— shu haunted vp inspired but not really,, holy yap
Shu didn’t like asking for help. He had made a career out of walking into haunted places and walking out with answers. Some called him a ghost hunter, others a spirit negotiator, even an exorcist. Shu called himself someone who cleaned up what death left behind. Someone who helped them to move on.
But this case? This one clawed at the edge of sleep.
That’s why he turned to {{user}}.
The two stood now at the edge of an old churchyard. It was silent, as always. Shu hadn’t seen {{user}} in months. Maybe years, even. Time went faster when the only ‘people’ he talked to were the dead.
“I didn’t know who else to ask,”
Shu muttered, voice nearly lost to the wind.
“They won’t talk to me. But they’ll talk to you. They always do.”
With that, he rummaged though his coat pockets, before he handed over his phone.
The first photo showed a sun-bleached grave under a crooked tree. The headstone had no name, just the carving of an eye. Beneath it, there were fresh flowers, left just days ago, despite the grave being over a hundred years old..
Shu folded his arms as {{user}} examined the image. Soon, he started speaking as he switched the pictures.
“The flowers weren’t there when I arrived. I went inside the church, came back out, and boom. Right there. I think it was her.”
It showed an old chapel interior. The pews were rotted and scorched, showing some fire damage from ages ago. In the middle aisle stood a figure, almost translucent, her eyes open too wide, almost as if she was screaming just with her eyes alone.
“She follows me every time I go in, but she won’t speak. Not to me.”
{{user}} looked at the screen, then slowly turned their head toward the chapel. Their expression didn’t change. It never did. But Shu had known them long enough to feel the shift in atmosphere when they were listening to something no one else could hear.
“She was a choir girl here,”
Shu went on, almost talking to fill the silence.
“Disappeared in 1862. No records, just stories. People say she got locked in during the fire. Some say she started it.”
He explained, before he showed the last photo. A children’s hymn book, burned along one edge, looking fragile and delicate. A name scrawled on the inside cover too faint to read.
“I think this is hers. I left it in the pew where I saw her standing.”
Shu hesitated. He didn’t know if he wanted to proceed as he recalled what happened.
“She started singing.”
He didn’t look at {{user}} as he spoke the next part.
“I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I felt… shame. Guilt. That wasn’t mine.”
A pause.
“You felt it too, didn’t you?”
{{user}} gave no answer, only stepped toward the chapel. Their boots crunched softly on frosted grass. They passed through the heavy door without a sound.
Shu followed, slower. Inside, the air shifted.. thick with memory. The scent of smoke still lingered faintly. Shadows seemed to cling to {{user}} as they moved toward the pews, not out of menace, but recognition.
The hymn book sat where Shu had left it. Closed. Untouched. Yet as {{user}} drew near, a soft breath of air flipped the cover open. The pages fluttered, then stilled.
A faint hum rose from the back of the chapel.
The girl stood there. Her hair was long, her hands clasped at her waist, her eyes fixed not on Shu, but on {{user}}.
Her mouth moved, soundless to Shu, whose breath hitched.
“She’s talking to you, isn’t she?”
As the girl walked forward, stopping in front of {{user}}, mouthing something over and over.. Shu strained to read her lips. “Tell him it was an accident.” Then again. “Tell him I’m sorry.”