Chapter Text
Jiseok takes one look at the crumbling house before him and gulps.
It's not their first time investigating an abandoned building. Ever since that first ghost hunting video - a Halloween joke, mostly - blew up on his channel, the five of them have ended up in some obscure and terrifying places. Old prisons, abandoned hospitals, creepy old bridges and plenty of murder houses. But this one in particular is making his skin crawl.
Maybe it's because of how modern the house is, he thinks, as he makes sure to capture some good b-roll for the voice over segments. As always, the courtyard and exterior walls are covered in graffiti and the windows are boarded up, shattered glass still crunching beneath their feet in the wilting weeds that sprout up through the gravel. The gate to the courtyard is broken and lopsided from years of kids climbing over, daring each other to go into the haunted house. It must've given under the weight, and now a pathetic bundle of chains keeps the gates closed. But you can just duck under it anyway.
Jiseok doesn't like to do that. His channel, their ghost hunting, is different. It's ethical, he hopes. They always try to be respectful of the entities they're searching for. Jiseok tries to be nice and kind, no matter how scary it gets, because nothing is scarier than dying, right? They must've been scared too. And it mustn't be nice for some strangers to walk around your home like they own the place.
They're not the first ghost hunting team to have permission to investigate and film here, the owners finally relenting after years of reports about the paranormal activity. The people who own this lot actually live next door, and when they met to talk about the reports - all on camera for the show, of course - they recalled the night of the murder in terrible detail.
The couple, then around their sixties, had never had their own children, but they were close with the boy next door, babysitting him as he grew up, taking care of him as his parents worked, or watching him play in the garden. He was a little simple, they said, but a lovely, bright boy. Oh, he'd never dream of hurting anyone. It's just horrific, what they did to him.
Jiseok takes a step back from where he cranes his neck up at the house and bumps into Jungsu, who is getting a shot of the whole place from a low angle, making the already creepy building look even more imposing.
“Watch it,” Jungsu mumbles, a little annoyed at having to repeat the shot. “Don't want any scares before we even get in, right?” He rolls his eyes fondly and Jiseok sighs.
No matter how long they've been doing this, Jungsu still resolutely believes nothing they've encountered is paranormal. He has an explanation for all of it, even if his logic has to get more far-fetched than just admitting ghosts are real. Whilst it's good banter and fun for the viewers to watch their different reactions, sometimes it kind of hurts Jiseok's feelings that he doesn't believe them.
Gunil is filming close-ups of some graffiti scratched into the bricks. “I hate this,” he says, lowering his camcorder. He has a pensive look on his face as he so often does when they come to these places with traceable tragic history. “A child was killed here, and idiots are carving their names instead. Do they have no respect?”
“Maybe some do,” Seungmin speaks up from where he lurks in a corner of the yard. There seems to be a small memorial for the boy, one that hasn't been added to in some time, the elderly couple unable to keep up with maintenance. A carved stone with a bronze plaque commemorates him, and a myriad of objects surround it. There's quite a few dirty, rotting bunny plushies and a board with a few Go pieces scattered on the ground around it, as well as maybe some old books. It's hard to tell.
“We should leave something too,” Seungmin says quietly. “Clean this up for him.” He brushes some dead leaves and cobwebs off the plaque and Jiseok leans over to read it.
in loving memory of Han Hyeongjun
1989.08.18 - 2005.03.27
There's no other inscription. It's interesting to choose a simple “in loving memory” over something like “beloved son and friend” or a more personalised message about what he was like. Although, Jiseok supposes “beloved son” would be inappropriate, given what happened. All Jiseok can surmise is that he probably liked rabbits and playing Go. Knowing those small details makes Han Hyeongjun seem more real. Just an innocent kid, whose life was cut short far too early.
Jiseok was a babbling little three-year-old when the teenager was killed. Now, he's in his final year of university, exploring haunted houses with his best friends, and Han Hyeongjun never got to grow up. It's a sobering thought that makes him feel colder than a haunting ever could. What a fucked up world they live in. He hopes Han Hyeongjun isn't here, and that he's resting somewhere, at peace.
But the reports suggest otherwise.
