A connection to the dead can't bring anything but bad. A series of murder mysteries and a teenage boy trying to make it through life. What could he possibly do to help a ghost?
No romantic pairing. Trigger warnings and descriptions inside. Read at y...
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CHAPTER ONE: THE LIVING, THE DEAD, AND THE ROPE
Dedicated to the ones who see the shadow figures that linger in the darkest corners of your room.
RIFF'S TOWN; 1990,
EAST BELDAM ST.
JUST BEYOND THE PICKET WHITE FENCE...
FOLLOWING THE RUSHING WATER OF THE DARK RIVER...
STANDS NAMJOON'S HOME
Have you ever had a dream within a dream— like the television screen was left on and every commercial is just playing without a stop, like a remote skipping between channels; running from one place just to end up in a completely different landscape?
Being followed relentlessly, yet even if it's your dream, there is nowhere to escape?
How about being unable to move, body languishly laying in an abyss of sleep, and suddenly you're not able to control any nerve you've ever grown up with, anymore?
Like a mouse caught in a sticky trap, the harder you squirm the more you stay immobile, the walls of your throat slowly caving into your esophagus; wanting to scream for help but your mouth is now somehow sewn together. Needle stabbing through your lips to keep every pretty word, desiring to spill out, stuck on your tongue.
Now, if you told namjoon that either of these could be a horrible experience for one to go through, the boy would laugh loud, obnoxiously, judgmentally. The tanned boy was never one to believe in things like sleep paralysis or dreaming.
However, after getting home late last night and falling endlessly into his soft duvet covered bed, the boy would no longer disagree.
When opening his eyes the first time that night, he could swear, upon his mother, that he was back at the art like clearing. The grassy plain that held the luminos oak tree, tall and proud in the middle of her core, danced just before his eyes; wind kissing his cheeks coolly.
He could feel the grass between his toes and dirt seep into his pores, he could taste the crisp air that swayed gently through his hair, his dream felt so realistic, so authentically put into reality that namjoon couldn't force away the chills that crawled up his spine, and churned his stomach inside out.
Dragging his foot along the mossy grass— that perched in surface runoff— Namjoon finally but slowly reaches the tree that had enraptured the body of hanging yoongi; hugging him like it was the only thing she could do. The boy stood beneath it, like he had the first time he encountered the piece of wood; steadily, worried, and scared.
