Chapter Text
Zanka Nijiku doesn’t do parties.
Never had and never will. With him being the youngest son of a prestigious family that was expecting perfection and flawless victory in each field they applied themselves to, such things weren’t even included in his vocabulary. To him parties only served as distractions, preventing one from focusing on something more substantial – like studying, for example. Or already seeking jobs instead of wasting time getting drunk or sleeping around.
Of course, back then when he lived under his parents’ roof that was just an expectation, his duty as being one of the Nijikus. Alas, perfection was never something that came natural to him. He understood long, long time ago, when he was still a kid, that unless he put all of himself into hard work – the results simply wouldn’t be enough. When he was at the age when his siblings would’ve effortlessly breeze through the schoolwork grade above – he would stumble over equations and expressions. The 99’s and 100’s of his naturally gifted schoolmates were chased after by his hard-earned 94’s and 95’s, with him working himself into the ground for a glimpse of acknowledgement or a whisper of praise.
And that was essentially his life throughout school. The pressure from his family’s expectation and his own need to prove himself just as – no, more – capable than any genius only grew with each year, finally leading him through the doors to his future as a law prodigy – or, speaking less dramatic, getting him a place in one of the best institutes the country had to offer. And, feeling his hard-work somewhat – because of course it wouldn’t matter to his parents. He needed to be THE best, after all – pay off, he was fully prepared to continue his routine of studying and improving himself, with no place for friendships and other distractions in his busy life, because this was how he always lived and saw no reason to stop even after he moved into the dormitory and got some independence.
Well, that was his thought process about a year ago when he took his first step into the institution, freshly graduated from high school. At this day and moment however, he was stuck at a place he would’ve never imagined being in before: at some fashion student’s – an acquaintance of one of his friends. With that same friend of his being the reason Zanka was brought here in the first place – house, with dozens of other students from every major there was to pick from. He doesn’t remember what was the occasion for such occurrence but it must’ve been something huge for everyone to gather. Or the student that threw the party was just obscenely rich.
Zanka checks his phone. They got here twenty minutes ago.
God, he already feels his head begin to throb.
The music booms throughout the whole place, loud and disorienting. Zanka shuffles through the crowd of half-drunk teenagers, searching for a glimpse of familiar red, hands awkwardly stuffed into his pockets.
Where did she disappear? Zanka feels so out of place. He moves through the place trying to avoid sticky splats on the floor from where cheap alcohol got spilled and bumping into people.
“Sorry, let me just–“
“There you are!” Somebody grabs him, steering towards, he assumes, the living room, before Zanka can snap at them to let him go. The guy yells loud enough to be heard through the music. “Hey, Riyo! I’ve got your guy!”
“Great! Come here!”
He’s lead to the couch right next to Riyo. She’s chatting with a timid girl that he’d seen on campus a few times before she notices Zanka, scooting over and patting the spot on her left. He reluctantly obliges and plops down, narrowly avoiding a wet spot.
He was offered a drink, he thinks. Riyo said something about finally relaxing and living a little and so, be it his late teenage rebellion or curiosity, he went with the flow, finishing the drink in one go. And then he tries another one. And another.
And then everything – people, voices, smells – just blurs together. After a while music got quieter. Fewer people remained, and those who stayed, including Zanka, drifted into different rooms. A guy he shares a few classes with found some dusty boardgames, a few girls brought chairs from the dining room and set them around the small glass table in front of the couch.
TV plays some stupidly dramatic sitcom, only adding to the background noise.
Ahh, must’ve drank something strong, he muses, suppressing his giggles at some dumb joke that right now seems like the funniest shit in the world. Riyo bumps him with her shoulder.
“Having fun yet?” She winks at him, accidentally flashing him the cards she’s got. “Told you, it’s gonna be worth it.”
A few of the games are on the table, dice and chips scattered around. Zanka’s got an upper hand and claimed his victory when they decided to play cards. Some of their new acquaintances already clocked out, now snoring on the armchairs. He takes one more sip from a cup he’s stolen from Riyo, shamelessly tilting his head to glimpse at her last two cards. “’S not so bad.”
One of her groupmates, clearly too drunk to be here, reaches over the table and smacks his forehead.
“No peeking!”
