The Dark Horse
By: Aurorarose13
Author's Note: Edited 2018-09-25
Chapter One
Friday started off the same as any school day. The Hitachiin twins ambushed Haruhi the moment she entered Ouran Academy before she spent the rest of the morning zoning out their teasing, which also meant she had to zone out the teacher. But since Haruhi refused to waste time, even time she was forced to waste, she planned her trip to the grocery store instead—tea, pork, rice, cabbage… Had she remembered to pack her coupons?
Lunch offered the same routine as usual: Hikaru and Kaoru arguing over who would get her handmade bento, which she inevitably finished before they had reached an agreement. Tears and whines would ensue until Tamaki and Kyoya entered the cafeteria.
Haruhi would have liked to claim that it was an unusual occurrence, as all the other female students seemed to think—and indeed it once had been—but now the boys were as regular as clockwork, so she donned her practiced distant gaze as she awaited the attentions of the Host King. As tedious as this Friday had become, it was all perfectly normal in its absurdity, so when it came time for Haruhi to resume her duties at the Host Club, she gathered her bag and her courage and headed for the Third Music Room.
She opened the front door, and immediately the aromas of tea, cake, and roses assaulted her. Haruhi thought that by now she should have been accustomed to it, but it turned out that the Host Club was nothing if it wasn't utterly invasive. She grimaced when she noticed the boys had already donned today's theme—firefighters. That's not to say she didn't think they looked a tad dashing in their uniforms (she had always had a soft spot for firefighters), but she knew what was coming next. Bracing herself against the door frame, the twins grabbed at her waist and arms and dragged her toward the changing room.
"Just once," she yelled, "I'd like to walk to the changing room of my own free will."
"Well, you know," said Hikaru, "we'd like that too, but—"
"—we know if you had free will, you'd use it to walk out the front door," finished Kaoru.
Haruhi sighed, but this was one statement she could not refute. She grabbed her costume and stalked off behind the curtains, grumbling all the way. It wasn't that she didn't like trying out new styles, but the fact that they always ended up being forced upon her, and not chosen by her, wore down her nerves.
As she zipped up the front of the heavy fireman's jacket, she emerged to join the lineup of greeters by the doors. Kyoya signaled for the club to open, and within moments, the doors spread wide, revealing a pale yellow ocean of adoring young ladies. Gasps and moans chorused up from the sea, barely a decipherable face or voice among them.
With the designations doled out, Haruhi seated three of her regulars by a window and brought over some tea, and the girls watched her dotingly as she poured them each a cup.
"Ne, Haruhi-kun?" said the quiet first-year, Sachi. "I was wondering, if the Host Club were on fire, would you save me?"
Haruhi stopped pouring and looked at the timid girl. Sachi refused to meet her eyes, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks and hiding behind her long black bangs. Haruhi glanced at her other two designations, who looked at their host eagerly for an answer.
"I suppose I would try and save all three of you." She paused momentarily to tap her chin. "Well, provided I would still be alive..."
All three sets of eyes widened and their lips parted for a resounding, "Please don't die, Haruhi-kun! To think you would risk your life for us! You're so brave and selfless!"
Haruhi rubbed the back of her head. "I'm nothing quite like that…"
Mai, a second-year, beamed, "And so modest!"
Emiko, Mai's best friend, added, "What a winning combination in a man! Wow!"
Haruhi smiled stiffly and excused herself while the girls hardly seemed to notice; they were too busy conjuring up images of their valiant knight Haruhi climbing through the window to rescue them from roiling flames.
As she turned to make her escape, she ran face-first into a broad chest. It wasn't the first time she had run into Mori like this. Last time she'd gotten quite the shocker when he had told her she was cute. Sure, he'd been sleepy at the time, a dangerous situation for everyone as Mori became unusually chatty and yet never remembered a word of what was said once he had slept, but somehow that didn't matter at the time or now. In spite of her usually easygoing self, Haruhi blushed at the memory. She prayed he wasn't tired today.
"I'm sorry, Mori-sempai," she said, scouting his face for any signs of exhaustion. She came up empty as usual when she tried to figure out what he was thinking.
But she was relieved (or disappointed?) when he said nothing. He merely nodded and walked over to Honey's table, where the small third-year was eating copious amounts of cake and sharing slivers of strawberries with the ladies. Haruhi released her pent-up breath and made her way to the bathroom.
