Rain poured from a gray sky, as if the entire sky were crying over this place. The Heelshires' enormous mansion stood on the edge of the forest, cut off from the world. Nika had arrived with a suitcase and hope – a job as a nanny in England, with a good salary, her own room and food. She felt like a new beginning, a chance to finally feel some peace.

But it soon became clear that the "child" she was supposed to care for… wasn't a child. The Heelshires, an elderly couple with stern faces and dull eyes, showed her a doll. The boyish porcelain face, dressed in an elegant suit, stared blankly. "This is our Brams," they said. Then they handed her a list of rules: wake at seven, dress, feed, kiss her on the forehead before bed, never leave her alone, never leave without permission.

Nika pretended to agree. She thought it was a quirk of grieving parents who had lost their son. When they left, she was left alone in the vast, cold house… with the doll.

The first few days were still bearable. She wandered around the mansion, reading books, sometimes putting the doll to bed as instructed. But at night, she heard sounds—something like shuffling, a soft thud, the creaking of boards. In the mornings, she found things out of place. Her clothes disappeared, food vanished from her plate, as if someone had actually eaten.

The food delivery man, a young man with a sad smile, whispered the truth to her one day: the Heelshires had a son who had died tragically. From then on, they treated the doll like a living child. But there was something more in the delivery man's eyes—as if he knew that was only half the story.

Nika began to feel she wasn't alone. A shadow in the mirror. An open book she'd left closed. Quiet footsteps, as if someone were passing just outside the wall. Then one evening, as she was gathering her things to leave, she saw him.

At the end of the hallway stood someone she couldn't quite grasp. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a dirty sweater, with dark, curly hair falling over a porcelain mask of a boy. A mask of Brams.

Her heart stopped for a second, then pounded. A soft whisper escaped her lips:

"God..."

The figure took a step forward. And then a soft, childish voice, so incongruous with the figure of a grown man, pierced the silence:

"Nanny..."

Nika stepped back, the suitcase falling from her hand. She understood. It wasn't a doll. It wasn't a ghost. It was him—the real Brams, who had never left this house. He lived in the walls, slipped through secret passages, spied on her.

"Leave me alone," she whispered.

Then his voice changed. The childlike tone cracked, replaced by a deep, masculine cry, filled with fury and despair. "You won't leave!"

Brams moved toward her, fast, inhumanly agile, like an animal raised in the dark. The boards shook under his weight, the echo echoing through the empty corridors.

Nika ran, feeling her heart rip through her chest. But she knew one thing – she wasn't running from the doll anymore. She was running from the man who had spent his entire life behind walls and who now loved her with a sick, obsessive love.