(S3/S4) the one where john b's twin joins the treasure hunt and falls for her best friend
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PART 2 OF THE BRIZO SERIES.
THIS STORY CONTAINES MATURE & EXPLICIT CONTENT, AS WELL AS SPOILERS FROM THE TV SHOW. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.
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OUTER BANKS
JJ x...
Hello everyone! I just wanted to deeply apologize for taking longer than I usually do to update. Life has been difficult lately, in many ways. I'm trying my best to write chapters. You've all been lovely and so understanding, and I adore you for that. Still, I thought I owed you an explanation as to why I haven't been updating daily as I used to do.
Lastly, even though I'm trying my best, I advise you to not expect daily updates. Turns out adult life gets complicated and leaves you with little to no time to pursue your hobbies. Which in my case, is writing. I'll keep trying. I just ask of you to be patient. Thank you so much.
I hope you enjoy the next chapter!
-Circe x
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CHAPTER EIGHT
do you believe in ghosts?
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Been here for like, 5 seconds, and I'm starting to believe all the stories about this place being haunted.
I mean, if you're not living in a haunted house... Why else would you decide to let the walls decay like this? The paint is chipped and peeling, eerie portraits line the walls, their eyes seemingly following me as I walk past. The lighting is so dim that I can barely make out my own reflection in the cracked mirrors. And the hallway? It's practically devoid of any decor, just a barren stretch of gloom that feels like it's hiding secrets.
And the smell...
I scrunch my nose, instinctively covering my mouth with the back of my hand. It's a musty, lingering odor that seems to seep from every corner of the house, mixing with the scent of something rotting just out of sight. JJ turns around, his face scrunched up in disgust, and he gives me a knowing look, slightly pinching his nose. I nod in silent agreement.
"This place smells like dead bodies." My brother comments, right behind me.
"When have you had time to stop and smell dead bodies?" I turn to my brother.
"Can you be quiet for like, I dunno, two minutes?" John B flicks my nose.
"Ouch, you asshole." I exclaim, swatting his hand away.
"Stop it." Cleo tells us both off.
We're led into what looks like a studio of sorts, or maybe just a messy living room. There's a table with two mismatched chairs, and an old chess board rests on top, pieces scattered as if a game was abandoned mid-move. The walls are lined with towering bookcases, sagging under the weight of dusty tomes
