Chanyeol awoke in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar hotel room, much later than he usually would.

At first, he was disoriented, uncertain of where he was or why. Then, in a rush, it came back to him, up to and including his nightmares.

He’d run. Completely booked it right out of the house, got in his car and literally left. It had been more instinct than anything else - he couldn’t fight, so flight had kicked in. He’d driven away, almost blindly, not stopping until he found a small-town coffee shop. A sugary, chocolatey mocha and being surrounded by people had helped calm his panic a little, but the crackle of the fireplace brought back too many sense memories and he’d had to leave.

The hotel he’d ended up at was a relatively nice one, which was good because Chanyeol had nothing but his wallet, his phone, and whatever had been in his car. He’d fallen into bed early, but had been locked in his own mind, reliving what he had seen, for hours, and not actually fallen asleep until well after midnight.

He hadn’t realized how used to the feeling of impending dread he’d become until it wasn’t there anymore, hadn’t realized how the expectation that he could be awoken at any time by someone reliving their death had affected his sleep. The sheer calm of the morning felt so alien.

He should get up, but he didn’t have anywhere to be or anything to do, and the bed felt safe in a way he hadn’t felt in weeks. Chanyeol pulled the covers over his head, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

By the time Chanyeol actually got out of bed, it was nearly noon. Everything hurt, his head most of all, and Chanyeol blearily stumbled into the suite’s bathroom to take a shower. As his shirt dropped to the ground, Chanyeol got a good look at himself in the oversized mirror, seeing himself in bright, cheery lighting for the first time in a while.

His complexion was too pale, sallow, and mottled with bruises and burns all over his torso. The cut on his cheek was red and angry, his left ear was bright pink from scalding, and the circles under his eyes were dark purple. He looked terrible, and he hadn’t even looked at his legs yet.

“That house was trying to kill me,” Chanyeol said aloud. Seeing it like this made it real in a way he hadn’t been able to face when he was actually inside the house. The danger had felt far-off, unreal. Now, in the stark light of day, Chanyeol couldn’t help but to wonder if that was because he hadn’t wanted to believe it, or if it was because the house was actively suppressing his fear to keep him from running away.

Could that be possible? The house was capable of making him feel emotions not his own, he was sure of that. Was it also capable of stopping him from feeling his own emotions? Dampening them? It would make sense - after all, if he’d been paying attention, he would have run away a long time before it got this bad.

“Well,” he said aloud to his reflection. “I’m out of there now.” He needed to heal, and the first step to that, he decided, was a long, hot shower, and then a big cup of coffee and a real meal.

He should feel relieved, but he was still a jittery mess, looking over his shoulder as if the ghosts had followed him to the hotel.

That would, fade, though, right? He’d be fine as soon as he got some rest.

The next few days were relaxing to his body, much-needed healing, but Chanyeol’s brain still wouldn’t shut up. He ate, he slept, he talked to Amber, he caught up on his shows, he explored the town where he was staying, but all through it, he couldn’t stop jumping at shadows, looking over his shoulder, holding his breath to listen for phantom sounds. Couldn’t stop thinking about the house, about the ghosts.

It occurred to him, as he was eating breakfast on Sunday, that he’d missed his opportunity to save Kyungsoo. He knew the ghost’s name, now, and he knew how to make him physical if he needed to do so. There was no reason Chanyeol couldn’t have put his soul to rest.

But he hadn’t. He’d run.

The thought unsettled him quite a bit. In a few more days, Sehun’s scene would repeat, if Chanyeol’s predictions about him were correct. Like with Kyungsoo, Chanyeol had the ability to stop Sehun from reliving his death, the ability to set his tortured soul free.

But that would mean going back into a house that was literally trying to kill him.

Chanyeol wished he could work this out verbally with someone, but Amber was essentially the only friend he had left, and he knew her well enough to know that she wouldn’t even allow him to entertain the notion. Either the house was driving him insane, in which case she’d insist he needed to get out, or the house really was trying to kill him, in which case he really needed to get out. So he didn’t tell her why he’d left - just said that he needed to get away for a few days, with a quip about taking advantage of his newfound ability to spend frivolously. Amber seemed too relieved to question it.

September turned to October, and Chanyeol’s nerves were finally starting to calm, but he still couldn’t stop thinking about the manor all day, every day. More than once, Chanyeol caught himself going back over the obituaries he had saved on his phone. Kim Jongin, Huang Zitao, Lu Han, Kim Jongdae, Zhang Yixing. All the same gender, the same age, as he was. If the house was a serial killer, Chanyeol was definitely within the victim profile.

Yixing’s final words kept repeating in his mind, too. If you’re going to save us, you have to save all of us. Did his leaving the house mean that Jongin, Zitao and Yixing would be pulled back into their own versions of hell, forced to relive their own deaths over and over for eternity? And if what Zitao had said was true, they were aware of it, retaining enough consciousness to be able to see the house changing around them.

