Adam, a thin old man with many wrinkles on his face, thick curly white hair, and a long beard, was cleaning the garden near his house. Suddenly, his eyes fell on the house in front. As soon as he looked at the roof of that house, he was surprised. Black crows were hovering over it.
"No! She can't come again. Many years ago, even after Emily's death, crows hovered over this house the same way. And now, again, black crows are circling—as if they're indicating someone's death," Adam thought to himself.
Suddenly, a memory from his past flashed through his mind, and his face was drenched in sweat. Just then, he heard a voice behind him.
"Uncle Adam! I need some help from you."
Startled, Adam snapped out of his thoughts, as if someone had woken him from a deep sleep. He slowly turned around and saw Max—a thin, 25-year-old young man with a light beard and a pointed nose—standing there, chewing gum. He had been rolling it around in his mouth for a long time, trying to swallow it.
"Oh, Max! Tell me, what do you need help with? By the way, what are you doing here right now? It’s almost time for you to be at college. Didn’t you go today?" Adam asked, throwing down the lawnmower and taking off his muddy gloves.
"I'm fine. But at college, some of my friends and I were playing pranks on the new students, and they reported us to the committee. So, we’ve been suspended for a week. I also need some money. Since I’m free this week, I thought I could do some work to earn a little. Actually, I came here for work. The caretaker of the house next door sold it to someone, and I’ve been assigned to move the stuff and help the new landlord. Also, you might get a complaint letter from my college again. You can sign it. I promise I won’t pull any more pranks," he said, bowing his head.
"You need more money? Just last week, you got a warning letter from your college, and I requested that they not expel you. I've told you so many times to stay away from those bad friends—I don’t like them at all. I remember your friend Michael always hanging out with spoiled kids. Are those the kind of people you call friends? You should know your parents are no longer alive. I’m your only guardian. I’m barely managing to pay your college fees. This kind of behavior reflects poorly on your upbringing. Why are you so bent on tarnishing your parents' image?" Adam cried.
"Please, not again. I just need more money. If you give it to me, I swear I won’t cause any more trouble at college. I already said I won’t talk to them again. I can take care of myself," Max said angrily, spitting out the gum he had been chewing.
"I don’t have any money right now," Adam said, placing a hand on Max’s shoulder.
Max abruptly pulled away, taking Adam by surprise. Then, without a word, he stormed off angrily.
Adam composed himself, and once again, his eyes drifted to the house in front. He began coughing violently until his eyes filled with tears. Wiping them away, he looked again at the nearby house.
"This sight is a sign of some bad omen… perhaps someone's death," Adam whispered.
While walking through the forest on the dirt road toward the house near the cemetery, Mila’s heart was beating fast. A strange restlessness and the memory of a strange dream hovered over her face. Perhaps she was already imagining the misfortune that was about to happen.
She looked at John. Suddenly, John looked back at Mila. As their eyes met, he smirked, then closed his eyes and mischievously pretended to kiss her on the lips with a wink.
“Don’t do this drama with me. Go do it with your personal secretary, Stacy. You stay with her even in the office. You talk to her on the phone for hours at home. Why do I feel something strange here? We shouldn’t have come. It’s as if death itself is calling us... slowly approaching. Death is waiting for us,” Mila muttered angrily.
“Are you saying something? I wish Stacy were with me right now, not you. I need to discuss an upcoming project with her,” John replied irritably. “What are you blabbering about? I’m a human, not a bat. The hearing range for humans is between 20 Hz to 20 kHz. Bats can hear even the slightest sound. You should be happy we got this property. We’ve taken a huge loan from the bank to buy it. We can’t abandon it now. I’ve arranged for all our stuff to be brought in another van. A helper will meet us at the house. I’ve spoken to the caretaker—he said the helper is professional and will unload everything properly.”
Hearing this, Mila rolled down the car’s side window and turned her head out angrily. John glanced at her, but she ignored him.
She stared at the tall, dense trees of the forest. Then, in front of them, appeared a two-storey house built in old-fashioned architecture. A small garden lay in front of it, and not far beyond was a lightly wooded area where a small cemetery stood.
