Once, there was a little boy who lived in the mountains, far from the city, with his grandmother.
His parents had left him there for a while, saying they had work to do. But the boy didn't mind. His grandmother loved him deeply, spoiled him, fed him warm soup, and told him stories.
Every day, the boy would walk down the mountain path to play with his friends in the small village below. They played hide and seek, chased chickens, and laughed until the sun went down.
But then… things changed.
One by one, his friends stopped showing up. First, it was Lala. Then Aji. Then Barto.
Each morning, another friend was gone, and no one could say why.
That's when his grandmother began giving him a strange warning every night.
'Whatever happens… don't open your door at night. No matter what sound you hear. Do you understand?'
The boy, still young and innocent, simply nodded.
But the nights… they grew stranger.
He began to hear scratching outside his bedroom.
Then came the footsteps.
