20 years ago, during winter, dark clouds covered the sky above the city. Far from the city, there stood an old, eerie house with a red light glowing from its side. Nearby, a basketball court lay under the dim sky, where two boys were playing.
One of the boys laughed and said, "Oh, can you catch me? I just won the game!"
The other smirked. "Just one more chance. If I get the ball, you're going to lose."
They continued playing, their laughter echoing through the cold air. One of them jumped and threw the basketball toward the hoop, but something strange happened—the ball got stuck in the net.
The boy frowned. "What happened? Why is the ball stuck?"
They stared at the net, confused. It looked perfectly fine. The weather was cold, but not freezing enough to make the net stiff.
Curious, one of the boys jumped to retrieve the ball. As soon as he landed, his feet slipped, and he crashed onto the ground.
"Whoa! How did the ground freeze so fast?" he muttered, rubbing his hands against the cold surface.
His friend's expression darkened. "This isn't right. We should go home."
"Wait," the boy insisted. "We need to figure this out."
Just as they were about to leave, a sudden flickering light appeared near the old house beside the court.
Inside the house, three people lived—a mother, a father, and their son. The mother sensed something was wrong.
"What's happening?" she asked, her voice tense.
The father sighed heavily. "It's the problem we feared. We have to save the boy."
The mother's face turned pale. "The boy…?"
Turning to her son, she crouched down and gripped his shoulders. "Run. Run as far as you can."
The boy hesitated, but his mother pushed him toward the door. "Now!"
As the boy bolted outside, something dark slithered into the house—an ominous shadow creeping through the doorway. The father stepped forward, his fists clenched.
"What is that?" he whispered.
Before he could react, a bright light suddenly struck him. His body stiffened, and pain flashed across his face.
"No!" the mother screamed. She grabbed a small vial from her pocket and flung a glowing liquid at the dark figure, chanting an incantation. A powerful force sent the shadow flying backward.
But it was too late. The father collapsed to the floor. Blood trickled from his mouth as he struggled to speak.
"I'm sorry… It's my fault," he gasped. "Because of me, we're in danger. You must protect the boy… Promise me."
Tears welled in the mother's eyes as she held his trembling hand.
"I'll always be with you," the father whispered before his body went still.
"Run!" the mother yelled, grabbing her son and sprinting out of the house.
The shadow, now enraged, followed them. As they ran, the mother turned and threw another spell, her voice ringing through the air.
"Stop! Stop!"
The darkness wavered, retreating for a moment.
The boy, gasping for breath, looked up at his mother. But before she could reassure him, something loomed ahead—a dark figure standing in their path. Its face was hidden in shadow, but its glowing red eyes pierced through the night.
The camera zoomed in on its eyes.
Then everything blurred to black.
Present Day
The scene opens in a kitchen. Vegetables are cooking, and the sound of birds chirping fills the house. Upstairs, a 25-year-old boy lies in bed, tossing and turning. Sweat drips from his forehead as if he's trapped in a nightmare. His breathing is heavy, his body restless.
In his dream, flashes of memory resurface. His father's voice echoes:
"What is that?"
His mother's desperate cries: "Run! Run! Run!"
Then—those eyes. Red, glowing, soulless.
Christopher jolts awake, gasping for air. His hands tremble as he wipes the sweat off his face.
From downstairs, a warm voice calls out, "Boy, come down!"
"Coming!" he replies, shaking off the fear lingering from his dream.
Christopher lives with his grandparents, who cherish him more than anything. His grandmother is in the kitchen, preparing breakfast, while his grandfather sits at the dining table, reading the newspaper.
As Christopher descends the stairs, his grandfather greets him with a smile.
"Good morning, my boy. You're up!"
Christopher forces a smile but doesn't respond right away. Something about his grandfather's warm words doesn't sit right. His body feels tense, his mind heavy.
Sensing something is off, his grandfather lowers the newspaper. "Christopher, what's wrong?"
Christopher hesitates, then sits beside him. "I had that dream again."
His grandfather sighs. "Again? It's just a dream, my boy. Let it go. Dreams don't mean anything—they don't control your life. You have to move on."
Christopher shakes his head. "I don't have control over this. It keeps happening. Again and again. And now, I feel like… I was there. Like I was part of it."
His grandfather's expression darkens. Slowly, he reaches for a framed photograph on the table and hands it to Christopher. "These were your parents," he says.
