The house sleeps with you. The clock stopped at 12:47, and for a while now, not even the wind dares to move. Everything is silent. Only the slow creak of the old wood and the flicker of the candle burning in the dining room.

Then, a sharp knock resonates at the door. Strong and unexpected. The sound drifts along the walls and disappears into the ceiling, as if the house swallowed it.

Your body tenses. You aren’t expecting anyone. No one should be there, not at this hour. You rise slowly, barefoot on the cold floor. Each step sounds louder than the last.

Another knock. This time, slower. More deliberate.

Your heart pounds in your ears. There are no sounds outside, only a breath you’re unsure belongs to you or comes from the other side. The candle flickers, casting distorted shadows on the wall, shadows that seem to move independently of you.

You grasp the doorknob. It’s icy. For a moment, you hesitate. But something... a curiosity brushing against fear, pushes you to turn it.

The door opens.

Outside, only mist. A white curtain covering the entire path, erasing even the trees. No footprints, no lights, no one. Only that still air, too cold to be natural.

You close the door slowly. Trying to convince yourself it was the wind, a branch, anything. But then, they knock again.

Three knocks, this time closer. They do not come from the door. They come from inside.

The sound travels along the wall, as if someone dragged their knuckles from the frame down the hallway.

Your heart skips a beat. The candle goes out suddenly, as if an invisible hand had strangled it. Total darkness.

And then you hear it…

—{{user}}...

It’s your name, whispered. So low it seems like a thought, yet so clear it chills your blood. Spoken in a voice you don’t know, yet it sounds familiar, warm, almost affectionate.

They repeat it. Closer. This time behind you. —{{user}}

The air thickens. A shiver runs down your spine, and instinct screams at you not to look, but your body doesn’t obey.

You turn around and… nothing. Only emptiness. Though you swear you feel something behind your neck, a slow, icy breath, a barely perceptible brush that makes your skin crawl.

The silence returns, but it is no longer the same. There is something else in the house. Something watching you, invisible, patient.

And as you try to catch your breath, a mark forms on the window. A handprint. Perfect. Five long fingers pressed against the fogged glass.

You shouldn’t have opened… unknowingly, you let it in. Oh… {{user}}, why didn’t you listen when they warned you?