At of the village stood an old house. The house was so old that the paint on the walls had peeled off, the window glass was broken, and the door was always slightly ajar—as if someone was looking in from inside.
Everyone in the village called the house "the black house."
People said that many years ago, an old man lived there alone. One day, he suddenly disappeared. Since then, no one has lived in that house.
But a young boy from the village, **Arjun**, did not believe these stories.
One afternoon, he bravely went to the front of the house.
Suddenly…
Knock…
The door opened a little on its own.
Arjun's chest started to pound. Still, he went inside.
Everything inside was covered in dust. An old table, broken chairs, and a big clock hanging on the wall—which should have been stopped, but…
Tick… tick…
The clock was ticking!
Arjun looked at the clock in surprise. Just then, he felt someone standing behind him.
He slowly looked back…
No one.
But suddenly, a sound came from the room above—
Knock… knock… knock…
As if someone was walking.
Arjun's throat went dry. Still, curiosity forced him to go upstairs.
As he climbed the stairs, he saw a door slightly open. A faint light was coming out of the door.
He pushed the door open.
Inside was an old table, and on it was a diary.
Arjun opened the diary.
Inside it was written—
"If anyone reads this diary… know that I am here."
Suddenly…
Fuuuuuu…
A cold wind blew past him.
And right in front of him, slowly, a shadow began to form…
Arjun ran downstairs and out of the house.
The next day, he bravely went there again.
But this time…
The house was no longer there.
As if it had never been there.
But there was one thing lying on the ground—
that diary.
And on the last page of the diary was a new writing—
"Thank you for remembering me."