Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Game Over

It was just pass five o’clock in the morning when Leo, silent and brooding as always, pulled into the driveway of the romantically quaint house. In the back seat, an equally but unusually, brooding Hongbin groaned at the car’s stop alongside a bemused Ravi and a slumbering Ken.

“Damn, why do we all have to come to find Hyuk, Hyung, it’s way too late to pull this kind of crap,” Hongbin groaned as he stretched his arms behind him. “I can’t get bags under my eyes, they already powder enough gunk on our faces every time we do an interview as it is.”

HakYeon, N, simply reclined to a slouch in his seat, tapping on left arm rest of the car with his out stretched hand.

Leo’s soft, yet deep, voice came from beside him, “Sanghyuk can take care of himself.”

Yes he could, HakYeon thought to himself, Hyuk was relatively well behaved and obedient, more so than the rest of his band mates. Even despite being the youngest of the group. But HakYeon always trusted his intuitions, even if it made him seem more fearful or cowardly than his friends, and his intuition told him that Hyuk was in a lot of trouble.

“I’m pretty excited; he’s finally called on his big brother’s to help him out! Maybe it’s a crazy fan that’s got him all riled up or maybe…” Ravi trailed off with a mischievous smirk, “he heard a bump in the night – BOO!”

The sudden shout bolted Ken awake with a jump, and in his surprise Ken very effectively throwing his into Hongbin’s face and a fist into Ravi’s. The commotion in the back seat drew a subtle, but none the less triumphant harrumph from Leo – no doubt celebrating the fact that he had insisted on driving, and thus, avoided the bothersome situation behind them.

The nervous, rhythmic tap on the windowsill conducted by N grew quicker and more forceful. While the others made light of the situation N felt a real threat. He simply could not take his eyes off the pleasant sub-urban house, despite the fact that he had been here a hundred times, and would no doubt be here a hundred more, yet in the dark of the night the shadows made the house twist in on itself, as if the building could swallow him whole without a second thought.

HakYeon was anxious, so very anxious, to find his junior as soon as possible and get out.

“Listen up,” N chose his words carefully, desperately attempting to hide the discomfort building in his chest,  “as you know already Sanghyuk called me for help earlier this night. I think he might be in a bit of trouble so all we got to do is find him, and head back to our place, alright?”

Having regained his composure, Ken shrugged off his leader’s decisiveness with a yawn chocked remark, “you’re such a cat sometimes, alright, alright. Find Hyuk, get out. Go to sleep. Good plan.”

And as simple as that, the boys piled out of the car one by one and approached the beautifully detailed double doors. Yes, the doors were beautiful, meticulous, and obsessed in there design.

HakYeon raised the back of his fist to the door, gently tapping on the door, “Sanghyuk,” he called cautiously.

“Seriously,” Hongbin grunted, “we’re already here, no need to be so dainty. Hyuk!” And with that Hongbin knocked purposefully on the door, turning the knob the second he had the chance. To his surprise, the door swung open without any resistance.

HakYeon filled his chest with heavy air. He did not like this. Not in the slightest.

But the others did not seemed to be as concerned as him, simply shrugging at one another and slinking into the entranceway. So, HakYeon followed in their footsteps.

Welcome.

A single word whispered in the nip of HakYeon’s ear sent his spine crawling through his skin.

The door slammed shut.

But the others didn’t hear, they didn’t feel the chilling cold enveloping HakYeon as he stood.

They simply walked in separate direction in the house in a half-hearted daze.

Sleep.

Again the whispering voice slithered into his mind. He watched as his friends fell to the ground in a unified slumber.

“No!” he screeched.  “Hyuk, Hyuk! Where the hell are you?”

And then he saw him. The demon wearing Sanghyuk’s face, a malevolent, cruel demon sneering through HakYeon’s very insignificant soul.

Come.    Find.      Me.

HakYeon.

 “Who are you? What do you want!” Hyuk breathing grew quick and rapid, and in some corner of his mind he realized he was hyperventilating.

The         Bump     in            the          Night.

Ha-Na.

The bump in the Night.

And the demon wearing Hyuk’s face giggled a most terrifying giggle; it reveled in its boundless excitement and joy.

Boo.

HakYeon felt a ringing in his head envelope him, his eyes rolled back, and the world slipped away into darkness.

