MANIAC | SEOKSOO FF ✔️

PART 15

Suddenly, his mind cleared just enough to latch onto a single thought: he couldn't leave this here.

He couldn't let Seokmin, sweet and optimistic Seokmin, walk in and see this abomination.

The sight would be burned into Seokmin’s memory just as it was now burned into his own, and he wouldn’t—couldn’t—let that happen.

This was his nightmare to bear alone.

Jisoo’s hands shook as he gingerly reached for the lid, his fingers barely managing to close it over the grisly contents.

He stumbled back, feeling the walls close in on him, a cold sweat slicking his skin. For a moment, he thought about hiding it, throwing it away somewhere far, somewhere he’d never have to think about again. But he knew that wouldn’t make it disappear.

It was all part of the sick, twisted game his stalker was playing, and ignoring it wouldn’t stop them from striking again.

He took a deep breath, forcing his trembling legs to carry him across the room.

As much as he wanted to pretend this wasn’t happening, he couldn’t. Not with someone willing to go to these extremes just to get a reaction from him.

The message still echoed in his mind, twisted and mocking: “You’re welcome, Bluebell.” The words felt like a dagger twisting in his chest, reminding him of just how little control he had left.

With the box clutched in his hands, Jisoo finally forced himself to sit on the edge of the couch. He pressed his palms into his knees, trying to keep himself grounded as he willed his mind to settle, to find some semblance of clarity amidst the horror.

The silence in the room felt unbearable, broken only by the rapid beat of his own heart. He knew he should call someone—anyone—but fear held him back.

What if the stalker was watching him right now, even as he sat there in Seokmin’s supposedly safe home?

What if they knew every step he’d take, every move he’d make?

But another thought crept into his mind, one that made his blood run cold.

This stalker knew him—knew details about his life, his habits, and even his past.

They knew the anniversary of his high school graduation, they knew where to find him, and they knew enough to leave a piece of his past, twisted and darkened, right at his doorstep. And now, whoever they were, they’d proven that they were willing to hurt people. They had gone from shadows and whispers to leaving grotesque offerings.

As he sat there, paralyzed by the weight of it all, his phone buzzed again in his pocket. His stomach twisted. He didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see another message from this faceless horror that had torn apart the fabric of his life. But he forced himself to pull out his phone, fingers barely managing to unlock the screen.

×××××××
It’s a shame he didn’t know his place. But you’re safe now, aren’t you, Bluebell?
Aren’t you going to thank me?

Jisoo stared at the screen, bile rising in his throat. The nickname—Bluebell—made him feel sick to his stomach. The name was delicate, innocent, and hearing it from the same person who’d left a mutilated gift on his doorstep twisted it into something ugly and grotesque.

He wanted to scream, to lash out at the room, at the empty air that felt more claustrophobic than ever. But what would that accomplish?

His stalker thrived on his terror, drank it in with every shudder, every racing heartbeat. And if he showed any sign of weakness now, he’d be giving them exactly what they wanted.

Jisoo swallowed hard, his vision blurring as his hands tightened around his phone. Every nerve in his body screamed for him to respond, to demand they leave him alone, to tell them they had no right to do this. But deep down, he knew that would only fan the flames.

His fingers hovered over the screen, but he forced himself to lock the phone instead. He couldn’t feed this monster. Not now, not ever.

He glanced around the room, feeling the overwhelming need to get out, to escape the suffocating walls and reminders of this nightmare. The shadows seemed to stretch toward him, as if they harbored unseen eyes watching his every move.

Taking a shaky breath, he finally found his voice. “Seokmin,” he whispered to himself, the sound grounding him. “Just… get to Seokmin.” He needed to tell someone, someone he trusted with every part of him.

Standing up, he glanced down at the box once more, fighting the urge to throw it across the room. He’d take it to the police, let them handle it, let them understand that this was more than just a prank. But for now, all he needed was to get out, to breathe.

The darkness outside pressed against the windows as he reached for his coat, leaving the box on the coffee table for now, as if abandoning it could somehow lessen its horror. He opened the door and stepped into the hallway, glancing over his shoulder one last time before shutting the door behind him. As he walked toward Seokmin’s room, he felt the weight on his chest ease just slightly.

But even as he walked away, that last message echoed in his mind, haunting him with every step he took.

×××××××
Aren’t you going to thank me?

The words followed him like a sinister lullaby, and he knew, no matter how far he ran, that this nightmare will only follow.