His face appeared first, pale, eyes open too wide, lips tinged with blue. And then his body dragged itself toward me, crawling across the floor like some twisted marionette tangled in its strings.
I screamed. The sound ripped from my throat. The door burst open, and the nurse rushed in, clutching another needle between her fingers.
They said it was medicine. But I knew better.
There was poison in it. Not the kind that kills, but the kind that infects. The kind that burrows into your mind and nests there, forcing you to relive the worst pieces of yourself on an endless loop.
Ian’s ghost returned every time, his voice colder with each word he spoke.“It’s your fault, Dorian.”
You are useless.You are nothing.You are a burden.You cannot be loved.
And I believed him.
The words burned into my skin like brands, sinking deeper with each repetition. I couldn’t escape them. I couldn’t escapehim.
Desperation took over. My hand shot forward, seizing the nurse’s needle. I dragged it across my wrist, praying it would end, begging for an end. But the metal bent beneath the pressure, snapping in my grip.
“Hold him, he’s having another episode,” someone spoke from behind.
They stripped away my white shirt, replacing it with the jacket, the one with the belts, the one that swallowed my arms and pinned me inside my own failing body. And under the harsh lights, my scars were exposed.
My skin was covered with burn marks, cuts, and bad memories carved into flesh. Did it all make me stronger? Maybe. But strength means nothing when there’s no one left to see it. You carry it alone, and when you can’t share it, strength only sharpens the loneliness.
I let them bind me. There was nothing left to fight for.
I was a haunted, broken animal. Years inside these walls had emptied me. Whatever soul I once had, the house had taken it. Now, I was only that was left of me, a forgotten man. Just a body, a ghost still breathing.
They positioned me in a lying position, and as my eyes started to close, I could see white dots behind my eyelids, and somehow I found myself at the beach, my feet are in the water, and next to me there was a man, his face was familiar, his eyes like I knew him. He was wearing a uniform, looking at me with a wrath in his eyes. I knew him.
I had heard stories about him, seen old photographs. He used to own Gloomsbury Manor. One of the many who never left.
They say he drowned in 1997. His daughter swore she saw him walking after a woman just before he stepped off the cliff. Some say it was love. My father said it was wrath. Said the man dragged his own rage through the halls of the manor until he lost it completely, said that ghosts made him drink until he couldn’t stand. He said alcohol chose him. But I always knew better.
Alcohol doesn’t choose people. People choose it when they’ve run out of other places to hide.
And he wanted to hide. He wanted to disappear into anything that wasn’t that house.
Light flooded my eyes, flickering brightly until it transformed into the sun.
I stood on the beach, staring at him. The man looked soaked to the bone. Pale. Not angry, not sad, just empty. And then he walked toward me. Slow. His hand closed around my throat, and before I could scream, he was dragging me into the ocean.
The salt stung. The world turned quiet. I could see the ocean floor like it was reaching up to greet me. And I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. He was drowning me.
But how?
He was just a ghost.
Or maybe… I wanted to drown. Maybe part of meneededto.
Then I heard her.
A child’s voice, screaming from the beach,“Papa, no.”
Suddenly, I was back on the beach, gasping for air, wet sand clinging to my skin. And she stood in front of me, barefoot, eyes like broken glass and sea foam, her eyes were soblueI didn’t know color could feel like drowning, too. But she wasn’t afraid. Just watching me.
She saved me.
And then, just like that, he took her. He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the house. Towardthathouse. Gloomsbury rising in the distance, and I tried to follow. Tried to move. But every time I stood, my legs gave out. I was stuck in the sand, falling again and again, lungs still burning, heart still breaking. Helpless.