Or, would they only be pulled back into torment if Chanyeol himself went back to the house and was killed? By running away, was he protecting them, or dooming them? There was no way for him to know, but the thought was keeping him up at night.

And then… there was the tower ghost.

By this point, Chanyeol was figuring that the tower ghost was the key to the mystery, the source of the curse. He was the only ghost who was forced to relive scenes other than his own death, the only ghost who was aware enough to be able to communicate with Chanyeol outright. Clearly, he had been abused in his life, possibly by his father. Was the haunting of the manor a result of his anguish, or had something else happened, something that trapped him - and every other young man like him - forever?

Chanyeol had never met another soul so clearly in pain, and he ached to find a way to ease it. Moreover, there was a part of him that kept expecting the tower ghost to pop into existence at his side at any moment, and was oddly disappointed when he didn’t. Chanyeol hadn’t realized how accustomed to the ghost he had already grown.

Chanyeol had to know more about him, he had to. So, on a chilly, rainy Thursday morning, exactly one month after he’d moved into the manor in the first place, Chanyeol found himself driving back to the town that his property was technically a part of and getting permission to view the public and donated records in the city hall’s library.

All of the spirits he’d saved thus far were relatively recent. Jongin from 1978, Zitao from 1965, Yixing from 1934. According to his chart, the mysterious Kim Jongdae would have been between Yixing and Zitao, in 1949. The frozen ghost was in there somewhere, too, judging by his clothes and the cadence of his words.

But all of the other ghosts he’d seen were older than that. Do Kyungsoo and Oh Sehun had both died in 1890, and Lu Han in 1879. The jumper and the tiger ghost both seemed to be older, too, if Chanyeol’s estimate of their clothes was correct, but Chanyeol didn’t have their names, so he started with the victim he knew the most about - Sehun.

Armed with both a year and a name, Chanyeol was able to find something. The library’s catalog made mention of several boxes of documents that had been donated from Dragon Manor around the turn of the century, when an owner had done a massive cleanout. One of the boxes was filled with documents that had belonged to Lord Oh, Sehun’s father.

Chanyeol went to the desk and politely requested that the box be pulled from storage. The box he was given was heavy and musty, laden with documents several times older than he was. He dug right into it.

Most of what was in there was not very useful to him - business records and correspondence, mostly. Near the bottom of the box, though, Chanyeol found something - an old photograph of Lord Oh with his wife and son, sitting in front of the fireplace in the great room of the manor. Chanyeol recognized the fireplace, he recognized the tiger-skin rug at their feet, he recognized Sehun - and, to his surprise, he recognized the subject in the portrait over the mantle. It was the tower ghost, stately and poised, dressed in a Victorian dandy’s frippery with his hair tied back at his nape and a top hat perched on his head.

That must have been the painting Sehun had mentioned, the one whose eyes followed him whenever he was in the room, the one he had burned out of fear. It was too bad, honestly - the portrait looked awfully handsome. Chanyeol wished he could have seen it.

He flipped the photograph over briefly, not expecting that there would be anything on the back, but faded writing in black ink caught his eye. It took a moment to decipher it.

Lord and Lady Oh and their son Sehun, with a portrait of Lord Kris Wu, the original owner of Dragon Manor.

Chanyeol flipped the photo back over and stared at it. Specifically, at the portrait on the wall.

Lord Wu. Finally, he had a name.

With the knowledge that the ghost’s name was Kris Wu and he had been the original owner of the house, Chanyeol was finally able to track down the information he had been looking for all along. It took him a few days, but eventually he found a history book of the area that contained a passage about Dragon Manor.

Dragon Manor is unique to this part of the country due in large part to its history. Built in 1830, the manor was intended to be a lavish wedding gift from Chinese trading empire magnate Lord Kris Wu to his new bride, Joseon native Jessica Jung. Wu and Jung had met in England while studying abroad, and by all accounts their romance was whirlwind.

Their story has a tragic ending, however, as Kris Wu became mentally ill only a few short years later. By 1836, Lord Wu had been declared completely mentally incapacitated and was confined to only a few rooms of the expansive mansion for the safety of himself and others.

In 1837, Lord Wu committed suicide. His widow inherited his business empire and was responsible for it until her own death only a few years later. Their story has been the subject of much local legend for many years, as many believe the manor to be haunted by the spirits of the insane lord and his grief-stricken young wife.

Rubbing his hand over his mouth, Chanyeol read over the passage again. There was no mention of a father figure whatsoever, but Chanyeol found it quite odd that Lady Wu had gained control of the lord’s business holdings upon his passing. That meant he must have had no family to speak of - no children, of course, but also no siblings, no parents. Any blood relative should have gained control of an inherited business like that before a spouse would, particularly when she was Korean and the business was Chinese.

The whole “declared mentally incapacitated” thing struck a foul note with Chanyeol as well. Even if insanity was cured by death - which he seriously doubted would be the case - Chanyeol had witnessed Kris Wu’s last moments and he hadn’t seemed at all insane. His suicide had clearly been a deliberate decision that had cost him a lot to make, and he’d seemed perfectly lucid, almost too lucid, when he made it. Hopeless, maybe, but not insane.

