Spøgelset i huset

by boolger

Summary:

The house was far from perfect, but it had potential - here they could live in peace and build up a life together, try to become civilians again and cope with all of their wounds. .
When they were told that there had been a murder in the house, it didn’t scare them away - even if the former owner had apparently been killed by a weird cult.

So they bought it.

Which annoyed the fuck out of you, said “former” owner. You didn’t want people, hot or not, moving into your home.

Notes:

title is Danish and means “the ghost in the house”/“the ghost of the house”.

okay so - this fic is inspired by a Macgyver fic I wrote back in 2022, called cursing (a) ghost. I’m pretty sure I based that fic on a roleplay I did once or something. Idk. No matter what, I also went to a lecture earlier this year, about mirror portals, which inspired me to jump into something supernatural again.

This will have some dark elements, like descriptions of death, murder, loss of limbs, etc etc (read tags), but this fic will eventually just turn into smut, I think.

Thank u to sweet Venus for dealing w my ramblings and for my dear friends V and K, for also dealing w me in general❤️

Chapter 1: A wonderful deal!

You didn’t know what you had expected, but this certainly wasn’t it.

It was supposed to be different, wasn’t it? You had heard about an almost euphoric experience after the pain, seeing light in the dark, then some sort of solution.

 

It was painful, yes - but for some reason, it didn’t end. You weren’t given the pleasure, wasn’t given an ending like you had craved. Wasn’t it supposed to end? Had you not earned some sort of relief, after everything that had happened?

 

The agonising, piercing feeling, the strange experience of something pressing inside you, again and again, hard as steel; leaving you broken, unable to ever be seen in the same way.

 

Why were your bones not given the relief, which they craved so badly it hurt? Where was this relief, the escape, the salvation you had been promised throughout your life? Did you not deserve it?

 

It will end, everyone said, it will end, it's the only thing everyone on earth has in common, it will end - and then depending on who you specifically asked - something would happen to you after this finale. Whether it was nothing, salvation, rebirth, an afterlife you could only dream of… who knew?

 

Well, apparently, you weren’t going to be the one with an answer to the big mystery of life, which was death.

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

 

“It’s perfect!” His voice was nothing but ecstatic, surprisingly fresh after a two hour long drive, “Ach, I can see us grow old, ‘ere!”

 

Gaz winced - he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t that he wasn’t pleased that Soap was thrilled, but it was quite early in the process that he was this excited.

“Calm down, mate,” he said, hoping to calm the other more down, moving to stand next to Soap, giving his shoulder a pat, “we haven’t even looked inside yet.”

 

“Ah - yeah, but we’ve seen pictures,” he nodded along while speaking, a bit more sedated now, the long mohawk flopping back and forth a little, yet he hadn’t lost the smile on his face, “but I can feel it, Gaz - I swear. I can feel it.”

“Where?” — Gaz definitely didn’t jump as Simon sneaked up upon them, not at all, the bigger man’s voice dark as he added — “feel it in ya’ dick, Johnny?”

 

“Ah will make ye feel something in yer dick, ye big—“

 

Gaz moved, not wanting to be in between Soap and Simon, in case they got into a fight or worse, a whole makeout session, removing himself from the situation like a good soldier. Yes, they had seen pictures of the inside of this house, but they all knew that pictures could be deceiving.

 

“Behave, muppets,” John snapped, getting out of their big car, tipping his head back a little, as the real estate agent’s car appeared a second later, honking happily before it parked a bit from them, “if we like this house, we can’t scare off the real estate agent again, can we?”

 

Gaz grinned at the last part of John’s little speech, sending a look at the last man to exit their own car. He heard Nikolai let out a displeased huff, the Russian man instantly ready to defend himself, as he had been the one to scare the last agent off - but as the new real estate agent got out of the car and walked towards them, Gaz elbowed the Russian man to stop him from going. Nikolai sent him an annoyed look but behaved. Only muttering out a small “it wasn’t even a nice house” in Russian.

 

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

 

The house looked like aboslute shite. That was John’s first, honest thought. Even as his sweet Soap declared his love for it, loudly in fact - was his new hearing aid turned down again? - all John could see were the problems the house would bring them. 

 

There were barricaded windows here and there. Roof tiles, which looked like they were right on the edge of falling down. The tall, tall grass that made the garden look like a wilderness, weeds and wildflowers peeking up. Most of the outdoor walls needed a new paint job and John knew there would probably be trouble with the electricity, only from looking at it. One of the front doors even looked a little crooked.

 

His knee hurt from the mere sight. They weren’t even close to the house, yet he gripped his cane a little harder. They were going to buy a drivable grass mower of some kind, he was not cutting this with an old school one. Though he doubted any of the others would even let him attempt to do so.

 

 

Signs littered the gravel road towards the big house.

 

All of the signs, almost all overgrown by plants, with words like “STAY OUT”, “PRIVATE PROPERTY”, “SURVEILLANCED AREA”, “KEEP OUT” didn't really help his mood - only one friendly looking sign; “FOR SALE!”, the number of the real estate agent written beneath it.

 

Bloody comforting, John thought, problems with people being around weren’t what they needed. Besides, he strongly doubted there were any kind of surveillance cameras around here.

 

“Hello, hello!!” The real estate agent waved at them, before pulling out a couple of files from the car seat, slamming the old car door closed. He seemed… overly happy. But in an optimistic, unsure kind of way. Dressed in a full suit, despite the fact that they were in the middle of fucking nowhere, the large glasses and great amount of sweat almost shimmering in the sun. A door slammed on the other side - another person came into view, a much younger woman, actually dressed for the occasion, wearing a pair of wellies in strong contrast to the dress shoes of the real estate agent. She was the smart one of the two, Price concluded. With the grass still wet from the rain two hours earlier, she would be the one of them to leave with dry feet.

 

The guy was wearing an anxious smile with his suit, while the younger woman was wearing a more polite, confident smile.

 

“Hello, Mr. Hansen,” John was the one to greet the man, not trusting the others one bit after the last couple of times, “Nice to meet you.”

 

”Likewise!” The nervous-looking yet happy man had sweaty palms as he shook hands with John, his odd smile never wavering - then he gestured to the red haired woman next to him, “this is my trainee, Beatrice, I hope it’s alright she joins us.”

 

John extended his hand to her, shaking hands for a second, “sure, the more the merrier.”

Beatrice grinned, not an ounce of fear visible on her body, “thank you. It’s an interesting house, so I wanted to tag along.”

 

“It certainly looks… interesting.” John couldn’t help himself, though Nikolai appeared next to him, shaking the young woman’s hand.

 

“Don’t mind his grumpiness, young lady,” Nikolai happily cut in, “he is merely tired after the drive - it’s a beautiful house.”

 

The real estate agent let out a nervous laughter and as soon as everyone had introduced themselves, they all began to walk up the gravel road, Gaz staying nearby John, nobody worried about him falling or not keeping up. John huffed. He felt old suddenly, the knee burning a little as he kept up with them, only stopping half way.

 

He watched the real estate agent pull a key from his pocket, opening a feeble looking attempt at a gate. It needed to be ripped down too, in fact, all of the rotten fence did.

 

 

“Problems with squatters?” Simon looked down at the nervous man walking besides him, his black surgical mask at least less scary than his usual balaclava.

 

“Si,” Gaz chastised, but John honestly wanted to know the answer too, so he kept his mouth shut, following as they began to walk again. Hansen let out a shaky laugh and when John cast a glance at Beatrice, he saw the younger woman roll her eyes.

 

“Well, uh, see, not exactly,” Hansen began, fingers shaking as he pulled another key from his pockets, unable to meet any of their eyes, “I mean, uh, there is a reason it’s cheap.”

 

John stopped, as they got close, watching the real estate agent walk up onto the veranda.

 

He looked away, up at the house and then out over the garden which was more of a field. It did have some charm.

 

“‘Cause it looks like shite?” Simon’s bluntness was as wonderful as ever.

 

“Well, no - this is a proper fixer upper, sir!” The man began, forcing a smile, “a house filled with uh, history and uh—“

 

 

“A woman was murdered in the house,” Beatrice’s voice was composed and as everyone turned to look at her, Hansen hissing out her name, the red haired woman shrugged, “they were gonna find out sooner or later, Benny.”

 

“What? Like, a proper murder?” Johnny asked, excitement seeming to spike all creepily and John didn’t chastise Nikolai when he gave the man an elbow in the side.

 

“When is a murder not proper?” Beatrice replied dryly, finally giving a motion to Hansen, “let’s go see the house. It will be easier to explain.”

Hansen let out a sound, which most of all reminded John of a scared dog, yet he finally pushed the front door open. 

 

“Tw-two stories with eight rooms, three bathrooms and a cellar,” Hansen began, all of the team following inside, already knowing what the man said, yet none of them commented on it, instead taking in the hallway. John zoned out, ignoring the nervous, sweating man’s learned speech.

 

It had a high ceiling and even this first room was spacious. The wooden floors were rather nice compared to the outside look of the house, the stairs in the end of the room looked like they were renovated a couple of years ago, and the handrails were still nicely painted.

A simple, old chandelier hung from the ceiling and John felt a relief rush through him, as Beatrice turned it on, lighting the room up some more. 

 

The only thing that made his mouth tip downwards a little was the wall behind the staircase. In fact it was the first thing one was to see.

 

Simon let out a dark “hehe” like the maniac he was, while the real estate agent let out a scared sound.

 

The big pentagram on the wall was done with spray paint, the black color standing out against the muted green wallpaper. It was a slight crooked circle, the star in the middle of it badly drawn. Clearly it wasn’t an artist who had done it.

Beneath it, however, clearly written in proper red paint, was four words.

 

I AM STILL HERE

 

Fucking hell.

 

“I - I’m so sorry, thi-this wasn’t here last time I checked, I, I,” Hansen began desperately, “it can be washed off, I’m sure, haha, maybe a t-touch of pain.”

 

“Maybe tiny exorcism,” Nikolai gleefully added, not even attempting to hide his amusement at the sight, not stopping despite the stare John gave him, “I have tried those before.”

John had no idea whether his boyfriend was talking the truth or not, but it didn’t really matter, because Hansen was shaking like a newborn lamb.

 

Beatrice mumbled out an annoyed, low “told you we should have checked,” behind him.

 

“Ah, uh, yes,” Hansen began once more, after a couple of deep breaths, “this is what we’ve had problems with. Not q-quite squatters — what did you call them again, Beatrice?”

 

“Ghost hunters,” Beatrice answered, moving to pick out the notebook from Hansen's hand, “a few mediums and I’ve found some YouTube videos of people coming here to contact the murder victim, faking interactions. Quite a fun view, if any of you are bored. Now, let’s go to the kitchen, yes?”

 

“Yes! Yes, let's do that!” Hansen happily agreed, following his trainee, John , “the kitchen has new water pipes and the former owner got installed a new stove and dishwasher before she passed.”

 

“Gaz, shouldn’t we do an exorcism?” John heard Soap whisper - or attempt to whisper, he needed the hearing aids tuned - “dinnae ye think that could be braw?”

John rolled his eyes so hard it hurt, ignoring how Gaz took a picture with Johnny and Nikolai in front of the pentagram, instead following Hansen and Beatrice.

 

The kitchen was nice. There were some cups on the counter, a broken plate, as well as a lot of black, white and red candles scattered across the counter and floor.

A circle of salt was made on the floor, candles along the edge, making John huff.

 

“So sorry,” Hansen continued, “but look at the counter! It’s - it’s - it’s actual oak, not some linoleum plastered onto plastic - these tiles on the walls are all intact too.”

 

“The candles are a part of the deal,” Beatrice added happily, earning a slap on the arm from the man, but she continued anyway, continuing to the dining room connected to the kitchen, “you won’t have to buy candles for at least a year. Besides, they’ve left a bunch of salt behind too.”

 

Nikolai laughed, Hansen jumping at the sound, clearly getting more and more on edge.

John huffed, but he appreciated Beatrice’s honesty at least. That was until he felt a chill go through him, making him frown. 

 

Gaz felt it too, opening his mouth, but his other boyfriend didn’t get to ask - because in the same second, a door somewhere in the house slammed shut. While none of them really flinched, Hansen sure did - in fact, he let out a small scream too.

 

“Benny,” Beatrice hissed, but the man didn’t answer, the sweat almost dripping from his face onto the floor, before looking at the team, “sorry about that, lads. We have some broken windows upstairs - they can easily be fixed, but they mess with the doors, ya know? Why don’t we see the living room and the bathroom, then we can go upstairs?”

 

 

 

While Benny Hansen was a wreck, much to Soap and Simon’s amusement, Beatrice kept it  professional, showing the different rooms, so John and the rest of them could focus a little more.

The different bathrooms were nice - they needed a little love, a deep clean and perhaps they needed to change some sinks or something, but otherwise they were nice. Surprisingly, they hadn’t been broken by these “ghost hunters” that had apparently taken to visiting once in a while. Beatrice had pointed that out too - mentioning that compared to a lot of others who explored buildings like these, the ones they had coming around seemed polite enough to not ruin too much.

 

Then again. There was a wall with the words who killed you written on - beneath it, in the same red paint as downstairs, capital letters wrote out YOUR MOM. There was a bit of fun to this deal at least. Soap got a photo taken with the graffiti. 

 

They did indeed need to fix a couple of windows. Price watched Nikolai wince at the sight of graffiti on the wooden floor, in one of the bedrooms. That - if not most of the floors of the house - would need to be grinded and polished.

 

If one ignored the different pentagrams here and there, it was a nice house and Beatrice was a natural talent. He hoped that none of the other houses that Hansen attempted to sell were haunted, because then he doubted the man could sell anything.

 

There were a lot of things left behind from the deceased owner. Couches, chairs, a bed, desks, pictures, an odd amount of mirrors, clothes and lamps. In some rooms it seemed like time had just stopped; a hoodie hanging off the back of a chair, a newspaper and some advertisements from 2021, nail polish bottles scattered next to it.

 

A piece or two of police tape was fastened to some door frames, but they had seen so much of that, it didn’t really bother them. Perhaps John should have been more upset by the fact that somebody was murdered in the house, but death had become such a natural and normal part of his work life, that it hardly touched him. Death was a natural part of life. Sure, the former owner had not had the most normal end to her life, but it had ended nonetheless. 

”This - uh - this - this is the room where uhm - she,” the real estate agent stopped in front of a door to one of the last rooms they needed to see, legs shaking so badly that John almost wanted to offer him his cane. John could see sweat drip down the back of his neck,

 

“Where she passed,” Beatrice chirped helpfully from behind them, making Hansen nod a couple of times, taking a deep breath before he opened the door. There were a couple of police tape pieces stuck to the door and the frame, which swayed gently as the door was opened.

