The wind was unusually cold that night.
Arman stood near the broken window of the old village house. The moonlight slowly entered through the cracked glass and touched the dusty wooden floor.
He did not believe in ghosts.
But something inside his heart told him that tonight was different.
"Who is there?" Arman whispered.
There was only silence.
Suddenly, he heard a sound.
Tap… tap… tap…
The sound was coming from the dark stairs behind him.
Arman turned slowly. His heartbeat was getting faster. The old house smelled like wet soil and something unknown.
"Maybe it is just the wind," he said to himself.
But then, a woman's soft voice came from upstairs.
"Why did you come back… Arman?"
Arman froze.
No one in this village knew his name.
His hands started shaking.
"I am alone here," Arman said loudly.
The woman laughed quietly.
"People who are truly alone do not need to say it."
The candle on the table suddenly went out.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Then Arman felt something breathing behind his neck.
Slowly, cold air touched his ear.
"Leave this house before midnight… or you will become one of us."
Arman did not move.
Because he knew one terrible truth.
He had visited this house before.
But he could not remember when.
Or why.