Christopher stares at the photo. His parents look so happy, so proud. His father, strong and brave. His mother, smiling warmly.
His grandfather's voice turns distant. "I can never forget that night. You, your mother, and your father were on your way to a wedding. Then—the accident. The crash took their lives, but you… you survived. I held you all night. Your father, my son… he was gone. I was hurt, too. For a year, I couldn't function, lost in grief. Your grandmother brought me back. And now, I have you. You are my world. I'll do anything to protect you."
Christopher looks up. His grandfather is smiling, but something about his words doesn't feel right. There's a weight in his voice—a hesitation.
He's lying.
Christopher doesn't know it yet, but everything he believes about his parents' death is a lie.
His grandmother doesn't know the truth either. She was in a coma when it happened, lost in unconsciousness while everyone told her the same story: It was an accident.
The only one who knows the real truth… is his grandfather.
And one day, that truth will have to be revealed.
"Hey Christopher, come out! Let's go play!"
A few boys stood outside, calling for him to join their soccer game.
Christopher turned to his grandmother. "Grandma, can I go play?"
She smiled warmly. "Yes, my boy, you can. And you will win the game." She playfully tapped his arm, a little gesture of encouragement.
Christopher grinned, grabbing his bag. "I love you, Grandma. I love you, Grandpa!" he called out as he ran outside to join his friends.
His grandfather watched him leave, then turned to his wife. "I think I'll rest in our bedroom for a while. I've been feeling a little tired this morning."
His wife nodded. "Alright, honey. I'll call you when dinner's ready."
"Thanks, my love," he said, giving her a tired smile before heading to the bedroom.
Once inside, he sat on the bed, holding a photograph in his hands. It was a picture of five people—himself, his wife, Christopher, his son, and his daughter-in-law.
But then, slowly, he rolled the edge of the picture back.
Hidden beneath it was another person. A man.
His face was mysterious to anyone else—but not to Christopher's grandfather.
He knew exactly who he was.
A tear slipped from his eye as he stared at the hidden figure.
Who was this man?
And why had he been erased from the picture?
The mystery was only beginning.
A flashback played in the grandfather's mind.
He stood outside the window, watching the horrors unfold inside that house—the same house where the flashing light had appeared that night.
He saw it all.
He saw how the dark entity had taken his son. How his daughter-in-law had desperately tried to run with Christopher in her arms. And how, even though she had managed to save her son, she couldn't save herself.
The dark shadow had killed her.
But it had failed to kill Christopher.
When the entity finally vanished, the grandfather rushed inside, his heart pounding with fear. He ran straight to his grandson, crying out in anguish.
"My son… my son!" he sobbed, his voice breaking.
He, barely breathing, looked up at him. His small, weak voice whispered, "Dad… I love you. I love you… I told you I would love you till the end, and now I'm proving it."
His breaths were slowing, his strength fading.
"I love him too…" he whispered.
And then silence.
Who was "him"?
Who was he referring to?
It was a mystery even now.
The grandfather, shaken and broken, turned to Christopher's mother. She lay on the cold ground, her lifeless eyes open, glowing red. Her body was bruised, and the sight of her sent chills through him.
He couldn't stay there any longer.
Scooping up his grandson, he ran—ran far away from that cursed house, from that city, from everything that had happened that night.
He left it all behind.
And in a new city, he started over, raising Christopher as his own.
But deep inside, he lived with a fear that never faded.
What if it happened again?
He wiped his tears, hiding the photo under the bed before leaving the room.
The camera now shifts to the window.
Outside, a terrifying figure stood, watching.
His face was shrouded in darkness, his features hidden by shadows—except for his eyes. Blood-red, glowing in the night.
And then, as if the darkness itself swallowed him, he vanished.
But he didn't leave.
Instead, he crept into the house, clinging to the ceiling like a sinister entity, hiding in the corner of the room in the most unnatural, horrifying way.
—
Christopher returned from playing, drenched in sweat.
His grandmother saw him and smiled. "Take a shower, dear," she said gently.
He nodded and went to freshen up.
Meanwhile, his grandfather was outside in the garden, lost in thought.
As Christopher stepped out of the shower, drying his hair, something caught his eye.
Something… unnatural.
There, on the ceiling.
A dark figure. A shadow with no face—only piercing red eyes.
His breath caught in his throat.