“The hell?! It won’t do anythin’ for me, I’ve been out for ages!” Zanka hisses at him, rubbing the sore spot. The guy just laughs, loud and obnoxious, and under the influence Zanka doesn’t seethe for long. Maybe it was funny. Heh.
It’s Riyo against the guy who looks like he would rather be anywhere else but here right now. After a few minutes Riyo whoos and claps her hands after finally getting rid of her cards, and honestly, knowing how good she was in this kind of thing, Zanka is surprised she didn’t even try to cheat today.
A one in a lifetime experience, for sure.
A girl from criminology, who he often shares classes with, clears her throat.
“Well, that’s… Unfortunate.” Momoa’s voice is flat. “Better luck next time, Fu.”
“S-so it’s decided? I’ll have to…” Fu’s eyes frantically dart around, pleading. The shy girl from before, Eishia, apologises and averts her gaze, and Riyo just grins. Momoa’s headphones sit a bit crooked around her neck and she fiddles with her necklace, looking like she’s perpetually bored, if not for her lightly flushed cheeks. She shrugs.
“Yeah… Sorry. Guess we found the guy who’ll be our willing sacrifice,” She pauses, noticing how he looks as white as a sheet of paper. “Unless somebody else would like to volunteer?”
She sounds a bit too morbid in Zanka’s opinion, but maybe it can be explained by her interest in all things occult and supernatural. They sit together sometimes and partnered up for projects a few times in the past, and her company was a nice break from chaos his friends brought into his daily life. Maybe this is why he finds himself speaking up, accent slipping. “What’s so special ‘bout that place that got’cha so interested anyway?”
“Ooo? Somebody’s interested~ Wanna check it out?” Riyo leans closer to him, teasing, and Zanka pinches her ear, rolling his eyes.
Awake people look at him with confusion. Surprisingly, the first one to actually address his question is Eishia.
“You… Don’t know?”
Zanka just shrugs, looking her in the eyes. She slightly turns her head, avoiding his eyes, as she continues, now quieter. “Sorry! It’s just, well…”
Riyo picks up where she trailed off. “…Kind of a big deal? The latest topic for gossip and stuff. I’m surprised you haven’t heard anything in detail.” She glances at Momoa, raising her brow.
“Yeah, but it’s jus’ a ghost story, no? There’s a ton of haunted houses. What’s so special ‘bout this one?”
“Whatever is hiding there sticks to you when you leave.” Momoa is looking at the wall as she finally speaks. “It starts small at first. Feeling of being watched. Something hiding in the dark. Normal for a mischievous creature, right?”
She looks right at him, picking up her cup. “It’ll keep playing with you until you come back to its haunt. And then…”
“It either kills you or does something even worse!” Fu’s voice is trembling. Momoa pats his shoulder and he looks like he’s about to burst into tears.
“So, we’ve wanted to test it out, but,” Momoa trails off and then tosses a die to Zanka. He catches it with ease. “It’s a pesky ghoul. Doesn’t like crowds and if there’s more than one person even close to its place it just won’t show itself.”
She tilts her head, smiling.
“So, want to volunteer? Though I don’t know if you’ll be the right… Fit.”
Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean.
“Yer implyin’,” Zanka scowls, feeling his blood – metaphorically – grow hotter. “That I won’t handle somethin’ as easy as that?”
He doesn’t see Riyo rolling her eyes or Eishia glancing at him with worry. Fu is looking between him and Momoa, nervously fidgeting, and Momoa looks him over, squinting.
“No. But you don’t believe in supernatural stuff so I can’t imagine you carrying this out. Not the right fit, as I said.”
Something like this being the reason to write him off entirely? Oh, it’s fucking ON.
“Y’know what? What the hell, sure,” It must be the alcohol speaking and egging on on his competitiveness and desire to prove his worth. Because no way he’d actually agree to this absurd suggestion. “I volunteer. I’ll just go there, come back an’ prove to y’all that there was nothin’ to be afraid of.”
If Zanka tries hard enough then he can pretend that he only said it because he took pity on the younger boy that looked more and more like a pathetic sopping wet kitten with each second passed with him thinking he’ll be the one pulling up to the haunted house. It was kind of cute. In that way where you don’t know whether you want to put him out of his misery or offer a helping hand.
