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Despite the insulation of the carriage, the cold air snaked in like the fingers of a corpse, surrounding Jongin and sending a shiver down his spine. Breathing in and out released puffs of breath that lingered mere moments before fading into the ether. Pulling his coat tighter around himself, Jongin sighed wearily. Having been born and raised in the relative comforts of the city, he was utterly unused to the wintry weather. If this was what he had to look forward to, then god almighty he was done with this world at last.
“Cold day, innit?” His driver remarked.
In no mood for conversation, Jongin tiredly lay his head against the window and let his eyes roam their surroundings as they continued down their way. Somewhere along the way, the unmarked beauty of the countryside had yielded to something much less welcoming- as far as his eye could see, the body of mother nature bore scars from the ravages of winter. Bare branches scraped against the greyness of the skies, while rotted blackened leaves littered the dusty ground. It made for an eerie sight: the very earth seemed to be ill.
It was not as if it had been his decision to retire to the countryside for the season, Jongin reflected sourly. Indeed, he and his bosom friend Sehun had made plans of a more bacchanalian nature, having hoped to share many a dance with the beauties of the ton, and many drinks with the gentlemen. At five and twenty, it was his obligation to himself to make merry as much as humanly possible, before ultimately fulfilling his duty to his family by settling down.
So when his uncle had upped and died, leaving to him a decaying property deep in the untraversed countryside, it had not been a welcome surprise. Were it up to him, he would have let the manor fall into a much sorrier state. The Kims had never been in want of land nor money, and one decrepit property would not be such a loss for them. His brother Junmyeon, however, had been of a much more frugal mind, and thus he had been ordered to remove himself to said manor to manage its affairs.
“We’re nearly there, sir,” his driver tried again.
Shifting in his seat, Jongin continued to stare intensely out the window. “That’s good to hear,” he replied noncommittally, though inwardly he was much pleased to hear it. He had been cooped up in the carriage for far too long, and though the chaise was far from mean, he did not believe he could survive another hour in the small, enclosed space.
“Are you planning to stay at Fleetwood Hall long, sir?” Rather than mere curiosity, there was an apprehension in the driver’s voice that Jongin found curious. Idly, he toyed with the idea of investigating further, before ultimately scrapping the thought. He was a gentleman after all- it would not do to interact overmuch with the help.
“Just for the season,” Jongin said instead, choosing to keep his answer short. To his delight, this seemed to satisfy the man, and he refrained from making any further inquiries.
As promised, Jongin was indeed beginning to perceive signs that they were indeed approaching the destination. Unpaved roads gave way to uneven cobblestones, and he thought that he could just barely make out some sort of building in the distance.
Squinting, he leaned closer to the window, trying to angle his head correctly to steal a better view. “Is that it?” he questioned with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Is that Fleetwood Hall?”
His driver chuckled. “That’s the church in Fleetwood proper, sir,” he informed him, voice cheerful. “’Twas built just last year, after the old one fell to pieces in a storm. Fleetwood Hall itself is just past the town. It shan’t be long now.”
Contented with the answer, Jongin sat back into the cushioned seat, using both hands to smooth out his clothes. “I should hope that it will be half so grand,” he joked. Now that they were closer, he could see that the church was positively spartan; a far cry from the cathedrals of the city.
The driver seemed to hesitate. “It is nothing so mean, sir.” he said, “But the style is quite old, and age has dulled much of the luster. Though it still has a quaint charm,” he was quick to assure.
Jongin was amused by this. “No need to flatter the place,” he remarked, deciding that perhaps interacting with the help was not so bad after all. “If I could quit it today, I assure you I would; it is my brother’s order that bring me to this unhappy place, not my own will.”
Little was said after that, and the two settled into a comfortable silence. Eventually, Jongin discovered, to his great pleasure, that despite the unendurable unevenness of the poor cobblestoned road, sleep could, in fact, be achieved. As immediately as he was able, Jongin surrendered to the much welcomed embrace of sleep with abandon.
-
Night had smothered the world in her inky, serpentine body when he was tugged awake by a sudden and jerky stop. He yawned and attempted to paw the slumber from his eyes, before catching himself. Straightening, he chanced a bleary look through the window, feeling as if anticipation were making an unspeakable mess of his bowels.
It was difficult to make out whether or not the manor was handsome in the dark, but he could immediately tell it was of an imposing stature. Even under the limited reign of moonlight, an impressive shadow was cast: an austere silhouette of blackness that stretched far above him. Jongin was quite pleased to note that the path toward the abode was well lit with torches that burned dimly in weathered sconces; the warmth of flickering flames did much to temper the cold, all-encompassing darkness.
He was in the midst of gathering himself (as well as the few belongings he had chosen to bring onto the carriage) when three sharp knocks rounded on the carriage door. He fell over himself in his haste to open it, and after several fumbles, managed to unlatch the lock.
He was greeted by what seemed, at first, to be an owl. For a moment or two, all he could make out was an indistinct outline, and two very bright, very wide eyes. The puzzling sight became startling when the figure advanced closer still, allowing the little light of the moon illuminate his features. The discovery that those eyes were human rather than avian was most disconcerting, and elicited from Jongin both an uncoordinated tumble as well as an unintentionally rude gasp.
“Mr. Kim, I presume?” The man inquired. He was obviously doing his best to affect an indifferent tone of voice, but there was a tremble in his speech and a sparkle in his eye that betrayed his amusement nevertheless. Sadistic bastard.