 

 

It was then that all the painted pentagrams, all scattered across the house, began to make a little more sense. 

 

“Y-you will probably need ne-new floors in here,” Hansen began, trying to stay in the corner closest to the door, while the others piled in. It wasn’t a giant room, a few things abandoned here and there. A piano pressed into the corner, white sheet halfway fallen down, exposing some of the yellowed keys. There were blood splatters on them. There were a few crystals here and there - more candles.

The most noticeable part was of course the giant pentagram, burned into the wooden floors. Burn marks where some candles had clearly been. There was a broken mirror resting against the wall, not really helping with the atmosphere.

 

“I - uhm, the—“

Just then, the door slammed closed behind them. That wasn’t what made almost all of them flinch - instead it was the loud, high pitched scream coming from Benny, that made them all do so.

For half a second, Price was back in the battle field, ready to pull his gun and find the danger, ready to make sure his men were safe. Gunsmoke and blood filling his nostrils, the still strong memory of the bullet entering his knee, shattering it. The pain which had him falling down, the way Gaz was instantly on him, pulling him to safety. The way his boyfriend had looked at him, the feeling of his leg almost going numb with the pain.

 

Captain John Price gripped the cane a little harder, eyes closing for a second. When he opened them again he was back in the room.

 

 

 

Said scream, coming from the real estate agent, then turned into a sob, as the man almost bent in on himself, trying to make himself as small as possible. Voice shaking like the civilians who had seen too much horror too suddenly.

 

Not a door slamming behind them.

 

“I can’t - I can’t- I’m not gonna - I - Can’t, its haunted, its haunted, its haunted, its—“ Hansen was sobbing out loud and he almost jumped into the air, when Beatrice patted him on the shoulder, the man clearly scared shitless. Glasses almost falling from his face.

 

”It was just the wind,” the red-haired trainee attempted to calm her boss down by saying, clearly having tried this before. John felt bad for the guy, he really did. He clearly didn’t have the nerves to sell this house. In fact, he looked like a man who could use a holiday and perhaps some help from a psychologist. 

 

”it’s haunted, Beatrice, its - she- she-she is still here, Beatrice, i know it, she—“ 

 

“Hey, hey - why don’t you go sit in the car, Benny?” Beatrice’s voice was soft and not too loud when she cut him off, as if she was giving a suggestion to a scared child, “I’ll see if I can sell this place to these nice blokes, eh?”

The breath that Hansen took almost looked painful, he was still curled over, body shaking but he nodded - giving the last papers to Beatrice. She opened the door to the hallway and then the man all but sprinted.

 

John sent Simon a stern look, when the big man let out a dark “heh”. Not that he didn’t find the sight of the real estate agent bolting, while trying to sell them a house, slightly amusing, but it wasn’t polite as the man was clearly horrified.

 

Everyone was silent for a moment, listening to the front door being opened and then slammed again. Perhaps it was for the better.

 

Beatrice cleared her throat for a moment, giving them a small, slightly awkward smile, scratching her neck a second.

 

”Yeah, sorry about my boss - he hasn’t been doing too great lately,” she explained and by gods, John hoped the man might get some help - or stayed away from selling houses where people were murdered. John smiled politely at her and gave a tiny nod, as if to say it was okay.

 

”How did it happen?” Gaz’s question was genuine and John supposed they might as well know, if they were going to move in. Because several of his boyfriends already seemed like they had decided. John looked out of the window for a second. He watched Hansen sprint down the gravel road, towards his car.

 

”Ah, well. Apparently the woman inherited the house from a distant uncle,” Beatrice explained, John looked back, watching her open a file for a second, “she only managed to live here for two weeks though… I don’t know much more than what the papers say, but she was supposedly murdered by a cult.”

 

”A cult?” Gaz repeated in disbelief, eyebrows raised.

 

Beatrice shrugged, for once looking a little uncomfortable, “Again, I don't know if it's true. But according to what I’ve read and been told, they uhm. Well. Sacrificed her in a ritual… of some sort.”

 

John looked back at the floor. Poor lass. He can’t imagine the last hours of her life had been pleasant. If the pentagram was anything to go by, he doubted it was a quick kill.

It was only then he noticed what looked like some sort of bended metal, in some of the corners of the pentagram. Probably used to be tied down two. It made him wince.

 

Poor lass, indeed.

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

Beatrice Florence Lowe was convinced this was going to be another failure; a couple of people, hoping for something they could live in, a big house with a cheap price, that offered lots of opportunities to rebuild and live a quiet life. The closest town was an hour away, the nearest neighbour at least half an hour away. 

 

Hadn’t she been happy in a bigger city, she might have moved somewhere like this. Convincing her wife to move somewhere like this, however? An impossible task. She didn’t even want to attempt it. Besides, it would only be much more with work and commuting - not to mention visiting both her own and her wife’s families. 

 

No, it was the city life for her. But, these men? She wanted to argue that it seemed like a perfect place for them.

Of course, she didn’t know actual shit about them, only their names and what she could figure out from the emails and this meeting. You had to be a certain kind of person to even willingly go looking at this house, in the middle of bloody nowhere, isolated and close to the mountains, up on a hill.

 

 

Despite being called dumb by her bullies all childhood, Beatrice was far from dumb nor unable to read people. 

These men were clearly veterans. If she wasn’t wrong, the whole bunch were queer too, possibly even one big polycule. Not that she was judging that at all, but it also explained why they were interested in this place. It was far from a war zone, they were cut off from society enough to live their life in peace.

If she was going from the stereotypical idea of every soldier walking away from the army with PTSD, she would give a strong guess of the entire bunch struggling with that. A couple of them had clear signs of being wounded at least.

 

The cane that John Price held tightly, the barely visible brace beneath the jeans, supporting the knee that she suspected to be broken - or at least, in rather crass words, ruined. He seemed to be the leader of the bunch, having been the one to take contact with her and Benny.

 

Benny, who needed to be dropped off at his house, so his wife could help him calm down… again. She really needed to convince Mrs. Hansen to take a vacation with him. Beatrice had no doubt that his wife was just as tired of hearing of this house, as Beatrice was.

 

Besides John Price, there was the guy who had been called Soap by one of the others, wore hearing aids, his voice a little loud and words slightly slurred now and again. There was a wound, still pink, deep graze along his forehead and down the side of his head. Beatrice assumed it was a little miracle he was still alive, but what did she know?

The black man, which, in her humble lesbian opinion, was the prettiest of the whole bunch, who had been called both Kyle and Gaz, seemed to be missing a big chunk of his left hand. Beatrice could guess that missing that, would make it a little harder to shoot… or whatever he had done in his career. 

 

Those were only the visible signs - the other two no doubt had something as well. If not visible, then invisible. The visible parts of them were the many scars that littered their skin, in particular the giant one, with the dark humor.

 

In a way, Beatrice hoped they bought this place, because she liked to imagine that they could have a nice life out here.

She showed them the cellar, where the different appliances like a washing machine and dryer could be connected. Then she showed them the backyard with the terrace, which was just as overgrown as the rest of the front garden - more of a field if one was to ask her - but there was a shed, which was in rather nice condition, that might be a little alluring to them.

 

 

 

“The roof needs fixing,” one of the men commented. Beatrice couldn’t remember his name, but he had a strong Russian accent and a charming smile, despite the comment about the roof. She nodded.

”According to the craftsmen we’ve had out, it doesn’t need to be changed entirely, but that would be up to you, of course,” Beatrice agreed, since she had pretty early on learned that honesty was the way to go, “but it is a fixer upper in general. As far as we know, it still keeps dry.”

She offered the men a copy of the evaluation from the men who had checked the house through earlier this year.

 

She and Benny had been fucking lucky with the weather, if Beatrice was being honest. If it had poured down, she had doubted the house would be just as welcoming — if one was to ignore the fact it was a murder scene of course. But a lot of places were. People passed away all the time, peacefully in their beds, from heart attacks in the kitchen, from falling in the bathroom. Beatrice had tried convincing Benny to get the place fixed up further, to at least hide the room with the crime scene, but he had been too deep into his superstitions about the ghost, to even consider doing so.

 

Beatrice tried not to think too much about the woman who had been killed. They had been around the same age at the time. She had been a veteran too, as far as Beatrice remembered from the articles. The police, if not the entire local area, had attempted to keep it as secret as possible. Keeping information and details tight. Not even a picture of the poor woman. It was in order to keep out those too interested in true crime away - which hadn’t fully succeeded- but also to keep the rumours from going, that it wasn’t a nice place to live.

 

They had found the killers after all. Most had committed suicide, leaving behind cryptic notes, but a couple was in kept in closed mental hospitals undefinetly. Probably for the best.

 

Yet, she kept herself slightly distanced from the murder, trying not to buy into the superstition unlike Benny, keeping her thoughts logical all the time. Explaining the weird writings on the walls and things moving by the fucking people who broke in all the time, the slamming doors from the wind, the occasional leftover food from people who slept over during their adventures. She ignored the occasional footprints from bare feet in the dusty areas or how the sheets covering the mirrors always disappeared whenever she returned - she didn’t tell Benny about those, his blood pressure high enough without knowing.

 

She certainly wasn’t going to tell this bunch either. Her boss having a breakdown was embarrassing enough as it was.

 

“What ‘bout the attic?” The giant man, with the dark humor asked, and gods, did she feel tiny next to him, “no water up in that?”

”Not as far as we know,” Beatrice answered, admitting without shame, “Honestly, we haven't been able to find the hatch - we’ve searched and the people who checked the roof weren’t able to see anything through the windows. We’re pretty sure it's just cut off completely.”

 

“Weird, innit?” The man asked, finally looking away and up at the windows. Oh, how Beatrice wanted to agree, because it was bloody weird. This entire house was bloody weird.

 

”I suppose,” Beatrice replied with a shrug, “you can always cut a hole up to it - call us if there is water damage. We’ll send some people out here.”

”That’s awfully kind of you,” Price commented and Beatrice felt herself blush, unable to look at the older man who awoke some of her unspoken daddy issues, “do your company usually offer that for everyone?”

 

Beatrice busied herself by looking down at the files and shook her head before answering.

”Nah, we don’t,” she worked on making her freckled face much less red, before finally looking up at him, a polite smile on her face, “But it isn’t a usual house or offer for it, you know?”

 

The man nodded.

 

”I can give you some time to think about it and talk it through?” She offered, customer voice returning, hugging the files, “Now, or I can give you my card - perhaps not Benny’s, he needs a vacation - and you’re welcome to call me.”

 

Fuck, Beatrice hoped. She hoped so badly that they wanted it - so that she wouldn’t have to drag Benny out here once more, so she wouldn’t have to threaten any more YouTubers with calling the police, explaining the fact that it was private property. Then she wouldn’t have to drop off a sobbing Benny at his house again, she wouldn’t have to apologize to his poor wife once more.

She - and her boss - could leave this place behind, knowing it was in safe hands. That it could be given a new life, a new purpose. Beatrice liked that aspect when it came to selling places.

 

“ - and - why don’t I offer an extra deal? 10 grand less,” she offered, like that  proper saleswoman as she was, knowing Benny might be mad for half a second, until she promised he wouldn’t have to return ever again.

 

 

In truth, Beatrice had expected the men to ask for a few days to think about it. Perhaps, they would even do as a lot of interested parties had done and ghost - pun intended - them, never contacting them again. 

The men looked at each other, complete silence between them. The only thing Beatrice could hear was the wind playing with the trees of the forest that surrounded the home. Birds chirping like this was paradise, the soft rush of the long grass. Yet, despite the silence, she was pretty sure they were having a conversation about this whole thing. It wasn’t like she never had wordless conversations with her wife. Sometimes it just came naturally.

 

”Why don’t we say 2 grand less?” John Price finally offered, turning to her with a soft smile, “Then both you and your boss could get a vacation each.”

 

Beatrice blinked, confused over his offer for a moment. 

“So you - uh —“

 

”We would like the house, pet,” John Price gently confirmed, a calm smile on his lips.

Beatrice couldn’t remember the last time she had grinned that hard.

 

”Wonderful!” She chirped, as if she was one of the joyful birds in the nearby trees, “I’ll go get the contract!”

Chapter 2: Art pieces

Frustrating. That was perhaps the easiest way to describe how the last couple of years had been.

Frustrating, madly boring, repetitive… and, perhaps the worst, lonely. Utterly and despicably lonely. 

 

It was a pure miracle that you hadn’t become crazy yet. Or, maybe that was a part of the curse you currently lived in, in this big, broken house that was your permanent home.

 

One thing was warding off the different ghost hunters and YouTubers, who seemed to be obsessed with your murder; which, had been a very odd experience, and in all honesty still was. The amount of people you had watched step into your house, describing what they saw, for content you would never watch. 

They even had the audacity to criticise some of your interior design choices? It wasn’t really your fault that you never had the opportunity to finish your different projects.

 

Another thing was the mediums and spiritual people who turned up. They were hit or miss. Some were there to create content, just like the YouTubers, yet others seemed more honest. Genuine. Those were ones you liked, because most of them genuinely just wanted to have a conversation. Even if it was hard to communicate with them, especially at night.

 

Now a third thing, was real estate agents. Specifically one mister Benny Hansen. Oh, the JOY that man had brought you along the last two years. You had truly begun to feel a little bad for him at last, but you didn’t really have a lot of things going on in your life. Or afterlife… whatever this really was. Benny was easy to scare, especially during the day. Sure, you were often tired during the day, since you tended to be awake all night, and it was hard to make things move in your ghost form - but oh, the delight you felt whenever you slammed a door and Benny whined like a scared schoolgirl. Hell, you were even willing to ruin a cup or two, pushing them to the ground, watching them shatter, just so you could watch him almost piss himself.

Beatrice was a completely different type compared to her boss. You strongly suspected that she knew something was going on. But she either justified your actions with logical reasoning, or, she just fully ignored you. Either way, she was not as fun to haunt as her boss.

 

So yeah, not a lot of things happened.

 

Usually, there were a couple of months in between viewings. Most potential buyers were easily scared off, merely by the state of your home. As if they didn’t even want to consider the potential of your beautiful home.

Not that you wanted anyone to move in. They could just be a little more positive. No, you wanted the house for yourself.

 

Especially because of your, eh, situation.

 

You had fully believed that this group of random men were going to be the same. You had even spiced some walls up, adding some creepy answers to some questions from the most recent YouTuber. However, that hadn’t done the trick. In fact, it hadn’t scared them at all.

 

One of them had even taken a fucking selfie with it. That wasn’t what was supposed to happen. They were supposed to be scared by the, admittedly, slightly amusing replies. 

What ghost gave a “your mom” response?? 

You. The one and only. Because you were a cool ghost… so far also the only one you’ve met. Though, you supposed, there had to be someone like you, stuck in the same situation. But how did one find them? You couldn’t exactly google it.