There’s a hint of smile on Momoa’s lips. She yawns, putting her headphones on and closing her eyes. “Whatever you say, Nijiku.”
“Yeah, I think it’s enough for you,” Riyo stands up, pulling Zanka to his feet, grip surprisingly firm. She ignores his protests and supports him when he trips over something scattered on the floor. “Time to get you back in your bed. See you guys later! Bye-bye, Eishia! Tell Auggie to message me in the morning, pretty please!”
They leave and when Zanka gets to his dorm room, the moment his head touches his pillow he’s fast asleep.
And so, Zanka didn’t know what the hell he was doing.
Now, to say this wouldn’t be saying the full truth – he knew where he was going. Precautions were taken, the rumours and locals’ stories were noted down, the road was explored beforehand and the car fully fueled for the impromptu roadtrip through the night. And here he was: on a driver’s seat in a borrowed car on a Friday evening, completely alone – not counting Riyo telling him about her classes and then trailing off into whatever new topic she got him into – and on his way to a local haunted house on the outskirts of the town.
He didn’t know what exactly was it that made him agree to the suggestion made on a party full of half-drunk teenagers. Was it his pride or perfectionism? Or maybe his innate desire to prove his worth to himself?
Doesn’t matter. Zanka had been called a lot of things – a teacher’s pet, a prude, a tryhard and billion other titles that got assigned to him way back in middle school, some following him to the institute too, but no way in hell was he going to be called a quitter, in case somebody’s got a loose tongue and remembered that fucking slip of control.
He grits his teeth and his grip on the steering wheel hardens. He stares up ahead at the empty road and drives.
Turn to the right, then go straight ahead for about five minutes. Then stop when you see the hill, right after you pass the woods.
It’s not the best, but these are working instructions. It’s good. Zanka is good at following instructions, years of discipline and training regimes still fresh in his mind, even after years spent away from his family. He listens to Riyo, giving her half-hearted answers – something that he’ll definitely regret later, after he’s done and will be able to focus on something more substantial than some local ghost story waiting for him.
Riyo notices how quiet he’s gotten and pauses mid story.
“You sure you want to do it? You don’t really have to, you can just turn around. Nobody’s gonna force you.” Her voice softens. She gets quiet like this when she really means something, compared to her usual teasing demeanor.
Zanka appreciates her concern. He turns left, eyeing a little spot to the side of the road, perfect to park the car, and pulls over.
“Yeah, I’ll do it,” He scoffs, pulling out his flashlight and checking the batteries. He did make sure they were brand new, but you can never be too sure. “’S not like there’s actually going to be something.”
“You never know… There always could be something. Except maybe this time it’s a serial killer, not a big scary ghost.”
Zanka chuckles.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better? Don’t forget to add the reanimated corpses.”
Riyo laughs into the phone before continuing just as serious as before. “I mean it though. They’ll understand, nobody wants to go near that shithole. Have you seen the pictures? Literally one gust of wind away from falling over.”
“I know, I know.” Zanka holds his phone with his shoulder as he opens the door and steps outside, looking around. He doesn’t see any ghosts nor dead people so far, only the worn-down pathway, so that’s a positive in his book. He locks the car. “I’ll send you guys my location, ‘kay? So if something does kill me, at least you won’t have to send the dogs after me.”
“Okay, since you’re so sure,” Riyo replies, fiddling with something he can’t quite hear through the phone. Is she cutting something? Working on her projects deep into the night – and no, ten is not still early – when Zanka isn’t there to drag her to bed, how typical. She fakes a sniffle. “Just look at our brave little Zan-Zan, already so grown up~”
Zanka groans.
“I told you not to call me that. You and Enjin… Ugh.” He huffs, annoyed. And maybe just a little fond. “At least Rudo doesn’t do that yet. And I’m older than you.”
“Nah, it’s the right of succession. We found you second, means you are the middle child.”
“That’s definitely not what the right of succession is.”
The pathway leads up the hill through the tall grass and bushes. It’s getting darker, the built in flash on his phone not enough to illuminate the path.
Zanka furrows his brows. The flashlight was a right pick for sure.
“It is now, cuz I said so. And we’ll get him to soon, trust me.” After a small pause she asks him, quieter. “Wanna stay on call? You don’t have to be alone.”
