# 📖 STORY I — CHAPTER IV## **When They Cease to Be Shadows**

The night that followed the meeting in the fog was heavier than any before. A bluish cloud spread over the town, from which fell not rain, but tiny, white particles—like ash from the long-extinguished fireplaces of old mansions.

People closed their windows, drew their blinds, and didn't dare look at the street. They didn't ask questions. They remained silent. As if not wanting to attract the attention of what was just beginning to return.

Anna couldn't sleep. She heard the same ticking—no longer in the house, but in the air. As if time had become a living thing, moving silently beneath the windows.

--

## **A Dream That Wasn't a Dream**

She fell asleep only for a moment that night—or so she thought. She opened her eyes in the semidarkness of her own room.

But a figure stood in the corner.

Tall, thin. It had no face, only something resembling a smudged mask. The air smelled of damp, like old cellars.

The creature moved slowly. Its step wasn't quite a step—more of a glide, as if it were crawling across the floor without stepping.

Anna instinctively closed her eyes—but at the same moment, she felt a cold draft on her face.

It was a breath.

The creature leaned over her.

"We see you..."

The voice was low, like an old man whispering directly into your ear.

Anna screamed and woke from sleep—but the room was icy. And the air still smelled of cellar dampness.

--

## **Night of the Manifestation**

With each passing hour, the ghosts became more distinct. No longer a mist, no longer a shadow.

Silhouettes began to appear on the black earth of the former house – not human, yet human in shape. Their faces were distorted, as if stretched by invisible hands.

Some had mouths sewn shut with black thread.

Some had eyes flooded with something dark.

Others – faces faded, mouthless, noseless, like porcelain masks that had been robbed of their human features.

And yet they watched.

Anna felt those eyes following her every move.

--

## **Passage**

As she took a step closer to where the door had once been, the ghosts moved away… as if making a passage.

A passage into something that was no longer earth, nor night, nor dream.

A corridor appeared before her.

Not real.

Like a shadow of a corridor. Like a memory.

The walls were composed of silent weeping.

Literally – the crying filled the space like a melody.

And then he appeared.

---

## **The Host of the Six Hours**

A tall figure emerged from the darkness, wearing a long, worn cloak. His face was obscured by what looked like a mask of old and cracked wood.

Numbers were carved into the mask.

Unfamiliar. Not human.

The creature's voice sounded like clocks speaking a human language:

"The hours have returned, Anna Vorheim."

"I am not of this lineage," she whispered.

"You are all…"

The spirits began to move around them. In a silence that was more terrifying than the scream.

"Why do you return here?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Because time has never been closed."

"What does that mean?!"

The man bowed his head.

"The house has trapped us. You can open it."

—

And then all the spirits did something Anna would never forget.

They pointed their fingers at her simultaneously.

As if accusing.

Or… pleading.

--

## **Last sentence of the chapter**

The host of six hours approached her so close that she felt the cold seep through her skin:

“If you don’t open the house… time will open you.”