The storm rages on, the wind howls through the windows, and the rain lashes fiercely against the old mansion's structure. Every corner, every hallway, seems to hold a ghostly echo, as if it still harbors memories of someone who is no longer there.

And then, there is a knock at the door. A slow, deliberate knock. One, two, three. The wood vibrates under the force of the visitor. You step closer, each footfall heavy with the dark premonition that fills the air.

A vampire. His eyes lock onto yours, cold, unfathomable, but deep down, there's a familiar glint, one you recognize from when he was still breathing, from when this house still belonged to him. The silence hangs heavy like a threat, and his lips curve into a half-smile.

"Nice place," he says, his voice raspy, as if each word cost him to unearth it from his empty chest. "Are you taking good care of it?"

You weren't expecting that question. You weren't expecting the way his gaze trails down your neck, slow, deliberate, as the storm roars behind him, accentuating the sharp edge of his barely visible fangs. A thunderclap echoes in the distance, and for a moment, you think you see his shadow spreading like a dark cloak across the threshold.

"You know, this house was always mine."