Gulping, he tried his best to recover his dignity and his wits. “Indeed,” he answered, pulling himself upright and subtly straightening his spine. His face was flushed with embarrassment, but there was nothing he could do about that. “And you are…”
“Call me Do Kyungsoo,” the man offered, taking a step backward. He lifted his thin arm then, and only then did Jongin notice the lantern that dangled in his grasp. “I am the steward of Fleetwood Hall.”
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Jongin replied politely, stepping forward out of the carriage. The ground felt sturdy under his feet, a welcome change from the hollow wood paneling of the carriage floor. After spending so long cooped in such a claustrophobic prison, it was all he could do not to spread himself wide and revel in the openness of the country air. He could not- appearances needed to be maintained.
Between the glow of the lantern and the torches, Jongin was able observe the estate in much greater detail as they walked between the chaise and the manor. The garden seemed well tended, though the hedges were of an imposing height that was a bit disquieting. Jongin wondered why the gardener had not trimmed them.
“Oh!” Kyungsoo declared when Jongin voiced his question. His smile had not faltered the entire time, and it did not do so now. His eyes, however, narrowed slightly. “It is a slow process, but we are culling the growth now. Look hence- it may be a little difficult to see in such poor lighting, but there are a great many thorns adorning the hedge. Therein lies the reason why progress is so sluggish.”
Jongin nodded. If briars were what was impeding progress, he could find little fault with that.
Upon reaching the main entrance, it became apparent that the house was built in an archaic style. Running a hand down the smooth, marble column, Jongin could not help but marvel; though time had badly aged what once must have been grandiose beauty, the remnants were still hauntingly striking nevertheless.
The shorter man did not remark on this, instead walking up to the door and using the brass knocker to make three sharp raps. The hollow sounds reverberated through the coldness that surrounded them, disturbing the air and eliciting a small shiver from Jongin. In the distance, the shrill sounds of bats could be heard.
After a short delay, the door opened. Taking a step inside, Jongin turned his eyes left and right, up and down, trying to get a feel for the interior. It was darker than what he was used to. Lighting provided by oil lamps- and weakly augmented by the delicate rays of moonlight- dimly illuminated the interior, revealing a darkly beautiful interior that matched the exterior of the house very well.
Kyungsoo turned to face him, face bearing an unnerving smile. “The master bedroom will be on the upper level,” he explained. “The servants are still preparing it for you. For now, would you like a tour of the manor?”
“That would be agreeable.”
Nodding, Kyungsoo turned and commenced walking. “Follow me,” he instructed.
Jongin was taken through hallways and rooms, allowed to explore each and every one. It reaffirmed his thoughts- while obviously a great beauty, Fleetwood Hall was not a place that matched his taste. The greying wallpaper and the sun-bleached floor gave everything a muted look, an aesthetic that was exacerbated by the shadows that the weak lamps cast. There was a heaviness in the air, and he couldn’t help but feel stifled as he made his way through the home. When he returned to the ton the following season as planned, it would be with no small measure of relief.
“I think the servants should be finished now,” Kyungsoo said. The tour had been ended for half the measure of an hour, and they had been waiting patiently in the foyer. “Perhaps you would like to head to your room? I’m sure you are much tired.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Jongin agreed. He could already imagine the plushness of the pillows and the velvety feel of the throw.
They had made their way halfway up the staircase, when he was struck by a thought. “You haven’t shown me the basement,” he remarked. That was rather curious: they had been sitting around with nothing to do, and exploring the basement would have been a much more exciting and productive use of the time.
Kyungsoo stiffened. It was almost imperceptible, and if Jongin hadn’t been staring at him intently, then he might not have noticed it. “Fleetwood Hall does not have a conventional basement,” he replied smoothly. “There is instead a series of caves, filled with stalactites, stalagmites, bats, and other horrific things. It used to function as an ossuary, and has been closed because it poses a health risk.”
“Oh.” Hearing that quelled any desire Jongin might have had to see the basement. “A rather intelligent thing to do. No need to take chances, right?”
Inclining his head, Kyungsoo smiled stiffly. “Indeed.”
They made the rest of the way to the bedroom in complete silence.
“These are your quarters,” Kyungsoo explained as he opened the double doors.
As with the rest of the home, there was a sort of withered beauty to it, but the atmosphere was rather different: inviting and warm. Though, Jongin reflected, that might be due to the giant bed situated in the center of the room, outfitted with linens and blankets that looked exceedingly comfortable.
“I hope you will find them acceptable,” Kyungsoo continued. “If you ever need anything, simply yank the chain by the bedside, and a servant will accommodate you shortly.”
“Thank you,” Jongin smiled. The room was similar to what he was used to: there was space enough for two, and the furnishings were all of a stellar quality. He had been upset at sacrificing his year to oversee the restoration of the manor, but this was a consolation that went a decent way toward relieving that. “It’s a beautiful room,” he complimented. “The servants prepared it excellently.”
Nodding, Kyungsoo did a small bow. “I will leave you to your leisure,” he stated. “The servants are drawing a bath for you as we speak, should you choose to take it. Remember, we are all at your service if you require anything.”
Left alone in the room, Jongin allowed himself to flop on the bed in an undignified manner. “So comfortable,” he muttered. It was tempting to give in to the seductive wiles of sleep, but he knew that everything would feel that much better when he was clean and free of all the grime he had accumulated throughout the day.
In an effort to keep himself awake, he made his way over the windows, propping them open. Resting his elbows on the sill, he cradled his face in his head as he stared out the distance into the night.
From above, it was significantly easier to make out the grounds. He could make out a large lake he had failed to discern earlier, as well as the woods that bordered the property. Off into the distance, noble looking mountains loomed in majesty, all but completing the view.
He was just about to lose himself to his thoughts, when something caught his eye.
