The Three Bells Behind the Hearth

The parlor is all polished oak, soot-stained lace curtains, and a grandfather clock that never seems to keep the same time twice. Brass filigree snakes through the walls like ivy, and when the party enters, one of the clock’s hidden ratchets gives a dry little click beneath the floorboards. Three small bells mounted over the mantel are marked by icon only, not text, and each time a hand is touched the room answers with a faint chime from somewhere inside the walls, as if the house itself is listening.