“Nah, it’s alright.” Zanka sighs fondly as he steps onto the stone. It sinks into the dirt, loose from years of rainwater and melting snow wearing down the already unsteady foundation. He falters before regaining his posture and taking another careful step. “I’ll do it proper, even if it’s just a stupid dare. I’ll call you or Enjin when I get back to the car?”
It comes out more as a question, but Riyo hums in agreement.
“Be careful, okay? You’ve heard the rumours. Letting your recklessness be your doom would kinda suck.”
“Excuse you, I’m not the reckless one,” Zanka lets out an offended gasp, playing along. “You sound like him, oh my god. If I die today, I’m haunting you.”
“You can’t die, c’mon. Don’t you have that big presentation on Monday that you were working your ass off for?”
This goes without a question. He stayed up multiple nights to get everything ready, poured his blood, sweat and tears – metaphorically speaking – into it.
His groupmates hate to see him coming.
If something cryptic stands behind him and his perfect grade he’s going to kill something and exorcise it through his disdain alone.
“That’s exactly why I’m coming back. If you don’t hear anything from me in 3 hours, something happened.”
“Sure thing. Then, good luck, Zan-Zan~ Don’t become a spooky creature on your merry way there.”
Horrifying thought.
“Thanks, Riyo. Don’t stay up all night again.”
He hangs up.
The walk through the overgrown pathway towards a half-ruined building on top of the hill is a long and tedious one. His feet drag through the mud when the stone steps grow more scarse and he clicks his tongue in annoyance. Stray twigs and leaves crunch beneath his feet. The chill is biting, settling deep into his bones. Zanka moves in confident strides, trying to get over this ordeal. It rained earlier today and when he walks faster dirt splatters on his shoes with a gross wet sound, his pants not escaping this fate either.
Which is fucking annoying. He did his laundry yesterday and would have to wait, not wanting to start a washing machine for just one spare set of his sportswear when he returns.
He climbs higher, reaching the shoddy fence. It’s short, reaching up to his waist, and crooked, ridden with gaps where pieces of wood either rotted away or got taken by somebody else. The gate is open, the door screeching as it sways in the wind. Zanka pulls out his phone, sending a quick message to the groupchat. It takes longer than usual to send, but it’s not a cause for concern in Zanka’s eyes – he was just outside the city after all, it’s no wonder that connection would be worse here.
Up close, the building is in an even worse shape than the photos and descriptions from especially scared – impressed – internet users suggested. It’s not much of a house either. The building stands tall and proud in the dark despite it’s state, imposing and installing uncanny feeling into his body. It’s reminiscent of a church, or a temple maybe? Zanka isn’t quite sure about the style or the timeframe it could be built in as his degree didn’t really offer that kind of expertise, but it seems old. He scans it before he will enter through the gaping hole where the main entrance should’ve been. There’s no roof and all the windows are broken, some shards of colorful glass scattered around in the grass.
“Here goes nothing…” Zanka takes a deep breath, stepping inside. He puts his hand on the wall, testing the stability, hoping nothing will crush him. “Sorry for intruding– What am I even doing? Ain’t nobody here.”
It’s creepy. Not in a paranormal way however – just something expected from going into the abandoned building late at night equipped with a flashlight. The room he steps into is large and cluttered with all sorts of rubble. Dusty too. Zanka pulls on his mask, furrowing his brows in concentration and slowly approaching the centre of the room.
He inspects the room thoroughly and cautiously and there’s admittedly… Nothing to be impressed by. A row of columns on each side that don’t seem to serve any functional purpose apart from being an artistic choice, some of them chipped and others laying on the floor, snapped and broken. Moss and grass stretches through the surfaces, right through the cracks in the old stone. He flashes his light at the corners and wrinkles his nose when he sees some pest scamper away into the darkness.
It’s disappointing. All this talk and fearmongering among the students only for Zanka to be correct, as he expected, of course, but still he expected something more. At least a basement or a secret room, in the best traditions of a horror movie.
“That’s dreadfully uneventful.” Zanka deadpans. He squints at the wall farthest from the entrance. It seems to be slightly pushed inwards, dull colors showing through the layer of dust and filth.