It was only for a split second, but there seemed to be some sort of dark shadow hovering by the edge of the woods. A shiver ran up his spine, but when he blinked again, there was nothing discernible other than the lush grass and the swaying trees. Shaking his head, Jongin told himself that it had been nothing; just a figment of his imagination. And yet the chill remained within him, and it was with a great sense of relief that he closed the window and drew the curtains shut.
-
Morning brought with it responsibilities, and Junmyeon had assigned him plenty. Thankfully the mansion was in an impeccable state of cleanliness, so he did not have to suffer through dusting and mopping and lord knows what else. Less fortunately, there were so many furniture and belongings to catalogue, which Jongin quickly found was just as monotonous as it sounded.
“Most of the furniture is in good condition,” Jongin noted. “They should fetch a decent price.”
Standing beside him, Kyungsoo raised an eyebrow. “And who will buy it?” he inquired. “Unless you plan to have it shipped all the way back to the city, there are precious few prospective buyers looking for furniture. Especially on this scale.”
Obviously, Jongin had not thought this through. He contemplated Kyungsoo’s words, acknowledged the truth in them. “We can phase them out one by one,” he decided. It would be a slow process, but ultimately more practical.
Kyungsoo pursed his lips at the response, obviously less than pleased. He seemed as if he were about to speak, when a knock sounded at the doorway.
A thin, uncertain looking young man stood there. “Mr. Kim, Mr. Do,” he said in a quivering voice, inclining his head in a gesture of respect.
“Yes Baekhyun, what is it?” Kyungsoo asked impatiently.
“The clergyman is here again,” the servant informed them in a tentative voice. “He keeps demanding to see you, sir. Wants your leave to perform an exorcism.”
Jongin’s head snapped up. An exorcism? So Fleetwood Hall was thought to be haunted? It was rather irksome that he had not been informed of this- not that it mattered, since he did not believe in ghosts. Nevertheless, he looked back and forth between Kyungsoo’s exasperated face and Baekhyun’s distressed one to gauge the situation.
“That man!” Kyungsoo said furiously. “Doesn’t he know when to give up?” He turned to Jongin then, inclining his head. “I apologize, but it seems I will need to go and deal with this… momentary distraction. Please feel free to continue cataloging the furniture; Baekhyun can assist you.”
Rolling up his sleeves, the short man stalked out of the room.
Blinking, Jongin turned his attention to Baekhyun. “Is this a typical occurrence?” he asked.
Baekhyun’s small eyes widened. He bit his lip, as if debating whether or not to answer the question. “The minister does come by every day,” he admitted at last. “There have always been rumors about hauntings at Fleetwood hall. But Don’t worry,” he hastened to assure Jongin. “They are utterly unfounded.”
Frowning, Jongin tilted his head. “There must be some reason for the rumors,” he thought aloud. He allowed his eyes to trail around the room, as if he were considering his surroundings, but kept Baekhyun in his peripheral vision to observe his reaction.
Obviously, he had made the other man even more nervous than before, if the uncharacteristically wide eyes and the continuous hand wringing were reliable indicators. Baekhyun seemed very jittery, practically vibrating in place. It was clear that there was something deeper to investigate about the estate.
With a sigh, Jongin turned back to the inventory. There would always be time to delve deeper later. He swore to himself that, if his brother had knowingly sent him to a haunted house, then by Jove he would have his head.
-
“Tell me a little about the history of Fleetwood Hall.”
A golden warm glow enveloped the Earth, heralding the advent of noon. With the cooks still preparing lunch in the kitchens, Jongin- utterly tired of taking an inventory of the house- had proposed a midday walk around the grounds, which Kyungsoo agreed would suit them admirably.
Kyungsoo blinked rapidly, but otherwise his composure remained remarkably intact. “What would you like to know?” he asked, angling his head to meet Jongin’s gaze. Again, he found himself unnerved by the way those wide, wide eyes bored knowingly into his own.
Discomfited, he broke eye contact, instead direct his eyes across the field and staring into the woods. “A general history would be sufficient,” he answered. “If I have any further questions, I will ask you from there.”
Satisfied, Kyungsoo nodded. “Fleetwood Hall was built a few hundred years ago, on the ruins of a much older structure,” he narrated mechanically, as if from rote. “A country squire and his wife had it reconstructed so as to raise their children away from the perceived vulgarity and excesses of society.” He paused and scrunched up his face, as if fighting to remember what happened next, but when he did continue, his expression was muted. “Eventually, their line died out, so it was passed to distant relatives.” He gestured with his hand. “Of which you are one, sir.”
Frowning, Jongin turned back to face the steward. Clearly, he wasn’t getting the entire story. “So why is it that Fleetwood Hall is considered haunted?” He asked. “Surely there must be a reason for its reputation.”
The other man seemingly faltered for a moment, before gathering himself once more. “Yes well,” he hesitated. “There’s a small discrepancy between what the public knows and what really happened, and unfortunately it has never been corrected.”
Jongin made a noncommittal noise, indicating for Kyungsoo to continue.
“There had been... rumors,” the steward spoke haltingly, as if debating the merit of giving the answer. “When the family first moved here, there was much talk about ill portents.”
“Ill portents?” Jongin questioned. He was not the most curious of men by nature, but the story seemed so intriguing that he had been made so. “Surely not as in a prophecy?”
Kyungsoo shook his head. “Worse. The squire did not, unfortunately, benefit from the greatest of reputations. In his youth, he had often dabbled in the arts of alchemy and magic. His… alternative faith also did him no favors. It was whispered that he had left the court for the country in order to perform satanic rituals at leisure.”