Coupled with the scene that Chanyeol had witnessed in the study, of the lord being tortured at the hands of someone who called himself “Father,” and Chanyeol was starting to see a disturbing picture. Needing to know more, Chanyeol looked up the citations that the history book had used, and found a number of old essays and collections pertaining to local history.

It took a while to dig up what he was looking for. In the public records, Chanyeol found information on Kris and his family, and it turned out that he had indeed been without a blood heir at the time of his death. He was an only child, his mother dying in childbirth as was too common at the time, leaving his father to raise him. Born in China, he was sent to study in Britain in 1822, and when his father passed away unexpectedly in 1829, he inherited a thriving trading partnership with British merchants, importing opium into China and exporting tea in exchange.

Kris had been only nineteen at the time, which explained a lot. If Chanyeol had been nineteen, newly in love, and suddenly wildly rich, he probably would have spent a ridiculous amount of money building a massive mansion for his lover, too.

Though they were married for eight years before Kris died, Kris and Jessica had not had any children. Chanyeol found this to be a little bit odd, especially given the time period and the fact that Kris had a massive fortune and would have felt some not-inconsiderable pressure to produce heirs. Nothing in the records Chanyeol found made any mention of why.

In any case, it was clear to Chanyeol now that Lord Wu was the key. His death had triggered the haunting of Dragon Manor, and Chanyeol now had everything he needed to stop him from killing himself and, hopefully, break the curse and set all of the spirits free.

He could save them. He might be the only one who could save them.

The question was, was Chanyeol brave enough to go back?

As it turned out, Chanyeol was indeed brave enough, though it took him a few more days to screw up his courage and make the commitment. Chanyeol pulled up the long, winding driveway to the manor just after sunset on Thursday, October 10, almost two weeks after he had run away.

Nothing in the house had changed. Everything was exactly as he’d left it. Chanyeol wasn’t sure why that was surprising to him - after all, if he wasn’t in the house, the ghosts might not be manifesting at all.

He did go to check, and found that the second-floor study had mysteriously been put back together. There were no books strewn across the floor, no ashes in the fireplace, no smell of burnt flesh. All was quiet.

Chanyeol didn’t find it to be very comforting, but he’d made his decision. All of these spirits needed his help, and Kris’s spirit most of all.

He could do this.

Chanyeol went to bed early that night, and set his alarm for stupidly-early-o’clock. By four-thirty AM, he was making his way up the tower stairs to the fourth-floor bedroom, his little craft knife in hand. If Kris needed help, he would get it. If Kris needed blood, he would get it. Chanyeol was going to do everything in his power to stop this insanity tonight.

He waited, jumpy with nerves. The silence in the house was almost too deafening; Chanyeol was starting to wonder if him leaving for two weeks had caused the entire cycle to reset, if he’d need to spend another several days bleeding and expending energy within the house before the spirits would start manifesting again.

Just after five-thirty, Chanyeol found out that was not, in fact, the case. Kris shimmered into existence on the foot of the bed, his head in his hands. Crying.

Swallowing down his jumping heart, Chanyeol went over and sat next to the ghost. The clammy chill that went up his arm was familiar enough by now that he didn’t shudder away from it.

“Kris,” he said. “Kris Wu.”

No response. Chanyeol called his name again, tacking “Lord” onto it this time, and even put his hand inside the spectre’s shoulder. Still nothing. Chanyeol watched in confusion as Kris stood and went to the mantle, taking down the portrait that was no longer there.

Oh. “The portrait is of Jessica, isn’t it?” Chanyeol thought out loud. “That’s why she’s dressed in Western clothes. And the man that’s with her… he must be…” He furrowed his brow. “He probably isn’t your father… Is he her father? Is that who did this to you?”

Kris closed the wardrobe and snapped the handle. Now that he was paying attention, Chanyeol noticed that his hands were shaking, and the violence of the movement struck him. Kris seemed clearer to him than the first time he’d seen this, more in-focus, though still translucent, and for a moment Chanyeol was transfixed by the emotions he saw chasing each other across Kris’s face, the fear and the heartbreak and the pure, helpless anger.

Then, Kris went to the other side of the bed and sat down, right next to the nightstand where his razor was hidden.

“.” Chanyeol came over and knelt down in front of him, looking up into his eyes. “Kris Wu. Lord Kris Wu, don’t do this. Please.” He waved, he snapped his fingers, but Kris continued looking right through him. “Okay. Okay.” Chanyeol pulled out his craft knife.

His scrapes, bruises and cuts had almost completely healed over the past two weeks, but his pinky finger where he’d cut himself to save Yixing was still tender. He did his third finger instead, his ring finger, and then put his hand on Kris’s knee.

