Chapter Text
The dark house towered up into the pale blue sky, blocking the view of the meager landscape behind it. Old gray wood, black tiles, dusty windows. By sight… Rather sullen.
Wilbur grunted and turned his head to the right. Techno turned to him and winced slightly.
"Well, guys," Phil put two massive suitcases on the ground and put his arm around his sons' shoulders, "Our new home."
The brothers exchanged glances. They made skeptical faces.
"Hooray, a new house, a new life!" Wil threw up his hands to the sky, his voice echoed through the deathly quiet neighborhood.
"Ye-e-e." Technoblade shook his palms listlessly in the air.
Philza sighed, smiled wearily and ruffled the boys' hair. Then he picked up the suitcases again and walked across the creaking porch to the door to open it.
The wind blew, the leaves on the crooked trees rustled. It was June, but the weather was almost autumnal: cloudy, coolness freezes the skin, and the general grayness only adds to melancholy.
A click, and the man puts the keys in his pocket. The door swings open with a creak of hinges, Philza steps inside, the twins, adjusting the straps of heavy backpacks, follow him.
The space is dark, but spacious. In the middle is a wide staircase to the second floor, to the left of it is a door to the bathroom and kitchen, to the right is another room, a door to the basement, probably, and a passage to the living room. To the right of the entrance is a table with a telephone.
"So, why not help me with my things first, and then look around, okay?" Phil placed the suitcases at a wide table to the left of the entrance.
Wilbur, who was about to visit the living room, grumbled, but threw his backpack on the floor against the wall and ran outside to the car. Techno put his bag on one of the chairs and hurried after him.
After a long trip, the transition to activity was welcome, albeit tiring. The Crafts dragged the boxes into the house, leaving them on the ground floor and postponing disassembly. Having done the deed, Philza stayed to clean up the kitchen, and the teenagers hurried to explore the dwelling: Wilbur went to the bathroom, and Techno went to the living room.
Wilbur peeked through the door, but was met only by pitch darkness. The boy scuttled back to reach for the light switch, not noticing the outline of the hands at the floor. A click and the bathroom lit up with a dim yellow light. Nothing unusual. A toilet, a bathtub with a torn curtain, a cabinet on the wall, a washing machine, a sink with a mirror. The teenager turned on the water, and after a second of grumbling, clean water escaped from the tap. Well, Phil said there was no problem with the water, just a little bit with the wiring. The furniture looked surprisingly decent, but Wilbur still decided that he would not wash in this bathroom until it had been cleaned three times.
He turned off the faucet and looked at the mirror. It was streaked and, it seems, reflected not quite correctly, slightly slanted sideways, blurring at the bottom and making the colors even dimmer. On the lower left corner, the mirror coating has been erased. The longer Wilbur looked, the more wrong it all seemed: was this locker ajar? Is the bathtub supposed to be visible from this angle? Why is the shadow behind the toilet so black? What a strange feeling, as if someone is behind him…
"What is this stain on the wall?!" Techno shouted from outside.
Wilbur shuddered. Shook his head, opened the door (did he close it?) and went out, turning off the light.
"Uh, don't know?" Phil was wiping the table with concentration, seeming to be thinking about something of his own. Wil rushed into the living room. "Probably, the past tenants got dirty. They wipe it off later."
When the boy came running, he saw the twin, thoughtfully looking at the wall. There, on the patterned blue wallpaper, was a faded red spot.
Wilbur sighed theatrically.
"Techno! It's blood! What happened here… Murder!"
"Yep. Or a jam fight."
Actually, it was really hard to believe in the bloodstain, because there were no smudges, almost a smooth circle, only the edges were a little blurred. Maybe an artist lived here, and this is his new masterpiece. A red circle on the wallpaper. Well, they are strange people in general.
Realizing that apart from two sofas (one local, the other transported), a bookcase and a square TV, they would not find anything interesting here anymore, the brothers raced into the corridor.
Technoblade was the first to reach the basement door and forcefully pulled the handle. It, however, did not give in at all.
"Some rooms are closed!" Philza shouted to them, judging by the sound of unloading dishes, "They are empty, and the keys are lying around somewhere unnecessary."
"Well," Techno boomed in frustration, "And I wanted to throw Wilbur to the basement monster to be eaten."
"He only eats nerds." Wil yanked the door to the next room, but it also didn't open.
"Nah, he eats losers like you."
"How familiar you seem to be with monsters."
"Of course, I've been living with you all my life."
Wilbur, as an answer, like a serious fourteen-year-old adult, stuck out his tongue and rushed off to the stairs shouting "I'm the first!". A loud stomping was followed by a stumbling, a scream, a crash and an exclamation of "I'm fine!". Only after that Techno, rolling his eyes, followed.
"Your bedrooms are on the right, open! Northwest is mine!"