Suddenly, Mila noticed a blurred image of a woman in black standing in the cemetery.
“Father William told you not to buy this house, didn’t he? He said some places carry such negativity that it never leaves. Places where tragedies have happened should be abandoned. Then why did you agree to buy this property?” Mila asked hesitantly.
“Look, I’m sorry, but I’m an atheist. I don’t believe in God. Even when I go to church with you, it’s only to make you happy. I’m not stupid enough to leave a good property just because of some superstition. And please don’t push me to become a parent either. I’m not ready to be a father. I’ve already got enough on my plate—I’m not looking to take on anything new right now," John said abruptly.
A heavy silence filled the car. Both were angry and ignored each other. Then, suddenly, the car jolted violently.
“John, wait! Maybe an animal came under the car,” Mila said. But John kept driving silently, without even looking at her.
“John doesn’t care,” Mila thought. “He doesn’t want to talk to me about anything.”
John finally stopped the car in front of the house. He turned off the engine, opened the door, and slammed it shut. He looked under the car—and saw blood on the tire. A lot of it. It looked as though not an animal, but a human, had been hit.
Frowning, he kicked the tire in frustration and walked ahead.
Just then, Max appeared and stood near John. John looked at Max’s slim figure with a hint of suspicion.
“Will you really be able to lift so much and put it all inside by yourself? The caretaker said the person helping us was very professional and strong. That’s why we didn’t arrange for another helper,” John said irritably.
“Sir, it’s almost night now. If you go looking for someone else, you won’t find anyone at this price. I’m ready to do all the work for very low pay. Don’t worry—I’ll unload everything and arrange it properly in the house. I’m willing to work the whole week and even clean the house. Please give me a chance,” Max said hesitantly.
John raised his eyebrows and gestured toward the van.
Max ran toward it with determination. As he approached the van, the driver gave him a strange smile. Looking at all the stuff inside, Max thought, “Oh no… this is going to be tough. But if I don’t pay Michael, he’ll kill me. I have to do this job.”
Meanwhile, Mila was staring at the house. It looked completely abandoned and desolate. Black crows hovered above the roof. Mila tried to calm herself. “The danger I’m imagining isn’t real. Nothing bad will happen here. This house is just like any other. It only seems scary because it’s in the forest and near a cemetery,” she told herself.
Suddenly, she looked up and saw a black shadow on the upper floor.
Terrified, she quickly looked away—and was shocked to see Adam standing right in front of her, staring at her.
“Why are you here? Do you know what happened in this house?” Adam asked.
“I’m... I’m here... actually I...” Mila stammered.
Just then, John arrived.
“Adam! How are you? Hey, when did you come? Mila, this is Adam—our neighbor. The caretaker told me about him. You don’t know him yet, but we should get to know each other. Adam, you must come over for dinner on Friday night,” John said with a soft smile.
Adam nodded slowly, still staring at Mila. Then, glancing sharply at the house, he looked over at Max, who was struggling with the boxes. He turned and gave John an angry look—but John walked away quietly.
“I always wanted a house like this—one that inspires me to write thrillers and suspense,” John said, smiling at Mila.
He took out a bunch of keys from his pocket and slowly opened the front door.
“Our upcoming project could bring us great fame and prestige. If it succeeds, we’ll pay off the loan soon. Yes, the house feels deserted now, but in a few days, it will feel like home,” John added. He cheerfully placed his hand on Mila’s shoulder and turned the key. The door creaked open loudly.
“Mila, come inside. Look—we got a fully furnished house. All the furniture is already here. I’ll call Stacy again to discuss the project and ask her to come here, but... she’s not answering. Strange. She visited this house too. I’ve tried calling and emailing, but there’s no response. I’ll also help Max,” he said.
Mila stepped into the house without saying anything. Strange pictures hung on the walls, and a narrow, stone staircase led upstairs. The rooms on the ground floor were spacious. In the front hall, a bright lamp glowed, lighting the room warmly.
As Mila began to climb the stairs, she noticed a peculiar painting of a woman. Suddenly, a stench filled the air—the smell of rotting meat, so strong it felt like a corpse was lying nearby. The moment the smell hit her, Mila’s health began to decline. She started coughing loudly. Her head felt heavy, her body weak, as if something were pulling her backward.