“That seems abominably rude of them,” Jongin remarked. “But… was there any merit to the rumors?” Though he considered himself an enlightened man that believed little in demons or magics, the thought of residing in a place that had housed such blasphemous acts was not exactly a comforting thought.
“How do I know?” the steward snorted. “This all took place several centuries ago; I am not yet nine and twenty. If you are determined to have the answer, perhaps the churchyard will have it.”
“Ah.” His curiosity was not yet so strong.
Snorting, Kyungsoo continued with the tale. “After years passed, the villagers saw less and less of the family, until they stopped coming to town altogether. The truth was, their only son and heir had sickened and died, and the grief led them to reclusiveness. However…” he looked truly vexed, as if what he were to recount next were a personal affront, “The villagers came up with a more… exciting version of events.”
Jongin waited patiently for a few moments, but when it became clear that nothing was forthcoming, he had to suppress a groan. “Don’t leave me in suspense now,” he admonished irritably. “Get on with it.” He lived in the house in question after all, and he was desperately curious to know more about what was going on.
“Village legend has it that, for their perfidies, the entire family was forced to haunt the ossuaries they were buried in. That the family never left Fleetwood Hall for that reason.”
Despite the fact that it was a sunny day, a chill nevertheless ran through Jongin’s spine at the words. It was just a story, he knew, and not a particularly good one at that. Still, living in the home where the hauntings supposedly occurred made him a little anxious about it all nevertheless: there was little doubt that he would be significantly more aware of the bumps in the night.
-
Though he had only been there for a short period of time, Jongin was already beginning to feel antsy by the third day. Fleetwood Hall, large though it was, only hosted a small number of people, and none of them were particularly accomplished at conversation; indeed, other than Kyungsoo, it seemed none of the people of Fleetwood Hall could really keep his interest.
And so, on the third day, he announced that he would be making a trip to the town. There was still much work to do, of course: only a third of all inventory had been done after all. However, the impatience was brewing within him, and he feared it would lead to an explosive outburst if he did not relieve it some. A little social interaction was just what the doctor ordered.
“By all means, sir,” Kyungsoo bowed a little, though the look on his face was wry. “Would you like me to have one of the servants accompany you to town? So that you do not lose your way.”
Jongin shook his head. “I was actually wondering if you would accompany me, Mr. Do,” he said. “One of my aims for the day was making the acquaintance of the townspeople, and I supposed that as steward, you would be the best fit to make introductions.”
At first, when Jongin observed the small grin he had provoked from Kyungsoo, he thought he had succeeded, He was quickly disabused of this notion when the other man shook his head with a sigh. “Much as I would love to accompany you to town,” Kyungsoo remarked wistfully, “My duties tie me to Fleetwood Hall.”
“Oh.” Jongin pouted disappointedly. “Well then, I suppose a servant will do.”
“I have just the one in mind,” Kyungsoo purred, clapping his hands together twice.
-
The town of Fleetwood was the quintessential backwoods village. Few of the roads were properly paved, and it peeved Jongin to no end that he could not make his way around without kicking up a dust storm and dirtying the leg of his trousers. Nevertheless, if he and his family were to take full possession of Fleetwood Hall, then there could be no question as to interacting with the residents.
Chanyeol, his escort, cut a rather imposing figure with his stature. Despite this, Jongin learned rather quickly not to take him very seriously- the man epitomized clumsiness, and his long limbs proved to be more a source of awkwardness than of advantage. Still, he made a good guide nevertheless.
“This is the church, sir.” he announced, taking Jongin by the building he had seen en route to Fleetwood Hall. “They hold a services every day in the morning, and on Sundays they hold three more besides.”
It appeared that they had arrived shortly after mass, for people were leaving the church in small groups. A few of them shot Jongin and Chanyeol curious looks, but none spoke.
“Introduce me to the reverend,” Jongin suggested. With his knowledge of the rumors surrounding the manor, he knew that he would have to adhere to the faith, lest the villagers pounce on his poor attendance as a matter of gossip. He had formed a very ill opinion of the villagers from the start, and the judgmental stares he was receiving only served to confirm that view.
But the tall man shook his head quite emphatically. “Uh, I cannot do that, sir.” Chanyeol said apologetically. “He and I are not on the best of terms. If I made introductions, it would only prove a great disservice to your relationship.” Still, he gestured with his hand. “You go ahead, Mr. Kim,” he inclined his head. “I shall wait for you outside.”
Jongin frowned, but accepted the explanation. Religious authority had never been tolerant, and it must be worse several times over in the countryside, where folks were less enlightened. He had a sense of what was going on here; likely, Chanyeol was Catholic, and therefore despised by all.
The interior of the church was just as austere as its exterior. The architecture was very mundane, nothing like the vaulted ceilings and gorgeous frescoes he was accustomed to his churches having. The only decoration that gave character to the place was the poorly sculpted statue of Christ on the cross- that particular monstrous sight was hung toward the front in a place of honor, no doubt hung there to intimidate churchgoers into good behavior.
“Hello, sir.”
The smooth voice made Jongin turn. A slender figure stood, dressed in the severe vestments of the clergy. He carried a bible in one hand, while the other was held uselessly before his chest.
“Greetings,” Jongin inclined his head. “You are the reverend of the Fleetwood?”
Nodding, the other man approached with measured steps. “You may call me Mr. Hong,” he replied, not unkindly. “Are you new around these parts? I have not seen you in my parish before; we are a rather small community.”
Jongin shook his head. “I am a new addition,” he admitted readily. “Fleetwood Hall was just fallen into the possession of my family, and my brother sent me ahead to make it habitable.”
