Nara was still standing in the middle of the room.
The doll named Nara was in her hands.
The box labeled MIRA was still tucked beneath the bed.
And the whisper that had just sounded beside her ear made her entire body go rigid.
“Don’t open the box, Nara.”
Nara slowly turned.
There was no one there.
The room fell silent again.
She touched her own ear.
Cold.
Very cold.
Nara stared at the door.
It was still closed.
Then her gaze fell to the doll in her hands.
“What exactly is happening in this house?”
Of course, the doll didn’t answer.
Nara placed it on the table.
She didn’t want to touch Mira’s box.
Not yet.
At least not until she knew more about the house’s past.
Nara took Grandma Sari’s black book from her bag.
She opened it.
Maybe it contained an explanation.
But before she could read it, something beneath the table caught her attention.
A small drawer.
Nara pulled it open.
Creak.
Inside were several old photographs.
Most of them had already yellowed.
Nara picked them up one by one.
Photos of the house.
Photos of Grandma Sari.
Photos of the backyard.
Photos of several people she didn’t know.
Then her hand stopped.
A small photograph lay at the very bottom.
It looked much newer than the others.
Nara picked it up.
Her chest immediately tightened.
A little girl stood in front of the house.
She was about seven years old.
Her hair fell to her shoulders.
She was wearing a white dress.
And her face...
was Nara’s face as a child.
Nara turned the photograph over.
There was no writing.
She compared it with her childhood memories.
But something was strange.
The little Nara in the photograph was standing in front of the house’s door.
Yet Nara had no memory of ever being photographed there.
She examined the background.
The front door.
The second-floor window.
The old fence.
Everything was the same.
But what made Nara’s skin crawl was the clock visible on the wall of the front room through the open door.
Its hands pointed to:
03:13.
Nara stared at the photograph for a long time.
Then she picked up another.
The second photograph showed little Nara sitting in the dining room.
There were twelve chairs.
Grandma Sari stood beside her.
And behind them...
stood another little girl.
Nara enlarged the photograph on her phone.
The girl was wearing a white dress.
Her hair was long.
Her face was the same as the girl who had appeared in the hallway.
Mira.
Nara turned the photograph over.
This time, there was handwriting on the back.
“They played until 03:13.”
Nara felt her throat go dry.
“They?”
That meant she hadn’t been the only one.
She picked up the third photograph.
It made her hand start trembling at once.
Little Nara was standing in room number 13.
She was wearing the same white dress that had just been found in the closet.
Mira stood beside her.
Both of them were holding dolls.
The Nara doll.
And a faceless doll.
But something was even more terrifying.
Grandma Sari stood behind the two girls.
She wasn’t smiling.
She looked frightened.
As though she were witnessing something that should never have happened.
Nara turned the photograph over.
There was only one sentence written on the back.
> “I never took this photograph.”
Nara fell silent.
“If Grandma didn’t take it...”
She stared at the camera in the photograph.
“...who did?”
Suddenly, a sound came from behind her.
Click.
Nara froze.
The sound of a camera.
She slowly turned.
There was no one there.
Yet an old camera now sat on the table.
It hadn’t been there before.
Nara approached it.
The camera was still on.
A small red light blinked.
Click.
Nara flinched.
A photograph automatically emerged from the camera.
She picked it up.
The photograph was still white.
Slowly, an image began to appear.
Nara saw herself.
She was standing in room number 13.
But the photograph had been taken from behind her.
And behind Nara...
stood a little girl.
Mira.
Nara held her breath.
But something in the photograph made her blood run cold.
Mira wasn’t standing.
Her feet didn’t touch the floor.
She was floating a few inches behind Nara.
And her hand was pointing toward the camera.
Nara turned the photograph over.
Writing slowly appeared on the back.
It wasn’t handwriting.
It looked like ink seeping through the paper.
“You shouldn’t be seeing this photograph.”
Nara dropped the photograph.
The old camera suddenly made the sound again.
Click.
One photograph came out.
Then a second.
A third.
A fourth.
Nara stared at them in fear.
Every photograph showed her.
But each one showed her at a different age.
Nara as a child.
Nara as a teenager.
Nara as an adult.
Until the final photograph.
Nara picked it up with trembling hands.
Her face immediately went pale.
The photograph showed her standing in front of the house...
tonight.
She was wearing the same clothes.
Holding the same doll.
But there was something impossible about the photograph.
Thirteen little girls stood behind Nara.
And every one of them was staring at the camera.
Nara turned the photograph over.
There was only one sentence.
> “The fourteenth one is waiting.”