Chapter Text
Two gunshots.
That was the last thing Minho heard when he jumped out of the window from his aunt’s house. Tearing away the night’s peace, the shots resonated deep in his heart with one lone message:
You’re next.
He quickly picked up the huge bag he had thrown to the ground before him, and started running as fast as he could, not knowing if his aunt was still alive or dead. Not that he cared, he had always hated her. Whenever he looked at her, he could only see this huge vacuum whose only purpose was to suck out all the oxygen and life out of him. Completely stuck in a repetitive military-like routine, he just wanted to break free from her. Unable to choose what to do, barely allowed to have an opinion, forced to live a life he never wanted … He could not help but loathe her.
He had actually planned to leave the house the very next day. Everything was ready, from his huge backpack alongside his train tickets to his admission papers to a new school. He was supposed to change his life tomorrow; to escape from her hands yes, but even more importantly, to escape from them too… However, tomorrow had turned into today, and today had turned into right now. They had come for him.
The suburban streets where his aunt lived were completely empty as people were most probably sleeping or watching TV, so Minho sprinting in the middle of the road despite his heavy backpack did not disturb anyone in the slightest. Only dressed in black and engulfed in a large hoodie to hide his face, he had no other option but to run, he could never turn back now. Despite the darkness of the sky, streetlamps bathed the streets in light and he suddenly felt vulnerable. They could find him in mere seconds, and then they would catch him just like they caught his aunt, and then – Well, he did not want to think about that…
He quickly found the way to the nearest forest, exiting the light and embracing the night. He instantly hid behind a tree, panting and trying to recover his breath. That was when he felt it in his pocket, the last thing his aunt had given him, this little piece of paper, with nothing but coordinates on it. They had been written so hurriedly that it was hard to even decipher them. But he had somehow managed to do it.
He did not know much more, she had not said anything about it, about what to do or what to find there. Minho only thought this was one of her numerous schemes to use him for her own benefits, to protect herself maybe. And he knew this never meant anything good for him.
A tree branch suddenly cracked a few meters away from him, startling him as he looked around, hoping it was just the wind and not them. And fortunately, he was still alone, but that did not soothe his nerves. He typed on his phone with trembling fingers, searching for the coordinates but not really caring about what to find there, he did not expect anything from his aunt anyways... But when he finally found out the location, his heart sank. He knew exactly the place, he even knew the way to go as it was not so far away. Another branch cracked in the night, making his anxiety rise up again. His legs moved before his brain as he ran towards the coordinates. It did not matter if it would result in a fifteen-minute sprint, he had to get there before they could find him.
He just had to…
That place Minho was running to was a small house standing a few miles away from the suburbs and the capital, on the edge of a village. It was an old house, well, not that old, but as it had been left abandoned, it felt like it could be at least a hundred years old by now. Nature had taken hold of every cracked wall and shattered window, plants had grown everywhere and animals had found shelters in the different rooms, sleeping on beds and nesting on furniture.
It is known to all that every village, every town, no matter how big or small, carries a secret. Most irrelevant, but some horrifying. Well, it was said that this particular town had the worst secret of all the villages in the area. A true horrible story that had happened in that old abandoned house. The situation there was as simple as this fact: nobody in the village ever came inside or near the house.
They were all trying really hard to forget its existence and its past. Maybe because they had always known something about the horrors that were committed there but did not do anything about it, maybe because it was still too fresh in their memories, or maybe because their blood still froze every time they remembered everything that had happened in between those walls. They said the place was possessed; and it was indeed, but not by ghosts.
Guilt had crawled through every crevice, impregnating the walls and forcing itself on whoever tried to come near the house. The villagers could never escape it, and as it possessed their every thoughts and actions, haunting their dreams and their days, guilt had become their ghost. And, after some time, the house had definitely ended up being drowned in their own culpability; haunted by shame, dread and sorrow.