 

 

At first you had followed them, watching them while you made sure to keep a little distance. Despite being invisible, you stood - or rather floated - in the corners of the rooms they looked into, taking in their expressions and Benny’s and Beatrice’s explanations.

In case you needed to really scare them, you should have spent a lot of energy on making yourself visible.

 

Doing so for these men didn't seem worth it to you - of course, they were going to decline the offer, even if Beatrice gave a good deal.

 

Besides, if you were to make yourself visible during the day, you wanted to wear a white gown with ketchup on. Just to keep the aesthetic going and make a proper impression. Or trauma. Whatever one decided to call it.

 

 

But then.

 

Then…

 

Then the bloody muppets AGREED. They didn’t even take the deal Beatrice offered them, they didn’t pay 10k less, only 2k less - they bought the house.

 

YOUR fucking HOME.

 

You slammed the door in anger. The Scottish one began to talk about watching the videos of seances inside your house. Well, according to the living, their house now.

 

A deep, burning anger overwhelmed you as you watched them go to the hallway, discussing practical matters with Beatrice. You slipped up through the house, to the roof of the house. 

The sun was still high. It didn’t warm your translucent body, but you felt warm from the rage anyways, so right now that didn’t matter. You sat on the roof, watching them walk towards the cars, clearly happy as their life had changed just now.

 

As you watched the grass sway around them, heard their laughter of joy and watched two of them hold hands, you made a promise to yourself.

 

You wouldn’t let them have your home.

 

You didn’t want them to be happy in a home that belonged to you. You deserved that happiness, they could wait their turn or find somewhere else.

It wasn’t like you could help the situation you were stuck in. But you could make bloody sure that they didn’t like living in the house, and force them to move out again.

 

You weren’t going to give up. You did, after all, have all the time in the world.

 

You had to spend the rest of your days here. Preferably alone. This was your house. They couldn’t just sell it to a bunch of kinda hot men.

 

 

No, they might look scary, but you were dead - somewhat - you could be scarier.

 

 

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

 

The trip back to their current space, a rented apartment they had outgrown years ago, was a wild one - especially when compared to the trip towards the house. 

 

Kyle scratched at the bandages on his left hand - the three fingers, that weren’t there anymore, were itching, his mind begging him to scratch what he couldn’t.

 

Simon’s hand stopped him, sliding to his thigh, giving it a squeeze, before he gently cradled Kyle’s right hand, pulling it away from the bandages. Kyle let out a small grumble, though there was no heat behind it. Simon pulled his hand up his lips and as his boyfriend peppered it with kisses, Kyle didn’t mind it anymore. As soon as they had left Beatrice, sweet girl really, and that crying boss of hers, Simon had pulled the surgical mask off.

 

His lips were dry, but the smile was genuine.

 

“You’ll rip the bandages off again,” Simon reminded him and Kyle attempted to give him a small smile.

 

“I know,” he muttered back, because he had indeed done so several times, frustrated and messed up mind almost forcing, “but they itch.”

 

“Ach, I can suck ye dick, Kyle,” Johnny offered, leaning over Simon, “it will distract ye, eh?”

“Don’t annoy him, shchenok,” Nikolai warned from the front seat, casting a glance over his shoulder before focusing on the road again, Soap rolling his eyes.

 

“Sorry, Kyle, I was nae trying tae make fun of it.”

“I know, you horny bastard,” Kyle simply replied, desperate to change the subject in an attempt to forget the way his hand hurt, “imagine how wild you can be when we move , eh?”

 

“Feckin’ hell,” Johnny slumped back in the seat, Simon giving Kyle’s good hand a squeeze, “I’m gonna fuck ye all outside.”

 

John snorted from the front, though Kyle couldn’t help but giggle.

“What if you traumatise the poor ghoul?” Simon pointed out, making Kyle raise a brow.

 

“Ghoul? Really?”

“Well, it’s confusing if we're called the same, innit?” Simon argued, tipping his head to the side, “it was my call sign first.”

“You gotta learn to share,” John pointed out from the front, tired yet amused tone, though he was sounding like he was two minutes from falling asleep, “besides, you’re not a literal ghost.”

“Sharing you lot with each other should be enough,” Kyle huffed at Simon’s dry reply but leant against his shoulder nonetheless, a tired but pleased sigh leaving him.

 

“You’re so noble for letting us fuck each other,” Kyle mused, feeling the way Simon’s shoulder moved as he chuckled, “we’re honoured, ye daft.” 

 

“I know,” came the sarcastic reply from Simon, “proper hero, aren’t I?”

 

 

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

You looked at your art piece, hands on your hips, proud of your work. You doubted the Louvre would accept it if you applied, nor would any other fancy gallery, yet as you put the paint brush down into the bucket of red paint, you felt pride inside your dead soul… - or whatever happened to your soul. You assumed it was still there. Maybe.

 

FUCK YOU, YOU BASTARDS, GET OUT OF MY HOUSE

 

Quite to the point. There was no reason to beat around the bush anyways - you had no plans on keeping it vague anyways. The moment they were going to return, there would be several notes left for them. Or threats. It was a question of how you would define it.

 

This art piece, statement, warning, whatever one was to call it - was the fourth of its kind, that you had made today.

 

You even did it on the wall of the bedroom, as much as it pained you to ruin the pretty paint on the wall. Same with the floor of the living room and in particular, you hated that you had to paint a message on the front door.

 

THIS IS MY HOUSE, IDIOTS

 

ILL CUT OFF YOUR TOES

 

STAY AWAY, ASSHOLES

 

The one with the toes was the one in the bedroom. A proper warning, in your opinion. 

Good one too, it was very specific. Nobody wanted to lose their toes. Not that you were going to do so, fuck no. The mere thought was disgusting to you. Sure you were going to annoy them, harass the shit out of them, but cutting toes off or anything like that? That was crossing the line. Even for a ghost like you.

All in all, you made your points clear; you knew they bought the house, knew they were going to move in - and you was far from fucking happy with that.

Sure, it had been a little hard to paint your statements in the dark, but that was the only possibility. Paintbrush in one hand, flashlight in the other.

 

Afterwards, you took the paintbrush and bucket with you, stepping in through the tall mirror in the hallway, stepping out of the mirror in the attic.

 

The first time you had realised that you could step through mirrors was… an experience, to put it lightly. It freaked you out, more than it probably should, given your situation. 

Sure, it quickly turned out to be a great benefit, especially when people decided to come around at night, when you were in your human form.

 

Human form. 

Ghost form.

 

Not the most creative way to describe the dilemma you had been stuck in, for the last couple of years, but in many ways, it was the easiest. No reason to complicate what you didn’t understand in the first way.

But the attic turned out to be your safe space. You had never been up there when alive, the former owner having closed it off before you bought the house, but there had still been things up there. One of those things left behind was a mirror, which served like a door to the cut off space. Why the fuck the former owner chose to just… leave it there or even cut the attic off fully, you didn’t know. But it was the perfect hiding spot and had been your makeshift room ever since you died. Somewhat died. Halfway died.

 

Cursed in a way, you figured. At least, that was what a medium had told you one day. She had been kind, an elderly black lady, who had looked at you in pity when she had seen you. How the fuck she knew of your situation, you never figured out, because she never returned. 

Finding her wasn’t exactly easy. Whenever you left the house, you felt a pull. The longer you moved away, the stronger it got, the more it began to hurt.

Getting groceries sucked ass, to put it mildly. But, in your human form, you had to eat. Hunger showed no mercy, no matter who you were.

 

You put the paint bucket onto the little makeshift shelf in your attic room, before going through the mirror again, to jump through to the mirror in the bathroom. You washed off the brush, before returning to the room, adding it to your little glass of paintbrushes. You hadn’t really been a creative person before being killed, but you supposed you were kind of an artist now, with the different messages and pentagrams you created. One might say that you created installations. Rooms that wanted to be left alone.

 

You sat down on your mattress, watching your little room. There were fairy lights turned on, in a desperate attempt to make the nights a little more pleasant. The small windows were covered during the night, so nobody would see the light from the outside.

Home. You had attempted to make this one part of the room, your proper room. Which was hard, given the sloping walls and often cold air filling it, but you tried nonetheless.

 

Awake at night, asleep during the day. Which, you strongly suspected you might have to change now with the group of men, who was going to move in. 

 

You let out a huff, before you scratched your scar just beneath your rib cage, absentmindedly scratching off some crystals that grew from it regularly.

A part of you wanted to make a proper meal. A proper, nice, warm meal, so you could get some good food into your body, before you continued the night by putting up more warnings. Though, the other part of you feared being seen - what if somebody was going to be more observant with your home now? Then rummaging around the kitchen, turning the lights on, probably wouldn’t be a good idea.

 

Instead, you settled on instant noodles. The cheapest kind from one of the local grocery stores, the easiest to get really, turning on your electric kettle you kept upstairs. Quietly watching the water boil, thinking about what the fuck you were going to do. You would need food - you couldn’t just stop eating because these dudes were here, but at the same time, you had a sneaking suspicion that they were going to be an observant bunch. You were observant yourself. Military did that to you, though it had been years since you left by now.

 

The weird thing about becoming a cursed ghost, was the fact that you got your whole arm back when you died. Which you freaked out about, the moment you were finished freaking out about being a ghost. Then, when you turned into a human the moment the sun went down, you freaked out about that - then, you repeated the earlier action of freaking out about having your arm back.

You had decided not to dig any deeper - how the fuck the arm got back, if it grew back and it was technically a new arm, or if your actual cut off arm magically disappeared from somewhere to be reattached. You were afraid it would make you question even more stuff.

 

Some things were easier to swallow if you didn’t know the ingredients.  

 

There was a lack of ingredients in the instant noodles, but you didn’t really care. You sat at the old small desk which had also been left in the attic, sitting on a chair you had managed to get through the mirrors. Your notebook was in front of you, with a list messily scribbled on the page. You crossed out another one of the points. 

 

• Get more cash
• write more threats
• wash your clothes before they come back
• Buy more instant noodles
• snacks (important)
• soda
• Books
• get battery for vibrator (Important)
• Blood? Ketchup?
• tampons and pads
• Oldschool white dress
• extra mirrors
• feed the cat on the back porch

 

 

You tapped your pen against the paper a couple of times. You would need to go out shopping tomorrow. The biggest problems were getting more cash and then the scary dress. Most thrift shops tended to close after dark. The money was more of a moral dilemma, as it felt wrong to steal… sometimes. You tended to steal from people who wouldn’t need it or barely realised that it was gone.

 

The pen was abandoned on the open notebook, your attention back on the tasteless noodles. 

 

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

 

It was an odd experience to pack everything you owned into moving boxes, and though John knew it was one of the biggest parts of moving, it was still hard. 

There were so many things he had forgotten about.

Receipts for the weirdest stuff, that he had no use for anymore. The guarantee on the blender they bought 7 years ago was long gone - so was the blender. The amount of beard oils was concerning and John - well, all of them - kept finding them all over. Which was weird, because John swore he could never find any, when he needed it.

Socks, but never in pairs, so many individual ones that always looked just slightly apart. 

 

Then, the more nostalgic things. Photos. Some he remembered being taken, others he didn’t. Group photos, some from while they had been away on missions, others when they played civilians.

An evening in the pub, empty glasses filling the table, Laswell grinning like a fool, way more drunk that time, than usual. A picture of Nikolai on a donut float in a pool, a fancy-looking cocktail in his hand. A closeup of Kyle and Johnny sleeping against each other on a flight, both drooling, after a long mission - both starting to grow beards.

Then there were more stupid things that still meant something. A snow globe Nikolai had gotten Simon, with small skeletons dancing inside. A tiny ceramic flagpole with a small pride flag on, that Kyle had brought home one day and demanded to put on the table every pride month. A giant shark plushie, a so-called blåhaj, that Johnny had seen during the yearly visit to IKEA and refused to leave without. Simon had called it ridiculous, but when he got put on medical leave while the rest of them had to work, he did get caught cuddling with the plushie several times. Another thing was a fake plant that John had watered for months, thinking it was real - while none of the others had told him, quietly pouring out the water in the sink every time. 

 

 

Then there was the great amount of sex toys and other kinky related stuff. 

Blueberry flavored lube which they had only used once and for some fucking reason, never thrown out. It had been a crazy way for John to find out he was allergic to blueberries. But he had survived - both the swelling and rash on his dick, as well as horror and shame he endured during the trip to the emergency room. John threw the lube bottle directly in the trash.

 

Polaroids hidden in an old shoe box in the bag of the closet. Some of them were harmless looking, unless one knew the context of them - a closeup of Nikolai’s face, sweat dripping down his skin, lips parted, eyes half hooded. He had been riding Ghost’ dick for the first time, a beautiful memory caught by the camera. Price could recognise his fingers, digging into the soft skin of Kyle’s back, small crescent marks already pushed into Kyle’s skin, exposed by the flash.

The back of Ghost’s head, barely visible with how Soap’s legs were locked around it, trying to keep his Lieutenant’s mouth on his cock. Another picture of Kyle fucking Johnny, his pretty fingers gripping onto the Scot’s hair. Then one of Price being gagged with one of Simon’s balaclavas, while Nikolai was fucking him and Simon was leaving bite marks on his chest. Nikolai grinning next to Kyle’s, Simon’s and Johnny’s cocks, all in cock cages.

 

It was easy to get distracted. To return into memories, how they had all changed and grown throughout the last years. How they were all here now, packing their stuff to start anew, to try the retirement life. 

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

It had been a miracle that they managed to get the trucks through the overgrown driveway, without getting stuck along the way. They had two big cars, one of them pulling a trailer. Laswell had joined as well, her SUV stopping next to theirs, stepping out, her wife and their foster dogs following.

 

The four dogs instantly ran all around, barking happily as they disappeared into the tall grass of the garden. All the cars were filled to the brim with things and Kyle had a growing suspicion that another trip back wouldn't even be enough to have everything here. They really had too many things. But then again, they had better space now, the new house much bigger.

Kyle stepped out, stretching, while Simon jumped out from the passenger seat. Despite the slight pain in his hand, Kyle refused to let Simon drive. He didn’t trust that man at all behind a wheel, no matter how much he loved him.

Both of them pretending that Simon hadn’t sucked Kyle off, when they “stopped for gas” earlier. Kyle suspected that all of them knew and if they hadn’t guessed it yet, the smug smile on Simon’s face would expose them.

 

 

Kyle glanced over at the others, Kate pointing towards the door while her wife looked slightly mortified - so, Kyle went over there, without bringing any of the cardboard boxes.

 

“Interesting design choice,” Kate commented, the others joining her, “big fan of the color.”

 

THIS IS MY HOUSE, IDIOTS

 

A dark “heh” left Simon, while Kyle just stared at the red writing on the front door. 

