That night, Raka couldn't sleep.
Bu Sari's words kept circling in his mind.
**"That house only appears when someone is about to become the eighteenth person."**
He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his bedroom window.
Outside, Karangwening was once again shrouded in fog.
There was no sound of vehicles.
No sound of people.
Even the village dogs, which had been barking since afternoon, had suddenly fallen silent.
Raka opened Rania's notebook.
He read it once more.
**House Number 17 appears when someone remembers that night.**
He stopped.
That sentence contradicted what Bu Sari had said.
If the house appeared when someone was about to become the eighteenth person, why had Rania written that it appeared when someone remembered that night?
Raka grabbed his jacket.
He decided to leave.
Wening Forest looked darker at night.
Raka stood in front of the warning sign.
**NO ENTRY INTO THE FOREST AFTER SUNSET.**
He turned on his flashlight and stepped inside.
One step.
Two steps.
Then Laras's voice came from behind him.
“You really can't be stopped.”
Raka turned around.
Laras stood among the fog.
“I couldn't let you go in alone.”
“I didn't ask you to come.”
“I know.”
Laras walked past him.
“That's why I'm coming anyway.”
They entered the forest together.
The trees there grew incredibly close together. The flashlight could illuminate only a few yards ahead.
There were no birds.
No insects.
Only the sound of their footsteps.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
After walking for about ten minutes, Raka stopped.
“Laras.”
“Hm?”
“We've passed this path already.”
Laras looked around.
On the left stood a large tree marked with a scar shaped like an X.
Raka aimed his flashlight at it.
“I remember this tree.”
Laras shook her head.
“Don't stop.”
“Why?”
“Because if we stop for too long, the forest will change its path.”
Raka stared at her.
“How do you know?”
“Because I've experienced it before.”
They kept walking.
A few minutes later, they heard someone crying.
Raka stopped.
“Listen.”
Laras immediately grabbed his arm.
“Don't.”
The sobbing grew clearer.
“Bro...”
Raka froze.
It was Rania's voice.
“Bro Raka...”
Laras pulled him back.
“Don't answer.”
“But that's her.”
“It's not.”
The voice changed into a scream.
“BRO!”
Raka almost stepped toward the source of the sound.
Laras held him back.
“If you go in there, you won't come back.”
Suddenly, the sobbing stopped.
The forest fell silent again.
Then a yellow light appeared between the trees.
Raka and Laras looked at each other.
“That...”
“Yeah.”
They walked closer.
The fog slowly parted.
An old house stood in the middle of the forest.
Its walls were made of black wood.
Its roof was damaged.
Its windows were shut.
And in front of the door stood a small sign.
**17**
Raka felt his heart pounding.
“House Number 17.”
Laras didn't move.
“Why?”
“I've never seen it this close.”
Raka approached the house.
“Then how do you know about it?”
“Because this house appeared thirty years ago.”
“And now it's appeared again.”
Laras looked at him.
“Because someone remembers.”
Raka stared at the house.
“Me?”
Laras didn't answer.
Raka climbed the three wooden steps.
The floorboards creaked.
He stood in front of the door.
Something had been written there in rough scratches.
**DON'T GO IN IF YOU STILL KNOW WHO YOU ARE.**
Raka touched the writing.
Suddenly, the door opened on its own.
Slowly.
Creeeak.
Cold air spilled out from inside the house.
The smell of wet earth filled his nose.
Raka turned on his flashlight.
The front room was empty.
But dozens of photographs covered the walls.
Raka moved closer.
The first photograph showed the villagers in 1996.
The second showed children standing in front of a church.
The third showed a young Laras.
Raka stopped.
Then he saw the next photograph.
Rania.
Not grown-up Rania.
Rania as a little girl.
She stood in front of the house.
A child in a red jacket stood beside her.
Raka picked up the photograph.
There was handwriting on the back.
**You've come back, Bro.**
Raka froze.
“Bro?”
Laras came closer.
“What?”
Raka showed her the photograph.
Laras's expression changed instantly.
“No.”
“What?”
“Don't touch that photograph.”
“Why?”
Laras took a breath.
“Because if that's really a photograph of Rania...”
She looked at the house.
“...then this house knew your family long before you ever came here.”
Suddenly, the house's door slammed shut.
**BANG!**
Raka and Laras turned around.
They were trapped inside.
Footsteps sounded from the upper floor.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then a child's voice.
“Raka...”
Raka stared at the stairs.
“Rania?”
The voice laughed.
“Come upstairs.”
Laras whispered,
“Don't.”
The voice came again.
This time, it was closer.
“If you want to know why your name is in a photograph from 1996...”
Raka looked at Laras.
“...come up to the second floor.”
The oil lamps on the walls suddenly lit by themselves.
One after another.
And at the end of the stairs stood a child in a red jacket.
His face was pale.
His eyes were completely black.
He pointed toward a door on the upper floor.
“Rania is in there.”
Then he smiled.
“She’s been waiting for you for thirty years.”