Chapter Text
04/16/20xx - 9:44 PM
(April 16th, 20xx)
Eyes closed, Shane leans his head against the cool, concrete wall and allows himself to zone out while the spirit box crackles away. He doesn't have to use his true sight to know there’s something in the room with them; it’s a feeling, an energy that sends a shiver up his spine and makes the hair on his arms stand on end.
He hums thoughtfully, fingers tapping against his outstretched thigh as Ryan explains the logistics of the box to any listening spirits. He shifts his position, wincing when a symphony of cracks echo through his lower back but moves to cross his legs to mirror Ryan’s posture. There’s still something waiting to be seen.
Still, he opens his eyes and suddenly the world goes grey scale. He knows the camera is a wide enough shot to pick them both up, but he also knows its positioned back far enough that shadows draping over his face serve as good enough cover for the lack of iris’. A good excuse. It’s one he’s used before, and it works.
As soon as they get on location, Shane makes it a habit to scan the darkness with his true sight and look for anything that might set off a few alarm bells. Most places he got lucky. Most places had nothing dangerous. Nothing to worry about. Only a few lingering, lost spirits, trying their damnedest to communicate
But his eyes.. the murky, black pits where the warm, brown, iris’ should have been were always pointed out. They were always noticeable, but he was careful to make sure it happened when they were shrouded in darkness, or when the camera was in night vision, leaving Boogaras and Shaniacs alike nothing to blame it on but a trick of the light.
And in the doorway, he sees her. The faint, pale form of a featureless woman. Long, straight hair falls over and conceals her face, arms hang at her sides and the flowing nightgown shes wearing is stained with blood. He knows she’s been standing there for a while but made no attempt to get closer or speak.
“Can you tell us your name?” Ryan asks against the static, “Are you one of the murdered family members?”
The spirit box cracks and sputters out half-concocted words, but the woman says nothing.. does nothing. Shane can’t see her eyes, but he knows she’s looking directly at him. There’s a tense aura to her but nothing more; she’s curious, cautious, and so very, very afraid of his mere presence. They both seem to be waiting.
Question is, for what?
“My name’s Ryan,” He says helpfully, then gestures to Shane. “This is Shane. We’re here to talk.”
She continues to stare.
“If you’ve got something to say,” Shane drawls, and he knows the camera will show him clearly staring directly at something out of frame. His head is turned ever so slightly, knowing the boogaras will eat it up like they always do. “now’s the time. We ain’t here forever.”
It’s a challenge. A threat.
“Please.” Ryan adds, “We’re just here to find out what happened.”
The box continues to spit out incoherent, half-formed voices, which Shane knows for a fact aren’t from ghosts. There’s nothing else in the entire house, but it doesn't stop Ryan from reacting like he hears full sentences. He’s jumpy, nervous, and his hand is clenched around the box so hard his knuckles turn white.
“Who killed you?” He questions, “Do you remember?”
Shane sighs.
“Or.. did you do this? Did you kill them?”
At that, the faceless woman slowly turns her head toward Ryan as if just noticing he was there or registering his words. Shane tenses at the sudden attention shift, but he doesn't sense a hostile aura, and there’s no sign this docile spirit will become agitated, so he allows himself to relax somewhat. He could obliterate her in a second.
She doesn't move from her spot, but it’s clear her form is trembling ever so slightly. There’s no gesture, but he knows she’s trying to reach out to Ryan, trying desperately to get his attention and doesn't realize she’s invisible to the human eye. She flickers once, twice, three times, then stops. Then repeats the action twice more.
“Their intestines were ripped from their body,” Shane says as he eyes the bloodstain on her gown. The fabric is also ripped open, revealing even more dark stains. “What’d you do with them, huh? You eat ‘em? Craving some good ‘ole sausage links?”
Ryan exhales shakily, “Jesus Christ, dude..”
The woman’s right hand hovers over her stomach, entire form still flickering on repeat. It’s obvious that no, she wasn’t the murderer and in fact a victim, but Shane still didn’t feel too bad about taunting her. She was a ghost, a stranger who died centuries ago and its his whole brand to make fun of the dead.
“What? Deep fry those bad boys, add a little ketchup with like, some garlic bread on the side—”
“You’re a cannibal? Is that what you’re admitting to, Shane? Cannibalism?” He asks, but stifles a ridiculous, nervous, giggle, “You're a cannibal? You’d eat a human being?”
Shane smiles, "I only exclusively eat legs, Ryan - why do you think I'm so tall?"
Ryan shakes his head with the expected amount of exasperation, but its clear some of his previous fear dissolved with the light-hearted banter. Mission accomplished, he supposes. He dislikes it when Ryan gets scared to the point of slurred speech and teary eyes. Best to stop it before it even happens. Best to keep a balance.
Though, that fear quickly returns when Ryan announces he’s going to turn off the box. At the words, the woman snaps her head back to stare at Shane but this time something different happens.