“It was nae ‘ere last time,” Johnny answered their friend, almost as if to defend their new home, “Bloody prank by local teens.”

 

Kyle let out a huff. It had indeed not been here the last time, but he had a gut feeling that there was quite a long way to the nearest teenagers. Going out here, in the middle of nowhere, just to vandalise an old house? It seemed a little excessive to him.

 

”We’ll get cameras,” John pointed out, raising his cane to point towards the message, “catch whoever does this, so we don’t have to clean off more of this mischief.”

“Da,” Nikolai joined, carrying a box, “will be the proper last mission for us.”

 

Kate snorted, while her wife, Olivia, nervously twisted her fingers, not taking her eyes off the door.

 

”It’s a bit creepy,” Olivia muttered, “with everything that happened in there.”

”Dinnae worry, Liv,” John mused, patting the woman on her shoulder while walking past her, going to open the door, “I will protect ye.”

 

”I’ll protect my own wife, thank you very much,” Kate grumbled, grabbing her wife’s hand as they followed.

While Kyle smiled, following the others inside, he knew Olivia was kind of right. Even if he didn’t believe in ghosts - or well, ghouls, as Simon demanded they called them - he didn’t like the idea of someone breaking into the house to write creepy messages all over.

 

Cleaning would be their first priority, he supposed.

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

Two of the dogs stood in the living room, intensely watching you in the corner. You were resting in an armchair, awake during the day, to keep a track of what the men were doing.

 

What you hadn’t expected to be the biggest annoyance of the day, was the bloody dogs. ALL of them stared directly at you when in the same room. Almost as if they could see you. You hated the thought. They shouldn’t be able to and you tried to convince yourself that you were merely imagining it, but as their eyes followed your every move, you got more and more convinced that they actually could. So you made it a point to stay away from them.

 

At least they didn’t belong to the men. The group of men moving into your home, daring to call it theirs, were bad enough - you didn’t need dogs following you every day.

Chapter 3: Creepy songs and bear traps

Notes:

Well, look at me returning with stuff after not having the energy to finish anything for a good while. Enjoy, sinners, MWAH.

Well. All of this wasn’t going as you had hoped. In fact, it was going much, much worse than you had expected — in truth, in the total opposite direction of your plans. They had seen more upset about the fact that somebody had been inside “their” house, than the actual ominous threats you left behind all over.

 

They had even laughed at the toes threat. They weren’t supposed to find it funny.

 

Losing your toes wasn't funny. 

 

You were slouched over in surrender, as you switched between following a few of them around lazily, floating a bit from the ground. Usually you would be asleep by now, but no, these freaks had to move most things today. Being noisy and enjoying themselves, not thinking about the proper owner of the house. Made it impossible for you - the actual owner - to enjoy yourself and sleep peacefully.

So you were being nosy in response and enjoying yourself, judging a lot, if not all, of the stuff they brought inside. You might as well figure out some more about them, as it seemed like you were going to have to scare them away properly.

 

You broke an ashtray. 

 

One of the men got blamed for it.

 

Slammed a door.

 

It was the wind, they said.

 

Flushed the toilet.

 

The toilet was just broken.

 

 

They were fucking impossible to scare. The real estate agent had been so fucking easier to terrify.

 

 

The biggest thing that you judged them for, so far at least, was the fucking whiteboard. They had moved your kitchen mirror to the side and pushed the whiteboard - on fucking wheels - in front of the kitchen table; only to make a fucking war plan.

 

It was like you were back at your former base, listening to the plans for the upcoming mission. They even had the house plan, adding different things that needed to be fixed in every room.

Why the fuck they didn’t even wait to move in, you didn’t know, because they needed to clean a lot, paint a lot and fix floorboards - as well as windows.

 

How were they supposed to leave the military world behind, when they still acted like this was a full blown mission to just move?

 

Since they all seemed retired anyways, they should be able to see the advantages of cleaning up and getting more ready before they hauled everything into the fucking house. That didn’t seem to hold them back though.

 

 

Maybe they truly needed something to do in life, constantly needing a project… just like you had, when you found this place, several years ago. Dreaming of your own little slice of paradise, of somewhere safe and beautiful.

 

If they were killed here by another cult… then you were going to scream. One thing was being a cursed ghost, but you were not sharing your house in ghost form with them too. Then you could never truly escape them. You could, at the very least, hopefully scare them away from the house.

 

If they died like you and got bound to the house, then you were screwed.

 

Sure, it was not morally correct to mess with veterans…

But then again, did laws and moral codes even apply to you, since you were dead half of the time? Not in your own opinion.

Besides, you were a veteran yourself, so they were technically harassing you too.

 

Bastards.

Fucking, stupid bastards with nice asses and big arms.

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

You were sincerely relieved when you watched them drive off in the evening, after adding new locks and fixing the doors. They were returning tomorrow, that much you caught from their conversation, despite taking a break from them and  napping for a couple of hours.

 

They had left just before the sun fully disappeared, leaving you alone for the night, which was a part of the relief. You could be alone during this night, be in your human form in peace. Despite slamming several doors throughout the day and pushing things from counters, they hadn’t really reacted much. It had taken a lot of energy, hence why you had needed your nap. And despite being tired now, you crawled through the mirror into the kitchen, ready to see what food they left behind - and to rummage through their things.

 

You couldn’t really violate their privacy and boundaries when they moved into your house, could you? They were the ones violating your privacy. In fact, those things might as well be yours now. So you told yourself at least, while you nippled on the crackers left behind, going to the different rooms where they had placed stuff. 

 

It felt weird to suddenly have so much stuff in the house. You had grown accustomed to the rooms mostly being empty, only a few things of yours left behind. 

You happily left a trail of crumbs as you opened some of the boxes - maybe they would think they had mice or rats. That would keep them distracted at least.

 

Right now, you were worried that the military men were going to remove one of your mirrors. They had commented on the amount of them during the day and while yes, you almost had one in every room, it was just the easiest way for you to travel at night. Besides, after a few too close calls, you knew it was better to have too many escape doors than too little.

 

You stole some of their socks. Sue you. It wasn’t like it was easy for you to go shopping. You also stole a soft hoodie that you found in another box, the name Kyle messily written on the side. It was surprisingly hard to get new stuff when you couldn’t go out during the day and didn’t have a credit card. 

 

Then you looked through some of the boxes in your bedroom, hoping to find some nice new sheets - which you did find, but you also found a surprising amount of sex toys. You were far from innocent or easily flustered, but some of the things took you several moments to understand what they even were. 

 

You also found… pictures. A LOT of pictures.

 

You should be the first to admit that the men who were taking over your house were… well… kinda hot. Of course, you would never tell them. But five hot, rugged men moved into your lil lonely house - and one expected you not to be horny at the idea.

 

Sure, you were mad at them moving in, but at the very least, you could get some wank material. Then they could move out.

You ended up stealing two more packs of crackers and a beer, retreating to your attic to make a new art project.

Because you found something else in one of their boxes.

 

 

John, Nikolai, Simon, Kyle, Johnny

I know who you are

 

move out of my fuckin’ house

it’s mine, I bought it first!

I will make your lives bloody hell if you bastards sta!

Fuck off!!

Leave!!

Piss off!!

Just fucking go away.

 

Best regards and loving threats,

“Ghoul”

(Also, please buy some dry food for the back porch cat. She doesn’t like chicken flavour.)

((also fuck all of you.))

 

Sure, it was written on notebook paper, which wasn’t that scary - but the big hunting knife which you had found in a box, with dried blood on it, did add to the scare factor. And when one stabbed the paper directly into the wall across the front door, it added to the atmosphere. You had heard them use the name “Ghoul” when talking about you, which, well, you didn’t hate the name, but you certainly wasn’t a fan of it either. You had heard them call the big guy with the scarred face for Ghost, so you supposed that name was taken.

 

You crawled through the mirror, yawning as you got back into your attic. Your safe space. Hopefully they wouldn’t attempt to go up there. It would be awful, really. You also needed to make sure they wouldn’t remove your many mirrors.

 

This would show them who was in charge - that you were serious about your threats.

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

“What th’ hell!” the words left Johnny before he could think about it, “this is goin’ too far!”

 

The others gathered around him, only John muttering out a small “bloody hell,” at the sight of the knife forced into the wall, the note attached.

 

”Now we have tae fix that hole,” Johnny stared at it angrily, putting down the box with stuff, “And ah already ken its gonna be me, doin’ et.”

 

”Now that you offer,” Kyle answered dryly and Johnny sent him a nasty look, as Simon walked to the wall, looking at what Johnny presumed to be his boyfriend’s knife.

A huff left the man with the dark, blonde hair before he pulled the knife out of the wall, dusting it off, before reading the note.

 

“She is making demands now.” Simon commented and Johnny moved, snatched the paper out of his hand.

 

”she feckin’ ken our names,” Johnny hissed, anger fueling him, an annoyed growl leaving him as Nikolai snatched it out of his hand. A dark chuckle left the Russian. 

 

“It’s nae funny!” Johnny pointed out, “She has been listenin’ tae us! What if she is a real ghost? Or a proper spirit? Mah grandma told me never tae mess with those.”

”You weren’t afraid earlier,” John commented, reading together with Nikolai. Kyle did so too, raising his eyebrows at it.

 

”Well?”

“Whoever this is,” John finally answered, leaning a bit against his cane, “has clearly bugged the house or something. This ‘ghoul’ person clearly live here.”

 

“Ah am telling ye,” Johnny looked over at the hole in the wall, that he still knew for a fact that he was going to be fixing, “this is a proper haunted house.”

 

”We got a good deal then,” Simon commented, twirling the big knife in his hand, which really shouldn’t be hot, but it was, “a house, a ghost and a back porch cat - for cheap.”

”This is nae funny!”

 

“Calm down, mate,” Kyle moved past him, tapping at the hole with his good hand, “We will throw a picture over the hole. Then we’re gonna search the house and find our little spectre.”

 

”What about trap, da?” Nikolai offered, his tone a tad too happy, “I know I have bear traps somewhere.”

“Why the fuck do you have bear traps, Nik?” Kyle asked before Johnny could. The older man didn’t give much of an answer, merely shrugging, as if having a couple of bear traps laying around, somewhere that didn’t have bears, was normal human behaviour. 

 

“Cameras,” John suggested instead.

”And we listen for sounds at night,” Simon added, moving to kiss Johnny’s forehead - a gesture that sent butterflies through Johnny’s body, a soft sigh leaving him, “We will find the ghoul, throw ‘er out so we can live in peace, eh?”

 

”Let’s get to packing out,” John commanded, voice softer than when he was an official captain, “we will buy cat food later.”

 

”We need a lot of crucifixes,” Johnny pointed out angrily, “I’m nae dyin’ because ye wouldn’t believe me.”

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

 

SQUATTER

 

You stared at the capitalised word, a frown on your see-through face. This was ridiculous - and since you slept badly, this certainly didn’t help your foul mood.

 

Squatter - they called you a squatter, writing it on their stupid whiteboard, as if you were the main target, the person they had to kill.

 

You supposed you were the target - they were just too late for the killing part.

 

You watched them sit on their chairs around your dining table, most of them sipping tea, as they watched their captain - partner? Boyfriend? Former captain? Whatever he wanted to be called - write down notes with the squeaky pen.

 

You sat on the free chair. Rather, you floated a bit over it, but it was hard to sit on surfaces when you didn’t really have a physical body - not in the same way you used to at least.

So far, the only one who seemed a little bit affected was the handsome, Scottish man, with the big scar. Johnny, if you weren’t wrong.

 

The others had declared you a squatter which was first of all very rude and secondly, they were the technical squatters.

 

“So, what do we know?” John asked and you almost raised your hand out of reflex. In a way this was nostalgic, having a meeting like this, even if you’re the subject and they were threatening your living situation. Or, well, halfway situation, you supposed. Living dead situation.

 

You stared at your nails, getting lost in your mind for a few moments. A living dead was a zombie, you supposed. Then again, you didn’t eat human meat and certainly didn’t want to. Maybe you were closer to being a kind of vampire… then again, no urge to drink blood. And what kind of vampire could transport themselves through mirrors? Weren’t they unable to see their own reflection? 

 

 

“It is not her,” the man with the strong Russian accent declared, waving his hand towards the Scot in dismissal, “I looked it up and she is very much dead. Dead and buried.”

 

You cringed. It wasn’t hard to guess who they were talking about. You looked back at the whiteboard, blinking at the amount of things they had written, while you had pondered about your existence. It was like a proper brainstorm task. 

 

SQUATTER 

-“Ghoul” she/her (?)

-Knows our names

-Most likely keys to the doors

-Steals food

-Only comes out at night 

 

Ideas 

-Check for bugs, microphones and cameras 

-Install own cameras 

-Find way into the attic

-One stays awake during the night 

-bear traps

 

 

“Shoot ‘er,” the emo one, with the fingerless gloves with bones on, suggested coldly and you sent him an angry look, upset he couldn’t see it. You were going to cut holes in all of his socks, that was for sure. At least the others protested.

 

“We can’t just kill a lass because she is a squatter,” Kyle pointed out, absentmindedly fidgeting with his bandages on one hand, making you wonder what happened for a moment, “we’re supposed to be done killing people, Si!”

 

“Nobody has to know,” he answered with a shrug. You were going to piss on all of his cigarettes too. What an asshole. 

 

Not that this made you less curious about what all of them used to do in the military. Special forces, clearly, but what exactly had caused them to move out in the middle of nowhere. Besides not being judged for being poly.

 

“Nah, too violent, LT,” Johnny pointed out, “besides, ye cannae shoot a ghoul!”

 

“Watch me try.” 

 

You swallowed. Maybe you should steal some of their bullets, just to be safe. The ones specifically owned by the emo.

 

“Nyet nyet, way too dangerous,” Nikolai argued back and you could almost have thanked him, “do not worry, my boys, I have found my bear traps.”

 

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, hiding your face in your hands, wondering how the fuck you were going to deal with all of this shit. At least they couldn’t hear you.

 

“Dinnae do that! What if the cat walks into et?” The Scot argued and maybe he was truly your favorite so far, “my Mrs. Moon cannae be hurt!”

“The cat doesn’t even like you, Johnny boy,” Kyle argued, while you were busy cringing over the name - why would he name the back porch kitty Mrs. Moon? Were they just not a creative bunch when it came to names?

 

“She will!”

“She scratched your hand, no?” Nikolai asked with a snicker, catching the hand that tried to hit him on the shoulder and he brought it to his mouth, gently kissing the knuckles one after one, “it is okay, sweet boy. No bear traps.”

 

John sighed, erasing bear traps from the list.

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

That night you carefully painted blood splatter on your newly required white dress. You would add white socks and attempt to put on as much setting power on your skin as possible, hoping it would give some sort of ‘dead’-ish affect. You weren’t sure if it would work, but you were willing to try.