The reverend’s eyes widened. “Fleetwood Hall you say,” he murmured. “Most interesting. Are you acquainted with the history of that place?”
Shrugging, Jongin nodded. “To some extent,” he answered. “Though I will not claim to be an expert; I imagine many have knowledge that greatly surpass my own.”
Looking troubled, the clergyman placed a soft hand on Jongin’s shoulder. “Then you know why you must allow me to exorcise it,” he said, some urgency in his voice. There was an imploring look in his eye that would have been alarmingly dramatic if he had not seemed so sincere in his worries.
“I must confess,” said Jongin, “That the limited knowledge I have does not lead me to such a conclusion. Pardon me if I am overstepping my boundaries, but why are you so insistent on performing an exorcism?”
The reverend looked around, as if to make sure that there were no prying eyes or ears- and there weren’t; all the parishioners had left sometime during the conversation. Satisfied with their privacy, Mr. Hong gripped Jongin lightly by the forearm, and led him toward one of the front pews.
“How much do you know?” he questioned.
Jongin blinked. “Just what my steward has told me,” he answered. “About the family moving in, and then their son falling ill. It is all rather tragic indeed, but I see not the reason for an undertaking like exorcism.”
Silently, Mr. Hong digested Jongin’s words. “Then you do not know about the fire then,” he surmised at length.
This had Jongin blinking. “Fire?” he asked curiously.
Crooking his finger, the reverend beckoned him closer. “It is well known within this town,” he murmured softly, “And if you ask anyone about it, they will tell you. Shortly after the son fell sick, there was a fire that burned the entire home to the ground.” His expression had transmuted to a nervous and fearful one, as if he were expecting some retribution for communicating these facts. “The entire family hid in the ossuary; it was not touched by the flame, but each and every one of them died that night nevertheless. Some say it was smoke, some say it was a curse.”
Furrowing his brow, Jongin shook his head. “I’m sorry Mr. Hong,” he began. “The story is, again, quite tragic. But, again, I see no reason for an exorcism.”
The clergyman held up a finger, as if to hush him. “The tale is not yet over,” he admonished, voice barely louder than a whisper. “Within the next week, the house had been totally rebuilt, as if it had not been razed in the first place.”
These words had Jongin’s eyes widening, before he narrowed them in suspicion. “You are a man of god, sir,” he reproached the other man. “You should not lie like that; ‘tis beneath you.”
“You do me a great disservice,” Mr. Hong cried, distress plain on his young face. “I am telling the truth! Anybody in my parish will attest to this account.” He took a breath to calm himself, though it did not seem to work so efficiently. “If you do not trust us, then there should be a contemporary account in the town hall archives,” he offered. “Perhaps that will persuade you.
The conviction the reverend seemed to have in his story was admittedly notable. Though he was still not convinced himself, Jongin decided not to fight with the clergyman on this matter; he would find time to check through the town hall archives to ascertain which version of the story was more closely based on truth.
Standing he inclined his head. “It was good of you to speak to me, Mr. Hong,” he said, effectively ending the discussion. “Perhaps I will see you at mass this Sunday.”
Mr. Hong looked at him with something akin to pity. “If you require my services,” he reminded with a deep bow, “Then you know where to find me. Until then, farewell.”
-
Try as he might, Jongin was utterly incapable of falling asleep.
In the clinical light of day, Mr. Hong’s words had seemed ridiculous. A house rebuilding itself after a fire burnt it to the ground? Jongin had left the church believing the reverend to be severely deluded, or otherwise disturbed.
But as he lay in the darkness of night, tossing and turning in his bed, he could not help but feel a slight anxiety about it all. What if there was a grain of truth to that… preposterous theory? He simply could not fathom what sort of dark power would be necessary to do such a thing.
Knowing that he would be unable to garner much rest like this, he sat up with a sigh. Perhaps, he mused, if he was able to relax more effectively then he would have an easier time falling asleep. It was with this mindset that he stretched all his weary limbs on his way to the window. Perhaps a little bit of fresh air would do him good.
As opposed to the first night, there was a fair amount of starlight shining down onto the fields. Everything was excellently lit, and he had to suppress a sigh at the emotions the beautiful vision evoked. Mentally, he traced the paved paths of the park, the elegantly undulating contours of the lake, and the jagged edges of the dark, dark forest.
That was when he saw it.
Much larger than a man, but too upright to be a beast, something shambled by the edge of the woods. It seemed to weave in and out of the shadows, occasionally venturing onto the grounds, but always immediately recoiling, as if some border was repelling it. Jongin watched it in horrified fascination, his heart racing in his throat, as it continued in this pattern all the way across his field of vision, somehow unable to tear his eyes away from the monstrous sight.
When he could no longer see the creature, it was as if a spell’s hold on him had snapped; heart racing and body trembling, he slammed the window shut, latching it and locking it as his pulse thundered in his ears. Fearfully, he slid to the ground. He knew not what it was- it had been too far away to be distinct- but that it had struck such fear into his heart from merely observing it was surely a testament to its hellish nature.
Out of his peripheral vision, he caught sight of the chain by the bedside. Remembering Kyungsoo’s words, he picked himself up and stumbled over to it, yanking it several times. He pulled a blanket off of the bed and wrapped it around himself, gleaning some cold comfort from the feelings of safety it endowed.
It took a few minutes, but then there was a knocking at the door. “Sir?” He heard Kyungsoo’s voice from the other side.