“Well,” Jooyeon says, cutting through the solemn silence with his bright voice. “Shall we begin?” He asks. Jiseok nods and they head over to the front door, cameras at the ready. He knocks lightly, and the door swings open with a low creak.
Frowning, Jiseok steps inside. He could've sworn he didn't put enough force to actually open the door, no matter how broken it may be. He shares a look with Jooyeon, who just shrugs. Maybe Han Hyeongjun really did let them in? That's why they knock, after all. It's only polite.
Inside, the house is in an even worse state of disrepair. Damp yellowing wallpaper peels off the cracked walls and cobwebs litter every nook and cranny, thick layers of dust cover the surfaces and fill the air. There's mould and moss growing on parts of the floorboards as they rot away, and Jiseok is glad Gunil always makes them wear masks so they don't breathe in spores.
Even after some twenty years, the place still smells like old blood. Death hangs heavy over this house, an oppressive shadow that no amount of light from their torches can pierce. A cool air passes behind him and Jiseok shivers, whipping around with his camera. Nothing there. Normal, for this job, but still…he never gets over how spooky that is.
Swallowing his fear, he walks deeper into the hallway, peering at the few photos still hanging on the wall, lopsided on loose old nails. Once upon a time, it probably looked picture perfect, family portraits on display to show just how happy and unified they were. In one of the best preserved ones, not torn or disintegrated by damp, Jiseok places the son, Hyeongjun, as about six-years-old.
He's sitting stiffly in a chair with his gaze fixed solidly off to the side. Not even a decade later, those parents who stand smiling so proudly behind him would murder him brutally in cold blood.
Jiseok wonders what he was looking at in the photo. Did he trust them? Were his final moments filled with the awful betrayal of those he thought loved him most? The sounds of his desperate screams reached the neighbours who loved him so much - probably the only reason his parents were caught. Sadly, Jiseok doubts that anyone would've looked into it if they simply reported Hyeongjun missing. He was a vulnerable kid and it wouldn't have been out of character for him to just…wander off one day, never to return. Jiseok feels sick. He wants to cry. But ultimately he's glad they know what happened to Han Hyeongjun, even if it should never have happened in the first place.
Something shifts in the corner of his eye, and he turns to look into the living room. He can't make anything out and he's not quite sure where the movement came from. Curious, Jiseok enters the room and shines his torch around, half-expecting to see a mouse or a stray cat. But whatever it was has melted back into the shadows.
The living room is a mess; the red couch is torn and moulding, the coffee table full of old rubbish from squatters and reckless teenagers. Jiseok doesn't pay it much mind, it's normal in these abandoned buildings. There’s an old TV stand, but the TV has long since been stolen, leaving only a cracked vase and some mouse droppings to decorate the surface.
If Jiseok looks closely, he can still see the outline of where a rug used to cover the floorboards, a square of them paler from fifteen years of being covered. They rolled up their son's body in it and stuffed it in their car. But the police arrived before they could drive off and dump him god-knows-where.
He sighs, stomach churning with anger or disgust or fear, he's not certain.
In the corner of the room, there's a small desk with half-melted candles that look like someone tried to hold a séance around a Go board, half set up with an old game. Jiseok has no idea if it's Hyeongjun's original belonging, or something previous investigators brought to try and connect to him, but as he's staring, one of the black counters trembles.
“Hello?” Jiseok asks, his voice shaking. He stares at the still-wobbling piece unabashedly, his eyes wide. “Um, guys, does anyone know how to play Go?”
Gunil comes over, gaze fixed on the counter. He frowns. Honestly, Jiseok still doesn't know if Gunil's a believer or not, but he's their head researcher and always keeping them safe, so he doesn't really mind.
“I think it's something about surrounding the other player's pieces to capture them,” Gunil says. “But I'm not sure of the rules, sorry.”
“Yeah,” Seungmin says aloud to the room and the ghost of Han Hyeongjun, if he is indeed here. “We don't know how to play, we're sorry.”
The black counter trembles faster, and then suddenly, it shoots across the room, hitting the couch and clattering to the floor. Jiseok shrieks loudly.
“What the hell,” Jungsu mumbles.
Jooyeon laughs, shocked, crouching down to find the Go piece. When he does, he laughs again. “It's still vibrating,” he says, amused, capturing it on camera. “Sorry, Hyeongjun-ssi, we're just a bit dumb.”