It was the same thing from his nightmares.
He screamed.
"GRANDFATHER!"
His grandfather rushed into the room. The moment he saw the creature, his expression hardened, turning to one of grim determination.
Without hesitation, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a ring. Sliding it onto his finger, he pointed directly at the shadow and chanted something under his breath.
A surge of magical energy burst from his hand, shooting toward the entity like a beam of light.
The dark shadow responded instantly.
It wasn't just any entity—it knew magic too.
A battle of spells erupted between them, magic colliding in flashes of brilliant light and deep darkness. The room trembled with the force of their powers.
But the grandfather knew he couldn't win.
He turned toward Christopher, desperation in his eyes.
Pointing a trembling finger at his grandson, he cast another spell.
Before Christopher could react, his body was enveloped in light—
And in the next second, he was gone.
Vanished.
The shadow let out an enraged howl before retreating, fading into nothingness as a final burst of light exploded in the room.
—
When the dust settled, the house was in ruins.
Furniture lay shattered, walls cracked, and the air smelled of burned magic.
The grandfather stood there, panting, shaken to his core.
His wife ran to him, her face filled with confusion and fear.
"What just happened?" she demanded. "Where is Christopher?"
Tears welled in the old man's eyes as he finally told her everything.
The truth.
The truth he had hidden for decades.
As she listened, her body trembled, her lips quivering. Then, unable to hold it in any longer, she broke down, sobbing.
He reached under the bed and pulled out the hidden photo—the one he had been keeping all these years.
He handed it to her.
She looked at it.
Her hands shook.
She recognized him.
Tears rolled down her face. "He is… he is…"
Her voice broke before she could finish.
The grandfather nodded solemnly. "Yes."
A heavy silence fell between them.
Then, determination filled her eyes.
"We have to go," she whispered. "We have to find Christopher."
Without another word, they ran from the house, searching every place they could think of.
Days passed. Then a week.
But Christopher was nowhere to be found.
They were broken, lost, and hopeless.
Their house remained untouched, left in ruins. It was as if a bomb had gone off, yet they had no energy to fix it.
All that mattered was Christopher.
Where had he gone?
What had happened to him?
To be continued…
20 years ago, during winter, dark clouds covered the sky above the city. Far from the city, there stood an old, eerie house with a red light glowing from its side. Nearby, a basketball court lay under the dim sky, where two boys were playing.
One of the boys laughed and said, "Oh, can you catch me? I just won the game!"
The other smirked. "Just one more chance. If I get the ball, you're going to lose."
They continued playing, their laughter echoing through the cold air. One of them jumped and threw the basketball toward the hoop, but something strange happened—the ball got stuck in the net.
The boy frowned. "What happened? Why is the ball stuck?"
They stared at the net, confused. It looked perfectly fine. The weather was cold, but not freezing enough to make the net stiff.
Curious, one of the boys jumped to retrieve the ball. As soon as he landed, his feet slipped, and he crashed onto the ground.
"Whoa! How did the ground freeze so fast?" he muttered, rubbing his hands against the cold surface.
His friend's expression darkened. "This isn't right. We should go home."
"Wait," the boy insisted. "We need to figure this out."
Just as they were about to leave, a sudden flickering light appeared near the old house beside the court.
Inside the house, three people lived—a mother, a father, and their son. The mother sensed something was wrong.
"What's happening?" she asked, her voice tense.
The father sighed heavily. "It's the problem we feared. We have to save the boy."
The mother's face turned pale. "The boy…?"
Turning to her son, she crouched down and gripped his shoulders. "Run. Run as far as you can."
The boy hesitated, but his mother pushed him toward the door. "Now!"
As the boy bolted outside, something dark slithered into the house—an ominous shadow creeping through the doorway. The father stepped forward, his fists clenched.
"What is that?" he whispered.
Before he could react, a bright light suddenly struck him. His body stiffened, and pain flashed across his face.
"No!" the mother screamed. She grabbed a small vial from her pocket and flung a glowing liquid at the dark figure, chanting an incantation. A powerful force sent the shadow flying backward.
But it was too late. The father collapsed to the floor. Blood trickled from his mouth as he struggled to speak.
"I'm sorry… It's my fault," he gasped. "Because of me, we're in danger. You must protect the boy… Promise me."
Tears welled in the mother's eyes as she held his trembling hand.
