⏤ 𝗵𝗼𝘇𝗶𝗲𝗿
theres no plan, there's no hand on
the rein, there will be darkness again
(๑'^'๑) ✿ ꕥ ₓ ꒰ 🐞 ꒱ ㅡ

"I'M NOT CRAZY. I'M NOT"

Miyeon Yu liked saying that out loud, as if challenging the universe to argue the point.

She had to remind herself, constantly, loudly, that her mind was intact. No matter what anyone said.

Growing up, she experienced strange, unexplainable phenomena — shadowy figures in her periphery, whispers when she was alone, or a chilling presence in moments of fear. These occurrences began as small interruptions to her childhood, tiny fractures in the fabric of her otherwise ordinary days.

It wasn't until much later that she would understand their true significance, though the clues had been there all along, woven into the tapestry of her life like threads of a sinister design.

Miyeon's earliest memory of the shadow figures came when she was five.

It was a sticky summer evening, the air thick with the scent of honeysuckle and the faint tang of the sea that carried from the distant coast. She had been playing in the backyard, a sprawling patch of grass bordered by her mother's carefully tended garden.

The flowers were in full bloom, their vibrant colors almost too vivid against the backdrop of the setting sun. She had been engrossed in her game, making a kingdom of twigs and stones for the imaginary inhabitants of her mind, when she saw it.

Miyeon had looked up, brushing strands of hair from her face, and seen it — a grotesque form crouched by the fence.

It wasn't her father, who was inside watching television, or her neighbor, Scott McCall, who was away at a friend's house.

It moved further towards the light, its body was a nightmarish collage of sinewy flesh and jagged protrusions, as if someone had stitched it together in a fit of madness. The creature's eyes, if they could be called that, were hollow sockets filled with a pulsating red light. Its mouth gaped unnaturally wide, revealing rows of blackened teeth dripping with a viscous, tar-like substance.

She had stared, frozen, as the thing tilted its head and emitted a low, guttural growl that vibrated in her chest. Miyeon froze, her small hands clutching a twig as her pulse thundered in her ears.

The figure didn't move closer, but it didn't retreat either. It simply stood there, watching.

"Miyeon!" her mother called from the kitchen window, breaking the spell. "Time to come inside, it's getting late!"

When Miyeon turned back, the creature vanished, leaving only the rustling of the garden's hedges in its wake. She had ran inside, her heart pounding, but when she told her parents about the monster, they exchanged wary glances and told her it was a trick of the light. Her mother's hand had lingered on her shoulder a little too long, though, and her father's forced laughter rang hollow.

Her parents had always known there was something different about their little Minnie.

Even as a baby, she had been unusually quiet, her dark eyes following unseen things across the room.

Her grandmother, visiting from Korea, had once remarked that Miyeon had the "eyes of a seer," a statement that had sent a shiver through her mother. The elder Yu matriarch was known for her cryptic sayings, often laced with superstition, but this one stuck.

Miyeon's mother dismissed it at the time, telling herself that all children were curious about their surroundings.

Yet, as Miyeon grew, her peculiarities became harder to ignore.

The shadowy figures became more defined, their grotesque forms etched with details that clawed at her mind.

She began to notice patterns: they appeared when she was scared, angry, or deeply sad, feeding off her emotions like parasitic leeches.

At school, during a particularly brutal confrontation with a classmate who had mocked Danny Mahealani's shoes, one of the creatures appeared. It loomed behind the boy, its twisted limbs extending toward him.

Miyeon had screamed, and the creature vanished from her sight.

She didn't dare tell anyone what she had seen. Who would believe her? Even she couldn't fully comprehend it.

The whispers were the worst.

They came at night, just as she was teetering on the edge of sleep. Faint at first, like a breeze rustling through dry leaves, but growing louder until they were a cacophony of unintelligible voices. Sometimes, she thought she could make out words: Leave. Die. He's watching. Other times, it was just the rise and fall of inhuman tones, like an otherworldly chant.

She would lie stiff in her bed, clutching her blankets as if they could shield her from the unseen horrors.

By the time she was eleven, the whispers had become a regular occurrence. They would come to her in moments of solitude — while brushing her teeth in the dim light of the bathroom, while walking home from school along the winding path that cut through the woods, or while sitting alone in the school library, flipping through books far beyond her grade level.

Once, she thought she heard her own name, whispered so softly it was almost lost in the rustle of leaves outside her window.

Her parents' initial reaction was to dismiss her experiences as the overactive imagination of a precocious child.

Her father would laugh and tousle her hair, saying, "You've been reading too many ghost stories, Minnie."

Her mother, less dismissive but equally skeptical, would offer reassurances. "It's just the wind, darling. Or maybe you're tired. Sometimes our minds play tricks on us when we're tired."

But deep down, they knew better.

They had seen enough in their lifetimes to know that some things couldn't be explained away.

Her mother, in particular, carried the weight of family stories about restless spirits and curses that lingered through generations. She would light incense and murmur prayers under her breath whenever Miyeon mentioned the whispers, her movements brisk and precise, as if warding off an invisible threat.