His fingers went right through. Frowning, Chanyeol cut himself again, a shallow but longer cut on the top of his forearm, wincing as blood welled up and dripped onto the floor. He felt the room shudder, but still, Kris remained translucent and untouchable.

“Kris. Kris.” Chanyeol waved his hands in front of Kris’s face as the ghost put his arm right through Chanyeol’s shoulder to open the drawer to the nightstand. “Kris Wu! Kris!” He and the ghost were nearly sharing the same space, and Chanyeol was dripping blood everywhere. It wasn’t working - why wasn’t it working?!

Kris drew the ghostly razor back through Chanyeol’s shoulder, no sensation except for the chill.

Panic welled in Chanyeol’s chest. “No, Kris, please.” There were tears in his eyes; he couldn’t stop them and he barely bothered to try. “Kris, Kris Wu, for God’s sake, please don’t do this. You have to put the blade down, Kris, please!”

The clock struck six. By now, Chanyeol knew that if it was a normal grandfather clock, he wouldn’t be able to hear it up this far, but of course, like everything else, it was a ghost.

“Kris, please,” he whispered, his vision blurring with tears.

Kris’s eyes fluttered shut. “Forgive me for this,” he murmured. “I don’t know what else to do.”

“All you have to do,” Chanyeol begged, “is put the razor down. Just don’t do it. Wait, please, just a few more minutes.” Even as he said it, he realized what was off with that. Every other ghost had only to wait until the clock struck to be saved, but for Kris, the clock struck before he died. The last thing he heard.

A shaky, audible exhale, and Kris brought the razor up to his throat.

“Kris, no!”

“Chanyeol.”

Shocked, Chanyeol’s eyes widened. Kris was looking right at him, his black eyes as tear-filled as Chanyeol’s own.

“Don’t look,” he whispered. “Close your eyes, don’t look.”

Sobbing, Chanyeol did as he was told, and a moment later he felt the impact as Kris’s lifeless body hit the bed sheets.

One would think that seeing the same death three times would make it less horrible - especially when Chanyeol knew it hadn’t changed anything, and that Kris’s ghost would still be wandering around the house just like it always had - but his sheer helplessness in the face of that horror hit Chanyeol hard. He’d stayed right there on the floor, sobbing next to Kris’s body, until the pools of blood dripping down the sides of the bed had faded away.

Now, as he sat out on the back patio stairs with his coffee, Chanyeol focused on calming down and looking forward. It was a setback, to be sure, but he’d made a promise and he wasn’t about to back down that easily.

So. What did he know, and what did he need to find out?

He knew Kris was different. His death was the first, and as far as Chanyeol could tell, it was the only genuine suicide; all the rest had been murders that were staged as either accidents or suicides.

Yixing had said, “If you’re going to save us, you have to save all of us,” so maybe that meant that Kris’s scene couldn’t be broken until all of the other ghosts were gone?

It was the best guess Chanyeol had, anyway, which meant he needed to save all the rest of the ghosts before the house got him, too. His home had become a battleground, but Chanyeol wasn’t going down without a fight. Someone had to stop this horror.

Chanyeol pulled out his little chart of ghosts and updated it. It was Friday. Tonight, or, well, early tomorrow morning, the jumper would jump. Chanyeol didn’t know his name, but maybe blood would be enough. If he could make the jumper corporeal, maybe he could just tackle the guy to the ground and hold him down until the clock chimed.

Even if that didn’t work, Chanyeol was reasonably certain he could save Kyungsoo tomorrow night. If that didn’t work, then he would really have to re-examine things. He’d likely have another shot at Sehun on Wednesday, and he had Lu Han’s name, if he could ever figure out what his pattern of recurrence was. Kim Jongdae would have to appear eventually, too. That left only the frozen ghost and the tiger ghost.

And he’d have to stay alive in the meantime, of course.

“I can do this,” Chanyeol said out loud to himself. “It’ll be fine.”

Blood alone was not enough, apparently.

Chanyeol tried, he really did, but all it got him was new open wounds on his arms and a lot of frustration. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get the jumper’s attention, not even for a second.

“What are you seeing?” Chanyeol asked, as the jumper paced the same circles as he had every Saturday morning for decades. “Who are you talking to?”

“Me.”

Startled, Chanyeol looked up. Kris was standing next to him on the terrace, shimmering in the moonlight. “You?” he asked. “But you’re not - ”

“There? No. But I was.”

“Stop this,” the jumper said. “Leave me be!”

Kris’s face compressed. “I didn’t understand what had happened,” he murmured. “I didn’t know what he saw, when he looked at me.” He reached out a hand towards the jumper, and his voice took on a slightly different tone, confused and desperate. “Help me, please help me!”

“No, no.” The jumper covered his ears with his hands and turned away. “I shan’t listen, I shan’t!”

His hand slowly dropping, Kris shook his head. “I understand his reaction now,” he whispered, the confused affectation dropping from his tone. “But I didn’t, then. I grew angry.”