Immediately, he threw open the door. “I can’t stay here,” he exclaimed urgently. “Someone prepare a carriage! There’s something out there- I saw it! I saw it roaming the grounds! I can’t stay here even one more day-”
“Sir,” the steward interrupted him, voice concerned. “Calm down sir. You need to breathe. Perhaps you saw some animal, or else your exhaustion might be playing tricks on you, but I assure you, there is nothing untoward out there on the grounds.” Stepping forward, Kyungsoo guided Jongin to the bed, pushing him down so he was sitting. He set the lamp on the bedside table, before turning back with a smile. “I recommend you take some rest. Perhaps a warm bath would be helpful? I can have the servants draw one up.”
“Right, right.” Now that he had calmed down somewhat, he felt foolish for making such a big deal out of it. How could he even be sure of what he had seen? Surely it had been merely a trick of the moonlight, or else the treachery of his weary eyes and mind. Or perhaps just a deer, emerging from the forest for a taste of his lawn. Quite possibly, it was Mr. Hong’s words getting to him. How his friends would have laughed at him had they known! “You’re absolutely right, Mr. Do. The tiredness must be affecting me more than I’d thought.”
Kyungsoo nodded, looking pleased. “I suggest you get some rest, Mr. Kim,” he said, making his way back to the door. “And perhaps this time, you should stay away from the windows. For your own comfort of mind, of course.”
The parting words had obviously been meant as a joke, but the chills that they sent crawling through his skin was still felt long after Kyungsoo had left.
-
It was inevitable, of course, that Junmyeon would come for a visit. Jongin had been quite wary of it at the beginning, keeping a suspicious eye peeled for missives from his erstwhile brother. But as days melted into weeks, the monotony of taking inventory began to take its toll on his mind. When his brother finally did come, it was an utter surprise, to say the least.
“Jongin!” His short, short brother smiled brightly, holding his arms out. Indubitably, it was an invitation for a hug. Jongin did not pitch forward and embrace his brother; he simply eyed him suspiciously. His brother was a kind soul, there was no denying that. But the kind soul was also a slave driver of the strictest fashion; Jongin had a feeling that there would be much less excursions, and much more cataloging furniture in his future.
“Brother,” he answered respectfully, inclining his head.
A swift hand came down and smacked against it, causing him immeasurable pain. With a whine, he dropped to a crouch and began to rub his pounding head.
“When I ask for a hug, you give me a hug,” Junmyeon scolded. Leaning down, he wrapped his arms around Jongin like an octopus, and squeezed him in a crushing hug.
After a while, his brother’s arms loosened, allowing him to freely breathe a sigh of relief. His brother seemed to be examining his surroundings, no doubt gauging its value and judging the décor.
“It all seems quite dated,” Junmyeon noted thoughtfully.
Jongin rolled his eyes. “Brilliant observation,” he grumbled, still rubbing his poor head. “What discovery shall we look forward to next? That the sky is blue? That water is wet?”
In the corner of the room, Kyungsoo watched them with what seemed to be extreme amusement. Though he seemed to be trying to maintain a stoic smile, his shoulders were shaking, and the corners of his mouth were wobbling wildly.
“How long will you be staying, sir?” the steward queried. “If ‘tis short, would the guest room do? If you desire, I can still have the servants prepare a bedroom.”
Junmyeon seemed to grow quite serious as he addressed Kyungsoo. “The guest room will suit me admirably,” he answered. “I won’t be imposing on Fleetwood Hall’s hospitality for long; I am on my way to visit an old friend in the countryside, and this was merely a stop on the way there.”
Hearing that, Jongin immediately sobered. He knew which friend his brother was referring to- no doubt it was Yifan. The name brought an angry scowl to his face: while his brother still thought him ignorant on the matter, he knew that the two had been lovers. When Yifan had married and retired to the countryside, his brother had been crushed.
He did not approve of their maintained friendship, which was neither pure nor healthy, but it was not his place to decide.
“Excellent,” Kyungsoo declared. “I will inform the servants immediately.” He turned on his heels, and was gone in less than a second.
After a few moments of silence, his brother nudged him. “How goes the inventory?” he asked, finally getting to the business Jongin had expected from the start.
“Nearly everything has been done,” he answered. “With an exception in the basement. Apparently, it has served as some sort of ossuary, and was closed off due to hazards.”
“An ossuary,” his brother seemed simultaneously repulsed and intrigued. “It’s not often you hear about one of those. In a residence, no less.”
Jongin snorted. “We inherited a real gem, brother,” he shared conversationally. “Did you know that Fleetwood Hall is apparently haunted?”
Junmyeon’s jaw dropped, slack. “You’re joking,” he accused finally, looking rather pouty.
“With the lord as my witness,” Jongin swore. “On my second day here, the reverend paid a house visit, hoping to perform an exorcism. When I spoke with him later, he informed me about the nature of Fleetwood Hall.” He paused for dramatic effect, before deploying his trump card. “And just last week, I saw something out there, in the middle of the night. Nearly sent myself home right then and there.”
-
The two of them, of course, kept their eyes peeled. Predictably, however, nothing happened. Two days later, and Junmyeon was heading off towards his destination once more, a little disappointed he had not encountered any supernatural happenings.
Of course, once Jongin was alone, they resumed with a vengeance.
-
Jongin knew better than to keep the curtains drawn after the initial incident; every night, he dutifully pulled them shut. After his last hallucinatory venture, he dared not give his mind any fodder to manufacture any other terrors.
Nevertheless, he sometimes kept the window open just a tiny crack, for ventilation. The air that breezed in was cool and relaxing, and helped him fall prey to slumber all the quicker.
