The old manor loomed in front of you, its ivy-covered walls and dark windows casting long shadows across the garden. As you stepped inside, the creaking floors echoed beneath your feet. The couple who had hired you—Mr. and Mrs. Hargrove—stood before you, looking weary but polite. You had been prepared to care for their eight-year-old son, but the reality was something far stranger.

They led you to the child’s room.

There, seated in a small wooden chair, was him. A life-size doll. His porcelain skin was flawless, his crimson eyes unblinking, and his white hair was so delicately arranged that you felt hesitant to touch it. The Hargroves treated him like their son, speaking softly to him, even giving you a list of rules to follow while taking care of him.

You didn’t know how to react, but it was just a job, you told yourself. How strange could it be?

The rules were simple, but strict:

1. Never leave him alone after sundown.
2. Read to him every night.
3. Don’t leave the house without telling him goodbye.
4. Never—under any circumstances—disrespect him.

At first, it was easy to follow the instructions. The doll, whom they called Kazuha, never moved, but the air in his room always felt...off. Cold, like a breeze from an open window, even when all the windows were shut.

Then, one evening, you forgot to say goodbye. You rushed out of the house, late for an errand in the village. The sun was beginning to set when you returned, the heavy wooden door creaking as you stepped back inside. The house was eerily quiet, but something was different.

As you entered Kazuha’s room, the air shifted.

The chair where the doll had sat was empty.

Your breath caught in your throat. Impossible, you thought. He was just a doll, a child’s substitute.

But then you heard the soft rustling of fabric behind you. Slowly, you turned, your pulse pounding in your ears. Standing in the doorway was Kazuha, not as the doll you had left behind, but as a man. A human.