Heed these rules, handed down by my grandmother, not as whimsical tales but as desperate warnings forged in fear:

• Never hang your feet over your bed. In the hush of midnight, unseen hands wait beneath. They crave what dangles in the darkness, ready to snatch, to drag you under. Once they’re clutching your ankles, escape is impossible.
• Always keep your closet door closed at night. The closet is not simply a place for clothes; it is a gateway. Shadows slither through the gap. One night, you might catch a gleam of eyes staring back, or worse—something crawling out.
• Never play with Ouija boards or Tarot cards. These are not toys, but invitations for restless spirits. Even playing cards are not safe. My grandmother saw death itself glimmering in the shuffle, and from that moment, she never touched them again.
• Beware the cursed objects within your home. Our family’s cookie jar was never just ceramic—misfortune clung to it, seeping into the walls. Once touched, its curse could seep into your bones.
• Trust your eyes, but fear what others cannot see. My aunt saw children staring through the window—children no one else could see. Their hollow eyes followed her, waiting, yearning. My great-grandmother set places at the table for guests who never arrived, yet their presence lingered, chilling the air and rattling the plates.

These stories are not mere childhood fascinations. They are warnings. Ghosts walk with us, and some of us are marked to see them. If you ignore these rules, the things that haunted my family may find you next. Beware what you invite, and never doubt that something waits just out of sight, eager to cross the threshold of your world.