— present day, 9:45 pm

in a moment of drunken enthusiasm, chanyeol declares that it would be super fun to borrow kyungsoo’s ouija board from next door and dabble in the supernatural world to call up the spirit that sehun complains is haunting his closet.

“move, move, move,” chanyeol stumbles back into the apartment in a flurry of white snow and biting gusts of wind, a weathered brown case tucked under his arm. zitao rolls his eyes, stepping back to allow chanyeol inside, and closes the door before resuming his spot on the couch beside sehun.

chanyeol flops down beside jongin on the floor, excitedly setting the case on top of zitao’s glass coffee table.

“this is stupid,” zitao says in a bored tone, pulling sehun’s hand onto his lap and playing with his boyfriend’s fingers. “there’s no such things as ghosts.”

“mmhm, yeah. you keep saying that,” chanyeol hums, pulling out the battered ouija board from it’s case and setting it up on the table between them. “your boyfriend swears there’s something in his closet.”

“whatever it is, it keeps waking me up at night,” sehun frowns, staring across the living room and down the hall in the direction of his and zitao’s shared room. “i can’t sleep.”

“are you sure it’s not zitao?” jongin jokes, wiggling his eyebrows across the table. “you two are nasty. we do not need to hear about your nightly activities.”

sehun shoots jongin a withering glance, choosing not to even dignify that with a response. instead, he turns his attention to chanyeol, watching the taller boy haul himself onto his feet and lumber towards the far wall to dim the lights.

“this is such a waste of time,” zitao mutters under his breath as chanyeol joins them at the table again, settling on his knees and pulling jongin closer.

“this is gonna be fun,” chanyeol smiles, motioning for everyone to place their hands on top of the wooden planchette. grumbling, zitao refuses to budge. and sehun clicks his tongue, grabbing zitao’s hands and pulling them over the board.

“we need everyone participating,” chanyeol says, glancing around each face before dropping his eyes down to the ouija board, admiring the intricate craftsmanship of the engraved lettering.

they all huddle over the board, and chanyeol takes a deep breath of hesitation, a little unsure of what exactly he needs to do.

“let’s get on with it already,” zitao huffs in annoyance.

“okay, okay,” chanyeol pouts. he clears his throat awkwardly, trying to remember what people in the movies did when they had seances and stuff like that.

“um,” chanyeol begins, “spirit living inside sehun’s closet. can you hear me?”

jongin snorts, muttering under his breath, “ghost of sehun’s haunted, flamboyantly gay past.”

sehun grabs the remote control and chucks it at jongin’s head.

“come on guys, we need to focus,” chanyeol chides, grabbing jongin’s hand before he shoots a retaliatory cushion at sehun’s face.

“sorry,” sehun places his hands back in the middle, followed by jongin.

“okay,” chanyeol breathes, repeating his question. “spirit, can you hear me?”

four sets of questioning eyes glance around each other, an awkward silence settling over the room. zitao is about to open his mouth to say that this is a waste of time and he could be doing other, more productive things, like kicking chanyeol and jongin out and fucking sehun against a wall, when the little triangle begins to glide across the board towards the top right corner, stopping at the yes.

everyone holds their breaths, not moving a muscle.

“did you do that?” jongin whispers, glancing at chanyeol, who shakes his head. "did you?“ he turns to sehun, who also shakes his head.

"this is ridiculous,” zitao rolls his eyes. “obviously someone moved it. i’m done with this.” he makes to move away from the couch, but sehun’s arm shoots out and prompts him back down.

“sit,” sehun glares, and zitao complies. “okay, chanyeol. keep going.”

chanyeol takes another deep breath before continuing. “what is it that you want? why does your spirit linger here on earth?”

the planchette begins to vibrate beneath their fingers, dragging across the board to spell something out. chanyeol dictates each letter in a shaky voice.

“a, l, o, n, e.”

“alone,” jongin frowns, glancing up at sehun. “what do you think that means?”

“this is so dumb,” zitao sighs again, when suddenly, the planchette shoots out from beneath their hands, flinging towards the television and shattering the screen in a shower of jagged black shards.

“what the fuck?” sehun exclaims, jumping off the couch. “my tv!”

before he can even take a single step, the ouija board explodes in a burst of angry red flames, everyone jumping away from the coffee table with panicked expressions.

the flames lick all the way up to the ceiling, the billowing black fumes setting off the smoke detector.

“oh my god, someone do something!” zitao shouts, running for the kitchen to grab the pitcher of water while chanyeol quickly removes his jacket and flaps at the burning fire.

zitao rushes back and tosses the water onto the board, extinguishing the fire and leaving behind an acrid smell and a lungful of smoke.

sehun moans at the watery mess in his living room, the shattered television screen.