The boys went upstairs and looked around. In front and behind — walls, one bare, the other with a clock and a window, on the left — two rooms, between them a corner with a lonely bedside table. There are three more rooms on the right, two larger, one smaller.
The smallest room on the right was closed. The other two were the same size, rather sparsely furnished — a wardrobe, a table, a chair, shelves. The beds (in both bedrooms at the upper right corner), along with some other furniture, Phil moved here yesterday, it only remained to put a mattress and bedding.
"So spacious..." Techno drawled.
"Yeah… And empty," Wilbur sighed. Then, however, he frowned, and the next second he smiled radiantly and jumped out the door, "Let's check the rest!
They came to Phil's bedroom. It, too, did not stand out in any way, a wardrobe in a third of the wall and a double bed in the middle, next to a bedside table. There was a rolled-up carpet at the entrance, which would need to be cleaned later. In the nightstand in the hallway there were only empty notebooks, old coupons, scribbled pens and other junk. Wilbur, no longer hoping for anything, pulled the door of the next room.
It opened.
The room was small, dusty, and covered in cobwebs. There was no curtain on the dirty window, unlike the rest of the windows in the house. In the shoe locker there were a variety of worn shoes, women's, men's, children's, many without a pair. Another nightstand seemed pretty nice, but for some reason did not want to open. Seriously, why is there so much closed? This is their house now, after all, let's have a proper look at it!
In a massive oak cabinet with keyholes hung clothes for an adult. A heavy dark coat (a dead moth fell out of his sleeve), jackets, sweatshirts.
Technoblade pulled out a huge, worn, time-faded sweater and put it to himself, trying it on.
"Ugh, Tech, you don't know how long he's been lying there. What if these are clothes from a corpse?"
"So this is my loot," the teenager proudly declared.
At the bottom, under the rags of fabric, there was a small key. Experimentally, it was found that he could lock the closet, which the brothers found quite cool. Okay, maybe there was a plus in permanent locks — after all, if the boys find the keys, they will have a lot of places to hide things. Long-term prospects are important, childs.
Putting the key back in place, the two left the room and were about to go back to the first floor, when they noticed a trapdoor to the attic at the end of the corridor and hurried to it.
Wil yanked the handle, and the hatch opened with a bang, the ladder fell out, hitting the floor loudly.
"Is everything okay there?!" Phil shouted.
"It's okay!" Wilbur shouted back. Techno pulled the ladder, it shook. Flimsy, but not so much that they can't stand it.
The twins climbed up and immediately sneezed. The boards creaked plaintively as the teenagers got to their feet and looked around.
"Piano!" Wilbur exclaimed happily and rushed to the device.
A small redwood piano stood in the middle of the wall, surrounded by a lot of things. However, when the boy tried to play, the sound came out wrong and almost the same everywhere.
"Out of tune." Techno pronounced the verdict and held the keys, the spoiled melody spread in the air. There was no dust left on his fingers.
The attic was a cluttered warehouse of all sorts of things: empty boxes, a chair with a broken leg, an ironing board, vases, a clothes dryer, some boards, a broken armchair. There are a lot of children's things like coloring books or soft toys. In the corner there is something like a sleeping place made of pillows and a shabby plaid.
While Wilbur returned to playing the out-of-tune piano, Techno sat down by the window. On the floor, in the middle of a layer of dust, there was... a trace. The footprint of a child's foot is most likely barefoot. There are a couple more nearby, a little smeared. Why…
"Boys!" Philza, who had gone up to the second floor, called them, "Go eat!"
Technoblade put aside his thoughts. Then he'll figure it out.
Wilbur quickly, never gracefully and theoretically traumatically climbed out of the attic. Seriously, forbid this person to approach the stairs.
***
There were instant noodles for lunch, since Phil didn't have time to cook anything, and there weren't so many products. The Crafts sat at the table in silence. Only the wind and the croaking of crows sounded outside the windows.
"It's a ten-minute walk to the city if you don't hurry," Philza finally said, "and another ten or fifteen minutes to school. We will submit the documents as soon as we get settled in the house."
Wilbur huffed and popped another spoonful of noodles into his mouth. Techno just nodded, following the specks of dust in the air.
Phil sighed. He was silent for a while.
"Wilbur. Techno."
The twins slowly turned to their father and stared expectantly.
"I understand..." pause. The man rubs the bridge of his nose. "I understand that it's hard for you. We've already discussed this, haven't we?"
He looked at his sons with a tired smile. They looked at him more openly and a little guiltily. Wilbur leaned back in his chair. Techno hunched over.
"Look. I really don't want you to feel uncomfortable, but it's done. The house is not inhabited, the people around are not familiar, but this is only for now. We are together. And that's the most important thing, right?"
Wil exchanged glances with his brother, who nodded slightly, then turned back to Phil and grinned encouragingly.
"We understand, Dadza. In the end, we also took part in this decision. And the house is pretty cool. This backwater is still learning about The Crafts!"