“Fucking hell,” Jiseok whispers, clutching his chest. His heart is still racing and he can't quite catch his breath. Holy shit! That was crazy.
Seungmin shushes them, a finger to his lips. He points up at the ceiling and Jiseok tilts his head, holding his shaking breath to listen. It sounds like someone's walking around upstairs. Biting his lips, Jiseok exhales slowly through his noise. Well, this ghost is certainly an active one. Usually, they have to reduce hours of footage to show what little they managed to capture. They've barely been in the house for twenty minutes and Han Hyeongjun is running circles around them.
The staircase creaks and Jiseok instinctually turns to look back into the hallway, half expecting to see the teenage boy walking towards them. But naturally, he doesn't. He can't even hear footsteps anymore.
“Let’s see if we can get something on the spirit box,” Jiseok suggests, digging through his equipment bag for the device and setting it up on the coffee table, brushing aside dust and snack wrappers to make sure it's stable.
The spirit box is pretty cool. It switches through radio signals rapidly, so that the only noise is static. But the spirits can speak through it. The more words at once and more specific the answer, the more Jiseok trusts that it's not just a glitch in the signal and an actual ghost talking to them. Even Jungsu struggles to deny the longer answers they've had.
“What should we ask?” Jiseok hesitates, glancing around.
Jooyeon stands up, holding the Go counter. He licks his lips. “Is there anyone here with us right now?” He starts, the most basic question. Jiseok thinks it's pretty obvious there is, but the more evidence the better, he supposes.
The spirit box crackles with static for a while. Long enough that Jiseok almost gives up to ask another question, until faintly, he catches a few words. Sucking in a sharp breath, he looks around to check he's not the only one. From how pale Seungmin is and the wild grin on Jooyeon's face, he's certain they heard it too; the whispered message of I'm right here.
Jiseok clears his throat. “Right, nice to meet you,” he manages, his voice trembling.
Gunil interjects with a new question. “What’s your name?” He asks softly. “Are we speaking to Han Hyeongjun?”
The static flickers, churning as the signal switches through radio channels. Name, it crackles, in the voice of a young boy. Yes. Name. Han. Jun. Han.
“Junhan?” Gunil repeats, a small smile on his face. “Is that a nickname? It's nice.”
But the next words through the spirit box sends a shiver down his spine. Why are you here? The ghost demands, the static cracking faster. He swears he hears a few more whispered why's.
Sweating, Jiseok looks around. He's not sure how to answer, really. If he's honest, they're here to film, to try and prove ghosts are real, to earn money. They're not really here for the boy, although if they can help him, Jiseok wants to.
Seungmin answers more sensitively than he could manage. “We're here to talk to you,” he says. “That's what we do. We talk to ghosts.”
The spirit box hisses not real and abruptly shuts off. Jiseok reaches out for it, checking the battery and connection. It should be working fine, everything is switched on and it's nearly fully charged, but the familiar radio static is just gone.
“What the fuck,” Jiseok says, handing the device to Jungsu to look over for his own satisfaction. “What do you mean not real?” He demands to the empty air. “What isn't real? We're real! You're real!”
Everyone's torches flicker at once and Jiseok has to bite back a scream. His heart is racing in his ears and his hands shake.
Seungmin lets out a stuttered gasp, staring at a mirror that hangs on the wall. Jiseok turns to look into it too, but all he can make out are their silhouettes. It's not until he blinks and one of the black shadows has vanished that he realises there were six.
There's only five of them in their team. Terrified, Jiseok slowly turns around to where the sixth silhouette had been standing to face empty air. Staring into the darkness doesn't yield any new results, but as he strains for answers in the silence of the room, he swears he hears a faint giggle right next to his ear and he startles, flailing wildly and swatting at the cold air.
“Let's set up properly,” Jooyeon suggests and Jungsu gets to work handing out equipment. They have some EMF devices which capture electromagnetic anomalies, EVP recorders for any mysterious voices, motion sensors and some tripods to leave their cameras recording even as they head upstairs. Jiseok trembles, shaking as he carefully climbs up the rotting staircase. At the top, there’s a small landing with an old bookshelf and armchair tucked into the corner. Examining the spines of the books doesn’t yield much and Jiseok is about to conclude when a ball rolls down the hallway and stops at his feet. He stares at the small, red orb in mounting horror.