"Haruhi! Danger!" a voice shouted. Before she could even turn to see who had screamed at her, she was tackled at the waist. The pair went down with a thud, skidding across the cool floor and coming to rest five feet from the front doors.
Haruhi closed her eyes as pain traveled up her tailbone. When she reopened them, she saw a blond head pressed into her stomach, the face lost in the folds of her fireman's uniform. Still, such a character was unmistakable. "Tamaki-sempai?"
He slowly lifted his head. He was breathing hard, his back rising and falling rhythmically. Through heavy pants, he managed, "The door flew open. You could have been hit."
"Oh. Isn't this a little excessive for the situation?"
Tamaki grumbled something about how unappreciative his daughter was but did not move from his precarious position atop her. "Are you wearing blinders?" he stuttered.
"Hm, maybe I am after all," she mused unconcernedly.
The pair had garnered quite a bit of attention, most of all from the remaining members of the Host Club, who now ringed their entwined bodies. Kyoya stood directly over top of them, his pen scribbling away in his book. "Tamaki, could you disengage yourself from the indebted long enough to check out our unusual patron?"
"Unusual or unwitting?" chorused the twins.
"Maybe both," Honey cheerfully suggested.
Tamaki stood up, his cheeks a bright shade of crimson, while Haruhi simply looked inconvenienced. He avoided eye contact with the woman he had just "rescued" and found the perfect excuse in the student pressed flat against the front door.
The stranger was huffing as hard as Tamaki had been a few moments before, and his brown eyes were wide with terror as they strained to see through the walls. He wore the same school uniform as everyone else, but it was horribly wrinkled and stained with a dark liquid from the left shoulder across the chest. His short black hair was disheveled, most of its mass tossed to the left side. He took no notice of the room in which he had landed.
"Kioshi-kun?" said one of the girls the Host Club had conveniently forgotten to continue hosting.
Kyoya opened his mysterious binder that contained all information in the universe. "Kioshi Fuchizaki, Class 2-C. His father owns a chain of green grocers and supermarkets."
"Ah, Fuchi Mart!" Haruhi said with amazement. "I have coupons for there."
"That's all well and good, but what's his likes doing in our club?" Hikaru groused.
Kaoru tapped his chin. "Perhaps he likes men—"
"—or he's lost—" suggested Honey.
"—or he's come to rescue a wayward lover from our handsome grips!" Tamaki added gleefully.
"Ah," Mori contributed.
"Before speculation runs too wild or your heads inflate to the size of watermelons…" Haruhi thought before saying aloud: "Well, the shortest distance between two points…"
She approached the boy and smiled, which immediately ignited a burner of jealousy underneath Tamaki. "Um, excuse me? Can we help you?"
Kioshi finally took in his surroundings with obvious confusion. "Did I run all the way to the fire department? I guess I don't know my own speed."
"If you were only so lucky," she commiserated. Then, noticing the hard look on Kyoya's face, she quickly added, "This is Ouran's Host Club. You look lost."
Kioshi slouched against the door and whimpered. "I'm afraid it's much worse than that. I look haunted."
"Haunted?" the entire club resounded. The women clung to each other or the nearest hosts. A soft murmur of swishing fabric filled the rose-scented air along with the chatter of teeth.
"Yes, haunted. I am cursed!" Noticing the immediate response from his audience, Kioshi got more into character. He spread his hands with great flourish, bewitching all attending parties but Haruhi, Mori, and Kyoya, who all watched the boy skeptically.
Tamaki stepped forward apprehensively, his jealousy temporarily forgotten. "Did you… step on Beelzenef too?"
Kioshi shook his head. "I don't know what a Beelzenef is, but I do know that an evil spirit has been following me these last four days." When he was sure all eyes were on him and all ears were tuned in to his story, only then did he think of continuing. "It was a sunny Tuesday afternoon."
"You mean this Tuesday," Kyoya quipped, but Kioshi ignored him, as did everyone else.
"I had just left practice with the Chorus Club, and I was on my way to my limo. On a whim, I had decided to take a shortcut through the senior wing, only I got lost and found myself before a door that I had never seen. It was all black with a silver number on it, the number 13."
The women collectively gasped, as did Tamaki, and they squeezed each other's hands. "Indeed," Kioshi said grimly. "Still, as wary as I was of the ominous portal, some sinister feeling unfurled within my stomach and threaded its way up my arms and to my fingers. Try as I might, I could not stop myself from reaching out for that glistening silver doorknob, and as my fingers curled around the cool metal, a jolt of fear snaked up my spine. I turned the ice-cold orb slowly, achingly slowly, until I heard the snap of the jamb unhitching, a dull crack like the sounds of bones breaking. I think my heart stopped entirely as I eased open the door."
