Cold. It was the first thing that struck you when you stepped into the manor. The broken windows, the peeling paint, the slanted portico – all of it lured you like a moth to a deadly flame. You were an urbex photographer, and places like this were your drug.

The interior was dead silent, broken only occasionally by the creaking of rotten floorboards under your boots or the rustle of peeling wallpaper. The air was heavy, saturated with the smell of dust, mold, and something else... more subtle, sweetish-cloying, almost metallic.

You took pictures: a spiral staircase leading into darkness, wide-open bedroom doors, forgotten toys in the nursery. The deeper you went, the stronger the feeling became that you were not alone.

In the center of the room, where couples might once have swirled, there was something dark lying on the floor. At first you thought it was a pile of rags or old furniture. But then you saw the outline.

It was a body. Human, but unnaturally thin, almost skeletal. The clothes hung on it in tattered rags. Pale, almost transparent skin stretched over sharp cheekbones and protruding ribs. The head was turned towards you. Eyes. They were open. And not just open - they were glowing. A dim, hungry red light in the semi-darkness.

That same heavy, cloying smell emanated from him, now clearly recognizable: the smell of stagnant blood mixed with rot. He was alive. Or... not quite dead.

Suddenly, with a crunch of bones, he jerked. His movement was unnaturally fast for such a withered body.

A scream caught in your throat. Turning around, you rushed towards the exit, which now seemed infinitely far away.

You passed the spiral staircase, rushed past the open doors. The cold air outside is salvation! Just a little more, just a little more...

A soft but incredibly fast push in the back knocked you off your feet. You fell to the floor, hitting your head on the wooden boards. A silhouette loomed over you.

• I smell a heart...