“what was that?” jongin asks, staring blankly at the wet coffee table. he frowns, leaning closer to the ouija board. “hey, you guys. look,” jongin waves chanyeol over, pointing to the board. “there’s not even a scratch on this thing.”

and jongin is right. the board looks exactly the way it had when chanyeol first pulled it out of the case, albiet a little wet.

“get that thing out of here,” zitao spits, placing the pitcher on the coffee table. “i want it out of my apartment, right now.”

“alright, okay. don’t get your panties all in a twist,” chanyeol sticks out his tongue, accepting the fistfuls of paper towels sehun offers him from the kitchen. the two work on drying the ouija board and coffee table while zitao and jongin pick up all the visible chunks of flat screen that they can find on the carpet.

“man, sorry about your tv,” chanyeol says arm wrapped around jongin’s shoulder as zitao and sehun see them to the door.

“whatever, it’s cool,” sehun shrugs. “i’ll just use this as an excuse to get a new one.”

jongin rolls his eyes.

“good night, guys,” zitao says, and chanyeol waves before steering jongin out the door.

— 2:16 am

sehun doesn’t know what it is, doesn’t understand the crippling, icy terror pinning down his body onto the mattress. and he doesn’t really think he wants to know.

but he opens his eyes anyways, because something is fucking waking him up again in the middle of the night.

jesus christ, he just wants to sleep.

through the darkness, sehun sees zitao’s sleeping face in front of his, softly illuminated by the alarm clock on sehun’s side of the nightstand. he smiles, some of the panic settling down as he brushes a few strands of hair off of his boyfriend’s face. 

sehun rolls back over onto his back, trying to get comfortable and fall back asleep, but the terror returns tenfold, suffocating from the fear crushing down on his lungs as he remains frozen on the spot. he tries to call for zitao, to wake up the boy beside him, but sehun can’t seem to find his voice.

because hanging above sehun is girl, lying parallel to his own body, limp black hair swaying back and forth just a few inches away from sehun’s face. the girl’s own face is shrouded in darkness, hidden under the shadows of her curtains of straggly hair.

a rancid smell of rot and decay invades sehun’s nose, and he thinks it’s coming from her.

death.

destruction.

her head slowly begins to turn, rotating until it reaches 180 degrees, and stops. 

it wasn’t that her face was hidden in darkness before. sehun was just seeing the back of her skull.

now, before sehun’s very eyes, is a pasty, mottled skin stretched way beyond it’s natural capability, empty, black eye sockets sinking into pits of utter despair, sucking sehun in like the force of a black hole.

a single maggot wriggles out of the socket, dropping down on sehun’s cheek.

he finally finds his voice inside his throat and screams.

— 3 days later, 7:10 am

“what’s wrong with you?” zitao asks, finding sehun curled up inside a bathtub full of cold water. he kneels beside the rim, running his fingers through the shaking boy’s hair. “you’re going to get sick. it’s time to get out.”

sehun doesn’t move.

zitao is frustrated.

ever since that night, sehun hadn’t been entirely himself. if zitao had to describe sehun with one word, it would be crazy. zitao would wake up every night to sehun’s screaming and thrashing, spending the next few hours trying to calm the hysterical boy down.

sehun is jumpy. he’s volatile, prone to outbursts of sudden anger, rapidly followed by long periods of silence.

zitao doesn’t know what to do.

“sehun, please. come out from there.”

but zitao might as well have not said anything at all, from the amount of attention sehun is giving him.

giving up, zitao leaves, quietly shutting the door behind him.

sehun slowly lifts his chin, staring with dead eyes at the dripping faucet right across in his line of sight. reflected against it’s silver surface, a pair of white arms slides out of the water, caressing it’s way up sehun’s legs, his arms, his shoulders. coarse, chapped fingers weave through sehun’s hair, slowly pulling him down beneath the water until there is nothing left but the tiniest ripple.

— 5 days later, 6:00 pm

“i can’t believe…” chanyeol doesn’t finish his sentence, sobbing on a choke as jongin gently presses the crying boy’s face into his shoulder.

zitao still doesn’t believe this is happening. it has to be a dream.

drowned in the bathtub.

that was what the autopsy had said.

this has to be a nightmare. he’ll wake up soon.

chanyeol and jongin are one of the last few people to leave the procession, murmuring a quiet goodbye to zitao, who doesn’t seem like he’ll be separating from the grave any time soon.

a mound of dirt. a rock with sehun’s name.

that is all that’s left of the boy he loved.

this isn’t real.

— 6:23 pm

“do you think he’ll be okay?” chanyeol sniffs, staring blankly out the window as grassy fields and hills zip by.

“i don’t know,” jongin murmurs, eyes on the road. chanyeol buries his face into the padded shoulder of his black suit, muffling another sob as jongin resolutely tries to tune out his crying. one of them has to be strong, and listening to chanyeol’s grief only makes it harder.

so he focuses on the road, the smooth blackness of the pavement as they drive down the country road.

then, out of nowhere, “what the fuck!” jongin jerks the steering wheel, swerving to avoid hitting the girl that had hobbled out in front of his car.

the car spins a few times, tires screeching, the smell of burning rubber permeating the air. losing total control over his car, jongin drives through the divider, across the opposite side of the street, and down a hill where he crashes into a giant boulder.

