My grandfather had an old wooden chair t

My grandfather had an old wooden chair that was always kept in the corner of his room. He used to say that it was his Baba's and never sell it. After Grandpa passed away, we took care of his house, but the chair seemed strange to me. Sometimes at night it seemed as if someone was sitting on it—there was a creaking sound of wood.

One night, I mustered up the courage to peek into the room. The chair was empty, but its shadow was on the wall—the shadow of a long, twisted figure that did not match the chair. I turned on the light, and the shadow disappeared. But as soon as I turned off the light, a cold breeze entered the room, and the chair slowly started sliding towards me.

I ran out in fear, but when I returned in the morning, the chair was back in its old corner. That night, I saw Grandpa in my dream. His voice was trembling, "Don't touch it, it's his now." The next day I tried to burn the chair, but the fire did not even touch it. Now every night, I find that chair standing next to my bed—empty, but with the sound of heavy breathing.