The strangling depth of unconsciousness dragged Hakyeon down. Further and further into the pits of a bleak lonesomeness he sank; the sensation was unlike anything he had ever felt before. The darkness consumed him, painted his very bones with a creeping chill and an inherent desire, no, a need to be released from his wall-less prison.

Bursting upright from the cold, wooden floorboards, N gasped for breath.

That must have been the netherworld, N thought to himself, which was where it comes from.

Of course, if he had said something of the sort to his band mates, they would have simply laughed it off. It wasn’t that he was cowardly, of course. Simply put, HakYeon found that he was the only one who knew to be afraid.

And now was a very good time to be afraid.  

So very afraid.

Especially since his gaze had locked itself upon a trail of blood.

Cautiously. Hakyeon treaded towards the trail, touching it with his index and middle fingers. Dry. He inched forward along with the trail, quickly sighting a half burnt candle lighter and a pair of scissors haphazardly thrown to the floor. The scissors were unremarkable, but he tucked it into his pant pocket, finding it a better option than leaving them on the floor.

But as N continued his investigation, he found that the blood trail did not end at the base of the staircase. Instead it was something far more horrid.

Leo.

His back was folded in on itself, leaving his wide eyed gaze to staring at the back of his own knee. His two arms sprawled outwards from his torso, one palm facing the ceiling, the other down toward the floor. His legs were spit as far away from one another as possible, as If someone had been toying with them, pushing them past its natural resisting point simply because they could. The only blood on the course was an odd scratch and the slight, but undisturbed pool around the inward cave of his skull.

The pit of N’s stomach lost its bottom, and he could feel his throat falling to his stomach. Leo was dead, but he wasn’t following his blood. He had to find the others.

Dear God.

Leo’s open, blank eyes burned into his memory.

He had to find the others.

If this was what had befallen on Leo, Hakyeon was not looking forward to following the splotches of blood, and what seemed to be a drop of candle wax up the stairs.

He started his ascent hesitantly, he knew that the proper thing to do was close Leo’s eyes, but he could not, dare not touch the twisted corpse. Instead, he hugged the railing staircase furthest away from the body and took steps up the staircase.

The wood creaked under his weight, and the steps were relatively steep, most likely due to the Victorian style of the house. Between the startle of seeing Leo – if he could still call him Leo – and the steps, HakYeon could start feeling his presence of his breath.

Which made the increasing distance between the drops of blood odd.

They were further away on the stairs, and looked like the blood was tossed from the arm of a waving hand rather than dripping from someone that was injured.

Whoever it was, the person was running.

But from what.

Reaching the top of the staircase, N felt the hair on the back of his neck tingle with electricity, his heart beat faster, preparing his for an instantaneous escape.

He needed to calm down.  HakYeon leaned towards the second floor hallway against a large double door.  His thoughts were accompanied by the slow, methodic tick of an unseen clock. It was certainly possible that the owner of blood droplets had simply seen Leo’s corpse, was spooked, and ran upstairs. But Hakyeon himself was spooked by Leo, and his only instinct was to run outside this accursed house. So why run further into it? The owner of the blood was running.

Why?

Something was chasing him.

Deflated, Hakyeon leaned backwards onto the door behind him, looking for support. Instead the door creaked open, most likely improperly closed by the last person who entered the room.

Hakyeon could clearly see that room was one of the most luxuries in the house through the crack of the door and he could even see a few paintings adorning the wall. He placed his palm against the door and coaxed it to swing fully open.

What Hakyeon had earlier assumed to be a wall, was actually a large panel installed in the centre of the room for paintings to be hung. A small art gallery in Hyuk’s house was strange, but it could have very likely belonged to his parents.

Hakyeon got up on his feet and found his way wandering around the first panel of the wall, largely filled with landscapes and still life, to the second half of the gallery.

That was when he saw a painting that was particularly peculiar. Set against the center of the back wall of the art gallery, it was likely designated the most important piece. A beautiful, European woman with sleek black hair and cream white skin held the head of a man against her lap.

But what was peculiar about the painting was the contrast of the woman’s historic dress spilling across the bench the man laid on and the man’s edgy, contemporary clothing. Even his hair was this ridiculous shade of red that matched Rav-

Ravi.

The Selene and Endymion

Artist: Ha-Na

Ha-Na. This could not be Ravi. It couldn’t be HIS Ravi. That was impossible, absolutely inconceivable. The woman in the painting turned her face to him, smiling all the while.

HakYeon sprawled backwards, allowing the pair of scissors in his pocket to clatter beside him. He grabbed them by the blade, and lunged at the painting.

“THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE,” he screamed, “YOU DID NOT MOVE.”

He slashed at the woman’s face was but the woman simply leaned onto Ravi’s sleeping figure.

HakYeon scoffed, “That’s not Ravi. Do you think that will save you, you witch?”

He gripped the scissors tighter, the open blade digging into his own flesh and drawing a thin stream of blood. He slashed furiously again, at the woman and Ravi both. They were indistinguishable in HakYeon’s maddened rage.

Tear after the tear, the painting peeled at the edges of each cut, becoming thin pieces of paint to fall to the floor. He scratched into the canvas itself; there was no way that she had moved. There was no way that was Ravi.

And there was no way that this painting could be fixed.

Finally, HakYeon paused to collect his breath; he dropped the scissors onto the floor and willed himself to calm down.

It’s simple, HakYeon thought, all I have to do is find Ravi and then I’ll be able to prove it-  that I’m just going crazy, that I though I saw the painting move because seeing Leo, on the floor like that drove me out of my wits.

And so he convinced himself of this and proceeded to burst out of the gallery.

He ran down the hall, following the splotched of blood to the last door of the hallway, littered with half burnt matches and candle wax, but he made no note of it. Instead he simply threw the door open, wanting, no, willing it to be Ravi’s mischievous grin to greet him.

Blood.

A corpse without eyes hung from the ceiling fan by its own intestines. Its torso was ripped open from the centre, giving way to spilling organs dripping down its legs.

So much blood.

 A punctured heart, still covered in meaty fat lay at just a distance before HakYeon’s feet. The intestines that hung the corpse tore apart, leaving the dead man fell to the floor in a puddle of mashed liver, kidneys, and lungs.

Jesus Christ.

How could there be so much blood?

Tears streamed down the side of HakYeon’s face, his legs gave way, and he dropped to the floor in a fit of agony. He left his arms banging on the floor, his head turned downwards to his blood drenched knees. His tears spilled to the ground freely.

HakYeon knew it from the first second that Hakyeon had saw the body, he could recognize him even without eyes, and a heart and all the other important bits that made him up.

Hongbin.

Hakyeon laid there sobbing for what seemed like hours. And he would have continued to do so if not for the arm on his back.

“No. No, n-no, no! Who is that? Never mind, I don’t need to know,” the voice spoke in desperately and full of anxiety, Ken.

Hakyeon, sprung up, his mouth gaping, “Ken! Thank you, thank you. I thought you would be dead, just like the others. Ken- I think I killed Ravi, but he was a painting. I- I don’t know. God, Ken. Thank God.”

He threw his arms around Ken in a gripping, need driven hug. Barely noticing the pair of scissors in his hand. The blood drenched sleeves of HakYeon’s shirt stained Ken’s own clothing.

Ken’s head shook in confusion, “Wha- what? You killed a painting? Never mind- we have to go before it comes back, its coming back. No, no! It’s my turn, no!” His pupils rolled back into the back of his head, leaving only the whites of his eyes in his sockets. In an instant, the eyes rolled back with a renewed sense of vigour.

Ken raised his arm from underneath HakYeon’s embrace. 

A stabbing pain shot through HakYeon’s back. He let his grip on Ken loosen, stepping back in a startled fear.

 “Hyde and Ken are sharing. Hyde and Ken are sharing, and it’s Hyde’s turn now!” and Ken smiled gleefully. “Ken thinks you dropped it. So I gave it back!”

“The scissors?” HakYeon asked, staring in disbelief at the protruding point inside his skin. “How, they’re not even that long…”

His head filled with a buzzing, threatening to pull him into unconsciousness.

“Hyde is strong.” Ken said smugly.

In the last moments that HakYeon could struggle to keep awake, he saw Hyuk enter his increasingly narrow field of vision.

“Yes, Hyde is.” He said, patting Ken, or Hyde as he was calling himself, on the head.

HakYeon’s eyes closed, the pain in his back and the buzzing in his head overwhelming him. His blood drenched hands reached around, foolishly attempting to pull out the scissors buried in his back only to find the very handles to embedded into his body, only leaving a gash. The motion sent him into a paralyzing seizure of pain.

The buzzing in his ears transformed into a beating silence, leaving only one muted sentence to be the last words he heard: “I win, HakYeon, Ha-Na wins again.”

Well now our boys are good and dead,

Good and dead, good and dead

Well now our boys are good and dead,