So, as the villagers all left the place alone, only silence remained around the house, even more so at night. And it was quite cold for the ending of September but Minho, who finally arrived in front of the house, was burning up.
Sweat pearled up on his forehead as he was panting, trying to recover his breath from running. He kept glancing anxiously behind him to see if he had been followed, in a hurry to go as far away from them as possible. Desperate to check the place and then leave as soon as possible, still his body froze, unable to go further. He stood in front of the gate, hesitant to come in as soon as his eyes had laid on that creepy house. However, it was not fear that held him in place, he never believed in those villagers’ ghost stories. No, unlike them, he actually knew what had happened there. He remembered the house all too well and it felt as if it triggered something buried deep within him, something he had tried to avoid for too long.
He stared a few more seconds at the house, forgetting to breathe for an instant, then took out the piece of paper from his pocket. He looked at the coordinates written inside before looking at the house again. Maybe he hoped the coordinates had changed, that his aunt had not sent him here on purpose. Was this supposed to be a sick joke? She knew the story as well…
He breathed in as he quickly walked past the broken gate and entered inside the ruins. A few animals fled as he came in, disturbing the quiet night for an instant before silence came back. Inside the house, everything was still there, from furniture to cans of food and pictures. People had lived in this place, and it seemed as if they were still here if not for the wind blowing through the broken windows in the living room or the leaves covering the carpets.
Minho did not know why his aunt had sent him here, but he knew it was linked to them. And he did not care what his aunt wanted him to do here or if she just needed to hurt him one last time, he could not keep this place alive if he sought to be free from them someday.
Still, he checked outside all windows around the house to see if someone was following him. And when he made sure he was alone, he took the lighter in his pocket and tore a piece from the curtain next to him. He hesitated for a few seconds but, ultimately, he put fire to the cloth and let it fall to the ground. He glanced at the stack of old dry photos catching fire on the floor, hypnotized by the flames eating the paper away. They were pictures of a happy family’s life, of a little boy and his parents spending time at the beach. That boy cannot be more than five years old. He stayed for a moment on the parents’ faces, they seemed so happy, so peaceful, unlike him.
He tried to stay impassive but how could he when he knew their whole story? And what they did to them? No, he swore on his life: he would set them free today.
He walked fast throughout the house, focusing on his new mission. He put fire to different elements, old curtains and newspapers printed more than fifteen years ago. The fire was spreading effortlessly through the old house, endangering Minho more and more as time passed. Surely, he would end up stuck inside if he did not hurry.
After visiting the last room, he turned back to leave the house but his eyes suddenly laid on a huge wardrobe. He could only stare at the furniture as the thoughts rushing through his mind paralyzed his body. A few dried patches of blood on the wood and the floor could still be seen, witnesses of the house’s dreadful past. He could not take his eyes off it, feeling fear and guilt build up in his mind as he was forced to remember. He hated himself so much. Something terrible had happened here, and to think he could have done something about it...
The roof of the house cracked loudly as the fire was still burning everything down, forcing Minho out of his memories. Reality caught him up violently and he rushed out of the place, coughing from all the dirty air he had inhaled.
Once outside, he turned back and stood in front of the house, powerless and only left to contemplate his work. The fire had spread to every wall and every floor, flames were rising high in the air, a blaze tearing up the darkness. The golden flames were reflecting in his brown eyes, and for a second, it felt like they filled up with some tears. But suddenly, he heard scrunching noises coming from the forest and tensed up.
They were here.
He instantly sprinted away from the village, never looking back at the house ablaze behind him. He hurried and ran as fast as he could, no matter if his heavy backpack ultimately slowed him down, they would never catch him. And after finally reaching a small city, he hopped on the first train he could find.
It was still early and the sun had just begun to rise as he was heading east, away from this place and from this house. His brain refused to believe in anything anymore, he had no reason to. But still, he forced himself to hope for a better life.
It had to exist somewhere for him too, right?