Is it a mural? Unfinished one at that. Zanka takes out a handkerchief from one of the pockets of his bag and tries to wipe away some of the dirt, curious. Under his careful motions the colors become brighter, the shapes clearer, and from what he is able to see, Zanka can recognize a massive form of a beast, its body twisted and bent, a chimeric depiction of something born in the depths of the unfortunate artist’s mind.
It reminds him of those creatures he saw in the history textbooks and mythology books, hulking shapes told to be made up of thrown away things and people’s negligence. Except this one is different. Still giant in proportion, but built from flesh and bone, organic instead of metal, lean and swift, flexible and wild.
He wipes the remaining filth from the creature’s muzzle, revealing its piercing eyes. It’s like they stare right through him, despite just being a piece of art on a wall. They are so bright, the only vivid part of the mural and reel Zanka in, him finding himself unable to look away from rich majenta. A thought crosses his mind, completely unexpected. With its body revealed, the creature is almost… Beautiful.
What?
Zanka blinks, snapping out of his daze. He looks back, for a second, and its eyes are as dull as the rest of its body.
Is he seeing things now?
Zanka steps away, shaking his head. The air feels heavier now, but whipping his head back proves to him no one else is here. It’s oddly quiet now, as if the world around Zanka was wrapped up in a bubble, muffling any interference. He doesn’t recall how he got back to the car – it seems like the moment he stepped outside the room he already was there. The silence stretches around him still, invisible pressure adding to his confusion.
Zanka starts the car, moving automatically. The lights flicker once. He bites his thumb and turns on his phone, seeing nine missed calls, the last one from just three minutes ago. He’s… Confused, the number seemingly unnecessary, but he calls back.
“Zanka, you okay there? Did something happen? You weren’t picking up.”
Guilt and shame flood him immediately when he hears just how tired Enjin sounds. “I… I’m sorry. The connection was weak and I guess… I guess I just lost track of time. I’m okay though. I’m already about to leave.”
“Hmm. Since you’re up now, just don’t take a nap again while you drive, that won’t make you seem cooler.” There’s a brief pause before Enjin replies, a teasing tone already making itself known. “Teenagers and their rebellious strikes… You kids will send me into an early retirement, I swear.”
The last part was muttered and Zanka knows that it doesn’t mean that he’s disappointed at him, but shame still digs its claws into him. He still made Riyo stay up late. He still made Enjin, and probably Rudo too, worry about him, by acting on impulse and out of some misplaced sense of duty. Zanka bites at his finger, tasting blood where he tears through skin. “You guys… You didn’t have to worry about me. Sorry. And a nap again?” He laughs nervously, fingers digging into his thighs. “That’s a bit of an… Overkill, no? I wasn’t there for longer than half an hour or so.”
“Of course we’ll worry, Zanka. We care about you,” Enjin stops his spiraling in an instant. “Don’t go thinking now that I’m disappointed in you and all this crap.” He then catches onto another peculiar thing Zanka said. “You didn’t check the time?”
“…I called back first thing so I didn’t really pay attention, why?”
“You went offline for five hours, kid.”
What the actual fuck. He’s not serious, right?
“I… I see…” Zanka forces his voice out, ignoring the bone chilling cold he suddenly feels. He thinks of what he can say in his excuse, but comes up with nothing. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologise, Zan-Zan. Just don’t do that again. Or,” The older man’s voice is light but firm. It grounds Zanka, getting some of that cold away. “Take somebody else with you next time. Wouldn’t it be more fun to go full-on urban explorer with a friend?”
“Yeah. I promise.” He feels wrong for asking for more right now, but… “Can I stay the night? When I get there.”
“Why ask? You know you’re always welcome.” Enjin laughs, fond. “You know where the spare keys are, just don’t wake up anyone. The brat missed you, so if you wake him up he’s gonna stay your problem tomorrow.”
Of course he did. Zanka bites his cheek, trying to suppress his smile.
He hangs up with a goodbye, finally heading back. The eery silence and the unnatural coldness gradually disappear the farther he gets from the ‘haunted’ place. The car interior gets warmer and he turns on the radio so that the time passes faster. He drives through the empty road, back to normal, completely out of this strange state, humming along to the lyrics of the song that currently plays and tapping his fingers on a steering wheel.
What he misses completely is the piercing gaze of a shadow, following him closely behind.