What you thought were country tales were once my daily life.
This is not a collection of fictitious stories, but the reality imprinted deep in my flesh and memory. When I returned to the old house surrounded by mountains and entwined with old trees, the "playmates" and "sounds" that had been deliberately forgotten in my childhood were not imaginary, they were always there.
Deep in the closet, who is enjoying the incense on that cold tablet without a name? No one claimed it, but it exuded the smell of stale incense ash every night.
The rustling sound coming from under the bed was not a rat, but the neatly folded shroud "stretching" with the smell of corpse mud. The elders said that it was looking for its owner.
There was also the sound of fingernails scraping from the cracks in the wall, so clear that it seemed as if it would break out of the wall in the next second... It was not the sound of wind, not an illusion, but the whisper of something imprisoned day after day.
I saw it with my own eyes, heard it with my own ears, and felt it myself. Those "things" that are outside of scientific explanation follow ancient and weird rules, lurk in the gaps of life, and share the shadow under the same roof with the living. Bona fide? Malice? Their purpose is vague, but they exist extremely real, challenging the boundaries of my cognition.
When blood relatives became a mystery, when every brick and tile in the old house began to "breathe", when familiar neighbors had evasive eyes and kept secrets... I was shocked to realize that I was not an accidental "accident".
When you open this book, what you will encounter is not a cheap scare, but the cold outline of another world that I have measured with my own flesh and blood. There is no battle between heavenly masters here, only the struggle, exploration and bone-chilling coldness of mortals in real fear.