The wind picked up. Gasping, Chanyeol took an instinctive step back. Not only was his own hair and clothes ruffled by the wind, but so were the hair and clothes of both of the ghosts.

“Come no closer, fiend!” the jumper yelled, terrified. “Stop, I say!”

“I only wanted him to see me.” Kris shook his head sadly. “I didn’t understand.”

Just as before, the jumper stumbled back too far. Chanyeol closed his eyes, wincing as the familiar scream tore through the air, followed a second later by the sound of shattering glass.

Silence. The wind died down, leaving behind only the occasional chirp of a cricket.

Chanyeol expected that when he opened his eyes, Kris would be gone, but to his surprise the ghost was still there, watching him. Chanyeol swallowed, taking a couple of deep breaths to get his heart rate back under control.

“He was the first, wasn’t he?” Chanyeol guessed. “After you, I mean. The first one the house got.”

Kris inclined his head. “And my first time as well.”

What? Chanyeol’s brain immediately went to but how could you have had with him if you were a ghost, but then his good sense caught up and he realized what Kris was trying to say. “You hadn’t manifested before he came into the house.” Of course! “You… you only exist when there’s a young man your age living here, don’t you?”

Folding his hands behind his back, Kris paced a little, tracing out the circular path the jumper had taken. His footsteps made no sound whatsoever. “I exist,” he said, “but I am not… It isn’t the same, no.”

, Chanyeol couldn’t even imagine how much that . “So he was the first one who could see you,” he guessed. “The first person you could talk to, since you became… whatever you are now. You tried to reach out.”

Full lips twitched unhappily. “When a monster steps forward, a wise man backs away.”

Chanyeol’s heart jolted painfully. “You aren’t a monster,” he said, moving until he was right in Kris’s path. Kris stopped pacing, close enough that Chanyeol could feel the chill coming off him. “And I’m not backing away.”

A ghostly hand reached up, tentative and slow, as if giving Chanyeol time to recoil. Chanyeol held still, his breath catching in his throat as Kris’s translucent fingers brushed down his cheek and jaw, no more substantial than an icy wind. He reached up and traced out the shell of Chanyeol’s ear, and Chanyeol shivered.

“You will die,” Kris whispered, his eyebrows compressing.

“No,” Chanyeol said firmly. “I’m gonna save you.”

Saturday was long, but mostly uneventful. Still, as the hour grew later, Chanyeol came to realize that the manor was not happy with him. The usual creaking, groaning noises became doors slamming, taps turning on and off, window glass rattling. Chanyeol made a point of removing all of the knives from the kitchen and locking them in the front hall closet, and damn if he didn’t nearly trip while carrying them anyway.

You’re going to have to try harder than that, Chanyeol thought, but he didn’t say it out loud for fear of the house taking it as a dare. His craft knife felt heavy in his pocket - he knew how to handle it safely, but if the house decided to turn it against him it could still do quite a lot of damage. He’d taken to carrying it on him at all times, just in case.

Five-twenty passed, and the sun was hanging very, very low on the horizon, when the ghost he was waiting for finally appeared, shimmering into life in front of a counter that no longer existed. Knowing he didn’t have much time, Chanyeol immediately called out his name. “Do Kyungsoo!”

Kyungsoo stopped and looked up, curiosity on his features. His expression was more like Yixing’s than like Jongin’s or Zitao’s - awake, aware, just going about his business.

The house hadn’t bothered to put him in some kind of fugue state, it had just… Killed him.

“Do Kyungsoo, can you see me?” Chanyeol got in front of Kyungsoo’s face and waved his hands. Kyungsoo frowned, looking around, so Chanyeol raised his voice. “Do Kyungsoo!”

Startled, Kyungsoo jumped back, wide eyes focusing on Chanyeol’s face. “What - ”

“Hi. Hello. Please do me a favor and put the knife down,” Chanyeol said urgently, trying to keep his expression pleasant and not-scary while still getting across how vitally important this was.

It apparently didn’t work, because Kyungsoo actually brandished the knife in Chanyeol’s direction instead. “Come no closer,” he warned.

Chanyeol glanced up at the clock. He knew this scene would happen very fast - there wasn’t much time to argue. So he pulled out his craft knife, uncapped it, and sliced shallowly into the side of his hand.

Kyungsoo’s wide eyes widened further. “What - ”

He took a step back, and Chanyeol actually saw his foot catch on the floor. Leaping forward, Chanyeol reached out with his bloodied hand.

The sharp movement made blood splatter out in an arc, and the moment it touched the ghost, he became solid. Chanyeol knocked the knife out of his hand, sending it flying to the other side of the room. Kyungsoo hit the ground, exactly as he always did, but this time, the knife wasn’t there.

Relief made Chanyeol’s knees so weak, he basically collapsed at Kyungsoo’s side. “Sorry,” he said giddily. “Wasn’t fast enough to catch you.”

Kyungsoo scrambled up, flipping over so he could scoot away from Chanyeol. “Who are you?!” he asked sharply.