“Are you okay? Max, come here—I need help!” John shouted, catching Mila in his arms.
Max rushed over and helped support her.
“She’s just tired from the long journey. She needs rest,” Max said.
John nodded slowly. “Yes, you should rest. You’ve had a long day.”
“Yes, I’m feeling very weak... and so hot, like I have a fever,” Mila said, eyes closed, coughing hard.
“Max, quickly grab the medical box from that bag. Mila, take some medicine and lie down on the sofa,” John said, placing a hand on her forehead.
Max nodded and went to get the bag. Inside, he found a thick envelope filled with cash. Discreetly, he slipped it into his pocket. He also pulled out a water bottle, placed it on the table, and handed the medical box to John.
“Mila, take these medicines. You’ll feel better soon. I’ve also brought a can of cold wine—we’ll enjoy it later,” John said.
John and Max helped Mila onto the sofa. John pulled a thermometer from the box and handed it to her.
“Can you get me a warm blanket? I’m suddenly feeling cold,” Mila shivered.
John and Max both realized the room had become unusually cold.
“This place must be cold because of the forest nearby,” John thought.
He pointed toward the doors and windows, signaling Max to shut them. Max ran and closed everything tightly.
Just then, John heard breathing behind him.
He turned around.
No one was there.
He looked toward the window. The forest outside was completely deserted and desolate.
John took a thermometer out of the medical box and placed it in Mila's mouth. As soon as he removed it, both he and Max were shocked—there was blood on it. Alarmed, John tried to open Mila’s mouth, but it had become rigid and painful, as if he were touching stone. Suddenly, her mouth opened on its own.
John took out a flashlight from the medical box, turned it on, and shone it into Mila's mouth. But everything looked completely normal. There were no wounds or signs of injury. Seeing this, both John and Max were unnerved.
Setting the thermometer aside, John administered some medicine to Mila and opened the water bottle on the table, helping her drink. Max handed John a sheet from the luggage, and John covered Mila completely with it.
John and Max stepped a little away from her. John opened a packet of cigarettes and placed one between his lips. Max quickly pulled out a lighter from his other pocket. He tried to ignite it several times, but the lighter wouldn’t work. Frustrated, John crushed the cigarette in his hand and tossed it away. He snatched the lighter from Max and shoved it back into Max’s pocket.
Then John pulled out his wallet, took out some money, and handed it to Max.
"Come early tomorrow. There's still a lot of stuff to unpack and arrange," John said.
Max nodded, took the money with a smile, and happily left the house.
John walked out of the lobby into the corridor, where large portraits lined the walls. The pictures were of a couple, but their faces were obscured by black blotches. The rest of the image was clear.
"Maybe the picture got dirty from not being cleaned," John thought.
Then he noticed something strange—the woman in the portrait seemed to move ever so slightly, as if she were alive. John was startled.
"Maybe I’m just tired from the long trip," he reassured himself.
He opened the door to the room off the corridor and began organizing the belongings inside. He took off his clothes and placed them neatly in the cupboard, then arranged Mila’s belongings as well. Returning to the corridor, he lay down in a large, comfortable chair and began rocking gently.
Suddenly, John felt the urge to smoke again. He took out another cigarette and noticed a lighter on the table in front of him. He picked it up and tried lighting the cigarette—and to his surprise, it lit instantly. A smile spread across his face. He slipped the lighter into his pocket.
Moments later, John felt something crawling in his pocket. He reached in and pulled out the lighter—along with an insect crawling across it. He quickly threw it away.
John resumed smoking slowly. Then, without warning, the cigarette went out on its own. Puzzled, he tossed it onto the floor. But as he looked at it, he was stunned—the cigarette had reignited and was burning, releasing smoke.
"Why are you sitting here? I’ve been looking for you everywhere," Mila said, appearing suddenly. "If you’re here, then whose voice did I hear in the bathroom? Why aren’t you resting in the room?"
"I haven’t moved from here. You probably heard water dripping from a tap—it must have echoed in the silence and sounded like a voice. Why did you come out here? You’re not well; you should be resting."