 

You spent several hours up there, reading after finishing the dress, attempting to be as quiet as possible. They were sleeping in the house for the first night and you really didn’t want to get caught the first night.

With food and water already in the attic, you didn’t need to go downstairs, you had everything you needed.

 

The problem was that you wanted to. Oh, you wanted it SO badly. To sneak around some more and see what they had been up to, while you had napped earlier. See if they had actually managed to put up surveillance cameras or something, see if they had bought your cat - who was definitely not your cat, back porch kitty just hung around - some food, so that she wouldn’t starve.

 

it was the early hours of the morning that you finally caved in. The sun would rise in half an hour. 

 

Luckily, they hadn’t moved the mirror from what they had chosen to be the bedroom. Carefully, your heart beating so fast it almost hurt, you pushed your face through the mirror, thinking of the room.

 

They were all sleeping. Some of them snoring, all of the men curled together on the mattresses, limbs intertwined, hands holding onto each other. The room was filled with the soft sounds of their soft and slow breathing - safe the snoring ones, those were louder. Like small chainsaws.

 

You didn’t do anything. You just… watched.

 

None of them wore that much clothes, shame from watching them rushing through you for a moment. Most of them were in underwear, one in sweatpants, only two of the five men wore shirts. It wasn’t like you were going to step into the room, even though you wanted to, the sight of tones muscles and soft stomachs were tempting as fuck.

 

… you needed to get laid. That wasn’t easy. Maybe you needed to watch some porn.

 

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

Sleep was begging you to move to your bed; to float through the walls and floors and curl up on the mattress, to relax after being awake from most of the day.

Yet, you didn’t do that, instead you sat on the kitchen counter, watching them eat pancakes, with a slight jealous feeling. It had been ages since you had pancakes and here they were, eating them happily with each other.

 

It seemed… cozy. They looked… happy. Perhaps the jealousy wasn’t really over the pancakes, but the social aspects of the whole situation. To connect with another human being, to feel loved, to feel like you mattered.

 

To not be considered dead, only remembered by the ones who were interested in your murder.

 

You stayed, listening to their plans for the day. They were going to get surveillance cameras - wonderful. That meant you had to unplug them or something, while in your ghost form, so it wouldn’t be noticed. 

 

Perhaps tonight would be perfect to start messing with them. Especially as most of them said they hadn’t heard anything all night or felt anything.

 

”Felt watched,” the grumpy one said, “like somebody was watching us sleep.”

 

You cringed at the comment. At least he hadn’t seen you. So far so good. Though, even if he had, how was he going to explain it to the others? A head, sticking out of the mirror, watching them - then disappearing into it?

Didn’t really make him sound super sane.

 

You wanted to mess with one of them though - and you had the perfect idea.

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

 

As soon as the sun disappeared, the last rays of it had gone to bed and the darkness took over, your body changed. The transformation was, as always, an odd and uncomfortable feeling. Even after five years, changing into a physical form felt wrong. For bones to appear, muscles and blood vessels curling all around, limbs appearing at the matter of seconds. 

 

Crystals growing from your wound, greeting you like an old friend as you scratched it, letting out a small hum. 

 

The plan was simple. When one of them went to the bathroom - most likely the Scot, as he did that last night - you would wait for him in the hallway, and start to sing something creepy. And when he would step closer, you would go to the bathroom and disappear into the mirror as fast as possible.

 

Then the chaos would erupt.

 

And you would enjoy it.

 

You had chosen the standard scary song - or at least, to you. You could remember most of the lyrics of come little children, specifically the creepy version. Sure, not all of them - nor were you the greatest singer. You were far from bad, but not anything to write home about.

It didn’t matter, not really. It was about the vibes, about watching a woman, clad in white, with blood on her, to sing creepily before she disappeared. 

 

All the directors who made ghost movies would be in love with you, you were sure - and, it would definitely mess with whoever of the men who would see you.

 

Did you feel bad? Slightly. They definitely had their own nightmares to fight, their own demons, but you HAD warned them. Told them not to move in, to leave as quickly as possible.

They hadn’t listened, alas you had to make the threats come true. 

 

“Come little children,” you muttered to yourself, as you put more and more setting powder on your skin. You weren’t really sure that you looked like a ghost or just like somebody who didn’t know how to use setting powder, but you had to give it a try. It was about the vibes.

 

You had your own nightmares, after all. Almost every time you slept, you dreamt of crystals forced into your body, of them growing from your bones and forcing their way through your skin. The people who had murdered you. The missions you had participated in, before even moving here. Losing your leg. So many things rushed through your mind whenever you slept.

 

So, yeah - you felt bad, but again, you could have done worse. You could actually have cut off one of their toes to prove your point, so this seemed rather harmless.

You winced slightly as one of the floorboards moved beneath you, creating the slightest creaking noise. It had become stressful to move around in the attic. It hadn’t been something you had to worry about often when you lived alone. But now, with five fucking military men living in your house, you constantly had to remember which spots made sounds and which didn’t. 

 

It was a matter of time before they would notice. It would be a matter of time before you would slip up, one way or another. You would be busted in your human form and they wouldn’t believe your explanations. 

Hell, you doubted they would be up for an orgy if they caught you. 

 

 

 

Slipping into the upstairs bathroom was only easy due to the tall mirror, mounted to the wall. The tiles were cold beneath your bare feet, for a second reminding you that you had to pee. You cast a glance towards your reflection. 

 

You looked… well odd. Definitely scary in some sort of way, which you supposed was the most important. The small amount of moonlight coming in through the tiny window, added to the weird white shine from the setting powder that didn’t match your skin. You had added a bit of eye makeup, dark and reddish circles around your eyes.

 

For half a second, you felt like a young teenager; uncertain about your body, about the clothes you wore and how others would perceive you. The difference was of course that you weren’t pretending to be dressed as a ghost when you were that age, but still. 

Your life had almost seemed to be frozen ever since you died. Sure, your hair grew, so did your nails. Yet, you had been alone for all those years, only ever visited by those who were into the paranormal - as well as the occasional, amusing visit from your real estate agents.

A part of you wondered why you hungered to return to that life. Why did you so badly dream of having the house to yourself again? When it had been a never ending cycle of loneliness and lifeless boredom. You had been unable to return to that life you had, before a cult had decided to choose you as their victim.

 

 

The sound of somebody getting up from the bed next door, the floorboards creaking ever so slightly, made you abandon all deep thoughts. It was best to not get too lost in them anyway.

With a couple of easy steps you moved out into the hallway, taking a deep breath.

 

Rustling from the room further down the hallway and then the door handle was pressed down; the door opened, and you did your best to keep every emotion from your face, to look as scary as possible.

 

At first the man didn’t notice you, busy closing the door behind him - but then he turned and, eyes locking with yours and he froze completely. Eyes widened, mouth opened. Not a sound escaped him.

 

You didn’t sing the song properly. Couldn’t make yourself do it. It was as if most of the words were stuck in your mouth, sticking to your tongue, unable to let loose.

Instead you hummed.

 

 

The second he moved, you heard more movement from the bedroom. So with a quick turn, you darted back into the bathroom, hurrying inside the mirror. 

 

 

Then you waited, almost not breathing in anticipation.

 

You could hear them talk. Yell, then, the Scot probably upset.

Mostly because he hadn’t heard you. You winced, having forgotten he had a hearing loss. It made sense that he didn’t wear his aids when just going to the bathroom.

 

So much for singing a creepy song.

 

Despite this, it seemed like you had freaked everyone out, one way or another. You listened to them rummaging around the bathroom for a good while, not understanding where the fuck you had gone. They even knocked on the ceiling, as if they were trying to find a hidden door to you. 

 

You sat quietly on your bed, merely listening as the Scot kept insisting that he had seen you.

 

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

You weren’t sure when exactly you had fallen asleep, but the transformation hadn’t awoken you; that wasn’t unusual really, you had tried it so many times that despite the pain, you were able to sleep through it sometimes.

 

You were in the bed, floating slightly above it, still in the white dress. Your skin itched, no doubt from the excessive use of powder to look more dead, or at least attempt to. The sun was shining in through a small spot in the window. There was an almost dried spot on the pillow, from where you had most likely drooled during the night.

 

Sounds.

 

You closed your eyes again. You desperately wanted a quiet morning. Wanted there to be nothing but the sound of nature around you. Perhaps you were easily annoyed, but death did that to you. If you had to live every single day, never changing besides the dead or undead state, in a never ending cycle you didn’t know when it ended, then you found your preferences. You, for example, preferred peace.

 

Frying. Words. Ceramic plates. Electric kettle. Hands rummaging through a moving box. The squeaking sound of the alcohol pen writing on the whiteboard in the kitchen. Voices. Laughter.

 

A coffee machine started. You let out a deep huff. Coffee. You could use some coffee. Some proper food as well. You turned over onto your stomach, still floating a little above the bed, not actually touching the soft material. 

 

As you opened your eyes, you imagined sitting in between them. Getting a plate, offered coffee. Maybe a glass of juice. You didn’t even particularly like juice, but you would drink it. Ignore the taste of synthetic oranges, decline a second glass politely. 

 

You didn’t even know what they were making, but you figured it was probably rather traditional. Would they serve you a plate with toast and egg? Bacon, beans, sausage? Or would they eat bedrolls with delight, jam and butter upon it?

 

What would the-…

 

You stopped your imaginary scenarios before you got lost in them and sat up. Changing into another outfit was a bit of a struggle. It wasn’t impossible while in this state, it was just odd, the fabrics turning see through like you were when you touched them. Still, they covered your body, not showing off your nipples or anything.

You didn’t question it. There wasn’t a scientific explanation behind your fucking situation anyways.

 

Purely out of habit, you moved through the mirrors, even though you could just float through the floors. They hadn’t removed the mirror in the kitchen yet, though it was moved to the right, leaning against the wall - their stupid whiteboard had taken its spot.

 

The kitchen was weirdly active. The many different smells of food hit you like a freight train, making drool collect in your mouth. Fuck, you wanted to devour every single dish. Even the fried eggs that the grim reaper was making, which looked quite burned. 

 

 

The Scot looked tired, heavy bags beneath his eyes, that made you winced. You didn’t feel bad, not really - definitely not - they were the ones that were taking over your fucking house, you refused to feel bad for making him sleep badly. 

 

You dared to look around the room. Everyone but the captain and the Russian, looked tired. Even the grim reaper, face exposed, looked like he could use a couple of more hours. Apparently the oldest had slept well enough, despite your antics. 

You licked your lips, imagining you were the one shoveling omelette into your mouth like Soap, or sipping tea like Price. You wondered if he liked his tea sugary like you did.

 

Ugh. You hated how you began to know their names. Began to wonder about what they liked.

 

”- am telling ye’,” Soap said between two bites, mouth almost full, pointing the fork threateningly at Kyle - his name was Kyle, wasn’t it? Or was it Gaz? - while he continued, “ah saw ‘er, creepy lookin’ lass running intae the bathroom!”

Kyle just hummed and you floated to the kitchen counter, settling on it, a little from Simon. Not that he would walk into you, he would walk through you, but it was from habit. 

 

“-and you didn’t smoke any weed yesterday?”

 

You huffed - they weren’t going to blame it on weed, were they? Also, weed. Fuck, you hadn’t smoked for years. Your thoughts pulled you fully into your mind again, back to the memories of the last times you had smoked.

 

Curled together on a chair on the back porch, watching the sweet back porch cat chase a moth on the grass. You wondered if they had gotten her food. They better have. She was getting older, hunting was becoming a little harder.

Not that she was your cat. She was nobody’s cat but… she had been there though. Before your death. During your… whatever this was. You hadn’t even known her for long when you turned into a human being. But she would greet you in either form, for some fucking reason able to see you in both.

 

Just like the dogs when they moved in.

 

“— cannae hear anymore, ye eejiot,” Soap snapped, back at raising his fork like a weapon, “How was ah supposed tae ken what she was saying?”

You cringed. He had a point. 

 

“I heard ‘er.” 

 

He passed through you that exact moment, but the brute of a man called Simon merely let out a tiny ‘hm’ at the cold feeling, while you shuttered yourself. 

 

“Right! Lt heard ‘er! I’m nae insane!”

”We never said you were, sweetheart,” Price mused lovingly.

”Ye insinuated it!”

 

Nikolai laughed, but Ghost didn’t — he passed through you again, making you yelp. They couldn’t hear you, but he still stopped a step later, looking over his shoulder directly at you as if he could. 

 

You felt like a deer in the headlights. You knew he couldn’t see you, it was the cold spot he reacted to, yet it still made you uncomfortable as fuck. He let out a hum, turning back to the pan with the burned eggs on, sliding them onto a plate. It wasn’t like it felt nice to you when somebody walked through you. It was a reminder of your lack of body, like you disappeared for a moment, ripped apart like you were nothing but.

 

”Singin’?”

Ah, you lost track of the conversation again.

 

”Yup,” Skeleton man answered, sitting down on the last chair. You stayed on the kitchen counter, watching them, “she was singing. ‘Bout kids or something.”

 

“Is Ghoul broody?” Nikolai asked, eyebrows raised before absentmindedly pulling Kyle’s good hand from scratching at the back. You felt anger and embarrassment rush through you. You certainly weren't broody! What the fuck did he even mean with that? You were trying to be creepy, it had been very creepy, but apparently you hadn’t been clear enough.

”Be nice, she isn’t a chicken,” Price commented, taking another sip of his tea. You could almost kiss his cheek from his defence.

 

”AHA!” Soap all but proclaimed, his fork now turned towards the captain, “So ye do believe that she exists!”

”I didn’t say tha—“

“Dinnae backpaddle, daddy!”

 

You let out a squeak of embarrassment from the word, but the others barely seemed to notice or be bothered by it. Fuck! How could they not?? Such a, well, fucking kinky word, casually dropped during breakfast. A daddy kink? You? Definitely not. Nope. Never. You hadn’t even thought about it. You watched him take a bite of his bread roll, teeth sinking into it, lips curling around the bite.

You were being totally normal about this whole table of erotic-looking idiots.

 

 

”Nikolai and I are going to the town,” Price just replied, as if the daddy part had never been said and you pretended you didn’t feel yourself… feel slightly wet, “and we’ll get the security cameras and such. I’m telling you, it was just something you imagined, Johnny.”

 

”And did I imagine it too?” Simon asked darkly, a bit of a teasing tone to it.

”Yup,” Gaz replied easily, as if he was the one being asked, “because I want to sleep peacefully tonight. So you all imagined it.”

 

”Are you scared of our tiny, silly Ghoulie, sergeant?” Nikolai crooned teasingly at the other, who frowned — you frowned at the words as well. Because you weren’t a silly little ghoul! Fuck, this entire thing was stupid. Why was that even the name they decided to use? 

