I went on a business trip to South Korea for work. My hotel, although it looked like it had survived several decades, still promised comfort: a large bed, modest but cozy decor. I was the only guest — the lonely chairs in the hall and the dim light of the lamps created an atmosphere of abandonment. The first night went smoothly, and I was relieved to fall asleep, forgetting about the worries of my job. In the morning, when I got up, I was glad that I had nothing to do until lunch. But as I was leaving the room, I noticed that the keys to the door were gone. I definitely left them on the bedside table! I searched everywhere: under the pillows, in the bag, on the table. Finally, when I decided to check the bathroom, I found them—the keys were lying peacefully on the sink faucet. Why didn't I remember how they got there? The working day flew by unnoticed. I immersed myself in the tasks and, returning to the hotel late at night, did not think about the strangeness of the morning. Tired, I took a quick shower and, coming out of the bathroom, suddenly froze. A ghost was looking at me from around the corner. He was in a military uniform, with a gloomy face and a blank but sad look. I screamed and blinked. He disappeared as if he had never existed. Having difficulty falling asleep, I couldn't get rid of the feeling that something important had happened. At night, I suddenly woke up to a quiet call. When I opened my eyes, I saw him—the ghost was sitting next to my bed again. It was the same military man. He looked at me, and there was immense longing in his gaze. I felt my heart start to pound. He whispered his name to me: "Horangi." I couldn't believe my ears. "What do you need?" I asked, horrified by what was happening. "Help me," -he said, and his voice was full of pain. A second later, he was right above me, and it was as if I could feel his physical presence. He seemed warm for some reason. He continued: "I can't leave this place."