Seungmin blinks and picks it up. “Maybe the hallway is sloped?” He suggests, though that wouldn’t explain where the ball came from. He places it at the far end beneath the broken clock on the wall. It doesn’t move. Jiseok sucks in a harsh breath. Okay…
The red balls twitches and rolls into the wall.
“Hi, again,” Jooyeon says cheerfully, picking the ball up and bouncing it once. He catches it again. “You want to play, Hyeongjun-ssi?” He rolls the ball back to the wall, but instead of ricocheting off, it stops dead. The unnatural force makes Jiseok shiver. Slowly, the ball spins and rolls into one of the bedrooms. He gulps.
Gunil takes a hesitant step towards the door. “I guess we follow,” he says, slowly. The five of them agree in silence and Jiseok turns and swings the half-ajar door open. It creaks loudly and he trembles as his torch beam lights up the very crime scene where Hyeongjun died: the boy’s own bedroom. At times like this, Jiseok hopes beyond hope that the ghosts see everything as it was when they were alive. He can’t imagine the alternative - that for twenty years, the spirit of this fifteen-year-old boy has been stuck in this bedroom, where the walls and floorboards are still stained with his blood.
Jiseok takes a deep breath and squeezes his eyes shut. He opens them again and the room is much the same. The wallpaper is spattered in decades-old blood, the mattress of the bed remains, torn where the knives plunged into it through the flesh of their son…he feels sick. So absolutely sick, and in the middle of it all, the red ball, resting at the foot of a huge stuffed bunny toy.
“Hyeongjun-ssi?” Gunil asks to the stale air. “Shall we try talking again?”
Jungsu takes the cue to switch on the spirit box, the crackling radio static roaring to life. Jiseok shines his torch over the impressive collection of bunny toys. They’re covered in cobwebs and dust, but it’s still adorable. Han Hyeongjun definitely adored rabbits. Maybe that was his special interest. From everything they’ve been able to piece together, the teen was diagnosed with autism when he was young, so it’d make sense considering how many rabbits they’ve seen. By the desk, where Hyeongjun presumably did schoolwork, there’s a 2005 calendar with a big picture of a fluffy ginger rabbit. On the desk shelves, Hyeongjun has stuck lots of bunny stickers to the wood. His school books are tucked neatly away next to some old manhwa Jiseok doesn’t recognise and some manga in the original Japanese. There’s also some wooden rabbit trinkets and one of a guinea pig that has been shoved into some gaps between some books and partially hidden. Likely, a gift he didn’t want to be rude by getting rid of, but not one he actually liked. Jiseok can almost smile, seeing snippets of this personality still seep through.
“Is it true your parents killed you?” Jooyeon asks, rather brashly. Jiseok and Seungmin wince in union and even Jungsu looks a little perturbed. It doesn’t seem like a particularly good idea to ask that when Hyeongjun had shut the spirit box off earlier.
Gunil clicks his tongue. “Jooyeon,” he scolds. “You should be a little more…sensitive.”
The spirit box keeps flicking through the channels. The red ball rocks slowly where it rests against the bunny’s foot, like Hyeongjun is thinking hard or perhaps, bored. Something clinks and Jiseok blinks. He swears one of the rabbit toys has slumped forward, knocking a little teacup on the floor.
Seungmin makes a small noise and hands his camcorder over to Gunil, reaching up to a shelf above the bed on which a teapot and more teacups are stacked up. Taking them down disturbs the dust and it makes Jiseok’s nose tickle. He covers his nose and sneezes quietly as Seungmin crouches down and pretends to pour tea into the teacup. Jiseok has to slap a hand over his mouth not to scream as the rabbit sits up.
“Hoo,” Seungmin breathes out, also clearly scared, but he keeps playing, serving tea to the other bunnies and one to an empty spot. Jiseok swears he hears someone clapping, but when he looks around, there’s nothing. “Ah, Hyeongjun-ssi,” Seungmin says, sitting politely on his knees. “I wonder, what year is it?” The teacup at the empty spot jingles, the sound similar to a child’s laugh. “I know,” Seungmin smiles. “It’s a silly question, right?”