 

There was a butter knife on the counter next to you. It took a good second before you managed to move it with your hand, but you grinned triumphantly as it clattered onto the wooden floor. 

 

All eyes were on the knife.

 

It was just a matter of time, you told yourself. You just needed to get the cameras messed up, then annoy them some more and they would all move out. Who wanted to be bothered by ghosts when they were retired, anyways?

 

You just needed to avoid them killing you… Again. 

 

If you even could die. You weren’t going to play with fate and test it out, that was for sure.

Chapter 4: fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuc-

Notes:

I would like u all to know that I spent time looking at saws, only to realise that it was, well, maybe not really important what kind was used. Sorry to all the saw enthusiasts out there, but I just went with a sabre saw. I don’t even know if that one is optimal in this situation. Feel free to explain what saw would have been more realistic to use. <33

Sometimes the memories of your own murder got stuck in your mind; they played on repeat, as if you were back in the last hours before your death, truly returning to the horrors you had experienced. You could hear their voices, their prayers to whatever god they attempted to please with the sacrifice of your body.

 

You wondered what kind of god would want a veteran like you, who was on their way to become a proper hermit. Had the cult even checked out your background before killing you or had they just spotted you in your uncle’s old house and thought ‘that’ll do’ ? Did those kinds of gods not always want a good person or something? was it because you were a virgin? WHY YOU? Did anyone turn up for your funeral, and if yes, who ? You hadn’t awoken until a couple of days later, in the house — you had managed to find your grave a little while later. You wondered for a good while, if your body was somehow still inside. Not that you were going to check even if the curiosity was there.  

 

Whether somebody still visited your grave or not, well, you had no idea. You had only been there once. It felt like enough. Like a confirmation that you had died, that people had done a ritual marking your passing, so they could also move on in their own life.

Your body itched. It was still daytime and so far it had been quite a day. They had kept being noisy, restoring what was supposed to be your home, renovating what you didn’t finish.

While they had seemed upset about your note, they had hung a picture over the hole in the wall. A landscape picture that Soap had apparently painted. It was nice, you had to admit so, but it still annoyed you.

 

One of them had even gone so far to investigate you - or well, what was left of you in the government's records. They didn’t look into much, but did conclude that you technically didn’t buy the house like you had written.

”So, it’s clearly not her,” Gaz had pointed out, showing it on the laptop screen to Soap and the others - and while the others accepted it without hesitation, the Scot just shook her head.

 

”I’m telling ye all, it was ‘er I saw!” He pointed to one of the last pictures taken of you from the military. You were smiling on it, next to some of your friends, all dirty after a mission. Your toes curled as you watched the photo, watched how everyone was smiling, everyone was happy, relieved, alive –

 

”It was dark,” Price argued softly, “It could have look li—”

”I’m nae insane!” There was a certain desperation in his voice and you cringed as you floated next to Soap, who was visibly upset. You almost wanted to comfort him. Almost.

”We’re not saying you are, sweetheart,” Nikolai was kissing his cheek then, followed by kisses all over his face, “we just wanna solve this.”

 

”I’m nae insane.”

”Yet,” Simon ever so creepily added as a dark joke, earning a hit at the back of the head from the Captain. You wondered if the big guy would be afraid if you came face to face - if he would remain calm or not.

“We will be on the look out,” Gaz promised, and when you looked over at him, his smile almost blinded you. How could he make your toes curl with merely a smile?

It was weird to be looked into. They didn’t look too much into your murder, possibly to stray from the idea of something supernatural going on. You touched the scar on your stomach, feeling the crystals that grew along it. In a way, it felt like watching a television show, where you had no influence. Yet. Floating a little from them, watching them breathe and touch each other.

 

You didn’t really like being jealous… if that was what this was. You just wanted to be alive. Or at the very least, to be left alone. Alas. Since it seemed that they weren’t going to leave before you gave them more proof, well. That was what you were going to do then.

Perhaps you should choose another victim, but it just seemed easiest to scare Soap.

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

The moment you were able to, you had messed with the security cameras they put up. It had been a rather exhausting task, as you had to do it when in your ghost-form during the day — but you had succeeded. 

Only for the men to notice when they checked their apps. You floated nearby, cursing them out as they would reattach the wires or put in new batteries.

 

It continued like that throughout the next couple of hours after they had put them up. Even worse than that, however, they kept talking about cutting a straight up hole through the ceiling to get up to your room. Or, well. The attic - but you lived up there, so technically it was your room. They already had the rest of the house, they could stay out of your part.

Talked about checking out the roof, making sure nothing weird was up there.

 

Like a squatter .

 

Assholes . If you had actually been a human squatter, then you were a fucking amazing one, since you could get enter and leave a room that had no door. If only. You needed to distract them from the idea of ruining your room and instead just accept that the house was fucked up.

Eventually, you had grown too tired and retreated to your bed in said attic, falling asleep, slightly floating above the mattress, with your duvet around you.

When the sun set, you would see if you could scare any of them again. You still had the creepy dress after all.

There were so many disadvantages of them moving in and not just being some YouTubers that decided to hang out for a day or two. You couldn’t hang out in the kitchen to make food and now, with their stupid cameras, you couldn’t even steal food from the fridge.

 

In truth, one of the biggest disadvantages of them moving in, was the fact that you had to go piss in the forest. It was humiliating, even if you knew they couldn’t see you. There were some quite well working toilets inside the house after all.

The sooner they left, the fucking better. Even if you would feel bad for Benny and Beatrice if they had to sell the house again.

You woke when your body reappeared, pressing your lips together to keep the sounds of slight pain from escaping. Even though the transformation was familiar, pain was still pain. You had hoped to live a pain free life in your retirement but no luck.

 

It wasn’t that late, so it wasn’t a surprise to you to hear the sounds of the men downstairs. It would be stranger if they had all gone to bed by now. 

 

Your new “ghost appearance” had to be better than last time. 

Since you didn’t feel like having five giant human mountains running after you, you knew you had to choose a moment to reappear, when they were divided.

When you put on the dress, you looked at yourself in the mirror for a moment , the fake, dried blood still rather dramatic.

 

Whatever was needed to give somebody a scare, you supposed. Sure, if one got close, you just looked like somebody who was wearing a dress with red paint on.

It wasn’t like you had planned to suddenly become a costume maker.

Voices from downstairs pulled you back into the present, two voices somewhat audible.

“We’ve been looking along all day through the cameras, mate,” Kyle comforted who you assumed to be Soap, in the hallway just beneath you, “There have been no one.”

 

There were some sounds which you assumed to be Scottish curse words, but who knew.

“We’re right here,” added Kyle lovingly to the other and ha , you felt even worse for your plan of scaring Soap again — but he was the most easy, already on edge — so you finished putting on your dress, adding a bit more of the powder to your face. The big amount looked a little ridiculous on your skin, but at a distance it gave an effect.

 

”I ken, I ken, ” the other man grumbled, before declaring a somewhat grumpy, “I’m gonna feed the kitty.”

 

Perfect.

 

”Alright - just… let’s watch the movie with the others afterwards, yeah?”

”Other things we could do,” there was a sudden tone in his voice that sent a warmth of embarrassment through your body, yup it was definitely embarrassment, nothing else, “If ye ken what I mean.”

”Hah, they got the bloody hint downstairs,” Kyle crooned back, the same charming, alluring tone to his voice as Soap’s, “Go feed your bloody cat, we’ll have fun afterwards.”

 

You heard a muted slap afterwards, which you assumed to be one of them slapping the other’s ass.

Focus . You needed to scare him again, not get turned on by a bunch of -presumably- gay men.

 

As you heard them part, you carefully tiptoed towards your mirror in the other end of the attic. You had a mirror behind the shed for practical purposes, as it was a quick way to get outside when in human form, and now it was placed perfectly for the impromptu plan.

Sliding through the mirror came so naturally to you that you barely thought about it by now. With the back porch light on, you would be visible when you stepped out in the garden, but not fully illuminated, adding to some of the scary vibes.

It still felt a little silly to hide behind a shed.

 

For a moment you considered whether to sing ‘come little children’ once more, as Soap was wearing his hearing aids right now… then again, you didn’t want to be called ‘broody’ again by Nikolai. You were still slightly, if not completely offended over him calling you that. 

You weren’t broody . Hell, you might still get your period once in a while, but you strongly doubted that you could get pregnant when in this… situation. Dead-but-not-really-dead situation.

 

Nope, they didn’t understand your vision when you had chosen the song.

 

It wasn’t that cold outside, the sun’s rays still keeping the earth a little hot. Still, you felt a shudder go through your body, starting at your bare feet, rushing along your legs to your ears. The cold curled around your spine to remind you that you were alive. In the moment.

 

Showtime, you supposed. 

 

Hopefully this would make Soap freak out even more, so that the others might get upset too - which would preferably result in their departure from your house.

You heard the back door open, and you took a breath as you stayed behind the shed, listening to Soap going outside.

 

Back Porch Cat was the perfect unknowing accomplice, meowing loudly, clearly happy that somebody came to feed it. As if you hadn’t done that for years on end. Little traitor. 

“-yes yes, calm down, ye wee demon,” the sound of the bowl being put on the porch, then the rustling of a bag with pellets in as if your cat didn’t deserve wet food, “it’s nae like ye’re bloody starvi—“

 

You stepped out from your hiding spot, keeping your distance, but standing close enough to the light of the porch so you were still visible, the white dress standing out even more. You just hoped Soap didn’t think too much about the fact that the blood was the exact same spot as last time.

For a mere second Soap was too busy with the cat, but that was fine for you, it gave you an extra second to get to a good spot.

“Ohhh Jooohnnyyy ,” you called out sweetly, dragging the vowels of his name out, watching how the big man froze - then his head snapped towards you, eyes widening at the sight of you, standing there, just like he had in the hallway. Mouth slightly agape, clearly not believing his eyes.

”What the feck,” Soap blurted out loudly while you continued to smile lovingly, perhaps enjoying this moment a bit too much - but it had been a while since you had scared anyone like this. It was probably some ghost hunters last time.

 

Poor Johnny… but he had been the easiest victim so far. 

You stayed on the spot, tipping your head to the side, trying to seem as creepy as possible, keeping your smile a tad too sweet perhaps like kids did in horror movies, hoping you looked somewhat scary and not just stupid. Off putting. Eerie, no ghoulish! Maybe you should have been a horror actor of some sort.

 

”Hellooo Soaaap,” you crooned loudly, two seconds barely having passed, using his nickname this time hoping it would freak him out even more; as you saw how he paled, mouth still open, completely frozen to the spot on the porch, you would say you were succeeding. The cat let out a meow at the sight of you. 

You could hear rummaging throughout the house, one of them calling out his name and then– 

You barely managed to move in time. 

 

 

If anyone had asked, you would had liked to have bragged that you noticed it in time because you were an observant veteran - but in truth, it was only because Back Porch Cat looked up, which made you look up to one of the windows over the porch as well.

The sight of the barrel of a rifle made you bolt on instinct, just in bloody time, the shot ringing out as you felt the bullet barely miss your naked toes.

 

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK NOPE FUCK FUCK FUCK COCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK BOLLOCKS FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK SHIT FUCK FUCK SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT FUCK 

 

It had been a while since you had run as fast as you did, another bullet hitting the skirt of your dress, once again barely hitting, but you felt the fucking air of it, so incredibly close to your leg. 

 

How had you not fucking noticed the giant skeleton man in the window?

You all but threw yourself through your mirror, hearing the Scot bolting towards you, probably hoping to catch you. A real ghost didn’t avoid bullets after all.

Holy shit you wanted to strangle that Simon fucking Riley bloke.

The sound of your body colliding with the floor of the attic was far from discrete, but with the amount of horror in you body and with the yelling and moving that roared through the house, you didn’t really care. This was everything that was supposed NOT to happen.

The fear made adrenaline rush through you so fast and hard that you almost became dizzy, crawling a little longer further away from the mirror. Everything began to melt together for a moment, anxiety violent like you hadn’t tried for years. Only scantily you managed to tip over onto your back so breathing was a little easier. You laid on the floor, staring up at the roof above you, as you panted, intensely trying to avoid going into a full blown panic attack. 

 

You were almost fucking shot! 

 

Sure, you probably would have lived with a gunshot to the leg, but you didn’t really want to see what happened. You should have stolen all their bullets earlier like you had considered.

They were yelling. It was so fucking loud, slamming with doors, hell you even heard more guns be loaded. It was like you were back at your old military base for a second.

 

You were so fucking screwed. Not even in a good way.

Out of pure fear, perhaps a bit of shock, you remained on the floor of the attic, completely still, barely able to hear the men over the sound of your own heart and breath. 

 

Suddenly your mind twisted; you were back in the battlefield, in a foggy forest with your full uniform and gear on, people all around you, yet the people that surrounded you weren’t your teammates - but the cult members who had killed you, their eyes all white as they stared at you. Their crystals were spread beneath your bare toes, mixed with broken animal bones, which all dug into your feet. The cuts on your entire body bled and stained the stones and bones beneath your feet, candles growing up like mushrooms from the forest floor. 

Blood dripped from their ceremonial knives in their hands. 

”The attic ,” one of the cult members snarled loudly, even if his voice sounded different than what you remembered, it sounded more like one of the men in your house right now, “ I knew she was hiding in the fucking attic, I told you all!”

It was the noise of the house and some doors slamming, that pulled you back into reality. You had to focus on breathing before you could make your eyes focus fully again.

You weren’t being sacrificed. Nobody was forcing crystals into your wounds, while chanting for a demon you couldn’t remember the name of. It wasn’t the cult members that were in your house right now.

Despite the noise throughout the big house, you felt your pulse beginning to slow down.

 

For once, morning couldn’t come fast enough. Despite your love-hate relationship with this whole cursed part and usually wanting to become human again, you really really wanted your ghost body right now..

Poor Soap. Well, you didn’t feel that bad about it, not with how scared the big, bad special forces man had looked. Sweet boy. Fearing the supernatural but not reality. Perhaps that was for the best. You wished you could have gotten to see the others' reactions. Ideally they would be just as perfect and hilarious. 

The floor seemed like your saviour right now. You could feel the wood beneath you. You had died on the floor downstairs, but not up here. It had been your safespace ever since you woke up after your death, the attic somewhere the cult members hadn’t been. When everything was weird, when there were unwanted people in your house, no matter what form you were in - you could always go to the attic. Nobody but you had been here for years, you had made it your home, it was the only place –

 

A sudden, very intense mechanical noise ripped you from your thoughts; it was incredibly loud, as if it was just beneath you, almost like a machine of some sort had been turned on. You only managed to frown before the sound worsened and then–

 

The tip of a sabre saw appeared right next to your shoulder.