Her father pretended not to notice these rituals but would occasionally glance at Miyeon with an expression that was equal parts worry and fear.

"It's not normal," her mother had whispered, voice trembling. "We need to do something."

"And tell who?" her father had shot back. "They'll think she's crazy. Or worse, they'll think we're crazy."

The conversation had ended with the slam of a door, and neither parent brought it up again. But Miyeon could feel their fear in the way they avoided her gaze, in the way her mother flinched when she accidentally brushed against her.

By the time Miyeon turned sixteen, the entities were an almost constant presence.

Some were small, no larger than a cat, with elongated limbs and eyeless faces. Others were massive, their grotesque forms blotting out the light in a room. One had slithered out from beneath her bed one night, its body a writhing mass of tendrils tipped with sharp claws. She had bitten her lip to keep from screaming, her fists clenched so tightly that her nails left crescent-shaped marks in her palms.

One of the few encounter happened on a rainy evening during her freshman year of high school. Miyeon had stayed late to finish an art project, the school's hallways eerily silent as she walked toward the exit. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting unsettling shadows that seemed to stretch and move on their own.

She felt it before she saw it — a suffocating pressure, as if the air had thickened and turned cold.

She turned a corner and froze. The creature was enormous, its head nearly grazing the ceiling. Its body was a patchwork of raw, pulsating flesh, stitched together with what looked like strands of human hair. Multiple arms jutted out from its torso, each one ending in jagged, claw-like appendages. Its face was a grotesque mask of agony, eyes bulging and mouth twisted into a silent scream.

The creature's presence was overwhelming, a tidal wave of malice that crashed over her.

Miyeon's breath hitched as the curse turned its gaze toward her, its eyes — if they could be called that — boring into her soul.

She stumbled backward, her mind screaming for her to run, but her body refused to obey.

The creature took a step forward, its claws scraping against the linoleum floor with an ear-piercing screech.

And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it stopped.

It tilted its head, as if listening to something she couldn't hear. The oppressive atmosphere lifted slightly, and the curse let out a guttural growl before dissolving into a black, smoky mist that dissipated into the air.

Miyeon collapsed to her knees, trembling and gasping for breath.

She didn't tell her parents about the incident. What was the point? They had long since stopped pretending they could help her.

Instead, she spent hours on the internet, scouring forums and obscure websites for answers. Most of what she found was useless — paranormal stories written by amateur authors, articles debunking ghost sightings, and conspiracy theories that made her roll her eyes.

But occasionally, she stumbled across something that felt... close. A mention of "negative energy entities," or "spiritual parasites." It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

Miyeon's isolation grew.

Her classmates avoided her, sensing the intangible wrongness that clung to her like a second skin.

Teachers whispered about her in the staff room, their pitying looks doing nothing to alleviate her loneliness.

Even her parents' attempts at normalcy felt strained, their smiles brittle and their words hollow.

One night, as she sat on the floor of her room with her laptop, a soft knock startled her. Before she could respond, the door creaked open, and her mother stepped inside, holding a small box wrapped in faded cloth.

"Miyeon," her mother said hesitantly, sitting beside her. "This belonged to your grandmother. She... she said it might help you one day."

Miyeon frowned, taking the box and unwrapping it. Inside was a bracelet made of dark, polished beads, each one etched with intricate symbols she didn't recognize. There was also a faded photograph of a woman — her grandmother, she realized — standing in a forest, her expression somber.

"What is this?" Miyeon asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her mother hesitated, her hands trembling. "I don't know. She said the bracelet would protect you."

Years later, Miyeon's already crumbling world shattered completely.

It was a quiet night in Beacon Hills, the kind of night where the trees barely swayed and the shadows seemed to thicken unnaturally under the weight of an unspoken threat.

Miyeon sat cross-legged on the floor of her room, her fingers tracing the worn edges of a photo frame that held a picture of her parents. Her mother's wide smile seemed almost out of place now, like it belonged to another lifetime. Her father's hand rested on her shoulder in the photograph, protective yet gentle.

That sense of safety felt like a cruel joke now.

A crash came from downstairs.

Miyeon froze. Her heart skipped a beat, then started to hammer against her ribs like it wanted to escape. She'd grown used to the creaks and groans of the house, but this — this was different. It was deliberate. Too loud. Too real.

"Mom? Dad?" she called, her voice barely above a whisper. The air seemed to grow heavier with each passing second, pressing down on her chest until it became hard to breathe. She stepped out of her room, her bare feet silent against the wooden floorboards. The hallway stretched ahead of her, the dim light of a single bulb flickering above, casting distorted shadows that danced along the walls.

She reached the top of the stairs and peered down. The living room was bathed in an eerie half-light, the moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains. Something moved in the corner of her vision.

A shape, indistinct and wrong, too tall and too thin to be human.

She blinked, and it was gone.

"Mom? Dad?" she tried again, louder this time. The silence that followed was deafening, oppressive. A part of her wanted to run back to her room, lock the door, and pretend she hadn't seen anything. But another part of her — the part that refused to be ruled by fear — forced her to descend the stairs, her hands clutching the railing so tightly her knuckles turned white.