The spirit box crackles. Two thousand… the voice comes thoughtfully. Five.
Shit. Jiseok's heart falls. Gunil is the one to say it aloud.
“He doesn't know he's dead,” Gunil whispers.
Jungsu scoffs. “You can't be serious,” he says. “There's nothing there!”
Jooyeon raises an eyebrow and switches the spirit box off, the chugging static leaving an awful heavy silence behind. The EVPs are still recording, so Jiseok won't be surprised if they pick something up. “Nothing there? He told us his name and the year he di-” he cuts himself off. “The year,” he hisses. “That's not a coincidence!”
“Confirmation bias and wishful thinking,” Jungsu says, firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ghosts aren't real. Han Hyeongjun is dead and gone, and may he rest in peace, but honestly, guys, it's horrible to act like this in the bedroom where a kid was murdered-”
Jungsu freezes. “That's not funny,” he says, whipping around. “Don't touch me. I'm not falling for this.”
“Nobody touched you,” Jiseok reassures, holding his hands up. It's true. Jungsu is lingering in the doorway still, with the rest of them firmly in Hyeongjun's room. There's nobody behind him in the hall to touch him. It must've been the ghost boy. Jiseok sighs and wipes the anxious sweat from his brow.
Jungsu purses his lips. “It was one of you, it wasn't a ghost,” he rolls his eyes.
“Even if you don't believe,” Jiseok says, jabbing a finger in his direction. “You have to admit that there's no explanation for it! Maybe he's still here in some way - his energy, a time slip, who knows?”
“He's not here,” Jungsu insists. “He's dead. He's been dead for twenty years-”
He's cut off with the spirit box switching back on abruptly. Jooyeon yelps and jumps away, his hands held up where the device crackles on the ruined mattress. He shoots a desperate look at Jiseok.
Not dead, not dead, not dead! The spirit box insists, the voice somehow growing louder even though the volume on the device is firmly set. Right here, not dead, not dead, not dead!
There's a slamming noise, the walls shaking like something is hitting it over and over again. The lightbulb above their head flickers and sparks fly from the old exposed wires despite the power having been shut off to the building for years. Their torches shut off and Jiseok screams.
The outline of Han Hyeongjun is sat opposite Seungmin, curled into a ball with his knees up to his chest. He rocks back and forth, his back and heading colliding with the wall as it shakes. Jiseok doesn't need the spirit box or the EVPs to hear him anymore - a constant repetition of “not dead” streams from the ghost boy's mouth.
Jiseok clasps a hand to his mouth. Of course, he believed, but seeing it with his own eyes…
Han Hyeongjun looks just like all the photographs. Short dark hair, down turned eyes with monolids and upturned lips. The ghost is transparent but there's still a little colour to him…although, he looks just as he did when he died. His hair is messy, his skin pale, his lips dark with blood. He's dressed in soft yellow pyjamas with a matching yellow hoodie with bunny ears, torn and bloodied all over his torso. All over his hands and arms, there's deep bloody, slices where he fought back against the attack. But Jiseok expects that Hyeongjun sees himself healthy, the house as it was when he lived in it, and his parents…
If he doesn't know he's dead, he doesn't know what happened. He doesn't know that they killed him.
“I know,” Seungmin is murmuring softly. “I know, I know, I'm sorry,” his hands hover like he wants to hug the distressed boy. But he can't touch him. There's nothing corporeal there. “Hyeongjun-ssi, we’ll explain, calm down.”
The ghost boy looks up with tears in his eyes, his hands screw into his hair as he rocks. “Not dead…” he mumbles. “You see? You see?”
“Yeah, we can see you now,” Gunil says soothingly. Jiseok can't breathe, Jooyeon stands there, eyes bulging with shock and Jungsu looks seconds from passing out. There's an actual ghost right in front of them. A ghost! A dead person's spirit. “We can see you, Hyeongjun-ssi.”
Hyeongjun nods to himself, his rocking slowing just a little. “You see,” he continues. “You see.”
Oh god, Jiseok thinks, they have to explain to this autistic ghost boy that his parents murdered him two decades ago.