Chanyeol opened his mouth to explain, but a crash cut him off. Broken glass rained down on both of their heads. “!” he exclaimed, protecting his face with his bloodied hand as he glanced up just in time to see another water glass flying over their heads to crash into the cabinets just above.

“What is happening?!” Kyungsoo yelled. A third glass crashed, this one very close to Chanyeol’s head, and they both yelped and scrambled. Chanyeol grabbed his wrist and pulled him along behind the cabinets, his mind racing to predict and avoid anything that could become a weapon.

Wait. Swerving to the right, Chanyeol got to his feet and bolted for the new addition, the breakfast room that stuck off at an angle from the kitchen. He pulled the door shut behind him and leaned against it.

Kyungsoo wheeled on him. “Where am I?!” he snapped fearfully.

“Dragon Manor,” Chanyeol told him, “and I really hope this room is safe.” He looked at his watch. “Thirty more seconds.”

Another glass shattered against the door, with enough force that Chanyeol felt it jolt. He grit his teeth and braced his knees. There was another, and then a very loud thunk.

Then, finally, silence. Chanyeol waited until he heard the grandfather clock - five forty-five - before he relaxed.

Stance spread and hands on his hips, Kyungsoo glared expectantly at Chanyeol, with a look that said I am not leaving here until you explain this nonsense. Chanyeol couldn’t help it, he started to laugh. “I see why Sehun likes you,” he muttered.

Kyungsoo’s posture shifted from guarded to curious. “You know my lord?” he asked. “Did he send you?”

The completely innocent question was sobering. Chanyeol’s laughter died.

“Not exactly,” he said. “I found - here, come with me, I’ll show you.”

Opening the door revealed more broken glass and a very heavy stone dolsot pot that had made a nasty dent in the solid wood door. He stepped carefully over the mess, then led Kyungsoo down the hall, avoiding the kitchen and cutting through the dining room instead. Chanyeol could tell from Kyungsoo’s expression that the house must look very different.

“This is the Manor,” Kyungsoo said as they passed through the foyer and into the great room. “Yet it is not. It is changed. How can this be?” He turned in place as they walked, taking in the dilapidated surroundings. “I just came through here, only a few minutes ago. It did not look like this.”

Chanyeol wondered if this part was ever going to get any easier. “Kyungsoo,” he said, “you last walked through here one hundred and thirty years ago.” Wide eyes turned to him, and Chanyeol drew in a deep breath. Nope, not any easier than it was the first three times. “You died, Kyungsoo. The manor made you trip, and you fell on your knife.”

Kyungsoo stared at him.

“No,” he said slowly, as if Chanyeol was a little bit dense. “You knocked the knife from my hand.”

Chanyeol shook his head. “I didn’t. Not the first time it happened,” he murmured. “Didn’t you know that the manor was haunted? Didn’t you hear things, see things?”

That made Kyungsoo pause, and Chanyeol nodded.

“I thought so. We all did. What did you see?”

“The young man who died ten years ago,” Kyungsoo said, watching Chanyeol’s face for a reaction. Chanyeol nodded at him encouragingly. “The Lu son. We all know the story but… I saw him, more than once. I heard him scream.”

“Running through the east gallery, right?” Chanyeol said, and Kyungsoo nodded, looking surprised. “I’ve seen him too. Did you hear the other screams too, late at night, with the crashing noise?”

Kyungsoo nodded again. “Lots of screaming. Female screams, male screams.” Chanyeol opened his mouth to ask what he meant, since he himself had never heard a female voice screaming within the house, but Kyungsoo was still talking. “I saw the first owner, the man in that portrait that used to be there.” He pointed at the empty wall above the huge fireplace in the great room.

“Kris Wu,” Chanyeol said, and Kyungsoo nodded. “I have seen him as well, many times.” He quickly recalled his chart. “I do believe every other ghost I have seen died after your time.”

Leading Kyungsoo into his sitting room, Chanyeol went to dig out a specific letter from Sehun’s folio, spread out still on his coffee table. He found the one he wanted, but when he turned, he saw that Kyungsoo was staring at the portrait that was leaning against the wall in the corner.

“That is…” He frowned. “Is that not Lady Wu and her father, Lord Jung?”

Chanyeol’s insides did a funny little skip. “Is it? I thought it might be, but I wasn’t sure.”

“It’s rare to see a Joseon woman in a British dress,” Kyungsoo said dryly. “She was… Eccentric. Our cook served the Jung family when she was a child, you see. She would tell us stories.”

Fascinated, Chanyeol cocked his head. “What did your cook say?”

“She was too young to remember either Lord Wu,” Kyungsoo said, coming over to sit next to Chanyeol. “The elder died before she was born, and the younger committed suicide when she was very small. But she remembered Lady Wu.” He shook his head. “She said the lady was very somber, and hardly anyone ever saw her. Consumed with grief. Lord Jung ran the household, even before Lady Wu died.” He looked around. “This place looks… Alien. Like something from a fairytale.” He ran his hand over the plush, ivory microfiber of the couch, and then looked at Chanyeol. “I… I’m really dead, aren’t I?