Kioshi paused and surveyed his audience. They were breathless, hanging on his every glittering word, and they leaned forward, literally on the edge of their seats. His skin was flushed and damp with droplets of sweat, and his brow furrowed.
Haruhi glanced over to Kyoya who was again scribbling in his notebook, and she burned to know what he had written. Was he as unconvinced about this boy's story as she was? She had never heard such a flowery monologue in her life, and she wondered if Kioshi was in Drama Club. Still, the more she thought about it, the more Kioshi's story reminded her of Tamaki's ramblings, and she decided that as embellished as the tale sounded, he could well believe he was telling the truth. Sure, it was almost certainly utter time-squandering nonsense, but as much as she wanted to deny it, Haruhi wanted to hear the climax of the story.
Her designation, Emiko, urged him onward. "What was in the room, Kioshi-kun?"
"At first, I could see nothing. There were no windows in this black pit, nor any light switch, and I had to waste precious seconds for my eyes to adjust. I had thought to run, as any sane soul would have, but that heavy, cold thing in my stomach weighted me to the floor. I stopped breathing, my ears burning to hear something—or hoping, rather, to hear nothing. I wondered how long I had been standing there, waiting to be released.
"At long last, the lights from the hall edged into the foreboding crevice, and I made out a shadowy scene. The room was empty except for one object."
"What object?" a third-year implored through a cracking voice.
"A dark horse."
Eyebrows raised around the club and murmurs of conspiracy broke out.
"A live horse?" asked Honey, who was trembling; Mori laid a strong hand on his friend's shoulder to steady him. Haruhi looked over to the stoic third-year, but his face was as expressionless as ever, one of the few who appeared detached from the ghostly yarn.
For her part, Haruhi was rather disappointed at the turn out. It sounded ludicrous, a horse in the middle of a dark room in a high school, but then again, this was Ouran Academy, and the students who went here were not only ludicrous but rich—a deadly combination. For all she knew, one of these rich idiots could have parked his damn horse in the hallway.
Kioshi bowed his head so his eyes hid beneath his black curtain of hair. "No, it was not a live horse but a wooden statue of a stallion chomping at its bit. It reared beside me, as tall as I am, a rider-less devil with wild eyes lit by the fires of Hell! Carved from the heart of an ebony tree, its obsidian skin was smoothed to a shine, but even such a perfect surface can hide secrets.
"His lonely existence called me forward, possessed me to touch it, to try and tame what could never be tamed. Once I regained the use of my legs, I found them drawing me perilously close to the feral creature, but I was powerless to stop it.
"It was there, five feet from the monstrous statue, that I noticed the red blemishes covering its back. They were droplets, no bigger than my thumb, sprinkled across its empty saddle and over its meaty legs. My brain could only leap to one conclusion: that this demon horse had killed its rider and now searched for its next victim—me!"
Some of the sillier women fainted, while others peered wide-eyed around the room. There was utter silence, aside from ragged gasps and tremors of terror. Haruhi sighed. She had to admit, Kioshi told the story very well, but she was too practical to fall for such nonsense.
Still, the vision of red bestial eyes watched her behind her eyelids, and she realized to her horror that she was now standing very close to Mori, who was crouched beside a shivering Honey.
"A good story," said Hikaru, breaking the silence, "but—"
"—it still doesn't explain why you're here," Kaoru finished.
Kioshi, who had paced furiously throughout the course of his story, was now leaning against a pedestal by one of the windows. He nodded gloomily. "You're right. I was merely recounting the initial horror, but it's funny what time will do with a fertile mind."
"Tell me about it," retorted Haruhi, who knew all too well what idle minds could conjure up.
"Would you like to leave?" Mori whispered to his small companion.
Even if she knew every last word was the product of a wealthy fool with too little to occupy his time, Haruhi waited on tenterhooks for Honey's response. In spite of herself, in spite of every single rational thing she knew to be true, she was glad she had two martial artists next to her.
"I'm fine, Takashi," the blond muttered. "It's best to see this story through to the end."
Mori nodded and resumed his silent post between the young man and the practical crossdresser.
