“The Mangoose” || C. Seungcheol.
GENRE: Suspense.
WARNINGS: Cursing, blows, fanciful writing, mention of Seungcheol's dark past, mental illness, death, Chan is the bad guy (?
NOTES: English it's not my first language so it perhaps have discontinuity errors and nonsense texts. Also, I was supposed to post this months ago but ok. Pls, enjoy this mess!
Act I.
At the top of a mountain, where the clouds almost touched, there was a huge old house. Occupied by a young man, son of the best business family in the village.
Choi Seungcheol, was the one they called a simple and generous boy, but also grumpy and pessimistic. It could be said that he lived alone in that house, since winters used to be cold and heavy in that area and his parents took months to return home from their turbulent business trips.
Besides, he never went out. He didn't even see the reflection of the clouds or take in a tiny drop of air. He shut himself away, like any grumpy, hopeless old guy.
And of course, if since that fateful day when he hit his head, he has been afraid of what people might come to think of the minuscule malformation on the left side of his skull.
But then, one windy autumn night, he—sunk in his oh-so-abundant cowardice and boredom— was nodding like a fool, refusing to even take a little nap in his comfortable red velvet chair.
And from one second to other, his right ear caught a slight tapping.
Barely inaudible, but Seungcheol heard it perfectly.
Unable to move, he continued to stare at the point of the noise, holding his chin up with one of his fists.
The big, tall room was dim, and oh, he had forgotten to bring candles. So that was it.
Even so, without giving it much importance, he returned to his state of pleasant reverie, batting his eyelashes, he closed his eyes again, in the same position as before.
Ah, what a pleasure. Being like this as if it were summer was too pleasant, especially that nice breeze that entered through the cracks and caused him a few...
His head jerked around, almost making his little bones rattle.
"Who's there?" In the cold solitude and tranquility of the room, he called out.
Nobody. Don't be silly. He thought.
The feeling that it would happen again pounded in his head more than it already was, and then and there he heard it.
The little cry of a baby.
Leaping from his sturdy chair, he made a beeline for the wall, putting his ear to it.
But it stopped. The sound was gone as soon as he moved up there.
Waited for anything else.
He heard right next to his ear.
It was smooth and faster than before.
Seungcheol fell to his knees, his mouth hanging down and his hands resting on,—almost tearing— the worn decorated paper of the wall.
The baby's crying started again, but this time it seemed to come from… the ground.
As if his life depended on it, the boy threw himself on that side, sticking his left ear to the ground. The boards seemed to bounce and groan under his weight.
For a moment, the fleeting thought of self-control crossed his mind, and he was on his feet in a blink and adjusting his long bordo robe, he quickly made his way out of the room.
He couldn't allow himself to have such imaginations like these. See? It was clear that at any moment it was going to start.
He couldn't let himself go crazy.
But as he took heavy, fast steps down the narrow hallway, there it was. Again!
As if something was crawling behind the walls.
God, it made Seungcheol so uncomfortable.
"Damn it!" He blurted out shakily.
He hurried away until he reached his bedroom. With the door locked, he was left in soft shadows like before.
He walked back, still facing his door, and it wasn't until the back of his knees touched the bed that he finally flopped onto it. A sigh of relief leaving his throat.
In that quiet moment, his hand reached up and reached for the bruised part of his head. Where the scar itched.
"I'm going crazy because of you..." He muttered, furrowing his brows and pouting in obvious nervousness.
(...Talking to your scar won't solve anything, you fool...)
"I better go to sleep," he said, crawling backwards until he reached the gigantic ornate headboard.
Seungcheol crossed his arms on his chest, looking up and, without covering himself or arranging the pillows, closed his eyes, still breathing irregularly.
There and then, pure silence he witnessed. And a content breath left his nostrils,—not thinking at all that it was maybe all a bad moment of his head— convincing himself that he was merely tired from the day's climate.
"Seungcheol" It was heard.
"Mmh...," He hummed almost completely asleep.
Startled, Seungcheol sat up and looked around the room, trying to pinpoint the source of the voice. He was alone, completely alone! So what was that?
"Who's there!?" He exclaimed, standing up like a spring.
The voice didn't reply immediately, but after a moment, it returned, clearer this time, as if it had gained confidence. "I am here, Seungcheol. I am the guardian of this house."
"Guardian? What do you mean? Show yourself!" He ordered fiercely.
But the voice didn't materialize. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, as if it was a part of the very essence of the house itself.
Seungcheol's mind swirled with confusion and fear. "What are you? Are you a ghost? A spirit?"
"I am not a ghost, nor am I a spirit as you understand it," the voice, in an almost high-pitched tone, replied. "My name is Chan, and i'm a mongoose."
Seungcheol's mind was overwhelmed with a mix of disbelief and paranoia. It seemed impossible, and yet the voice held an air of truth he couldn't ignore.
"I'm dreaming, yes, that's it," he said, with quivering lip.
"Oh, you're not in a dream Seungcheol, it's all real" Chan said.