"I'll always be with you," the father whispered before his body went still.
"Run!" the mother yelled, grabbing her son and sprinting out of the house.
The shadow, now enraged, followed them. As they ran, the mother turned and threw another spell, her voice ringing through the air.
"Stop! Stop!"
The darkness wavered, retreating for a moment.
The boy, gasping for breath, looked up at his mother. But before she could reassure him, something loomed ahead—a dark figure standing in their path. Its face was hidden in shadow, but its glowing red eyes pierced through the night.
The camera zoomed in on its eyes.
Then everything blurred to black.
Present Day
The scene opens in a kitchen. Vegetables are cooking, and the sound of birds chirping fills the house. Upstairs, a 25-year-old boy lies in bed, tossing and turning. Sweat drips from his forehead as if he's trapped in a nightmare. His breathing is heavy, his body restless.
In his dream, flashes of memory resurface. His father's voice echoes:
"What is that?"
His mother's desperate cries: "Run! Run! Run!"
Then—those eyes. Red, glowing, soulless.
Christopher jolts awake, gasping for air. His hands tremble as he wipes the sweat off his face.
From downstairs, a warm voice calls out, "Boy, come down!"
"Coming!" he replies, shaking off the fear lingering from his dream.
Christopher lives with his grandparents, who cherish him more than anything. His grandmother is in the kitchen, preparing breakfast, while his grandfather sits at the dining table, reading the newspaper.
As Christopher descends the stairs, his grandfather greets him with a smile.
"Good morning, my boy. You're up!"
Christopher forces a smile but doesn't respond right away. Something about his grandfather's warm words doesn't sit right. His body feels tense, his mind heavy.
Sensing something is off, his grandfather lowers the newspaper. "Christopher, what's wrong?"
Christopher hesitates, then sits beside him. "I had that dream again."
His grandfather sighs. "Again? It's just a dream, my boy. Let it go. Dreams don't mean anything—they don't control your life. You have to move on."
Christopher shakes his head. "I don't have control over this. It keeps happening. Again and again. And now, I feel like… I was there. Like I was part of it."
His grandfather's expression darkens. Slowly, he reaches for a framed photograph on the table and hands it to Christopher. "These were your parents," he says.
Christopher stares at the photo. His parents look so happy, so proud. His father, strong and brave. His mother, smiling warmly.
His grandfather's voice turns distant. "I can never forget that night. You, your mother, and your father were on your way to a wedding. Then—the accident. The crash took their lives, but you… you survived. I held you all night. Your father, my son… he was gone. I was hurt, too. For a year, I couldn't function, lost in grief. Your grandmother brought me back. And now, I have you. You are my world. I'll do anything to protect you."
Christopher looks up. His grandfather is smiling, but something about his words doesn't feel right. There's a weight in his voice—a hesitation.
He's lying.
Christopher doesn't know it yet, but everything he believes about his parents' death is a lie.
His grandmother doesn't know the truth either. She was in a coma when it happened, lost in unconsciousness while everyone told her the same story: It was an accident.
The only one who knows the real truth… is his grandfather.
And one day, that truth will have to be revealed.
"Hey Christopher, come out! Let's go play!"
A few boys stood outside, calling for him to join their soccer game.
Christopher turned to his grandmother. "Grandma, can I go play?"
She smiled warmly. "Yes, my boy, you can. And you will win the game." She playfully tapped his arm, a little gesture of encouragement.
Christopher grinned, grabbing his bag. "I love you, Grandma. I love you, Grandpa!" he called out as he ran outside to join his friends.
His grandfather watched him leave, then turned to his wife. "I think I'll rest in our bedroom for a while. I've been feeling a little tired this morning."
His wife nodded. "Alright, honey. I'll call you when dinner's ready."
"Thanks, my love," he said, giving her a tired smile before heading to the bedroom.
Once inside, he sat on the bed, holding a photograph in his hands. It was a picture of five people—himself, his wife, Christopher, his son, and his daughter-in-law.
But then, slowly, he rolled the edge of the picture back.
Hidden beneath it was another person. A man.
His face was mysterious to anyone else—but not to Christopher's grandfather.
He knew exactly who he was.
A tear slipped from his eye as he stared at the hidden figure.
Who was this man?
And why had he been erased from the picture?
The mystery was only beginning.
A flashback played in the grandfather's mind.