Chanyeol’s face compressed. “I’m sorry.”

Dropping his eyes to the bright, cheery geometric rug, Kyungsoo drew in a long breath, and blew it out slowly. “I don’t even remember it,” he murmured. “I was alive in my home, in my time, doing my duties. Then you called my name, and appeared as if from nowhere, and everything changed in an instant.” He reached forward and brushed fingers over one of the letters on the table. “This is my lord’s penmanship.”

“Yeah.” Chanyeol picked up the letter he’d pulled out. “Sehun kept record of his thoughts in the form of letters addressed to you. I don’t know how much time you have left here, so… This one is the most important.” He handed the letter over. It was the one that began, You are dead, and my heart has died along with you.

It felt like an intrusion to watch Kyungsoo’s face as he read, so Chanyeol stood and walked to the other side of the room, pretending to be very interested in the view out the back sliding doors. It was well into October now, and the orange and pink light of sunset made the changing trees glow like flames. The beauty of the manor sometimes felt like the bait in a trap, but it captivated Chanyeol all the same.

Kyungsoo was crying. Chanyeol could hear him.

He gave the man a few moments, until he couldn’t take it anymore, then he went back to the couch and sat down, instinctively rubbing a hand over Kyungsoo’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he said, uselessly.

“He was in love with me,” Kyungsoo said, choked. “I never knew. I wish I had.”

“Did you… Do you…” Chanyeol wasn’t sure if saying it would upset Kyungsoo more.

Kyungsoo shook his head. “I didn’t allow myself to,” he whispered. “I was… Lord Oh, the elder Lord Oh I mean, he caught me with one of the stable-boys once.” He glanced up warily, but Chanyeol just nodded encouragingly. “And he told me he would kill me if I came near his son.”

Chanyeol’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“The young Lord was so very - oh, I wish he had told me,” Kyungsoo said wistfully. “I could have loved him. I would have.” He looked up, and his eyes were so filmy with tears that Chanyeol had to hug him. Kyungsoo accepted the hug after only a moment of stiffened surprise. “What… what happened to him? S-Sehun?”

He really didn’t want to have to say this, but Kyungsoo deserved to know. “He died less than a month after you did,” Chanyeol admitted. “An accident in the west wing library. His very last act was to hide these letters, and they stayed hidden until I found them only a few weeks ago.”

Kyungsoo’s thick brows were crumpling. “An accident?” he asked.

“It appeared to be, yes. I’ll spare you the details, but it was very quick. I doubt he felt any pain.” Chanyeol met his eyes. “He became a ghost, just as you did. In a few days, I will have the opportunity to try and save him, to make him real, like you are now.”

Large, teary brown eyes slid to the side, looking at something Chanyeol couldn’t see. “I… Oh.” Kyungsoo swallowed. “I won’t be here, then, will I?”

That look, Chanyeol knew that look. He checked his watch - it hadn’t even been twenty minutes yet! “No, , it can’t be time for you to go, not yet!”

“It is.” Kyungsoo looked back at him. “I’m remembering - Oh, God.” He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, looking a bit desperate. “Do you have paper, a pen? Please, hurry, I don’t have much time.”

It took a second, but then Chanyeol realized what he meant, and he bolted for his bedroom. There was a notebook by his bed where he’d been sketching out ideas for the restoration; he ripped out a page and brought it and a pen to Kyungsoo.

Kyungsoo’s message was short, somewhat messily written. Chanyeol resisted the urge to snoop at it - it wasn’t his business. He could see Kyungsoo gritting his teeth, then twitching his legs, as if it physically pained him to stay where he was and not walk into the light.

Finally, with a gasp, he signed his name. “This is for my lord,” he said. “I have to go. Thank you, thank you.”

Chanyeol didn’t get a chance to promise that he would give the note to Sehun, he didn’t get a chance to say you’re welcome or even goodbye. Kyungsoo stood, and he was gone, leaving Chanyeol sitting alone, staring at the place where he had been as the daylight faded.

In the silence, there was a slight whoosh of air, and a familiar chill shivered up Chanyeol’s arm. Chanyeol didn’t even look up.

“It’s the sunset, isn’t it?” he guessed. “Or sunrise, in Yixing’s case. That’s when the spirits have to leave.” He glanced to the side and found Kris sitting next to him on the sofa, watching him. “That’s why the timing varies. Sunset keeps getting earlier as we get deeper into autumn, and the ghosts all died at different times of the day.”

“I had no idea that they were in love,” Kris murmured. “I have walked these halls for two hundred years, and yet you keep teaching me new things about them.”

“They had to hide it.” Chanyeol turned his body and leaned in towards the ghost, shuddering from the cold and not caring. Kyungsoo’s tears had hit him hard, and he was more grateful for Kris’s presence than he really wanted to think about. “They had to pretend to be someone else for the sake of appearances. Kyungsoo pretended so hard, he actually believed his own lie. Right up until his death.”

