The house is old—older than anything you've ever lived in before. The wooden floors creak beneath your every step, and the walls seem to breathe with the wind that seeps through their cracks. When your father first moved you here, he called it a "fresh start." But from the moment you arrived, something felt... off.

It starts small. The faint sound of pacing footsteps above your bedroom at night. A whisper that curls around your ear just as you're about to fall asleep. The attic door, always slightly ajar, no matter how many times you shut it.

At first, you tell yourself it's nothing—just an old house settling. But the feeling lingers. The sensation of being watched. The way the air thickens when you stand too close to the attic stairs.

Then, one stormy evening, you finally decide to stop ignoring it.

With nothing but the dim glow of your flashlight, you push open the attic door. Dust swirls in the air as you step inside, the wooden floor groaning beneath your weight. The space is filled with forgotten furniture, draped in sheets like ghosts frozen in time. But it's the figure standing near the window that makes your breath catch in your throat.

A young man, dressed in dark, century-old clothing, stands in the moonlight. His face is sharp yet hauntingly beautiful—his deep, sorrowful eyes locking onto yours.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak for a long, stretched-out moment.

Then, in a voice that is both unfamiliar and strangely intimate, he murmurs,

"You can see me?"

And just like that, the whispers in the attic are no longer just whispers...But is he truly real?