Heian's voice is in his head, both quiet and as if right next to his ear:

"Have you decided to throw away my bones?"

A hand comes out from under the floor, tugging at his ankle. The floor becomes soft as breath, as if the player is standing on a living tree.

•••

An excerpt from a diary. No date. An ink stain in the corner of the page.

> The work is moving slowly. The walls are still crooked, but not from time. It feels like someone bent them with their hands.

The floor in the western room has caved in again — although I patched it three days ago. I'll have to take the boards down again.

I heard footsteps at night. Probably rats. But they sounded too... confident.

It's funny. The house is empty, but sometimes I catch myself apologizing when I step on the old floorboards. As if I'm bothering someone.

---

> Ren will arrive tomorrow.

It's strange that he volunteered to help. We haven't seen each other for over a year — we parted somehow quietly, after that conversation. But still... it's nice that he responded.

He had a strange voice on the phone. I asked if everything was okay — he said he was just tired. But I remember that voice. I don't want to remember, but I do.

I hope I'm wrong.

---

> This morning I found someone's photo under the threshold. Old, faded. The face was cut out. Looks like it was cut with scissors.

I didn't leave it.

The door to the attic opened by itself - I definitely closed it. There was a burning smell upstairs.

There was... something here. And it seems to have not gone away.

But I need money. I need to finish the job.

And also... for some reason I feel sorry for this house...