You couldn’t help the frightened sound that left you, close to a scream, as you gracelessly stumbled away, your leg accidentally hitting your mirror.

 

 

The mirror tipped over before you could do anything.

Chaos erupted as you hurried to the other end of the room; away from the many shards of the mirror and the saw that were currently cutting quite a big hole up to your safepace. Their voices were loud but you couldn’t hear them, the noises too loud and your mind too fizzy with fear.

 

“Fuck fuck shit bollocks fuck fuck cunt fuck –” you couldn’t control your mouth and to be fair, it wasn’t like you had a lot of options of escape right now, so you cursing out loud didn’t really make that big of a difference. Unless they decided not to look up in the attic that they were cutting a hole up to right now, you could have hidden away.

 

Nah, this wasn’t what was supposed to happen. This was your bloody home!

 

Solution - you had to find some kind of solution to this problem. There weren’t a lot of possibilities, not really… not realistic ones. 

The tiny window with blacked out glass wasn’t really an optimal choice. You strongly doubted you could get your shoulders through that, no matter how you twisted. Not to mention your hips and arse. Nope, down voted. 

 

Second option, well, wasn’t really that much of an option. Trying to kill them with any of the few knives you had up here? You hadn’t been a special kind of fancy soldier or anything, they were much bigger than you and they were five men. Special forces. You could maybe manage to stab one of them once or twice before you would be overtaken. Besides – in the unrealistic hypothesis that you did kill them, what if they got stuck to the house as cursed ghosts like you were? What a fucking mood killer that would be. So no, killing them wasn’t an option.

 

Third option was the second mirror - it wasn’t that big and you hadn’t really used it to travel through before. You had just used it like one normally would a mirror. It was a ‘maybe’ option then.

Then there was the option to just give up and admit everything to them. 

 

Sure, there was no problem with that one – you find a weird woman in your closed up attic, who said she was a cursed ghost who was human at night and that she was supernaturally stuck to their newly bought house… who would doubt you?

In most, if not all, scenarios you were screwed - still not even in the good way - since you couldn't just leave the house even if they told  you to. Whatever force or power that it was, would pull you back, push you into the house once more.

 

As the saw disappeared for a second, the big square they had cut was almost ready to be pulled away, you just moved on instinct. 

 

You took one of the knives that you had used for cooking whenever the house was left on its own, your hand shaking with how hard your grip was - and you hurried to the corner of the attic furthest from the hole. The tip of the saw appeared again, like a monster ready to rip you from your safety.

You felt an overwhelming urge to cry. Perhaps it was from fear of being shot, from sadness of them ruining the floor in the attic and forcing themselves into your safespace, perhaps it was from how badly all of this had backfired – and maybe because you were genuinely horrified of having to face another human being properly. 

Sure, you had a conversation here and there with a staff member in the shops, but it had never been more than absolutely possible. You had spoken to the sweet old lady that was a medium when she had come by, but she had known of your situation - and she had never returned. 

 

The saw disappeared again.

 

A pair of black gloves appeared for a second, like a monster peeking out from beneath the bed, grabbed onto the edge of the square and ripped, the sight making you shake. You couldn’t look away. A loud smack almost echoed throughout the house as the piece of the ceiling he had cut from downstairs, was thrown to the ground. A few shards of mirror followed.

Light filled the attic from the room below, making your own small lights seem weak in return. Dust danced around the air, the many shards from your beloved mirror glinted, as it was a magical party in here, and not the end of your life.

What a different way to die from the first, you supposed. If you could die - again. But if they did kill you and you stayed dead, you could thank them for that. This was better than being sacrificed by a crazy cult again, you figured, as there was a great lack of cheap crystals and mystical symbols from some weird dark web book.

The sharp, bright glow from the flashlight hit your face, making you squint before you attempted to press yourself even further into the corner of the attic, wishing you could change your form on command. 

 

“My, my,” the voice, which you knew by now, crooned darkly , “If it isn’t our little Ghoulie.”

Chapter 5: Insane! insane!

When the cult had sliced you open with their ceremonial daggers and forced the crystals into you, you had expected everything to end. To reach a conclusion, even if it was through a painful experience.

 

To die. Just like everyone else in the world, life was supposed to end, it was a right every single human had. A promise. A final punctuation to one’s story.

 

But your ending was taken, stolen from you by the cult members; a lot of them reached death themselves afterwards, avoiding the punishment. They escaped the world, reaching what you had been cheated from…

 

Death.

 

Despite what your trauma ridden mind had screamed at you, the man who wore the skeleton mask didn’t give you death either.

 

You had seen nothing but members of the cult when he had crawled up, the flashlight pointed directly at you. The man with the scythe had returned to taunt you once more it seemed. 

Never would you be free of the cult, never would you see your teammates again, never would you be allowed to be free —

 

A voice had told you to put down the knife. To lay down your weapon. So that you could explain. You had already been killed once and back then, you had had no knife and no other possibility to save yourself.

 

Still, even if the men whose eyes all stared at you weren’t cult members, you weren’t going down without a fight.

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

The cult members were there, right in front of you and you couldn’t help but snarl at them, even though you knew your knife would be no help against their long daggers; the daggers that would slice into your body, gut you like an animal, captured prey by the hunters.

 

Cornered, the mirror not somewhere to escape to.

 

You told the mountain of a man who was in front of you, not even wearing one of the outfits that the cult members usually did, to get out of his house, that he wasn’t welcome, that it was your house, that you—

 

He was on you faster than you had expected, then one of the others joined; you fought everything you could, pride rushing through you as you managed to hit someone in the face with your foot, screaming at the top of your lungs. 

 

You didn’t want to die. Not again.

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

Price watched you as you broke down.

 

Your eyes seemed glazed over, as if you like were not quite there; despite the amount of time that he had spent confused over your existence, he felt a pang of sadness at the sight of you.

 

Price had seen this in others before, in his own men and women throughout the years. Flashbacks to the traumatic moments that you’ve experienced through life attacking you, when stressed.

 

The dress seemed less scary now, your whole demeanour so different from what Johnny had described. It made sense really, a “ghost” turning out to be a human, would instantly become less dangerous to the mind.

Simon was quick, but you seemed feral for a few moments, almost managing to stab their lover. Johnny jumped up to help and they managed to get you under control, even if it cost Simon a bloody nose.

 

You were crying.

 

For a few moments, you looked much younger than Price assumed you to be; like a child, finally breaking down after too much stress, too much trauma, unable to help themselves. You were still attempting to get free, but they didn’t let you, pulling you through the hole they had cut, downstairs.

 

No matter the sympathy he felt, they had to figure out who the fuck you were.

 

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

The zip ties dug slightly into your wrists, as well as your ankles that were pressed against one of your own dining room chairs.

 

“Sorry ‘bout the whole ‘kicking you in the face’-part,” you told him, though you weren’t really sure whether you genuinely regretted it or not - he had attempted to shoot you earlier after all, almost hitting your feet, “I panicked.”

 

Simon just let out a grunt as a reply and you decided to take that as an acceptance. He was slung across the couch like a tired big cat, cold and wet cloth pressed against his nose. The fabric was stained a little pink from the blood. It wasn’t broken, so yeah, you didn’t feel too bad about it… served him well. 

Besides, it could have been worse if you had managed to stab him.

 

’I panicked’ was perhaps the wrong description - well, you had panicked, so that wasn’t a lie, but it was because your mind had recognised him as a cult member, even though he wasn’t. Trauma, flashbacks. You tried pushing the thoughts from you. They weren’t a part of the cult. You were safe… somewhat, at least.

 

It was weird to have them all looking at you like this. It was weird to be seen at all.

Actually seen by another human being. Touched. Even if it hadn’t exactly been a super pleasant experience to be slung over a shoulder and carried down here, screaming and fighting before you got tied up.

 

You definitely weren't touch starved. Nope. You were too cool to think about how their hands had been slightly dry - they needed to use a hand cream - gripping your body.

 

You appreciated the lack of ritualistic decoration however. No pentagram, candles or big robes. No crystals either, no attempt to hide their faces. Made it feel less dangerous to you.

 

Just five giant loafs of men, one seeming more confused than the other. Merely a kind of messy living room, not smelling of blood and bad memories, overhead lights on. In a way this felt like a bad scene in a direct to TV movie with a low budget.

A part of you couldn’t blame them for being sceptical… you had harassed them ever since they visited the house to view it, and now, wearing a homemade ‘scary girl’ costume, you didn’t exactly scream ‘trust me’.

 

“I’ll ask again,” the voice was dark as he stepped closer, bending slightly down so you were eye to eye, “who are you?”

 

You could see why John Price had been a Captain; he oozed dominance, the anger clear in his eyes, face cold. There was something hot about this situation but also something terrifying. Because what were they going to do? You didn’t exactly want any kind of active government to know about your existence- you weren’t stupid, you knew that would mean problems. Besides, the captain’s cane looked like it could leave some mean bruises. Hot. Not. A tiny bi. Focus.

 

“I’ve already told you,” you replied calmly, repeating your full name, adding “I’m the owner of this house. Technically you’re all the trespassers or squatters or whatever.”

 

“The former owner is dead,” Gaz stated in a matter of fact tone from behind Price, “so cut that bullshit.”

 

They really did sound different when like this… Workmode, you supposed. You remembered it slightly yourself even if it had been almost half a decade ago.

 

“I am not lying,” you argued, as you felt overwhelmingly frustrated with this fucking situation, leaning back in the chair a little, the zip ties digging into your skin, “I was killed five years ago, when —“

”— so ye are the insane one here,” Soap decided loudly from behind you, almost sounding pleased, before waltzing in front of you, playing with a knife, which you really didn’t want to get too close to you, “braw to ken.”

 

”Hey dickhead, you’re the easy one to scare!” You angrily snapped back at the Scot, “Why do you think I chose to haunt you?”

”Calm down—“ Price began, but none of you did.

 

”At least I’m nae a squatter!” Soap’s words made you snarl, frustration and anger boiling inside you.

”I’m cursed!” It sounded insane, you were very aware of that. But it had been your reality ever since you woke up, a reality you couldn’t escape no matter what you had tried. Like a never ending circle. Despite this, knowing it sounded insane, you saw red as Soap repeated the word.

 

”INSANE!” 

 

“YOU SAW MY FUCKING FILE,” you screamed, unable to keep yourself from doing so, the frustration erupting, like boiling water in a pot that spilled over, though you managed to lower it a little bit as you continued, “I watched you all do it! You all know I'm dead, you saw my pictures! Explain why I'm here then?!”

 

“You could have faked it.” Nikolai replied, sitting down next to Simon on the couch, like a tired bear, “it's been done before, nyet?”

 

“Oh my god, you’re all so stupid.”

Ghost let out a dark chuckle at the comment, while Gaz continued, “You’re the one trying to fucking convince us tha—“

“Look at my stomach,” you finally said, letting out a tired sigh.

 

“What?” Price looked quite caught off guard, so did the others if you were honest and if you hadn't felt a tad vulnerable for what was about to happen, you would have enjoyed the sight.

 

“Pull up my dress!”

“Heh, we haven’t even wined and dined you yet, Dove,” Simon dryly commented from the couch. Asshole.

 

“Just shut up and do it!” It wasn’t that you really wanted them to see your wounds - not to mention your panties - but you had to make them consider this whole thing somehow.

 

It was Gaz who moved, taking a hold of the bottom hem of the white dress, not looking you in the eye, as he pulled it up, bunching the white fabric with red paint together in his hand. You tipped your hips up so it was a little easier and it finally slipped up, your stomach visible to him.

He froze. You doubted it was due to your panties. It was odd, because you had stared at the scars or wounds or whatever it could be defined as, ever since you woke up years ago. The crystals that grew from your body, which you assumed was a part of the curse, had been there every day. They continued to itch and break once in a while, leaving small crystals and dust everywhere. Once in a while, you had left them out in the sun and waited for the daylight to hit them, just so you could watch how they sparkled. It was a kind of disturbing sight as they were technically a part of you, you knew that deep inside, but it had been your own disturbing sight. A dark, beautiful sight.

 

Your own scary burden to carry, your own scar to remind you of what happened. It proved what you had said, even if you wanted to hide it again.

 

“What the fuck is this?” Gaz finally asked. You weren’t really sure how to explain it to him, hadn’t thought that far. Besides, two seconds later, the rest of the men were pressed against each other, five faces looking at your semi exposed body.

 

”Huh.”

“Told you. I’m cursed.”

 

“Does it hurt?” John asked and you let out a little hum before you replied,

“Well, in a way I suppose - they mostly just itch, because the crystal gro— FUCK!”

 

Simon pulled his hand back a little from where he had more or less stuck his hand into your wound, a tiny whimper leaving you and you struggled a bit in the chair.

 

“It’s sensitive, you twat,” you hissed, “can you all cut me free?”

 

“No.” “Da.”

 

John and Nikolai looked at each other while Simon reached forward to touch you again. It seemed like they had a wordless discussion but you were too distracted by the skeleton man.

 

“I just told you - stop that!”

“Do you glue them in?” Simon asked curiously, Gaz squatted down to also look at your wound and you had to focus on keeping calm.

 

“No,” you really tried to not sound too mean, especially since you wanted to be free of the zip ties, but you wanted to slap them at the side of their head, “how am I supposed to get a bunch of crystals out here?”

 

“Why crystals?” Johnny asked, “is that nae an odd thing tae be cursed with?”

 

You pursed your lips. Rude. It wasn’t like you decided it had to be those.

“You saw the file - I don’t know how much you read about the murder part but…”

 

“Crystals forced into your body, da?” Nikolai’s voice was calm but the words still made you cringe, toes curling at the memory of it. The confusion when you had seen the cult members holding them, the horror that had gone through you when you realised what they were going to do. You nodded.

 

“Jesus Christ.” Gaz stood up from in front of you.

 

You felt dirty for a moment; as dirty as one could be, with crystals growing from your body. It was better than something like dirt or rocks, but when your memories flashed by, it didn’t matter what it was. The crystals forced into your wound, your limbs bound so you were unable to stop them. Into your mouth, your nostrils, your ears, your eyes, every wound, your as—

 

“Ye gotta breathe, Ghoulie,” you blinked a couple of times, looking up at Johnny, taking a small breath as he told you, “I like yer panties by the way.”

 

You snorted, but it distracted you from your thoughts. Ghoulie. Horrible nickname, though you supposed it was better than ‘squatter’. You managed a couple of breaths more before you mumbled a small “pervert.”

 

“Aye, always.”

“Behave, Johnny,” Price chastised. The captain looked at you for a moment, clearly unsure of what to say for a moment, “are you going to run away if we cut you free?”

 

You shook your head.

 

“Don’t have anywhere to run.” Because, well, that was the truth. The only place you could go, currently had a giant man sized hole in the floor and pieces of the mirror everywhere.