'D̸̄͐͛ͣ̾́ͪͮ̕e̒ͩͭͭͣͨ̿̋̕m̴̅ͯ̄̒͑̎ͩ̋̑͞͞o͑͋͂̆́̐͑͌n̨̋ͪͤ͆̇͛̉͗̂͡' comes out of the box, clear as day.
A panicked noise escapes Ryan as he jumps at the sound. His wide eyes turn to Shane - who quickly blinks the true vision away - for conformation that he heard the same thing. Oh, boy. This will be good. He casually turns his head and meets his friends’ stare, poker face already in full effect and working wonders.
“What?” He asks a little too innocently, “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Are you serious?” Ryan exclaims, “It said--”
D̸̄͐͛ͣ̾́ͪͮ̕e̒ͩͭͭͣͨ̿̋̕m̴̅ͯ̄̒͑̎ͩ̋̑͞͞o͑͋͂̆́̐͑͌n̨̋ͪͤ͆̇͛̉͗̂͡ comes out a second time, then more distorted: R̴͋͂̈́ͭ̐̕͘Ǔ̡̍͐͢͢Ņ̉ͨ̑ͧ̋͜
Shane pays another glance to the woman in the doorway, unable to see her now without the vision, but he figures she’s desperate now, trying to warn Ryan like most spirits brave enough to come this close do. In a way, it’s odd how ghosts seem to look out for their living counter parts but most times it’s just an annoyance.
“Where?” He asks, hands balled into fists. “Is there one in this house?”
D̉̎͠Ȩ̸ͯͮͮ̚M̄͘O̅ͫ͆͛͑͘Nͣ̏.̀͊ͧ͒ͬ ̉͜͠H̡̛̃̓ͤͬ͐̃̿̋Ȩ̀̋̌̈ͩ̈ͣ͐͝Ř̄E̶͑̍̑̎͂͐.ͩ̄͂̓ͫ̑͝ ̷̵̎͡R̊̓̀͑́ͭ̉ͨ͟Uͩͥ̊̎͐̀̈͡҉͞N̸̢ͯ̐̆̐̃ͨ.̍ͧ̓ͤͤ̃
Shane has nothing against lost spirits, but some of them get too close to revealing the truth. Some of them have a bit more coherent understanding of their surroundings than others, which Shane finds unfortunate. For them, at least. He doesn't want to destroy them, but the talkative ones often leave him no choice.
What he does instead, is growl. It’s a low, but warning, rumble that escapes the back of his throat, yet sounds like it comes from all around the room. It’s a warning shot of sorts, a threat that things will get nasty if the recipient doesn't back off. The woman looks back to him, takes a step back, then shudders out of view.
Of course, Ryan makes no indication he heard a noise. It’s a sound—or rather a frequency that cant be heard by human ears, but can cause audio distortion, and Shane isn’t exactly sure how it works. He never cared enough to try and figure it out, but as long as no one hears it, that’s fine with him. It’s a useful trick to have up his sleeve.
And that was that.
Meanwhile, the ‘Ryan’s Fear Meter’ in his head was going haywire. Ryan tries one last ditch effort to reach out to the woman, but Shane reaches over to take the box from his shaking hands. He switches it off, mumbling something about how it sounds akin to stepping on a distracted cats tail, and senses that fear meter gradually lower.
Ryan wastes no time getting to his feet and promptly beginning to rant about how that’s their most compelling evidence yet. From where he still sits on the floor, Shane rolls his eyes and dreads the session they’re going to have in the studio booth to decipher the audio tomorrow. It’s a good thing he’s perfected his poker face.
And as the conversation ends, the two get ready to wrap up the investigation, but he barely pays attention to the brief discussion Ryan has with TJ about areas to shoot for the voice overs. Shane simply walks out of the room, adjusting the harness on his chest with the stupid go-pro for the upcoming solo-session.
“Ready, big guy?” Ryan asks with more confidence than whats displayed on his face.
“Mhm.” He responds as they head to the basement slash wine cellar, apparently where all the victims were murdered. “You going first, or am I?”
Ryan scoffs, “Who do you think?”
Shane smiles.
When he was alone during those solo-sessions—when he was back in the comfort of the heavy darkness—he couldn’t use his vision since there was a camera trained directly on his face. However.. he knew they were there; could sense their lingering presences, their energy and blank stares, too afraid of him to respond to his taunts.
It was Ryan they talked to, it was him they whispered to but he was easily terrified, so their pleading fell of deaf ears. He supposed that was for the best. They tried to warn him, to direct him down a safer path, but their efforts to keep him safe were futile and only drove him away; made him panic and flee the room.
Spirits would always follow him back like his own shadow, and would only flee once again when he entered Shane’s proximity. They avoided him like the plague, like they’d disintegrate if they came any closer. Still, some tried to reach out to Ryan when the spirit box came into play because some were braver than others.
Run. It would often cackle out, and to the untrained ear would just sound like gibberish. Run.
But Ryan was .. paranoid, and a little too attentive for his own good.
Dangerous.
‘What is?’ Ryan would ask, and again: ‘Who is?’
Get out.
‘What are you so afraid of?’
Him.
‘Him? Him who?’
He never gets an answer.
Shane makes sure of it.