Before she died, grandma held my hand tightly, digging her nails into my flesh: "You can't even open the door to the west room until I die."
On the first seven nights, the whole village heard a knock on the door from the west room.
I leaned on the crack of the door and took a look - there were three "grandmas" sitting inside, all smiling at me.
One said: "Dear grandson, let grandma go out."
One said: "Don't listen to her, she's fake."
The last one said nothing, just wrote one word on the door panel with his finger:
Run.
