Edinburgh’s winding closes—narrow, shadowy alleyways—were said to be haunted by secrets as old as the city’s stones. Moira donned her long green coat, flashlight in hand, and descended the steep, echoing steps of Mary King’s Close. She’d spent years listening to tales of headless drummers, weeping widows, and lost children. But tonight, the mist seemed thicker, the silence heavier. Guided by a map inked with invisible symbols, Moira passed through cold walls into hidden chambers where spectral figures waited. Each ghost told a fragment of an old story: a merchant wronged, a poet who vanished, a child searching for a lost toy. By piecing together their tales, Moira realized the spirits were bound by one regret—no one remembered their names. At the heart of the deepest close, Moira read the names aloud from her map, and the ghosts shimmered with color, finally freed to dance in the night air. The city felt lighter. Every evening after, Moira returned to listen, record, and honor the hidden voices. Edinburgh’s haunted closes were never silent again, and Moira’s own story became part of their living legend.