the family housekeeper for two years, knowing every inch of the marble tiles and rich hardwood, but she had never noticed the slight, loose edge of the plank near the baseboard. David wedged the metal pry bar under the seam, applying pressure until the wood gave a sharp, echoing crack.

Elena: Oh my goodness. Look at that.

David: What in the world is a piece of lace doing wedged in the subfloor framing?

Toby: Is that a veil? Like a bride wears?

David reached down into the narrow, dark opening, his fingers wrapping around a dusty, fine silk fabric. He pulled slowly, expecting a small fragment, but yard after yard of hand-stitched white silk came pouring out into the bright daylight of the foyer. At the end of the long veil was a pearl-embellished headband, heavy and stained with age, but unmistakably distinct. David stared at the pearls, his face draining of color as his breath hitched in his chest.

David: This belongs to Evelyn. This was her custom wedding veil.

Elena: Your wife’s veil? But... you said she packed her bags and left for New York four years ago?

David: She did. Her mother said she took everything. So why is her wedding veil hidden under the hallway floorboards?

Before Elena could answer, a hollow, scraping sound echoed from deep within the narrow cavity beneath the floor, followed by the faint, desperate tap of fingernails against wood.