Our wedding night was supposed to be the happiest moment of my life. But as soon as my husband and I returned to our room, his father — a thin man in his sixties with an unreadable gaze — pushed the door open, carrying a pillow and a blanket.

“I’ll sleep between you two tonight,” he said calmly. “It’s our family tradition. On the first night, a man who has fathered sons must lie between the couple to bring good fortune and ensure male heirs. Your grandfather did the same thing back in the day.”

I froze, staring at my husband, thinking his father must be joking. But he wasn’t. My husband chuckled awkwardly, saying, “It’s just for one night, honey. Everyone in my family does it.”

I wanted to refuse, but if I made a scene, I’d be labeled the “disrespectful new daughter-in-law” — the kind who “can’t even follow family customs.” So I bit my tongue and stayed silent.

Three of us shared one bed. I lay on the outer edge, my husband was pushed to the far side, and his father lay in the middle, wrapped tightly in his blanket.

I couldn’t sleep. The air felt heavy and strange — and there was this odd sensation on my back, like something brushing lightly against it again and again.

Around 3 a.m., the feeling spread down to my thigh. I couldn’t take it anymore. My heart pounding, I sat up and turned around — and what I saw froze me in place.

Something cold, soft, almost silky brushed my back once more before disappearing. Holding my breath, I slowly turned to see clearly.

Moonlight filtered through the window, casting faint lines across the blanket. My husband lay facing the wall, breathing steadily, completely asleep.

His father was curled up in the middle, his baseball cap pulled low over his face, his shadow on the blanket motionless and eerie.

The room was so silent that even the ticking clock on the wall sounded unnervingly loud.

Then I saw it.

Not a person, not a real hand — but something small, pale, and almost transparent hovering between my back and the blanket.

A hand — thin, incomplete, like made of mist — flickered in and out of sight, as if testing whether I was awake. Its fingers were long and frail, with silvery threads clinging to the tips.