"What do you want from me? My heart? My blood? Tell me!" He verbalized with fear.
"None of that, actually. I only come to offer you my company."
"Company? I don't need no company! I'm more than fine here alone!" Seungcheol exclaimed irritably.
"It seems the complete opposite Seungcheol. Tell me, how is that scar on your head?" Seungcheol noticed the taunt in the question.
And immediately he directed his hand towards the mark on his skull, forming a resentful pout.
"What the hell are you talking about? Leave me alone!" He screamed, his cheeks burning pure red with rage and his ears ringing.
"You know, Seungcheol, medically speaking, rub or touch a scar like that could cause an infection, sensitivity or even delay the healing of the wound. Or, in the worst case cause severe injuries or even death," Chan said matter-of-factly.
Seungcheol grumbled, "Well, thanks for your expert analysis, Dr. Chan. Maybe you should be a physician instead of lurking in walls, scaring people."
"You really should be more careful," Chan continued, undeterred by Seungcheol's sarcasm. "The human body is remarkably resilient, but it also has its limits. Especially for someone who already has a scar on their head from a previous injury."
"Ugh, stop bringing up the scar!" Seungcheol groaned, rubbing his throbbing head. "As if I didn't have enough reasons to feel self-conscious about it..." This made Chan laugh softly.
And as the night grew darker, Seungcheol lay awake, listening to that voice's whispers, that seemed to emanate from the very walls and floor.
Mentioning also the squeak of what seemed to be a ferret, and its small footsteps echoing through the grate on the wall.
Act II.
Amidst the echoing animal sounds, Seungcheol's mind remained haunted by the fall he had suffered months ago. Every time he heard Chan's voice or felt a chill down his spine, he would subconsciously reach up to touch the scar on his head, blaming it for his perceived descent into this strange madness.
"Oh great," Seungcheol muttered sarcastically one evening as the walls resonated with the sounds of a howling wolf. "Just what I needed, my personal wildlife orchestra. Thank you, Mr. Scar, for this never-ending symphony of insanity."
Chan's voice, melodious yet eerie, floated through the room. "Ah, my friend, you have quite the sense of humor. But I must admit, I enjoy providing the soundtrack to your life."
"Very funny," Seungcheol retorted with a wry smile. "Tell me, invisible creature of mystery, are you planning to add more creatures to your repertoire? Perhaps a screeching bat or a hissing snake?"
"I'll take those suggestions into consideration," Chan replied playfully.
Seungcheol's patience wore thin. The constant animal sounds, once amusing, now grated on his nerves like a relentless torment. He longed for silence, for a respite from Chan's haunting presence. But every attempt to ignore or escape the invisible being proved futile.
Other night, as the cold wind beat the branches outside, Seungcheol found himself pacing the dimly lit room, his frustration reaching its peak. "Why won't you leave me alone?" he yelled into the emptiness. "What do you want from me, Chan?"
The torturous sound of an elephant trumpeting his trunk seemed to intensify, surrounding him like an ethereal choir of taunting spirits. "You can't escape your past, Seungcheol," Chan's voice echoed. "The scar on your head is a constant reminder of your fall from grace, your vulnerability, your fear."
Seungcheol's eyes narrowed, his anger boiling over. "Why can't you just shut up about that? It's none of your business!"
"Oh, but it is my business," Chan replied, a touch of amusement in his tone. "Your life has become my fascination, and your pain, my entertainment."
Seungcheol's blood ran cold as he felt a chill crawl down his spine. "You find joy in tormenting me, don't you? You thrive on my suffering."
"I am merely an observer of human nature," Chan said, his voice taking on a sinister edge. "And your suffering is a fascinating study. Your fall, your scar, your descent into madness – it's all so delightfully tragic."
Seungcheol's fists clenched as he shouted, "Stop mocking me! Stop playing with my mind!"
"But what fun would that be?" Chan's voice seemed to echo from all directions, making it impossible to pinpoint his location. "You're a delightful puppet, Seungcheol. So easily manipulated by your own fears and insecurities."
The room felt like it was closing in on Seungcheol, and the animal sound this time changed to a horse neighing and trotting across the room, and it grew louder, their cacophony deafening. He couldn't bear it any longer. "Leave me alone!" he screamed, his voice hoarse.
"I'll leave you alone when you confront your demons, Seungcheol," Chan taunted. "Until then, I'll be your constant companion, whispering reminders of your past."
Seungcheol's resolve hardened, and he took a deep breath. "Fine, if that's what you want. I'll face my fears, my past, and put an end to this madness once and for all."
A haunting laughter filled the room, and Chan's voice echoed in sinister delight. "Oh, how I look forward to seeing how this tragic tale unfolds, my dear Seungcheol."
With newfound determination, Seungcheol vowed to break free from the clutches of his tormentor. He would confront his past, his fears, and the scar that haunted him. Whether it led to his redemption or his downfall, he would no longer be a puppet in Chan's twisted game.
And as the wind continued to hit the window's glass wildly, the stage was set for a tragic showdown between a haunted soul and the enigmatic creature that reveled in his torment.