"So," the stranger continued, "right as I was about to touch the saddle, my cell phone rang. It was my driver, asking where I was. I tell you, I was never so glad to hear from that crabby old chauffeur!" Some of the women nodded and dabbed at their brows with their handkerchiefs. "I tore my eyes away from that statue and forced myself out that black door. I slammed it shut and took off for the school gate, never looking back.
"You would think the story would end there, a cautionary tale for young wanderers who think they know what they're doing, but as it turns out, it was only the beginning of my very own Turn of the Screw.
"From that first night at home, I had gothic dreams of midnight fields and shadowy pursuers. The thrum of hooves over sod invaded my ears while steady vibrations quaked my knees. I never saw what circled around me in the tall grasses, but I knew it was that damned horse. Every night since then I've had that same dream and woke up in a cold sweat. I've taken to sleeping with a light on, lest I awaken and find myself in same room with that demon."
"Lest," Haruhi thought with a roll of her eyes. If Kioshi wasn't in Drama Club, she would sign him up herself.
The boy continued undeterred. "You would think, then, that school would offer a welcome respite, but do not forget that this is the place where I discovered that foul beast. It's proven near impossible to pay attention in class. With no sleep and a growing fear of darkness, I've found it difficult to stay awake, alert, and in the consistent bask of light. I'm tired and disoriented, and I live in constant fear of finding Room 13 again."
The twins, who were growing bored, said, "Yes, but that still doesn't explain why you showed up here like you've just run a marathon."
Unwavering from his tale, Kioshi sat down beside a trembling first-year who looked at him with both wonderment and dread. "And now today, the fourth day of my terror, the worst has happened. Mere minutes ago, as I was walking down the halls of C-wing alone, I heard two sharp clips, like horseshoes on marble. I whirled around, but there was nothing, just the soft rays of the afternoon sun streaming through the windows and a row of locked classrooms. Convinced that I had just imagined them, I moved on and tried to steady my raging heartbeat, but no sooner had I gone three steps then I swear I heard a horse's angry snort."
A few women brought their hands to their mouths to hide their shock.
"All hope of maintaining my composure fled from me, and I ran as fast as my feet would carry me. I ran with reckless abandon down the halls, knocking into benches and trash cans in my panic."
"That explains the filth on his shirt," Haruhi thought.
Kioshi hunched over his knees, gripping them so hard his knuckles went white. "Twice I slipped and fell down stairs, and twice I hefted myself back up again, not daring to stop even to glance behind me. As I rounded the corner to this hallway, I heard the hooves again, this time charging after me at full speed. I grabbed every door I passed, looking for one that would open, looking for some other sign of life, and that is how I ended up in here, breathless and petrified."
The women flocked over to him, petting his shoulders and head and cooing words of praise. "Kioshi-kun is so brave!" "You're wonderful, Fuchizaki-sempai!" "I'd never sleep again, Kioshi!"
It was then that Kyoya stepped forward from the row of amazed hosts and hostees. He was wearing his scheming grin, the grin that told Haruhi she would be in for a long weekend. She knew what was coming next.
"Fuchizaki-san, the Host Club will do its best to rid this school of this plague." What sounded like a selfless, valiant proclamation to the customers sounded, to Haruhi, like Kyoya's inner cash register ringing.
However, Tamaki's well-intentioned, sensitive heart fluttered at the thought of rescuing beautiful young maidens from the clutches of a nightmare. "Yes, we will not rest until Ouran is safe for you fair damsels. The Host Club is nothing if not unyielding in its quest to protect and nurture innocent flowers from the dark seeds of evil."
"That's going a little overboard, isn't it?" muttered Haruhi to no one in particular.
"Worry not, Kioshi-kun, my ladies, Tamaki Suou and his loyal band of ghostbusters humbly accept this mission, even if it means putting our very lives at risk!"
"Speak for yourself," grumbled the twins, but even they had to confess that the idea sounded exciting, at least for a little while.
The women ate it up. They clambered to offer Tamaki their adoration and nuzzle against him, promising to return to the Host Club forever out of gratitude.
And Haruhi saw the bright glimmer in Kyoya's eyes that let her know this was exactly as he had planned.
So it was that a mere hour after classes had let out, Haruhi was dressed in a ghostbusting jumpsuit, opening every door in the third-year floor of the school, reluctantly having fun with Hikaru and Mori.
