Random BL One-Shots

The Dark Mansion

The mansion stood at the end of a long, overgrown path. Akira shivered as he gazed up at it, a massive structure that loomed against the darkening sky. Thick ivy twisted up the stone walls like skeletal fingers reaching toward the heavens. This place, his uncle's legacy, had been left to him—an inheritance he wasn't sure he wanted.

Yet here he was.

Akira had always felt uneasy about his family's history. There were whispers, vague rumors of madness and deaths, the sort of stories meant to be dismissed as idle gossip. But standing before the mansion, Akira could almost feel the weight of its past pressing down on him. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of decay and rot, even though no one had lived here for years.

"Are you sure about this?" Rei, Akira's childhood friend, asked, glancing at him warily.

Akira gave a slight nod, despite the tremble in his hands. "I need to know what's inside."

Rei sighed, but nodded, too loyal to leave him now. They stepped inside together, the heavy front doors creaking ominously. The inside was worse than Akira imagined—dusty, decrepit, and freezing cold. But it wasn't just the physical decay that unnerved him. It was the sense of something watching, waiting.

Later that night, as Akira settled into one of the less-damaged rooms, strange things began happening. The sound of footsteps echoed down the halls, though no one was there. Doors creaked open and slammed shut on their own. Shadows seemed to move of their own accord.

Rei was the first to voice what they both feared. "This place is haunted, Akira."

They called for help—enter Kenjiro, the paranormal investigator, who arrived in the dead of night, armed with equipment and a calm determination that contrasted sharply with Akira's growing terror. Kenjiro was tall, with an air of confidence that immediately caught Akira's attention, though it was his seriousness that reassured him the most.

"This place... has history," Kenjiro murmured, his voice low as he studied the mansion's crumbling walls. "Your uncle wasn't the first to fall victim to its curse."

Akira's heart raced. "Curse?"

Kenjiro nodded, eyes narrowing as he scanned the room. "There's something dark here—something that won't let go easily. It feeds on fear."

The tension in the mansion escalated. Asahi, a medium called in to communicate with the spirits, collapsed during a séance, bleeding from her eyes. "They're angry," she rasped. "They want justice... but they also want revenge."

The mansion's mystery deepened as they uncovered unsettling details from the local historian, Masaru. He came by one rainy afternoon, his face pale and somber as he handed Akira an old, leather-bound journal.

"This belonged to Katsuro Arakawa, the man who built the mansion," Masaru explained. "I think it's time you knew what really happened here." 

Akira sat in the dimly lit parlor, Kenjiro beside him, as he began to read. The entries were written in a meticulous, elegant hand, beginning with Katsuro's excitement at acquiring the land. But as the days wore on, the tone shifted, growing darker and more erratic.

It wasn't long before Akira and Kenjiro found themselves drawn together—first by necessity, then by something deeper. Kenjiro's steady presence grounded Akira in the face of unspeakable horrors. They shared quiet moments between the chaos, where the fear that gripped Akira seemed to loosen its hold, if only for a while.

200 Years Ago: The Rise of Katsuro Arakawa

Katsuro Arakawa had been a wealthy landowner in Japan's Edo period. He was known for his ambition, charm, and ruthlessness in business. His rise to power had been swift, and soon, he set his sights on building a grand estate that would secure his legacy—a mansion that would rival any in the country.