When Oska stepped into the house, he saw Annchi sitting idly on the sofa, looking utterly bored. The moment she saw him, her head tilted to the side in disbelief.

"Uncle? Is that you?"

"Hello, Annchi. How've you been?"

The girl got up quickly, walked over to him, and whispered, "Why did you come back?"

"Why? Don't you miss your father?"

"You shouldn't have come back. Ever since you left, my mom's gotten even stranger. The house feels… creepy now. I keep hearing someone screaming from the basement at night."

Oska frowned, concern flickering across his face. "Maybe it's just your imagination, Annchi. You shouldn't talk about your mother that way."

"I'm serious. You'll see it for yourself soon enough. I'm telling you—leave this place while you still can, and never come back."

Before Oska could respond, Stevanie's voice called from upstairs. Once again, she reminded him that he was not allowed to sleep in the same room as her, even though they were husband and wife.

Oska entered his old room—the same room where he had once drowned himself in alcohol, the dirty book on the shelf that no one ever touches also still there, the book that stumble upon a discovery that changed his fate. Everything looked the same as when he left, only dirtier and covered in dust.

He opened the closet and froze.

All his old clothes were still there—but every single one of them had been shredded and torn apart. Shirts, pants, even his undergarments were cut to ribbons. There was no question who had done it.

Though the clothes were worthless to the Oska of today, they were still mementos of his homeland. With a sigh, he gathered them all and threw them into the trash bin. There was no other choice.

After cleaning the room, Oska went downstairs and called for a taxi to fetch clothes from his apartment.

"Where are you going? You're not allowed to leave this place again!" Denis barked, blocking the gate.

"Denis, all my clothes are ruined. I just need to buy some replacements. I'll be back in half an hour."

"No!" Denis raised his voice, gripping his baton. "I don't care what excuse you give me this time—you're not leaving. Get back inside before I have to get rough."

Oska clenched his jaw. Denis wouldn't let him go, not after what had happened three months ago. Left with no other option, he called one of his subordinates to deliver clothes to him instead.

While waiting, he collapsed onto the bed, exhausted. Then, faintly, he heard it—
a scream.

It came from somewhere below the house.

He sat up, listening carefully. The sound faded, leaving only silence.

"Was that the noise Annchi mentioned earlier?" he wondered.

Curiosity got the better of him. He decided to check the ground floor to see what was happening. Maybe the girl wasn't lying after all.

But before he could look further, a truck pulled up in front of the gate. Denis's angry voice rang out from the yard as he tried to chase away the delivery driver—until Oska intervened.

"Oh, Mr. Oska, thank goodness you're here," said the man in the blue cap, handing over the delivery papers.

"Relax, Denis. I called them here."

"What's inside those boxes?" Denis asked skeptically.

"Clothes. Since you wouldn't let me leave, I had them delivered instead."

Suddenly, the front door swung open.

Stevanie stepped out wearing a sleeveless top that showed her beauty and cleavage, rose-tinted skin under the moonlight. Once again, Oska found himself momentarily stunned by the beauty of the woman who terrified him.

"What are you doing, Oska? And what's with all these boxes?"

"They're just new clothes. I should be the one asking you—why were all my old ones destroyed?"

Stevanie raised her hand dismissively. "Well, that's your fault for running away. I got bored, so I cut them up."

Oska sighed. "Unbelievable. Do you really have nothing better to do?"

That's when he noticed it—the faint red stains at the tip of her long right fingernail.

"What's that on your hand?" he asked, his voice low.

"This?" Stevanie showed him her fingers casually. "Just ketchup from dinner."

Oska stepped closer, eyeing the stain. "It doesn't smell like ketchup. It smells like… metal."

Stevanie quickly pulled her hand back, hiding it behind her waist. "Don't be ridiculous, Oska. It's ketchup. What else would it be? Now hurry up and put your things away before I decide to cut them again."

With that, she stormed back into the house, slamming the door behind her.

Oska and the others stood there, staring at each other, unsure what to make of her strange behavior.