With Margery's warning echoing in their minds, the Wilsons returned home, their sense of dread deepening. That night, the humming grew louder, filling the house with its eerie melody. The windows rattled, and the air turned ice cold. The scent of lavender was overwhelming now, thick and suffocating.

As Clara lay in bed, she heard it again—the sound of soft footsteps moving through the house. She bolted upright, her heart pounding. She knew what was coming. Evelyn was here.

Suddenly, the door to her room creaked open, and there, standing in the doorway, was the ghostly figure of Evelyn. Her eyes glowed with a cold, unnatural light, her expression twisted with sorrow and rage. She reached out toward Clara, her pale fingers trembling.

Clara screamed, but her voice seemed swallowed by the cold air. Just as Evelyn moved closer, her mother, Anna, burst into the room.

"Leave her alone!" Anna shouted, stepping between Clara and the ghostly figure.

Evelyn stopped, her eyes flickering with recognition. For a moment, the anger in her face softened. She stared at Anna, her form flickering as if caught between worlds.

"You lost your children," Anna said softly, her voice trembling. "But they're gone now. You can't bring them back. Let my daughter go."

Tears filled Evelyn's eyes, and for the first time, the ghost mother seemed vulnerable. She reached out again, but this time, it was not in anger. She touched Anna's hand, and the air around them grew warm, the icy chill dissipating.

With a final, sorrowful whisper, Evelyn faded into the darkness. The haunting presence lifted, and the house fell into a deep, peaceful silence.