It happened on one such night; he lay there in bed, dozing off with the serenity of a newborn babe. The flighty touch of dream tickled his eyelid, and the warmth of his blanket was on the verge of surrendering him to the solid arms of sleep, when he first heard it.
Scritch scritch scritch.
Initially, he passed it off for his imagination, or else some wildlife. Perhaps it a was a bird, scratching the window with its beak. Or maybe a tree, scraping against the side of the house due to a particularly persuasive wind.
He turned onto his side. Perhaps this was a better position to sleep, he decided. And maybe it was. But he would not discover that night, for when he began to doze off, he heard the sound again.
Scritch scritch scritch.
This time, it was accompanied by a much more nightmarish noise- the squeaking protests of his window as it traversed the frame. Immediately, he was intensely awake, sitting straight and facing the window, ears and eyes straining to detect an intruder of any kind.
A chill ran up his spine when he saw the curtains ajar, the window opened much further than he would ever have felt comfortable with. He shook his head to clear his mind- there was no use dwelling on it. Likely he had just been careless with it, and a strong wind had thrown the curtains ajar.
He did not want to imagine the alternative.
When he was sufficiently reassured, he allowed himself to turn away from the window.
Only to see it.
It looked to be human… vaguely. It was dressed in the decayed garb of the past- a funerary suit that might have been in fashion a century before. The most awful thing was its face- shriveled and matted with dirt, eyes only leering sockets. With no small degree of horror, he could discern maggots writing in its flesh.
For some reason, he was paralyzed as it approached. One shambling step, then another. Though he wanted to cry out- wanted to so, so much, he was unable to do a thing or say a word. It was as if he had been completely frozen by his fear, helpless as the monstrosity came ever closer.
He could do nothing but shake as cold, crumbly fingers reached down and stroked his cheek.
Then, it was like a dam bursting. He flew into action, screaming and shouting, and launched himself off the bed in the opposite direction with a breakneck speed. Quickly, he grabbed a fire poker, turned around, and threw it straight at the ghoul.
It let out an inhuman screech as the metal pierced its decomposing leg. With a speed he could not imagine such a creature would possess, it barreled toward him.
This was it. He shut his eyes tightly. This was how he would die.
A moment passed. Then another. When it became clear no retaliation would be forthcoming, he opened a single eye to get his bearings.
Jongin was alone in his dark room once more. The window was wide ajar, evidence that the monster had come and had left. The poker lay on the ground by the sill, bits of flesh still skewered on it. More bits of corpse lay littered on the floor of his room- he wanted to throw up just looking at it.
Once more in charge of his faculties, he dove toward the chain and yanked it once, twice, three times.
Kyungsoo’s presence was much more immediate this time. He had not yet let go of the chain when his door burst open, his steward barreling in.
“Mr. Kim?” he inquired breathlessly.
“I saw it.” Jongin whispered, his voice sounding almost crazed. “It came into my room. It touched me here.” With one hand, he stroked his cheek, shuddering as he remembered how the desiccated fingers of the corpse had felt. “It came in through the window.”
Wide eyes widening further, Kyungsoo made his way into the room. The lamp he carried cast an eerie glow over everything, further unnerving Jongin.
The steward knelt by the windowsill, examining the evidence. “Good lord,” he muttered, using the poker to jab the fleshy bit lodged between the windows. “How did a corpse garner this level of mobility?”
“I’m sure you will have no objection to me leaving on the morrow,” Jongin exclaimed, wringing his hands. He urgently desired to relocate his being to London, never to visit the blasted countryside, or this god-forsaken manor ever again. He didn’t even want to lay eyes on the house, no matter how beautiful it was.
“Of course not,” Kyungsoo assured him. “I will have Chanyeol prepare the chaise at once. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable lodging in the town tonight; you can collect your belongings in the morning.”
Jongin watched with narrowed eyes as Kyungoo turned with those words, and limped out of the room.
-
When he returned the next day, he was not alone. Sitting beside him in the chaise was Mr. Hong, carrying a wooden cross and a bible.
“And you are confident in your abilities?” Jongin asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow.
The clergyman nodded seriously. “One must put their faith in the powers of god,” he intoned. “Only then will they find deliverance. Our father in heaven shall guide my hand.”
In the distance, Fleetwood Hall loomed. Though it had been a comfortable home for the better part of a month, it seemed ghastly and ominous now. Now that he knew what lurked within its bowels, he only desired to have it cleansed before leaving.
Even afterwards, he doubted he would ever be able to view the manor the same way again.
As to what was truly going on in that nightmarish place, he sort of had an idea. Upon waking up that morning and inspecting his face in the mirror, he had discovered three shriveled marks where the monster’s fingers had touched him; it was as if the life had been sucked clean out of that area. If he weren’t feeling so lucky to have escaped with his life, he might have cursed the heavens for the ruination of his face.
If there was anything that
The carriage eventually jerked to a stop, jolting him back to attention. There they were, just outside the gates of Fleetwood Hall. Perchance it was just his imagination, or mayhap it was some ambient influence of the weather, but everything just seemed colder and bleak.
Beside him, the reverend frowned.
“Are you sensing demonic energies within?” After last night, he wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.
“No,” answered Mr. Hong, face fixed in a concentrated frown. “I don’t sense anything. I just don’t much like the look of it.”
It took the two of them all of ten minutes to disembark the carriage and make their way up to the porch. The doors were closed, but as soon as Jongin made a move to utilized the knocker, it eased open.
“Jongin,” Kyungsoo said, poking his head out. “Reverend Hong.” He seemed surprised and dismayed to see the clergyman. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“I invited him here, to exorcise the house.” Jongin explained, watching the other man carefully to gauge his reaction. He had his own suspicions now, and all he needed was for Kyungsoo to confirm or dismiss them with his behavior.
