I was born in Tehran.

At age six, my parents moved back to my father's hometown, where he founded a textile factory.

Business was good and our family became very rich.

We stayed there for 18 years before moving back to the capital city of Iran.

When I was 28, I decided to go back to school again to study civil engineering.

I had already graduated from the university with a teaching degree.

My success there allowed me to move to a coastal city, located in

the northern part of Iran, where I bought a two-bedroom detached house.

The elderly couple who owned it before me had died in the home, and their bodies were discovered

in a bedroom. There were signs of a struggle.

The authorities determined the husband had attacked the wife.

She apparently defended herself with such fury that she had broken bones in her hands.

As an impetuous first-time homeowner, I wasn't concerned about the history of the property.

It was move-in ready and that's all I cared about.

I slept in one room while the other was my study.

Deep into the night, I was designing construction plans in the first year of university.

If you're familiar with this type of work, you know that it's a time-consuming task that

requires your full attention.

Well, I kept getting distracted by the strange sounds that were growing in frequency.

The roofs of the homes in that area were made of wooden frames, and it's not unusual to hear

creaking noises when the temperature drops at night, and the wood contracts, but this was different.

When I heard someone knocking on the door to my study, I wrenched it open, fully expecting to

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