Hyunjin

I went to visit my grandmother for the New Year holidays. Her old house stood on the outskirts of the village—spacious, with high ceilings and creaky wooden floors. The rooms smelled of pine needles, candle wax, and warm apple pie.

On New Year's Eve, everyone went to bed early: my grandmother, aunt, and cousins. But I couldn't fall asleep. The clock showed 2:17, when my throat went dry. Quietly pulling on my robe, I went down from the attic to the first floor to get a glass of water.

The house seemed different at night: the shadows lengthened, the windows reflected the moonlight, and every step echoed softly. I was walking down the hallway when I suddenly felt something change. The air grew slightly thicker, as if before a thunderstorm.

Stopping at the stairs, I turned around.

He stood three steps behind.

Tall, with pale skin that shimmered like mother-of-pearl in the moonlight, his eyes flickered like coals in a dying fire—not menacing, but captivating. His black hair fell to his shoulders, and a barely perceptible smile played on his lips.