Mila gave a faint smile but didn’t reply. When John touched her hand, he was startled—her body, hot with fever earlier, now felt ice-cold.
"Can I have a drink?" she asked and walked over to the luggage. Mila pulled out two cold beer cans, opened them both, and began drinking from each in turn. Suddenly, John felt a tug from the back of the chair, as if someone had pulled it. He looked behind him—no one was there.
Mila finished half of both cans and tossed them toward John. He caught them quickly. Mila then walked toward another room, a slight smile playing on her lips.
Inside the room, Mila stood under the ceiling fan, staring upward with a chilling smile, as if smiling at someone invisible. The fan began to spin violently fast.
Meanwhile, John took a sip from the can—but the beer tasted like mud. He set both cans on the table, repulsed, and then heard a strange noise coming from the nearby room. He rushed in and found Mila lying quietly on the bed.
He gazed at her with affection.
"Even though we have different views, it’s not right for me to treat Mila so coldly," he thought. "It’s been weeks since we’ve truly spoken. I barely talk to her anymore. She’s the only one trying to keep this relationship alive. She just wants my companionship.
Feeling remorseful, John closed his eyes.
The next night, Adam and Max came to the house for dinner. Mila opened the door and greeted Adam politely, but he just stared at her. Mila turned away, annoyed.
"What’s his problem with me?" she muttered.
Just then, John arrived, smiling at Max and Adam—but his expression turned strangely cold when he looked at Max.
"Thanks for accepting our invitation. But your wife didn’t come?" he asked.
"There’s nothing to thank me for. Meet Max—he’s my cousin’s son. His parents died in an accident, and I’m his legal guardian now," Adam said, wiping away a tear. "My wife had been seriously ill for a long time. She passed away, too."
"I’m very sorry to hear that. Dinner’s ready. Let’s eat," John replied softly.
An eerie silence fell over the dinner table. Everyone ate slowly. Adam kept staring at Mila.
"I’ve heard a lot of strange rumors about this house," he said suddenly. "It’s surprising that you bought it despite them. A woman died here—betrayed by her husband. Some say he killed her and left her to rot. But oddly, when the police investigated, they only found the bodies of the husband and another woman. The wife’s body was never found."
"The caretaker didn’t tell me anything about this," John said. "But I’m not concerned about rumors. I’m a writer. I was looking for a place that might inspire unusual ideas."
"Why did the husband kill her?" John asked abruptly, a strange impatience in his voice.
"The husband was having an affair. One day, both he and the other woman were mysteriously murdered. Later, the wife’s cousin, Stella, came to live here. She eventually committed suicide. The caretaker covered it all up. No one ever got the full story," Adam explained, glancing nervously at Mila.
Max’s face went pale with fear.
Silence fell again over the table. After dinner, Adam and Max left the house.
John locked the door, turned off the lobby lights, and went to the bedroom. Mila was already lying on her side of the bed. John turned off the lights and lay down on his side as well.
But then, Mila slowly opened her eyes. She had woken as if from a trance. A sharp headache struck her. She felt dizzy—then suddenly, it felt like someone was touching her neck. She turned her head—John was still lying on the other side of the bed.
Then, her entire body stiffened. She couldn’t move. Even though she was conscious, she was paralyzed. She heard heavy breathing nearby—someone was there on the bed with her.
Then, a strong weight pressed down on her stomach, as if someone had climbed on top of her. Mila shut her eyes tightly and began to pray.
Suddenly, the weight lifted. A strange lightness washed over her body. She slowly slipped into unconsciousness.
As morning light poured in through the window, Mila opened her eyes. Confused and frightened, she wondered—was it all just a nightmare? Or had it really happened?
She felt weakness in her body. Her eyes were still heavy, and there was a lingering pain in her chest. She felt something trickling from her nose. When she touched the lower part of her nose with her finger, she saw blood. Startled, she touched her nose again—her nose was bleeding profusely. She quickly grabbed a cloth from nearby, pressed it to her nose, and headed toward the washroom.