He stood outside the window, watching the horrors unfold inside that house—the same house where the flashing light had appeared that night.
He saw it all.
He saw how the dark entity had taken his son. How his daughter-in-law had desperately tried to run with Christopher in her arms. And how, even though she had managed to save her son, she couldn't save herself.
The dark shadow had killed her.
But it had failed to kill Christopher.
When the entity finally vanished, the grandfather rushed inside, his heart pounding with fear. He ran straight to his grandson, crying out in anguish.
"My son… my son!" he sobbed, his voice breaking.
He, barely breathing, looked up at him. His small, weak voice whispered, "Dad… I love you. I love you… I told you I would love you till the end, and now I'm proving it."
His breaths were slowing, his strength fading.
"I love him too…" he whispered.
And then silence.
Who was "him"?
Who was he referring to?
It was a mystery even now.
The grandfather, shaken and broken, turned to Christopher's mother. She lay on the cold ground, her lifeless eyes open, glowing red. Her body was bruised, and the sight of her sent chills through him.
He couldn't stay there any longer.
Scooping up his grandson, he ran—ran far away from that cursed house, from that city, from everything that had happened that night.
He left it all behind.
And in a new city, he started over, raising Christopher as his own.
But deep inside, he lived with a fear that never faded.
What if it happened again?
He wiped his tears, hiding the photo under the bed before leaving the room.
The camera now shifts to the window.
Outside, a terrifying figure stood, watching.
His face was shrouded in darkness, his features hidden by shadows—except for his eyes. Blood-red, glowing in the night.
And then, as if the darkness itself swallowed him, he vanished.
But he didn't leave.
Instead, he crept into the house, clinging to the ceiling like a sinister entity, hiding in the corner of the room in the most unnatural, horrifying way.
—
Christopher returned from playing, drenched in sweat.
His grandmother saw him and smiled. "Take a shower, dear," she said gently.
He nodded and went to freshen up.
Meanwhile, his grandfather was outside in the garden, lost in thought.
As Christopher stepped out of the shower, drying his hair, something caught his eye.
Something… unnatural.
There, on the ceiling.
A dark figure. A shadow with no face—only piercing red eyes.
His breath caught in his throat.
It was the same thing from his nightmares.
He screamed.
"GRANDFATHER!"
His grandfather rushed into the room. The moment he saw the creature, his expression hardened, turning to one of grim determination.
Without hesitation, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a ring. Sliding it onto his finger, he pointed directly at the shadow and chanted something under his breath.
A surge of magical energy burst from his hand, shooting toward the entity like a beam of light.
The dark shadow responded instantly.
It wasn't just any entity—it knew magic too.
A battle of spells erupted between them, magic colliding in flashes of brilliant light and deep darkness. The room trembled with the force of their powers.
But the grandfather knew he couldn't win.
He turned toward Christopher, desperation in his eyes.
Pointing a trembling finger at his grandson, he cast another spell.
Before Christopher could react, his body was enveloped in light—
And in the next second, he was gone.
Vanished.
The shadow let out an enraged howl before retreating, fading into nothingness as a final burst of light exploded in the room.
—
When the dust settled, the house was in ruins.
Furniture lay shattered, walls cracked, and the air smelled of burned magic.
The grandfather stood there, panting, shaken to his core.
His wife ran to him, her face filled with confusion and fear.
"What just happened?" she demanded. "Where is Christopher?"
Tears welled in the old man's eyes as he finally told her everything.
The truth.
The truth he had hidden for decades.
As she listened, her body trembled, her lips quivering. Then, unable to hold it in any longer, she broke down, sobbing.
He reached under the bed and pulled out the hidden photo—the one he had been keeping all these years.
He handed it to her.
She looked at it.
Her hands shook.
She recognized him.
Tears rolled down her face. "He is… he is…"
Her voice broke before she could finish.
The grandfather nodded solemnly. "Yes."
A heavy silence fell between them.
Then, determination filled her eyes.
"We have to go," she whispered. "We have to find Christopher."
Without another word, they ran from the house, searching every place they could think of.
Days passed. Then a week.
But Christopher was nowhere to be found.
They were broken, lost, and hopeless.
Their house remained untouched, left in ruins. It was as if a bomb had gone off, yet they had no energy to fix it.
All that mattered was Christopher.
Where had he gone?
What had happened to him?
To be continued