The knit blanket that was over the arm of the couch lifted and slid over Chanyeol’s shoulders, startling him. It had moved by itself.

“We all lie for the sake of appearances,” Kris murmured, as Chanyeol gratefully wrapped himself in the blanket. “Even you.”

Chanyeol snorted. “Don’t I know it.” The way he’d said it, though, made Chanyeol curious. “All of the accounts I’ve read, the stories I’ve heard, said that you and Jessica were madly in love. Was that a lie for appearances?”

Kris’s eyes drifted over to the portrait sitting in the corner. “Yes, and no,” he whispered. “I would have done anything for her. She was my best friend.”

Not my angel, not my princess, not the most important thing in my life. Not even my wife. Best friend. Something about that felt significant, to Chanyeol. “What part was the lie?” he asked.

Black eyes returned to meet his. “The woman who comes to stay with you sometimes,” Kris said abruptly. “Amber. Do you love her?”

“What? No! Well, yes, but. Not in the way you mean.” He smiled a little, rueful. “She’s my best friend.”

Kris returned his smile. “She is beautiful,” he pointed out. “Unconventionally so, but I’m afraid I lost track of what the conventional standards were right around the time ladies began wearing trousers.” Chanyeol chuckled at that. “And she cares for you a great deal. It has not crossed your mind?”

“It rarely does,” Chanyeol said wryly. “I’m… I’m not very good at… Relationships. With anyone.”

Cocking his head, Kris stared at him steadily. “I find that difficult to believe. You are passionate in a way that precious few can claim to be, and you care more than anyone else I have ever known.”

Wow. Blushing, Chanyeol ducked his head. “Thanks,” he muttered. “It’s not that I don’t care, it’s…” He sighed. “I’m selfish, I guess. Too absorbed in myself. I drive people away.”

Kris’s eyes narrowed. He studied Chanyeol’s face for a long time, until Chanyeol was all but squirming under the scrutiny. Finally, he looked back towards the table.

“Jessica and I were very, very close,” he said, “but if it had been our choice alone, we would not have gotten married. We did it to appease her father - and to protect each other.”

He stood. Chanyeol attempted to stand as well, suddenly filled with questions, but the blanket tightened around his limbs, heavy, holding him down.

Kris glanced back at him, smiled sadly, and disappeared.

Chanyeol was awoken that night by a literal roar.

Startling wide awake, he sat straight up and froze, listening. The usual creaking, groaning, rattling noises of the house were eerily silent, but there was a rhythmic floorboard creak that Chanyeol had not heard before, that sounding like nothing so much as a very heavy animal pacing over old flooring.

No ing way.

Holding his breath, with his heartbeat flying so wildly he was certain he was going to go into cardiac arrest, Chanyeol very, very slowly got out of his bed, freezing in place as soon as his weight was transferred to the floor. There was no change in the rhythm of the pacing, so he very, very carefully made his way to the door of his bedroom.

For the first time, he regretted not choosing a bedroom that had more than one exit. His only way out was into the sitting room, which he was almost certain would take him closer to the tiger, since it sounded like it was in the great room. But at least he had three exits from the sitting room - out onto the back patio, the hall that lead down to the west wing, and the great room itself.

Chanyeol didn’t really like the notion of getting trapped inside the winding, convoluted halls of the house with a tiger, his dream from weeks ago sticking in his mind, so he opted for the back patio. The relatively new glass sliding door was much quieter than the older, creaky wooden interior doors anyway.

There was a garden shed around the corner of the house, and Chanyeol went to it and picked up a woodcutting axe. It was a little rusted, but better than nothing. If the tiger was real enough to hurt him, then it was real enough for Chanyeol to defend himself.

He creeped back around, staying well back from the patio, and carefully peered into the large windows of the great room. Sure enough, the fireplace was lit, and a huge, orange-and-black tiger was pacing around the room, right over the spot where the rug used to be.

Chanyeol had burnt the rug up, but apparently that didn’t matter. Just like Sehun burning Kris’s portrait hadn’t stopped Kris’s ghost from appearing, burning the rug hadn’t stopped the tiger. It was a part of the house, now.

And if Chanyeol’s thoughts about what had dragged the frozen ghost to his doom were correct, it could leave the house, too. So he stepped back, keeping just one corner of the room in sight, enough to watch the flicker of firelight and to catch a glimpse of stripes every so often.

He waited, jittering with fearful adrenaline, for what felt like hours. Finally, near sunrise, the firelight went out, and Chanyeol risked taking a closer look. The tiger was gone.

He brought the axe into the house with him, making a note to sharpen it and keep it by his bed. The manor could turn literally anything into a weapon to use against him - the dishes, the walls, the floorboards even - but Chanyeol thought it would probably be a good idea to keep something on hand he could use to fight back.

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