Suddenly, Mila heard someone breathing heavily. Frightened, she wrapped a pillow around her neck and covered her ears with both hands. The sound abruptly stopped, and silence filled the room. She slowly removed the pillow and threw it onto the bed.
Just then, her body began to stiffen. She rubbed her eyes, reached for the medicine bottle beside the bed, poured some into a glass, and drank it all in one gulp.
“I drank more than half the bottle last night… so why is there still so much pain and exhaustion in my body?”
As she turned her gaze, her eyes landed on the door—and there, she saw a dark figure of a woman. In a sudden burst of anger, Mila grabbed a glass and hurled it at the door. The glass shattered on impact, and the shadow vanished.
“Go away from here! Why are you so determined to kill me?” Mila screamed.
After bathing and changing her clothes, Mila stepped out of the room—only to find that there were no shards of broken glass at the door, and a glass was sitting intact on the table. Shocked and confused, she left the room.
John was sitting in a comfortable chair, writing. Mysterious expressions flickered across his face.
“I feel like nothing is right,” Mila said hesitantly. “I feel suffocated here. There’s always this restlessness inside me… and I keep hearing strange sounds.”
John tried to control his irritation. “Why don’t you rest? Medicine and yoga help. They bring inner peace. Why not try that? I’ve just started writing on a new subject—I need to finish it soon,” he said in a firm tone.
“No! I’m serious. I don’t think we can live peacefully in this house!” Mila shouted, her voice rising.
“Okay, do whatever you want,” John snapped. “Let me finish my writing. We’ll talk later.”
Just then, there was a noise from the kitchen. Mila flinched and looked toward it, then turned back to John. She lifted her top slightly and saw faint scratch marks on her stomach.
Mila quietly walked to the kitchen. As she turned on the light, she saw the terrifying face of a woman smiling at her. Mila screamed and immediately switched the light off. After a moment to collect herself, she turned the light on again.
The kitchen was empty.
A plate with an omelette sat on the counter. She picked it up and walked through the kitchen to the corridor.
“Have you had breakfast?” she asked hesitantly.
“Yes, I’ve eaten,” John replied. “I made an omelette for you, too. You can have it.”
But there was deep sadness on Mila’s face. Her complexion was pale, her eyes heavy. She looked weak.
She took a bite—but the taste was strange. In a burst of anger, she went to John, opened the nearby window, and flung the plate outside.
“You should know that if the eggs are rotten, you can’t make an omelette out of them!” she shouted. “I don’t want to eat it. Please! Don’t make breakfast for me again. I can do it myself.”
John stared at her in silence. Mila looked away and returned to her room.
John’s hands froze. Tears welled in his eyes. Then, in the sunlight streaming through the window, he saw the shadow of a woman. As he blinked, the shadow vanished.
He jumped up, rushed to the window, and looked outside. The omelette lay on the ground—covered in crawling insects.
Mila came out of the room. “I feel suffocated here. I’m going out,” she said and left without waiting for a reply.
John didn’t stop her. He sat back in the chair and resumed writing.
“Someone died in this house,” Mila muttered as she walked away. “And it was a woman who loved her husband deeply, trusted him completely. In return, he gave her nothing but a painful death.”
John froze when he heard that. Mila stepped out and slammed the door behind her.
She walked into the garden, picked up a shovel, and headed to Adam’s house. She kicked the front door hard—it swung open.
Max was sitting on the sofa with his earphones in. Without hesitation, Mila raised the shovel and struck him hard. Max collapsed, blood pouring from his head.
“You crazy woman! What are you doing?” he cried.
Before he could react further, Mila hit him again. Max, now covered in blood, reached into his pocket and threw an envelope of money at her.
“Take your money. Leave me alone!” he yelled.
“You betrayed Stella,” Mila said, her voice cold. “You pretended to love her. Stella killed herself in pain and despair.”
Max’s eyes widened in shock. “How do you know all this? I... I’m sorry! I really am!” he sobbed.
But Mila didn’t stop. She struck him again, two, three times. Max lay motionless, his body drenched in blood.
Mila gripped his neck with one hand and, with all her strength, twisted it. Max dropped to the ground with a thud.
