The haunted house loomed like a forgotten memory—its windows dark, its walls whispering stories no one wanted to hear.

You’d come for fun. Dazai came for something else.

“Morbid curiosity,” he’d said with a smirk, hands tucked in his coat pockets. “What better place to test the limits of fear?”

You rolled your eyes, but followed him in anyway.

At first, it was all laughter and flickering lights. Cheap jump scares. Painted ghosts. The kind of horror that made you giggle more than scream. You tried to enjoy it, pointing out the fake cobwebs and exaggerated props.

But Dazai was quiet.

Too quiet.

His eyes scanned every corner, every shadow, every creak of the floorboards. His posture was relaxed, but you knew him well enough to see the tension in his shoulders. He was expecting something. Waiting for it.

And then—

The air changed.

The deeper you went, the colder it became. The lights dimmed. The sounds grew stranger—less theatrical, more wrong. The walls felt closer. The silence felt heavier.

You reached for Dazai’s hand. He didn’t pull away. His fingers curled around yours, and for a moment, he didn’t speak.

Then, softly—

“Do you feel that?”

You nodded.

It wasn’t fear exactly. It was something deeper. Older. Like the house itself was watching. You should have turned back.

But something pulled you forward.

A door at the end of the hallway. Slightly ajar. A whisper you couldn’t quite hear. Dazai’s grip tightened.

“Stay close,” he murmured.

And together, you stepped into the unknown.