"He means he's going to commit a crime," Techno explained, "so don't talk about yourself in the plural. I'm not going to participate in this."
"He-e-ey," Wil frowned resentfully, "Firstly, I didn't plan anything, secondly, why are you refusing? And in general, maybe Dad will agree? Dad, Da-ad, I have a business proposal for you..."
"No, don't listen to him, he never gives his share completely..."
"Dirty liar, you just don't know how to divide!"
"Oh, really? And which of us at the first lesson of studying fractions said..."
"No, no, don't remember that!"
Philza burst out laughing at the twins' cheerful bickering, and the gloomy place came to life a little.
***
The rest of the day was mostly spent cleaning. Floors and walls were wiped, cobwebs were swept away, windows were cleaned. The stain in the living room, however, could not be wiped off. They decided to try again later, and if it doesn't work out again, we'll cover it with some kind of painting. Anyway, sooner or later the wallpaper will be re-glued.
After a hearty dinner and a short rinse in the shower, the family wished each other good night and dispersed to their bedrooms.
Wilbur collapsed on the bed like a sack of potatoes. A sack of potatoes, whose whole body ached. In any other circumstances, he would have fallen asleep just touching the pillow, but today, as luck would have it, this did not happen.
The teenager lay down more comfortably, wrapped more tightly in a blanket. He closed his eyes. Leveled his breathing. Let his thoughts take their course.
For about half an hour he was half asleep, but he could not fall asleep. It seems like his bed, and the bed is familiar, and the body is tired for the whole day. But it's like even the air is different. It's a strange feeling. An unpleasant feeling.
Thoughts buzzed quietly in his head, focusing on nothing and forgetting themselves moments later, and gradually the mind realized that he had been hearing for some time… Some kind of sound.
When Wilbur realized this, he frowned and listened. Like some kind of thin, monotonous humming. Is it his imagination, or did it come from the next room?
The boy sat up, the bed creaked, and put his ear to the wall.
Nothing.
The sound completely disappeared, leaving only an empty night silence.
Wilbur snorted and swung his legs over. After a moment's thought, he got up and walked to the opposite end of the room. The bare wooden floor was cold to the feet. A glimpse of blackness behind the curtained window. The guitar stands alone at the table.
The teenager reached the wall and raised his hand, palm in a light fist. He knocks softly three times.
Waiting.
"knock, knock, knock," he hears in response.
Wilbur leaves the room. It's dark in the corridor, and he can only distinguish something thanks to his accustomed eyes. The clock shows twenty minutes after midnight, if, of course, they are going right. The boy quickly reaches the next door and opens it, not noticing the figure at the bedside table.
The hinges creak faintly, Wilbur crosses the threshold and closes the door with a soft knock. He raises his head. Techno is sitting on the bed with his hands folded in his lap and looking at him expectantly, even if it's hard to see. Wil approaches him.
"And again you didn't bring a pillow or a blanket. I won't share it with you." the teenager grumbles, but moves away when his brother climbs next to him and takes cover.
"It's good to see you, too, Tech," Wilbur grins.
They lie there for a while. Maybe they have grown out of the age when it is considered common to resort to the family in the middle of the night in search of solace, whether from a nightmare or from bad thoughts. They don't care. In this family, you will never be too old for affection.
"...This house… Not so bad, huh?" Wilbur whispers in an undertone.
"Yeah," Techno nods. "Although we will most likely spend the rest of the summer on repairs."
"Mom would love it."
In response, a weak but warm smile.
"I'm going to see the city tomorrow," Wil rolls over on his back.
"Tomorrow we will unload things."
"Well, not all day," snort. "You're coming with me, by the way."
"What?" the boy pulls resentfully.
"Socializa-a-ation!" sang the giggling twin.
"Disgusting," Techno flaunts, as if he ate something sour, and Wilbur laughs even harder at this, "You're the social butterfly. Look for your own friends in a new city, like the main character of a movie. I'm fine as it is."
Wil grins. Finding friends would really be great. In the last city, the last school… He had friends, of course. That's what he and everyone else called them. But in fact — hardly familiar. Never mind spending time together, if it's boring, have fun, but no more, and if someone from the company is tired, forget it in a day. Was he the same? Wilbur didn't know. But for a while he sincerely considered these people friends.
None of them said goodbye to him before moving.
"So you're going to stay at home all summer?"
"Yeah. Perhaps until old age."
"And you'll become that creepy old man in a creepy house on the outskirts. Great plan."
"Of course. There will be legends about me."
"I want to be a legend too!"
"Try to grow up to my age and gain experience, and then we'll see."
"I'm older than you."
"Haha, so you're an eternal old man."
"You formulate arguments in a strange way, you know..."
So the brothers talked and talked until they finally fell asleep.
No one noticed the bright blue child's eyes watching them through the door crack.