Later that afternoon, I helped Stan pull them on. He giggled as I tugged them over his socks. They fit perfectly. But then — a faint crackling sound came from inside one of the shoes.
I frowned, slipped it off, and pressed on the insole. The sound came again — crisp and fragile. Curiosity turned to unease as I lifted the liner. Beneath it lay a folded piece of yellowed paper.