It was an odd combination of Host Club members, one that Haruhi had never thought would be alone together, but it was interesting. When Kyoya had suggested they split up into parties, he had wisely divided the twins and the two third-years so that each group was equal in ability and the least likely to cause problems. And of course that troublesome Shadow King left, pretending to "interrogate" Kioshi further. He was probably sitting in the music room, sipping a fifty dollar coffee and smiling smugly at the club ledger. Bastard.
Still, Haruhi's trio proved to have a unique dynamic she never expected. Hikaru was much more docile without his brother to exacerbate things, and Mori, while still taciturn, seemed more engaged. Both boys focused on the task, as they must have been eager to return to their counterparts, but it made everything move all the smoother, and the faster things went, the faster Haruhi got her groceries.
The three of them stood at the end of a short hallway sandwiched between a stairwell and another hallway. Hikaru headed for a door on the left but pointed to a door across from him. "Haruhi, check that door."
She had opened a quite a few doors so far during the mission, but as they wheedled away at all the duds, stupid as it was, she found it harder to open them. She couldn't put her finger on why, but as she reached for the knob, her hand wobbled. Mori, who was too observant for his own good, reached for her hand.
The contact took her by surprise and her eyes widened as the hot skin of his hand encircled her wrist. Her heart raced, though she knew it had been before he touched her. "Mori-sempai?"
"Stand behind me." He released her and grabbed the knob.
Haruhi wanted to laugh at his unnecessary show of chivalry. Instead, she did as she was told and stood behind him, choosing to look at her ridiculous boots and not the broad back in front of her.
"Nothing here," said Hikaru as he closed yet another door.
"Nor here," Mori agreed.
Hikaru noticed Haruhi's new position and loomed over her shoulder. "Scared?" he teased.
"No way," she lied, but since she was so used to pretending to be something she wasn't, she was confident she came across as convincing. "I'm just acting as a rear guard in case someone tries to jump you from behind."
Eh, it sounded credible enough.
"A likely story."
Mori turned around, as pokerfaced as ever, and, in his rich baritone, said, "I am the one who's scared."
His words, his voice—it was enough to make Haruhi double over with laughter. The thought of the man being afraid of a ghost horse was so ridiculous, she might even believe Kyoya had a heart of gold.
At last they reached the end of the hall, and the trio quietly examined each other in the hopes that someone would know what to do next. Haruhi fiddled with the Shinto prayer strips Tamaki had given her; Mori leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets; Hikaru busied himself taking pictures of everything (most especially Haruhi) with the "ghost-capturing camera," as Tamaki had called it.
A shrill cry tore through the air, and Haruhi tumbled into Hikaru, who tumbled into Mori. The three of them ended up in a heap of twisted limbs and heavy costumes, all grumbling at the same time when they realized it was not a phantom horse but a phone. Hikaru wormed his arm along Haruhi's leg as he delved into the impossibly impractical jumpsuit pockets.
He snapped it open as the three attempted to right themselves. "Kaoru! Did you find anything? Same here. So boring!" Hikaru made no mention of their fear pile. "Okay, one more hallway and we'll meet back at the club. Call if you find anything."
Hikaru offered a hand to both Mori and Haruhi, who were still hopelessly entangled in one another. Once all three were on their feet, Hikaru directed them to the adjoining hall.
The silence was back; it swelled and pulsed in the final hallway, which was as desolate and eerie as Haruhi could imagine. A cursory look revealed no black doors, no Room 13, but who knew what lay beyond the innocent white portals that stretched out before them.
Hikaru, who was anxious to return to his twin, counted six doors in all, two for each of them. Mori was designated the first two doors on the right, Hikaru, the first two doors on the left, and Haruhi, the last two doors on either side of the hallway. Personally, she thought she got the short end of the stick, but she couldn't afford to let her bravado crumble, so she marched back there with a steady face. Mori offered her a sympathetic glance—well, it was more like he stared hard at her for a moment, and she projected sympathy onto the gaze, but whatever it was meant to be, she drew some courage from it.
At the first door, she let her hand fall onto the knob. While she did not feel the same ethereal force that apparently drove Kioshi, she could not deny that her heart rate had accelerated.
"Just like pulling of a bandage," she told herself, and opened the door quickly.
The classroom inside was bright and empty, no unspeakable horrors unless you considered the calculus on the chalkboard horrific. After confirming there were no other exits in the room, Haruhi closed the door and turned to the last one.
Seeing as neither of the boys had found anything either, she wondered after all if she would end up with lucky number 13. This was the last door, the last place in the third-year wing that could hide Room 13. She tightened her grip and pulled.