[Other Fanfic] Souichi Tsuji x Reader Collection

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In your quiet hometown, something has caused quite the stir. The morning chatter, filled with whispers and rumors, brings your attention to a peculiar set-up near the woods. A house cropped up, seemingly overnight. You hadn't believed the rumors when your friend mentioned it to you, but the more your friend had delved into the story, the more your interest had grown. Perhaps it's this growing interest that made you call out sick. An urge to sate your curiosity…

It's not hard to find. You simply follow the sparse people who have the same idea as you. They lead you right to that house. It's a bit shabby, kind of small, but there's a palpable thickness in the air as though something has your lungs in its tight grasp. Strange, when you consider that the outside of the establishment is decorated with childish skeletons and bats and spiderwebs. Seems like it should be any other haunted house type of deal — a strange time right on the cusp of summer's end, but there are types who like this sort of thing. At least there must be, seeing as a small line stretches from the window by the entryway.

You walk closer to the haunted house, open so early in the morning. The more you think about it, the more bizarre the whole thing becomes. You can't quite see into the window, but you can see your neighbor at the front of the line now, complaining loudly about the prices.

"You gotta be kidding!" he says to whoever is beyond the window. "Ten thousand yen to go through this shitty-looking haunted house!? Looks like it's for kids — you tryna rip off our kids?"
The small crowd in line behind him agrees readily.
"I assure you—" says the calm, deep voice from beyond the window. You walk closer to get a better view as the man continued, "—this is a very legitimate establishment, and the scares are worth every yen."
"You can't fool me just 'cuz I live in the countryside! Don't get slick with us," says your neighbor.

As the sun breaches leaves in the thicket around you, the man inside of the window opens a side door and steps out. He's well-polished — shoes shined, suit clean, black hair slicked back professionally. There's a stogie in his mouth, freshly lit and making the owner quite regal. His eyes are bagged and dark, and though he isn't looking at you, his gaze gives you a chill.

"Sir—," says the owner, "—I see you're a shrewd customer. If you need convincing, I'm happy to oblige, free of charge." The man titters, giving you another shiver across your shoulders and up your neck. "There's one in every town, and I've convinced more stubborn people."

The owner leads your neighbor to the front door beside the window and pulls the curtain aside, bowing and motioning for the customer to enter. As your neighbor does so, the owner wishes him a pleasant visit, and the crowd is left to wait. The owner nonchalantly stands outside of the door, curtain covering the entrance once more; he is smiling in his amiable facade. His dark eyes scan the crowd until they find you at the back. They rest on your eyes for only a moment before you look away. But he doesn't. You feel his attention still on you, you know it. Doesn't seem right that he'd still be looking… No. Maybe, you think, it's just your imagination because of the strange eeriness that still has hold on your lungs. You look, just to be sure, and your body tenses.


The strange feeling in your guts is cut short by your neighbor's screams. Loud, blood-curdling, like a man ripped from reality by abject terror. It's the only thing that gets the owner to stop looking at you. He pulls out a golden, Western-style pocket watch.

"Three minutes," you hear him say to the crowd. "Couldn't make it all the way through."

Another scream interrupts the owner, who casually puts a finger in his ear closest to the establishment to block out the noise. He smirks, the first time his formal smile turns to some kind of malice. Your neighbor flings the curtain aside moments later, sweating and pale, so panicked that he doesn't block the bright sunlight out of his unadjusted eyes. He nearly falls to the ground as he runs out, then whips around to the owner, unable to form words out of his quivering body. What the hell had he seen in there that made him cower? A shabby, small home; could it really contain such horrors? To steal a strong, fiery man's voice and confidence…



The entire town has been in an uproar and you've been trying to go about your mundane day-to-day. Despite your typically good routine, you find yourself tired. Your eyes are heavy as you work your day job, boring as ever. It makes it hard to get that man out of your head. He's why you haven't been sleeping well lately. You've been having strange nightmares. Nightmares you can't remember — all you know is that you've seen his face. Consistently. Those gaunt, high cheekbones, his demeanor, his false smile hiding a sadistic mind. Last night, he'd been so close to you that you could smell his cologne, something just as elegant as you would expect — cardamom, sandalwood — mixed with the scent of tobacco and fresh mints. It had been so real in your dream. And when you walk home, you swear you see him out of the corner of your eye. When you look, however, he's never there.

The next day is when you hear the news from your friend. Turns out, your neighbor was admitted to the hospital last night, claiming he'd been seeing… Things. Your friend doesn't know what sorts of things, nor does the rest of the town or even the doctors. It's like your neighbor can't speak about what he's seen. When he tries, he goes cataleptic. Doctors don't understand this condition yet. It's as if something is trying to silence him.

Other cases of this affliction begin cropping up. Just a few here and there, not enough to cause chaos, but enough to spin the rumor mill. You try not to get involved. Instead, you distract yourself by chatting with family and friends over the phone in the evenings and going through the usual motions during the day. But you can't escape him. He's in your dreams. That house is in your dreams. You envision yourself going inside, but whenever you do, darkness suffocates you and you awaken drenched in sweat. Despite your best efforts, you're getting dragged in. Like many others.


That again. That strange feeling; that pulling, nagging, gripping feeling. You have to finally accept its call. Whatever it is. Whoever he is.


***

You go out that night. Nighttime. Fitting for a visit to a haunted house. Midnight, no less. A time that, perhaps, will have no other people there so you might catch a conversation with this strange, creepy, somehow alluring man. Your feet take you to the haunted house without you paying much attention, too focused on the scent of him from your dreams. The venture takes place in a blurry, obsession-filled haze. A deep-rooted need to see this man.

The house is bathed in darkness that your eyes can barely penetrate. Your lungs are gripped once again by the atmosphere the place exudes. Undeterred, you walk up to the house. The front door has been slid shut, probably locked. You don't get a chance to try it.

"I was wondering when I'd see you."

The man's deep voice comes from the window beside the door. You can't see anything within, except the barely visible gleam of two eyes looking into yours.

"What do you—?"
He interrupts your small voice, "I've been waiting for you, ever since the other day. So, are you here to see the house? Or—" he titters in his rumbling chuckle, "—is this a personal visit?"
Your mouth dries and you swallow the lump of phlegm that forms at the back of your throat. "Well, see, I… I've been… Having dreams…"
"Curiosity driven? Seems rather foolish, don't you think?"

The gleams lift into the air as the man stands. He rustles around his person and pulls a few things from his pockets. A lighter illuminates his face as he burns the end of his cigar, magnifying every dark shadow of his gaunt cheeks.

"But if you wish to visit my haunted house, and at midnight no less, who am I to stop you?"

He steps out from the side door and approaches you, standing a head taller at least. There's something ominous about his presence, but the sudden scent of him, so familiar from your nightmares, pulls you in. He holds his hand out to you, silently making you take it. He needn't say anything to convince you, though. You feel as though you would've happily accepted his hand. Or perhaps you did. It's hard to tell.

His skin is warm. He leads you gently the meter or so it takes to get back to the front door. With his other hand, he knocks several times on the threshold of the door and it slides open at his whim. You don't want to release him, but you want to go inside. After another stolen glance into his eyes, your hand slides from his and you wander into the darkness.

"I'll be waiting for you at the end," he says, and the front door shuts behind you.