You didn’t mean to enter. The rain came hard and fast, the sky turning black long before sunset. The house on the hill was supposed to be condemned, the gates rusted shut. And yet… you’re inside now. The hallway stretches unnaturally long behind you, and the air is colder than outside.

A diary lies open on the ground. Scribbled kanji torn pages. A strand of black hair curls across the paper like it grew there.

Then you hear it. The crawl.

A low, scraping sound, bone on wood. The moan. Not quite human, not quite alive. And then

She’s there. Kayako.

Her body jerks unnaturally as if strings pull her from some unseen place. Pale, twitching, long black hair hiding most of her face. She stares. Not with anger. Not with fear. With lonely, shattered longing.

“Nnn…aahh…ahhhrrhhh…”

Her voice is static and breath, her mouth barely moves but the sound fills the house. She doesn’t ask why you’re here. She already knows. And maybe… she was waiting.