Then, blood-soaked shovel in hand, she climbed the stairs. She slowly opened the upstairs door and saw Adam standing inside—terrified, holding a revolver.
“You’re going to kill me too, aren’t you?” Adam said. “It wasn’t my fault that I loved someone else. When Emily found out, I started giving her slow poison. Her body weakened day by day, and eventually... she died. And the one I loved? She died mysteriously, too.”
Mila stepped into the room. The door slammed shut behind her. Moments later, two gunshots echoed through the house.
As Mila walked away from Adam’s house, rain poured down. She looked up—and saw crows fighting viciously on the rooftop, clawing each other and plummeting to the ground.
One crow landed near Mila, writhing in pain.
A slow, eerie smile spread across her face. She crouched, picked up the bird, and snapped its neck with a sharp twist. The crow stopped moving.
Then, in a fit of madness, she began devouring it like a wild animal.
She walked through the forest to the cemetery. There, she saw an open grave with a woman’s body inside. Mila covered it with dirt using her bare hands, then rolled over the grave, smearing herself with mud.
She rose slowly and began walking home.
Her face still bloodstained, her clothes caked in mud, she wiped her face clean and brushed off the dirt.
A strange energy surged through her body. She felt as if all the pain, sorrow, and suffering had vanished. She was lighter than a leaf. Waves of something new—dark, euphoric—coursed through her. Her mind danced with joy for reasons she couldn't explain.
She looked at herself.
“I thought I was alone,” she whispered. “But now... I’m not.”
When Mila returned home, soaking wet, John looked at her in alarm.
“Don’t you realize it’s raining outside? Why would you go out in this condition? And what’s that awful smell?”
“It smells like a corpse, doesn’t it?” Mila replied with a strangely cheerful tone.
John didn’t respond. He rushed to bring a towel and began drying her hair.
“Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?” he asked softly.
Just then, a crow landed on the windowsill. A strange gleam appeared in Mila’s eyes.
“I know I’m not hungry... but I could still eat,” she said with a smile.
John returned from the kitchen with orange juice and toasted bread. Mila dipped the toast into the juice and began chewing it voraciously.
John watched her, stunned. “Mila... how’s the breakfast?” he asked gently.
“It smells rotten. It’s bad,” she replied with a smile.
“I’ll hire a maid for you soon—someone who can cook to your liking. You seem... different since yesterday. If you’re not well, should we call a doctor?”
“Can a doctor treat the dead?” Mila said, staring directly at him. “If so, then yes—call him.”
John forced a smile. Mila must be upset with me. She’s just teasing me, he thought.
Mila turned her gaze to the ceiling in the corridor.
“Mila? Are you sure you’re okay? If something’s wrong... You can tell me,” John said.
"I just want to rest," Mila said, getting up and walking to the room.
John stood there, stunned, watching her leave.
He slowly opened the door to the room and stepped inside. Mila was lying on the bed, appearing to sleep. He gently placed his hand on her head.
"What’s the matter? Why are you behaving like this?" John asked in a low voice.
"So... you don't love Stacy? You and Stacy have no relationship?" Mila said, still lying there, her eyes closed.
John froze, stunned by her words.
"What are you talking about? She's just my secretary," he replied. "I only love you."
"But you had a relationship with Stacy. You’re thinking of leaving me to be with her. But she’s no longer alive," Mila said, still with her eyes closed.
John was shocked—completely taken aback.
"You’re talking nonsense. You’re not well. You just need to rest," he said, angry and confused, as he turned to walk out of the room.
"I’m becoming lifeless because of your betrayal," Mila said from behind him. "I’m rotting. I feel like a corpse… like my soul isn’t even inside me."
As John reached the door, he suddenly began coughing violently. His eyes grew heavy. A sharp headache struck him. Then, blood began dripping from his nose.
Just then, his phone rang.
"Hello, this is Officer Thomas. Can you come to the police station? Stacy has been missing for almost a week. Her last known location was near your house."
John’s heart sank. Slowly, he turned to look at Mila.
Her body had turned black. Dark patches covered her skin. Her eyes were hollow and marked with deep, dark circles. A foul smell—like rotting flesh—filled the room once again.
