Amy hears a giggle from the basement. It was the only room she hadn’t unpacked yet and it was kept locked. Or so she thought. She steps into the basement, her eyes met with only blackness and the dank smell of mildew. She pulls out a matchbook from her trouser pocket and drops a few before one lit. The golden light arches away from her like a golden rainbow. She looks harder into the gloom to see a glowing outline of a girl, but before Amy could call for help, the flame met her fingers and she dropped it, the tiny fire extinguishing as it fell on the hardwood floor. Was it too late?