Him Chan sighed as he tossed his suitcase on the bed with a heave and coughed as a cloud of dust flew up from the leather baggage.

“Dang,” he muttered, shaking his head at the lack of cleanliness of Manager Hwang's trunk and started to unpack. As he glanced around the room for a closet, with his arms full of underwear and socks – he caught sight of a wardrobe.

He hesitated, then laughed to himself.

“Him Chan-yah, you're being paranoid. Just because the house is old doesn't mean that there'll be skeletons in the ward...” he yanked open the wardrobe and almost gagged as a strange smell penetrated his sensitive nostrils. In his desperation, he kicked the door close and boxers flew everywhere.

“Jaysus, did something die in there?” he cursed and d around for his socks, which had rolled under the bed. He pulled himself down to the floor and his fingers felt around for the cotton material, as he kept his eyes at the ceiling in case he didn't like what he saw. Something that felt suspiciously like spiderwebs brushed against his skin and his arm twitched aggressively, resulting in his hand crashing upwards against the planks supporting the mattress on the wooden bed. Something fell off from the structure and clapped on his hand quickly and he gave a squeal of pain.

“Ow, what the...!” he pulled his arm out and something fell out from under the bed along with his withdrawal of his hand.

It was a book.

Cursing, he gave the book a hateful stare and then, his glare turned into a curious glance.

He picked up the dusty-clad material and blew the dirt of it cautiously. Then...

It was a photo album.

Then, a cold hand clasped on his shoulder, like a claw on a soon to be slaughtered victim. Him Chan spun around quickly, dropping the book.

It was Jiima.

He heaved a sigh of relief.

“I'm sorry if I scared you, but I forgot to warn you about the wardrobe,” she said softly, “you see, the smell has been there since the previous owner left, and I can't seem to be able to remove it.”

“Oh, that's okay.” he replied and she smiled at him as she went back to her cleaning.

He picked up the album again and flicked through the pages. To his surprise, it only comprised of three photos and they were all in black and white.

To sum that all up, they were pictures of people sleeping.

“Jiima, what's this? Who would take photos of sleeping people?” Him Chan asked and Jiima looked up from her cleaning. Her eyes widened slightly as she stared at the album in Him Chan's hands. There was a kind of strange light in her eyes.

“Mr. Kim, that's no ordinary photo album,” she said slowly, “that's a book of the dead.”

Him Chan dropped it with a clatter and stared with wide eyes at the housekeeper.

“Huh?”

“People in the olden days took pictures of the departed in hope that they would resume roaming the portraits after death.” she explained as she picked up the album gingerly, “these people were once the masters of this house.”

“That's sick,” Him Chan declared, as he peered through her shoulder at the pictures, “that's horribly sick.”

“This man was the founder of this Manor, and the grandfather of the latest owner,” Jiima said, pointing at one of the photographs and flipped the page, “these are his children.”

“All dead?” Him Chan asked incredulously and Jiima smiled.

“This book had been hidden here for a hundred years now, Mr. Kim.”

Him Chan looked thoughtful for a minute, then perked up in interest.

“Say, you've been working here for ages, why don't you tell me about the previous owners?”

“You can find it in the papers, darling.”

“Lazy.”

Jiima laughed at Him Chan's puffed up cheeks and sighed to herself.

“Well, it's not a pretty story.”

“I've got time for that.”

And so, she told him.

*

Yongguk turned away from the sight of the maknaes fooling around and rubbed his eyes tiredly as he stared out of the window. The trees were packed around the bungalow and the fallen leaves due to autumn had not been raked. The fence had been mended and patched, but not a slightest hint of paint remained on the wooden planks.

The house stood tall and in the midst of silence, as he watched the red sun begin to dip into the outlines of Mount Chulma.

Aside from the laughing made by the younger members, he could feel the quietness of the surroundings.

The still trees.

The drooping grass.

The absent birds.

The cold mist which had started sticking to the windows.

Everything was eerily quiet.

He rubbed at the windows, but it had fogged from the outside. Just as he was about to turn away from the window...

Someone breathed down his neck.

He spun around and stared at the empty wall behind him, heart pounding. Jong Up and Zelo had left the room, and their laughing was now distant. A bead of sweat trickled down his neck, and left shivers down his spine as they trailed down his torso like the of a sharp nail.

Then, he heard it.

Yongguk felt his own sweat turn cold.

Breathing.

Haa...

Haa...

Haa...

They were everywhere. He spun around twice, thrice his head spinning in a circle before...

His eyes rested on the window again. His breathing sped up until he could hardly inhale anything. His fingers twitched and his muscles throbbed.

Someone was out there.

Red dress.

Cold eyes.

Pale flesh.

He felt himself choke on nothing and his heart threatened to burst as he stared into the eyes of the girl. He wanted to run, but he felt weak to the skin.

No...

Please no...

Then, for the first time since as long as he could remember...

He heard her speak.

“Why,” she rasped in a voice that signified pain; and Yongguk thought he was going to faint, “of all the places, why hereeee....?”

Then, the window fogged up again.

The night had come.