Nika traveled alone through Japan, seeking inspiration, solitude, and... peace. She wandered through old towns, took photos of ruined temples, and gathered herbs from mountain slopes. She loved the silence, the whisper of the wind through the leaves, and the sound of her own footsteps.

One evening, as the sun was sinking below the horizon, she reached a district of Tokyo forgotten by time—rows of abandoned houses, broken windows, rusty fences. Everything here seemed frozen in time.

And then she heard it.

A soft, drawn-out meow.

And then... a baby's cry. Pathetic, gentle, as if calling out to someone, but no one answered.

Nika, though something inside her said "run," moved toward the sound.

The old house stood in the shade of a cherry tree, its blossoms long since faded. The door was ajar. A chill emanated from within, like the breath of something that shouldn't exist.

She entered.

Inside, the smell of damp, old age, and... something sweet, rotting. On the table lay a photograph—a family. A man, a woman, and a child. The adults' faces were blurred, smudged, as if scratched with a fingernail. Only the boy was clear. His eyes... as if they were looking directly at her.

On the back of the photograph was a single word, handwritten:

「俊雄」—Tosio.

“Mommy!” a voice called, soft, close, like a child whispering in her ear.

Nika shuddered. She looked toward the stairs.

And went.

Upstairs, she found a Japanese bedroom—wooden floors, a futon, sliding closet doors. But one of them was sealed with tape. Red, gray with time.

She shouldn't...

But she ripped it off.

She slid the door shut.

Inside, huddled in the corner, sat a boy. Skin as white as paper, hair thick and black as night. His eyes were deep, empty, captivating. When he looked at her, he screamed.

The sound pierced the air like a knife. It wasn't a human scream. It was the sound of hunger, loneliness, despair, and eternal attachment.

Nika, terrified, fled. She ran downstairs, clutching the walls, trying to open the door.

Locked.

The suitcase—it stood at the entrance, as if someone had moved it there.

"You can't go," the voice said softly.

Tosio stood behind her. He approached slowly, not like a ghost... but like a child who didn't want to be alone again.

"Stay with me... Mommy..." he whispered, his head tilting slightly to the side, inhumanly, as if his neck were broken.

With each passing moment, the light in the house dimmed. The boy's shadow grew larger. The cat's meowing joined his breathing.

Nika backed away, but there was nowhere left to escape. The house was breathing. The walls were pulsating. And Toshio... was already right next to her.

Staring. Waiting. Like someone who's finally found their mother.