The living room was empty. Everything was exactly where it should be, except for the faint smell of something burning. Her gaze was drawn to the kitchen, where the acrid scent seemed to originate.

She took a hesitant step forward, then another.

The kitchen door creaked as she pushed it open, revealing a scene that would haunt her forever.

Her parents stood in the middle of the room, their bodies rigid, their faces twisted in expressions of pure terror. Around them, the air shimmered, as though the very fabric of reality was being pulled apart. Tendrils of darkness snaked through the air, coiling around their limbs and throats, tightening with every passing second.

And then she saw it — the source of the nightmare.

It stood taller than the ceiling, its body a malformed amalgamation of limbs and eyes and mouths. It had no fixed shape, shifting and writhing as though it was made of living shadow.

Its eyes — too many to count — focused on her, and she felt an icy dread wash over her, freezing her in place.

It spoke, though its voice wasn't a voice at all. It was a cacophony of whispers and screams, incomprehensible yet filled with malice.

Miyeon's instincts screamed at her to run, but she couldn't move. She could only watch as the tendrils of darkness pulled her parents deeper into the being's embrace. Their screams echoed in her ears, raw and primal, before they were abruptly cut off.

The creature turned its attention back to her, its amorphous body shifting as it took a step forward. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it vanished, leaving only an oppressive silence and the lingering scent of burnt flesh.

Her parents were gone.

When the police arrived, summoned by a neighbor who'd heard her scream, Miyeon sat in the middle of the living room, her knees drawn to her chest, staring at the spot where her parents had been. The house was eerily quiet, devoid of any sign of struggle or intrusion. The only evidence that something had happened was the scorch marks on the kitchen floor, forming a pattern too intricate and deliberate to be accidental.

Melissa McCall was the first to approach her, wrapping a blanket around Miyeon's trembling shoulders. The older woman's voice was soft, soothing, as she whispered reassurances that everything would be okay, even though they both knew it wouldn't be.

Miyeon didn't respond. She couldn't. Her throat felt like it was lined with shards of glass, and her mind was a swirling storm of fear and confusion.

Outside, Noah Stilinski stood with a flashlight in hand, his expression grim as he inspected the house. His footsteps echoed through the empty rooms, his sharp eyes scanning for any clue, any explanation for the disappearance of Miyeon's parents.

But there was no trace, no evidence that it had ever been there.

Only Miyeon knew the truth, and she couldn't tell anyone.

Across the street, Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski stood on the porch of the McCall house, their eyes fixed on the girl wrapped in a blanket. Scott's brows furrowed in concern, while Stiles's gaze was sharp, almost accusatory.

"What do you think happened?" Scott asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Kanima?"

"No body," Stiles shrugged, though his expression betrayed his unease. "But there's something off about her. She's not saying anything. Not even to the cops."

Scott glanced at Miyeon again. Her face was pale, her eyes hollow, as though the life had been drained out of her. "Maybe she's just in shock. I mean, they just disappeared..."

"Or maybe she's hiding something," Stiles countered. "You don't just end up in the middle of something like this without knowing what's going on."

Inside, Melissa's voice broke through Miyeon's daze. "Minnie, honey, can you tell us what happened? Anything at all?"

Miyeon shook her head. The words were there, clawing at the back of her throat, but she couldn't force them out.

Who would believe her? That a creature had taken her parents? That she'd seen something no one was meant to see?

They'd lock her up.

They'd call her crazy.

Maybe they were right.

And so, she said nothing.

The days that followed were a blur of hushed whispers and pitying looks. The townspeople dubbing her a freak long ago but the name stuck. She became an outcast, the subject of rumors and speculation. But Miyeon didn't care.

All she cared about was the memory of that night and the curse that had taken everything from her.

Even with the bracelet, the creatures only grew stronger, and the whispers more insistent.

Whatever was happening to her, it wasn't going to stop.

And for the first time, she wondered if she would survive long enough to find out why.

GO MINSI  as  𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐍 ❛𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐄❜ 𝐘𝐔

DYLAN O'BRIEN  as  𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐊𝐈

━━ I ONLY OWN MIYEON and anyone unfamiliar. i do not own anyone else.

━━ IF YOU'RE INTERESTED IN AN oc x oc fic with the same faceclaims (dylan and minsi) i have a walking dead fic i think you guys would enjoy ! especially if you like angst.

━━ THIS STORY CONTAINS violence, explicit and suggestive language, mentions of death, and other mature themes. if you are disturbed by any of the topics said, i advise you to leave now and do not read any further. your health is more important that this book.

━━ DEDICATED TO MY LOVES junebluesfever inlovewithmoonpie_3 raynelbabe saturnovas innermoons debasc0 Br3adb0tter cotthrills dearlorelai cxinnamon-sundrop untoldhauntings -evergrace runlikeh3ll kitty_qutz lukiite (*˘︶˘*).｡.:*♡

━━ DON'T BE A SILENT READER ! interact, comments and votes motivate me <3

━━━ 𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆!

PUBLISHED 12.12.24
FINISHED 00.00.00

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍
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