I do not own Ghost Hunt. Season 3 or 4 would be out by now, if I did.

Red Rum

Blood.

So, so much blood.

And pain. Lots of pain.

And then… more blood.

My thoughts were so muddled, so confused. It was a normal day right? I worked my shift at the club, the usual perverts were there, waving wads of twenties just under my nose. Their eyes were glowing with ill will and they had smiled such terrible, unforgiving, cruel smiles. Ones that promised pain for us, but pleasure for them.

And I was cold; Lace and g-strings can only keep you so warm in a drafty, disgusting room where you were told and paid to show off your goods. I can remember their greedy, wrinkled hands reaching out, grabbing me. They left dark marks upon my unblemished skin. It hurt… They hurt me.

My shift was over quickly and I can remember walking backstage to get changed back into my normal clothes. I heard my name called.. And then sudden pain. Screaming…and yelling. Loud sounds.

Guns.

Someone had gone too far, firearms were never allowed within the vicinity of the girls…Everyone knew that.

And I remember…a hand closing around my throat. I screamed and kicked but was silenced when white hot pain burst forth from my ribs. A knife? I was frantic now, my numb fingers clawing uselessly at the vice grip he had around my throat.

A brief glimpse; Dark hair, eyes the color of a moonless night. I saw his glittering white teeth as his pale lips stretched into a feral grin.

I couldn't breath anymore. My fruitless scrabbles at his knuckles eventually died down. With a last burst of energy, I managed a feeble kick, hoping it would at least graze him. Anything to divert his attention from stealing my precious oxygen. Anything.

'No one can help you now,' My hazy mind managed to compute the foreign thought; it wasn't my voice and the sudden terror that ripped through my body with renewed vigor fueled my pitifully weak struggles.

'You are mine,' The voice hissed inside my mind.

Something hot and thick was slowly making its way down my front, the liquid staining my moonlit skin a rosy red. The hand around my throat shook with laughter I couldn't see or hear. My vision was fading…quickly.

Another stab wound… more blood. So much blood, and so much pain.

It never ceased, an endless system. Laughter, another stab wound. More pain, and, as ever, more blood. My blood.

I was dying, even my pain muddled mind could tell me that.

I was losing a fight I never had a chance to win, my body wasn't listening to me anymore. It had given up, just like how I was. I felt more than saw the gun coming. Its cold head was pressed to my temple and I could hear the weapon being cocked. Just a simple push of the trigger would send the hammer flying back into place and releasing the bullet I was sure was aimed at my head.

Fear had long since set into my system. It was a daily occurrence when you worked at such a dingy pub. I couldn't struggle anymore. The hand was closing ever tighter around my neck. More screaming, another gunshot. My captor's yells were felt through his hand. I knew it was coming.

Mind numbing pain, so much blood… and then… Blackness.

'Red Rum..'

o0o

"No!" I woke up in a cold sweat, my lungs straining to take in the precious oxygen I was so deprived of in my dream. Tears streamed from my eyes as the full impact of the dream came rushing back to me, drowning out any other coherent thought. My hands slowly came up and gingerly touched the sensitive area around my throat, wincing when I applied a gentle pressure only to feel a sharp twinge of pain. The area was heavily bruised and I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if I were to walk to the tiny bathroom only a few feet away just to see the shape of my captor's hand firmly printed into my porcelain skin in hues of blacks and blues.

It's been a few months since the dream began to occur, and each time I slept, the Night Terror would come to haunt my dream, becoming more vivid with each of its visits.

I drew my knees closer to me, my thoughts pounding against my skull as I took a deep breath in, exhaling slowly in an attempt to calm my racing heart. The small glass I kept next to my bed wobbled slightly, rocking with the fluctuations of my emotions. It tipped forward, the water that it held sloshing over the edge before the entire glass slipped forward, falling in what seemed like slow motion. Before it could shatter against the hard wood, I reached out with my mind and wrapped a mental hand around it, capturing the glass and scooping the motionless water back into the holder and safely replacing it back onto my nightstand.

I slowly got off my bed, my bare feet padding against the floor as I made my way to the kitchen. A quick glance at the clock in the living room told me it was just after 3 in the morning; the dream always brought me into the waking world around this time.

I set a kettle of water on the stove and reached into the cabinet and taking out my French press. Taking out the darkest roast of coffee I owned, I poured a sizeable serving into the bottom of the press, waiting quietly as the water came to a rumbling boil. The whistle jolted me from the daze and I poured the water into the bottom of the press, watching as the water turned black from the roast and the grinds slowly drifted to the top in a lazy manner. Letting the mixture steep for a good three minutes for the optimal taste, I left to retrieve me favorite coffee mug. Coffee has become a very close companion to me, ever since the Night Terror started. I poured the rich, dark brew into my cup, relishing in the scent as the steam wafted towards me.

Resigned to yet another night without sleep, I took a seat at the kitchen table and wrapped pale fingers around my warm mug, taking a sip of the bitter liquid, relishing in the way it assured me I was awake and away from the Terror.

"Red Rum, huh?" I murmured to myself, staring out the window while lost in my thoughts. I had no idea what it was supposed to mean. Was it supposed to signify blood?

"Poor girl," I sighed softly, taking another sip of my coffee. It's been a few weeks of the girl's repeating death, feeling her death as though it were my own. I couldn't help but pity her; she was a stripper and that much was obvious from her thoughts. There has to be some sort of connection with me to her death, otherwise I would not be experiencing her death. Either there was something that tied me to her or her spirit was so desperate for help that my naturally attuned body and mind just picked up on her pleas. I would have to keep an eye out for any new cases that corresponded to such circumstances.

"Why are you drinking coffee, Mai?"

I turned at the voice; Masako had offered to let me stay at one of her many apartments that she used to keep away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. The apartment wasn't large or ornate by any standards; it was just large enough for myself and Masako when she came to visit every now and again. After a rumored dating scandal between a co-worker on her show, she had been staying at the apartment with me for a few weeks. She had been there when the dream started and was completely aware of them.

"It's back," I murmured softly, turned to look at her. She looked like a doll, dressed in a sleeping yukata rather than her usual kimono. Her now shoulder length hair fell forward as she sighed softly and looked away from me, pity gracing her pristine features.

"It's back... and it's out for blood."

o0o

End of Chapter 1!

I'm just posting this to see if it garners any attention. I haven't quite formulated how I want things to end, but I know the major events I know I want to occur, it's just how I'm going to get there that will be taking some time.

Tell me what you guys think and if you have questions, feel free to ask away!

Reviews would be greatly appreciated!