Tucked away in the corner of an old mansion, beneath the crumpled heaps of rotting wallpaper and insect burrow shavings, was a hole. Despite the grime, termites, age; the hole never grew nor disappeared, remaining a perfect spherical indent with each year that passed. It was a clean cut hole, even with the blankets of dust, and if you ran your finger across it you would find that the inside incision was smooth.

I used to come to this old mansion, relishing in the creaks of the floorboards and the moans of the skeleton. I was perfectly alone in this mansion, alone to explore and marvel at the curiosities this relic had to offer. The most curious thing I found happened to be the hole.

I wiped the dust away with each visit to peer at the oddity, unable to tell how such an even cut was made. I would peer down the hole in hopes to see what was beneath, for it was not stone nor wood on the other side. It was long enough for me to stick my finger through and wiggle it to and fro without brushing whatever lay beyond.

The hole had a strange attraction to it unlike any other occurrence I had witnessed before. It was as if something was calling to me from the other side, bewitching me without a voice. For no wind nor sound traveled through this hole, no song to draw me to the edge to take yet another glimpse. Yet it consumed my every waking dream, conjuring a near obsessive vision of an answer waiting for me in the darkness, just beyond my reach. Only my curiosity led me to return again and again.

The day something changed, there was a storm. I was soaked to the point of dripping little pools of water that collected with each step I took, unwilling to return in such weather. Still, my hunger for answers drew me back, and I gazed through the hole once again.

The space was as dark as always, yet the air was electric, like something behind was waiting for me. I blinked, allowing my pupils to adjust to the light.

I couldn’t be sure, but for a moment I thought I saw two eyes looking back at me. The ghost of the sclera was so faint it may have been my imagination, and the matching smile was even more obscure. It widened into a crescent, its soft white as pure as moonlight and broader than my own hand.

For a moment, it was just me and the disembodied face.

I blinked once, twice, and then it was gone.

At that moment, it was as if the spell that bound me to the hole was broken. I stumbled back from the wall and nothing but disgust curled up within me. I left the mansion without a second glance, shivering and wishing for a clear sky.

The next day, when I returned somewhat unwillingly, the hole was gone.