The rain came down in relentless sheets that night, drumming against the mansion's windows like impatient fingers. The entire house seemed to exhale in the storm, its old wooden bones creaking with each gust of wind.
You were curled up in the library, a blanket wrapped around you, when the lights flickered.
And then, with a soft click, they went out completely.
The silence afterward was too loud.
You pulled out your phone, its screen casting a weak blue glow, but the signal was dead. The storm had cut the power — and probably the landline too.
From the far end of the library, you heard it.
A soft, deliberate tap.
You froze, straining your ears. Another tap, this time closer, as though someone's fingertips were brushing along the shelves.
"Taehyung?" Your voice was a whisper, more out of hope than belief.
No answer.
You stood slowly, clutching the blanket like a shield, and made your way toward the sound. Each step felt heavier, the darkness swallowing everything outside the weak glow of your phone.
And then — there he was.
Standing in the doorway that led to the east wing.
His face was half in shadow, but you could see the faint curl of a smile.
"You're not supposed to be in here," he said softly.
Your heart gave a painful lurch. "Neither are you. This part of the house is locked."
"It is." His eyes glinted. "For them."
"Them?"
Instead of answering, he turned and walked into the east wing. The old door creaked open just enough for him to slip through.
Something deep inside you screamed don't follow. But curiosity — or maybe the fear of being alone — pushed your feet forward.
The smell hit you first. Damp, metallic, faintly sweet — like rust and rotting flowers.
Your phone's light cut through the dark just enough to reveal a narrow hallway lined with closed doors. Some of them were nailed shut. One door had deep scratches carved into the wood, as though someone had clawed at it from the inside.
"Taehyung…" you whispered, your voice trembling.
He was at the very end of the hall, waiting. His smile had changed. Gone was the easy charm. This was sharper, hungrier.
"Do you know what I love about you, Y/N?" His voice echoed strangely here. "You're not like the others. You don't scream right away."
Your pulse roared in your ears. "What are you talking about?"
He took a slow step toward you. "You still think there's a part of me worth saving."
You backed up until your shoulders hit the wall.
Lightning flashed through a grimy window, and for a split second you saw it — his other face. Not literally different, but twisted, eyes wide, pupils blown black, mouth curved in a grin too big for comfort.
Then the light was gone, and he was normal again. Almost.
He leaned close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath. "Don't open the third door on the left."
And before you could speak, he slipped past you and vanished into the dark.