Act III.
One particularly rainy afternoon, tired of hearing the incessant animal sounds that Chan playfully unleashed upon him, Seungcheol reached his breaking point. All the days that followed were filled with both hallucination and dread.
He couldn't take it any longer; his sanity was slipping away like sand through his fingers. With each animal noise, he touched the scar on his head, convinced that the fall he had taken a while ago was to blame for his supposed descent into madness.
Seungcheol, immersed in his chair, in that room of books so immense that he could still get lost, breathed with some exaggeration. Still and without emitting another sound than that.
The thick old forgotten book of poetry upon his lap, his face wrinkled with weariness and his mind racing with all kinds of thoughts.
Soon, from the other side of the room, beyond the other bookcases, the soft laughter of what looked like a wild animal brought him out of his ideas.
The boy got up quickly, as if on alert, and cautiously surveyed the place. Even in the dark, his eyes were capable of capturing any movement. But there was nothing he could see.
Instead, the tender shriek was heard again, this time coming from above.
Seungcheol took that rusty sword from the wall and, determined to catch a glimpse of the unseen thing, he climbed on one of his tall bookcases, his heart pounding with anticipation and fear and standing there, he tried to keep his balance.
"Chan! Show yourself, you mischievous creature!" Seungcheol yelled into the darkness. "Enough with these games! I can't bear it any longer." He announced in a desperate tone of voice.
From the hidden corners of the room, more animal sounds formed, now accompanied by mocking laughter that seemed to reverberate through the very walls. He wanted to put an end to this torment once and for all.
"Come out, Chan! Coward!" he taunted, hoping his sarcasm would somehow reach the unseen creature.
"Oh, I'm here, dear Seungcheol, but catching me might not be as easy as you think," Chan's voice echoed from all directions.
Seungcheol's hands trembled on the sword as he reached out to hit—somehow— Chan, but every time he thought he had him, the creature's voice would emanate from a different spot, teasing him relentlessly.
"Can't catch me, can you, Seungcheol? Perhaps your clumsy fall has left you even more inept than you realize," Chan taunted.
"Enough! Just stop this madness!" Seungcheol's voice cracked with frustration and desperation.
"Why so serious, my friend?" Chan's tone turned soothing. "I'm just trying to add some excitement to your dull life. Isn't that what you wanted?"
"Excitement? This is torture! I can't sleep, I can't think, and I can't bear this anymore," Seungcheol cried out.
The animal sounds intensified, filling the room with a cacophony of noise, as if mocking him. Seungcheol clutched his head, feeling overwhelmed by the sounds and the memory of his fall.
"Oh, poor Seungcheol, blaming your fall for your troubles. But deep down, you know it's more than that, don't you?" Chan's voice took on a knowing tone.
"Shut up! You know nothing about me!" Seungcheol snapped, squeezing the hilt of the sword between his fingers.
"I know more than you think," Chan replied cryptically. "I know about the darkness that lurks within you, the loneliness that haunts you, and the fear that consumes you. But I also know that your parents don't love you."
Seungcheol scoffed, "And how would you know that? You're just a voice in the darkness!"
"And yet, here you are, talking to me," Chan said softly. "You're not as alone as you think, Seungcheol. I may be unseen, but I am here."
Frustrated and afraid, he blinked several times to push away the salty drops that were beginning to blur his vision. "This can't be happening," he muttered to himself, the noise of the huge knife falling against the floor echoing. "It's all in my mind. I'm just tired, that's all." His trembling fingers scratched at the rinds of his scar, making him hiss.
(...Wake up, Seungcheol. Wake up once and for all...)
"I've told you before Seungcheol - none of this is a dream. You're awake." Chan's voice sounded more serious.
"Then show yourself!" He uttered in a state of nervousness.
A flash of lightning illuminated the room, casting eerie shadows on the walls. In that moment, Seungcheol thought he caught a glimpse of something moving in the corner of his eye. Immediately, as if a little bit of adrenaline had entered his body, he jumped towards the other bookshelf, making it wobble slightly.
"C'mon! I want to see you, coward! You feed on my anger and you don't have the decency to show your face!" He yelled, almost breaking his voice.
"Your anger? What I feed on is your fear, Seungcheol. Your damn fear." Chan murmured without flinching at the madman's sudden attitude.
In that moment, a powerful gust of icy wet wind blew through the room, knocking over a few books and causing Seungcheol to lose his balance completely. He felt himself falling backward, his body descending through the air in slow motion.
His body fell to the ground with a thud, darkness engulfing him, and in that instant, all type of sounds were silenced. Even Chan's voice remained on pause.
"Poor boy, you finally got it. Your final fall" Chan whispered, sounding almost regretful. "You'll be fine now Seungcheol."
But Seungcheol could no longer respond.
And, in the next second, the rain stopped, the sky cleared and cleared, and the fallen leaves were making their way inside the house.
With the truth that remained hidden, like the secrets that lay behind the walls of that huge old house, where the clouds almost touched. And where the mongooses weren't seen.