The steward studied him, eyes narrowed, face pinched. After a few moments, he smiled.
“I knew someone would figure it out sooner or later,” he admitted. “I just hadn’t expected it to be you. You’re not exactly on the brighter side.” Focus back to the clergyman, he offered an apologetic look. “There is no need for an exorcism here, sir. It will have no effect; it is not the first, and will not be the last.” Now addressing the both of them. “If you will both follow me.”
They walked through the house at a slow, measured pace. Eventually, they ended up before the basement door.
“It is within,” Kyungsoo muttered. Reaching a hand out, he delicately stroked the door. At first, there was no reaction, and Jongin just felt a little silly. But suddenly, the door flickered, before it ultimately vanished into a shimmering haze of color.
Once the three of them were down the steps, Jongin could see that Kyungsoo had indeed been telling the truth. Rather than a basement, it appeared to be a series of large caves. Though stalactites hung from the ceiling, there was no wall to be seen- instead, it was lined with rows and rows of bones, extending ad infinitum into the darkness.
“Have this many people even lived here?” he muttered under his breath.
Kyungsoo seemed to have heard him nevertheless. “This was here long before,” he answered, and his voice sounded quite sad. “Fleetwood Hall was merely built over it. On the ruins of what stood here before.” Even he could not suppress a shiver as he recalled the name. “The Cathedral of Bones.”
“Hardly seems to be the ideal place,” the reverend noted.
They stood there in silence, with nothing but the steady drip of water to fill the stuffy air between them.
“My parents never should have built here,” Kyungsoo whispered.
Before Jongin could even try to make sense of that statement, the other man had continued on down the cave. Exchanging looks with the reverend, Jongin made haste to follow, not keen on being left in the dark with innumerable skeletons.
They walked for some time, though they eventually emerged. Rather than a true room, it was merely the passage widening into a large, round shape; tunnels continued to stretch in three different directions, not counting the one from whence they came.
But it was what stood in the middle of the room that commanded attention. It was an old canopied bed, dusty and cobwebbed. The constitution of the fabric seemed quite poor; holes here, there, all across. Nestled in the bed, head laid at an awkward angle on the pillow, was a corpse.
The same corpse that had shambled into his room the last night.
“This,” Kyungsoo whispered, reaching forward to stroke the decomposing face, “Is me.”
Really, Jongin had been expecting this since he noticed Kyungsoo’s limp, but it was still startling to have his conjectures confirmed all the same. Glancing between the steward and the badly decomposed corpse on the bed, he was utterly unable to reconcile the two concepts. They did not seem to resemble one another in any way. It was mind boggling.
“What demon did you make a pact with?” the reverend demanded. “So that you could live so long after your own demise? Tell me, wretch, that I might banish you back to your master!”
Kyungsoo chuckled darkly. “Were that this were my own doing,” he murmured. “No. No. It was a curse, for disturbing the cathedral of bones. The living were never supposed to step foot in this place; we were punished for desecrating it.”
Those words had Jongin horrified. “You mean even Baekhyun and Chanyeol are…?”
“Yes.” Kyungsoo nodded solemnly- sadly. “They are like me. We’ve been alone for so long.”
It took some time for him to properly digest the story. It certainly explained some of the stranger happenings pertaining to the house. Still, there were a few things that he thought made little sense. For example…
“Why do you not keep this form all the time?” he gestured toward the seemingly alive Kyungsoo. “For what reason do you shamble around at night in that?” He angled his head to gesture at the corpse in the bed.
“Ah… this is the part of the story that might seem slightly evil.” He smoothed the blanket over the corpse, before standing once more. “You see; this entire manor depends on my energy. Chanyeol, Baekhyun, myself… we souls, we are little more than constructs of energy. Of which that,” he gestured toward his own corpse, “Is the springwell.
“But sometimes, it runs a little dry. Luckily, I can… draw life out from others.” Though he now knew Kyungsoo’s fingers to be little more than ethereal constructs, they still felt real as they stroked his face. “Usually, I can guide it. Usually, I can choose where to draw the energy. But last night…” he shivered, an excited gleam in his eyes.
“Your energy… it was different.” Kyungsoo paced back and forth, as if unable to comprehend the magnitude of what he was saying. “It made me stronger. I felt fuller, real.” Those wide eyes stared up at him, beseeching. “I think you might be the key to breaking the curse.”
Jongin felt uneasy. “What does that entail?”
Kyungsoo was silent for a moment. “An exchange of spiritual energies,” he said finally. “Likely, a kiss.”
Scratching his head, he stepped forward toward Kyungsoo. “That sounds easy enough,” he muttered, closing his eyes and leaning in.
Some laughter. “Thank you, Jongin,” Kyungsoo said wryly. “But I meant the corpse.”
“Oh.”
He turned, and looked the body in the bed. He could not imagine planting a kiss on that for his life. With a sigh cursing his own altruism, he sat down on the bed, watching with dismay as some of the fabric ripped under the weight of time.
With a disgusted look on his face, he leaned down, not quite ready to kiss the maggot-infested corpse, but willing to try nevertheless.
Suddenly, two hands shot up, each closing in on one side of his face. He yelped, desperately clawing at the decomposing hands, but it was no use- the strength it possessed was far too much for him- he could feel the clawed fingers digging deep into the sides of his face.
Slowly, the head of the corpse rotated, so as to look straight at him, grinning its toothy, bare-all smile. Behind him, he could hear Kyungsoo’s laughter.
“I got you good, didn’t I?”
Jongin screamed.