“the fuck? ouch, shit,” jongin delicately touches the gash on his forehead where his head had collided with the steering wheel. “chanyeol, are you okay?” jongin turns to find chanyeol slouched against the window.

“chanyeol?” fear courses through jongin’s veins as he reaches out with shaky fingers to tap chanyeol’s shoulder, to make sure he’s not…

jongin chokes on his own spit, trying to fight back the tears threatening to spill. “chanyeol, please.”

an annoying buzzing noise flits around jongin’s ear, and jongin swats his hand to shoo away the fly zipping about his head. “get the fuck away!”

jongin’s hand freezes as chanyeol coughs, moaning as he finally starts moving.

relief like he’d never felt before.

jongin really thinks he’s going to cry now.

“you fucking scared me!” jongin shouts, slapping chanyeol’s arm with all the strength he could muster.

“ow, that hurts!” chanyeol whines, pushing jongin’s hand away.

“i thought you were dead,” jongin lowers his voice to mask the quivering.  he glances out  his window, turning away to hide the tears collecting at the corners of his eyes.

“well, i’m not,” chanyeol says softly, placing a gentle hand on jongin’s shoulder. “i’m fine.”

jongin sniffles.

“well, everything except for these damn flies,” chanyeol gripes, waving his hand into the air to ward some big ones away from his face.

“what?” jongin turns to face chanyeol, wiping away the moisture from the corners of his eyes.

“where are they coming from?” chanyeol is flailing his arms now, fighting off a small black cloud of flies hovering about his head. “what the fuck?”

the flies seem to be multiplying out of thin air, getting thicker and thicker inside the cramped space of the car, the buzzing noise hammering in their ears.

“fuck!” chanyeol screams as his vision blurs from the wave of flies drowning him under a blanket of darkness. “we need to get out of here!” his fingers scrabble along the edge of the door, searching for the handle. but it won’t budge.

“it won’t open!” jongin chokes, yanking against the handle that refuses to click. giving up, he let’s go of the door and begins banging on the window. “help! somebody please! anybody!”

but nobody comes, and the droning only gets louder.

— 1:49 am

zitao stumbles into the apartment, double vision tilting his world sideways to sunday as he tries to kick off his loafers and tosses his keys on the dining table. he’d stayed at the graveyard until the groundskeeper had kicked him out saying that it was after hours.

he had not wanted to come back to this apartment, so empty, so alone.

zitao still doesn’t understand what’s going on, his mind an upheaval of jumbled words and images.

what is his life?

what is life?

what?

loosening his tie, zitao stumbles towards his (their) bedroom, shrugging off his suit coat and tossing it on the bed. he drops down beside his coat, burying his face in his hands and rubbing his eyes in exhaustion.

he remains in that position for a few, long minutes, shoulders hunched despondently, too tired to change his clothes, much less get in the shower. zitao considers just pulling down the comforter and curling up inside his bed exactly as he is, hoping to fall asleep and maybe never wake up, when a clattering noise in the closet jerks his head up.

he stares hard at the closet, completely still and silent, when he hears the clattering again.

dragging himself onto his feet, zitao shuffles towards the open closet, switching on the light and stepping inside the cramped space.

zitao freezes halfway down the clothes rack, sehun’s scent invading his nose, his suits, his sweaters, everything sehun.

knees giving way and falling to the floor, zitao gasps for air, feeling as if a pair of fists are crushing his lungs into fine powder.

he grabs fistfuls of the hems of sehun’s winter coats, burying his face in them as tears begin to stream down his cheeks.

he cries, and cries, and cries, shoulders wracking with sobs of grief that seem to have no end.

why is this happening?

zitao chokes, vision blurred as he stares up at the lines of hanging clothes, meticulously placed in color and category order by sehun himself, and laughs as he remembers how sehun had thrown a fit when zitao had accidentally misplaced a few pieces after he’d offered to collect the dry cleaning.

a fresh wave of tears pour down his face as he remembers sehun’s face.

and suddenly, the closet door slams shut.

the lights turn off, shrouding zitao in a blanket of pitch black darkness.

“what the fuck?” zitao blinks, unable to see even within an inch of his face.

he hauls himself onto his feet to make for the door when something slides against his skin, fingers, curling around his ankle softly, and zitao freezes, rooted to the spot in numbing terror.

he can hear the blood thundering in his ears as a cold hand slides up his leg.

—

1999 january 15 - missing woman found: 24 year old jung soojung was found stabbed to death by her boyfriend… body was left to decompose in their closet for 10 days before it was found… whereabouts of the suspect is still unknown…