 

“Do you have more food?” You asked instead. Price raised an eyebrow.

 

“…We do.”  He finally confirmed, which you already knew was the answer.

“If you make me food, I’ll answer more questions.”

 

For a moment, the two of you just kept eye contact. You weren’t really sure why, whether it was a dick measuring contest or if he was trying to see if you had ulterior motives.

 

Finally he gave a little nod and Johnny rose from next to you, the knife he had played with cut through the zip ties. Whether he decided you weren’t going to bolt or that he simply didn’t find you scary, you didn’t know.

 

It felt like you were able to breathe a little better, though you were pretending not to be turned on, the second that Johnny was on his knees in front of you - the asshole even winked up at you.

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

”Jesus bloody Christ - you’re gonna choke!” Price snatched the fork with a piece of pancake on from your hand, a whine leaving you, the sound almost muted fully by the mountain of pancake inside your mouth.

 

”Did your parents not teach you manners, dorogúsha?” Nikolai asked teasingly and you just sent him a stare while chewing, before easily snatching back your fork, swallowing the piece, licking a bit of syrup from your tongue. Fuuuuuck, maybe you had died and gotten into heaven because these pancakes that they had reheated in the microwave tasted like paradise.

 

”Haven’t really eaten anythin’ proper homemade for several years,” you pointed out, stabbing another piece of the pancake on the plate, shrugging as you ate another big piece.

 

”Have ye not grown lonely, lass?” Soap’s question was genuine - it caught you completely off guard, making you stop chewing, to look over at him for a second. For a moment you wondered how honest to be - if you should just tell the truth and admit that yes, half a decade spent mostly alone, did create a deep seated loneliness inside you. You swallowed after a moment, before shaking your head in denial.

 

”Nope,” you answered, looking down at the plate again, stabbing another piece of pancake, “I like my alone time. Do you have any bacon left?”

 

“Liar,” Simon called you out from further down the dining room table, and you rolled your eyes, hoping that it would come off as dismissive, but truly, you hated that he somehow knew.

”Asshole,” you answered, before pointing at him with the fork, “you don’t get to say anything, mister skeleton, you tried to shoot me.”

 

Simon just smiled, chuckling darkly, as if it was a joke.

 

”Do not worry, little ghoul,” Nikolai said as he got up from his chair, giving your head a pat as he passed you, “I will make you some bacon.”

 

You knew you beamed, unable to keep yourself from smiling, “Thank you, Nikolai!”

 

“I don’t believe this whole ’I’ll turn into a ghost when the sun comes up’,” Gaz finally stated, arms crossed, as if he had been thinking the entire thing through ever since seeing your wounds, “I’ll give you, your wounds looks weird, but you’re not a ghost.”

 

A part of you were annoyed at his comment and the other part of you couldn’t really judge him.

You shrugged, eating another piece of the pancake. He looked upset. You weren’t really sure what to say or tell him. You just chewed, thinking about possibilities of showing him

 

”Okay,” you finally replied after you swallowed, “I’ll show you when the sun gets up.”

 

He huffed. You listened to the sound of the bacon sizzling on the pan. Your eyes flickered to Nikolai. It was in the middle of the night, yet here they were, making you pancakes and bacon. Sure, after interrogating you, but still, a win is a win. 

 

“Was it ye who wrote all tha threats on the walls?” Soap asked. Oh. Right, your threats.

 

You snickered before you licked some syrup from your lips, “ yup, they didn’t really work though.”

In fact , none of them has seemed to take them seriously.

"Were you actually going to cut off our toes?” Price asked, sitting down with a small groan, resting his hand on the cane next to him. You shook your head.

 

”Nah, too bloody, innit? I was just hoping it would scare you off, same with the door slamming and so on.”

 

“It didn’t work,” Kyle repeated. You huffed.

”Nope,” a thought hit you and you tipped your head to the side, watching him for a moment, hoping you could prove that you weren’t just insane - and the second that the thought hit you, you grinned, “ever thought about how I moved around so quickly, Garrick?”

 

Kyle scrunched his nose. Clearly not pleased with the fact that you knew his name, but he had to get used to it.

”Yup,” it was Johnny who replied, “How did ye disappear from the bathroom that first night? Ye cannae fit through the window.”

 

”Are you calling me fat?” You asked with a raised eyebrow.

”Nyet,” Nikolai said, putting down a new plate with eggs and bacon in front of you, a pleased sound leaving you, “we are callin’ you soft. Beautiful. Maybe a bit fat, yes, but that is not bad thing. We like fat women.”

 

You remained calm, squinted up at Nikolai for a moment - it looked like he meant it. Then you grabbed a piece of bacon with your fingers, ignoring the slight burn on your fingers, “Thought y’all were gay.”

 

Johnny sputtered, going all red in his face, while Nikolai and Price laughed.

 

“We are not,” Nikolai tugged your ear, before he sat down next to you.

”Could ‘ave tricked me,” you answered honestly, “With all them pictures of each other and sextoys, you lot have layin’ arou—“

”Did you go through our things?” Simon asked accusatorily, watching you with a cold gaze. You tipped your head to the side, chewing on the piece of bacon. You savoured the taste. It was better than the cheap kind you have eaten once in a while, the fat, salty taste almost making you want to moan. 

 

“Of course I did,” you felt no shame in it really, “wouldn’t you have, if a bunch of strangers moved into your house?”

Simon didn’t answer. Point made. They had put all their stuff in your house, were you supposed to respect their privacy when they didn’t respect yours?

 

”Back tae yer disappearing act —“ Johnny changed the subject again, “how did ye do et?”

 

”Mm, mirrors,” you admitted, “I can show you.”

 

”… mirrors?” John repeated sceptically and you nodded.

”If you get a mirror from the hallway and place it next to the one in the corner there,” you pointed at the mirror in the corner of the dining room, “I can show you.”

Simon got up with a grunt, mumbling out something about ‘psychotic woman’ and ‘want to sleep’. He returned a moment later with the full body mirror from the hallway, placing it against the wall, a bit from the other mirror.

 

”Impress us then,” mused Nikolai. You huffed, grabbing another piece of bacon, pushing the chair back before you walked to one of the mirrors.

 

It was a bit odd to show people this. It had been your own secret for so many years.

 

 

You didn’t even need to look at them, to know that they were staring as you stepped to the mirror and then inside it, walking into the other mirror; the tingling feeling barely noticed anymore, the action familiar and well known.

 

As you stepped onto the floor again, though from the mirror, you saw the end of yourself disappear into the other mirror.

For a moment you didn’t know what to do, none of the men said anything and you refused to look at them. Technically, you could escape to another room right now, but they would inevitably catch you at some point. You turned, stepped into the mirror again and walked out from the mirror that Simon had collected from the hallway. Finally you looked up.

 

They were all just… staring.

 

”What the actual fuck.” Kyle was the first to speak and it felt as if it had been several minutes before he did so, though it was probably a couple of seconds.

 

“Well uh - that’s how I did it,” you responded, unsure of what else to say.
Simon instantly passed you, Price a second later, both of them moving to touch the mirrors. You heard the tapping sound of them poking around and touching the mirrors, while you hurried back to the bacon on the table, taking a bite of a piece.

You watched them look at the mirrors, pressing their hands against them, knocking on it, turning them around. You understood their need for an explanation, you had searched for that at first, but your whole current existence was inexplicable.

Then, as if something changed with the flicker of a shift, Nikolai began to laugh. Big belly laugh that even made you look at him with confusion - though you were too busy eating more of the bacon to ask.

 

Your eyes flickered around, noticing Kyle staring at you - you merely stared back, chewing loudly, enjoying the forbidden taste of freshly made food. Maybe you could make them cook something for you? Or buy something for you? You had missed sushi, they definitely needed to go get you sushi - or pizza, you hadn’t gotten any proper greasy pizza for a while. Though, Kyle looked like he drank protein shakes and swallowed raw eggs,you could be wrong. Maybe he would order you something. After pushing another piece of bacon into your mouth, you looked back at Nikolai, who was drying a tear from his eye now.

“What's so funny?” You finally asked, still chewing on the bacon, while Nikolai patted your shoulder as he passed you.

 

”I used to think my grandmother had gone mad, when she spoke of demons,” his voice was amused, as if remembering those memories fondly, “and then I thought we had lost it, when you began to haunt us - but no! It’s just you - a tiny, pathetic cursed being!”

”Hey hey“ —you swallowed the bacon, furrowing your brows — “Don’t call me that! Besides, you were all crazy in the heads before I began to annoy you.”

“How so, hen? Also, I dinnae feel like this explains anythin’ at all.” 

“Well you did buy this place.”

 

Nikolai snickered.

“From breakdown-Benny even - he could barely stand without shaking.”

Notes:

Well

Chapter 6: Do we like you

Notes:

mwah

It was… odd to be known. To be acknowledged, to actually be real. It felt right but wrong at the same time.

 

A part of you had assumed that if somebody ever did find out your secret and knew that you were a human half of the time, it would be just like when you were alive. There would be no struggles socialising with whoever it was. 

 

Yet, it wasn’t like that. It felt… weird. At first, you didn’t really like it. They promised to stay up a little later in general and to always make sure you had left overs and such.

It was nice of them for sure and while you did appreciate that they took the time to do so, you also felt like you were some sort of nocturnal pet that they hadn’t asked for. Then again, you hadn’t asked for them either.

 

Their interest in you varied however. Some of them attempted to hide it, but Johnny made no attempt to. Instantly seeking you out whenever the sun was down, like an excited child, asking a bunch of more questions. Flirting like mad . Which conflicted you even more because after not being touched for five years, it was hard to have five big men walking around, who apparently weren’t all gay. Johnny and Price were bisexual, Kyle was pansexual, while Nikolai shrugged and Simon had just grunted “don’t care.”

 

Which meant that you had five men running around, who you could hear fuck each other more and more often, while you were on your own. Knowing full well that you might have a chance if you just asked.

 

It was weird, because you almost felt lonelier than when you were living in the house alone sometimes. Not only that, but a lot more horny.

 

And then there was the hole, connected from their bedroom to your attic, as if you didn’t need anymore privacy.

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

Kyle stopped. He curled his fists, ignoring the feeling at the missing fingers, as he thought for a few moments. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Finally, he looked over his shoulder.

 

“You’re here, right now, aren’t you?”

For a moment he felt actually crazy. As if this whole thing was just something he had imagined, if the many horrors he had been a part of during his work had finally taken its psychological toll. Then the door behind him slowly closed on its own. For a short moment Kyle just stood there, looking at the door, his mind unsure what else to stare at.

 

“I don’t trust you. Not one bit. I won’t hesitate to beat your ass. Is that understood?”

 

Silence. Maybe threatening you - whatever you actually were-  wasn’t the greatest idea but he didn’t really care.

 

Finally the door opened again, slowly sliding open. Nobody on the other side.

 

A reply. Sort of, he supposed. The anger still pulsed through his entire body. He gave a nod. Then he continued down the hallway towards the stairs to go downsstair.

Sometimes Kyle could feel his entire hand. As if a part of it had never been removed, as if the pain had never been overwhelming, the rest of his remaining palm and fingers filled with a sort of energy he couldn’t describe.

It needed to heal properly before they could do much more, yet every day felt like hell - the fingers itched, they hurt, they…

 

His fingers weren’t there. Phantom pain. He wasn’t stupid. He knew it was psychological. But since he had learned about ghosts being fucking real, it hadn’t really helped on his mood.

 

He had read her entire file. Every word describing her time in the military, the medals she had been awarded, the description of how she lost her leg. The other file on her murder; the fact that it had been days before anyone found her, the way she had been killed, the autopsy describing a violent and painful death, that he felt ill from reading about.

 

How her murderers were dead or locked up.

 

He pitied you. He truly did. Yet…

 

He envied you. He was jealous . It was so intense that it sometimes made him nauseous, the fact that he couldn’t push it away, get over it. It was a nasty thing, jealousy, a natural part of being a human yet a feeling often too hard to express and figure out in a good, productive way. A feeling that resulted in so many outcomes. Good. Bad.

 

Every time the sun disappeared and you appeared, your body was whole. Your missing leg was back, as if nothing had ever happened to it.

It was childish in a way. But he wanted his fingers back. He didn’t want to die - no, far from it. He wanted to live with all his fingers, without all the traumatic memories of the wars and fights that would haunt him forever. He wanted to be happy, normal with his boyfriends without being a burden.

 

Why were you given a chance like this? And why did you spend your time here?

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

Simon watched you move, staying silent as to merely take in the situation. 

 

It was odd. He had found out where the squatter was and who she was, but he had never considered wondering what you were.

 

A cursed ghost. His upper lip curled up in annoyance. Even thinking about it upset him, since it seemed ridiculous. Unexplainable. Yet there you were. A living proof that there was something supernatural in this world.

He didn’t like it one bit. A part of him wanted you to be a conman, yet he had seen you move through mirrors on his own. He had seen you disappear into nothing, your skin abandoning your body as they melted into nothing and then you reappeared the next evening from nothing again.

 

Now, Simon was far from a normal guy, he would be the first person to admit so. He had experienced too many things to stay sane, had fought, lost, won and experienced so much pain along the way, that being “normal”, simply wasn’t a possibility.

Yet, he found you weird . Half a decade of being alone explained it, yet he almost couldn’t stop staring whenever you ate the food they made; as if you were afraid it was the last meal they would make you. 

 

You said things so plainly and oddly, that he had begun to wonder whether you had meant to say them out loud. Whether you actually realised that you often spoke to yourself.

 

In truth, he couldn’t figure out whether you wanted them to stay there or not. He and Soap just started painting some of the walls, covering the old paint and the writings, which you didn’t fight, neither did you complain about how they began to pack out the moving boxes. In fact, you helped with a few things.

Despite having been your main target, Soap also seemed to be the one you got along with the best. Simon didn’t like it. Maybe it was because he struggled with figuring you out or maybe it was plain jealousy.

 

But jealousy over what ? Your attention? Johnny’s?

It was weird. Everything was weird, he was unable to fit you into the boxes he had carefully created throughout life. Boxes formed from trauma and pain, from love and passion. You didn’t fit into a box in his reality. 

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

Nikolai wanted to kiss you. He wanted to kiss you so badly. He wanted to make all the food you wanted for you, even if it meant spending hours in the kitchen. He wanted to help you clean out a room to make your own, even if they hadn’t discussed it. To put a collar on the little cat you had given a ridiculous name or take it to a vet to make sure it was healthy. 

 

He wanted to bring you movies, films, anything you wanted. Learn to put on nail polish, just so he could help you relax. He didn’t even know if you liked nail polish, but at the microscopic chance that you might, he was ready to do so.

 

This whole thing made Nikolai feel a bit more nasty than usual… like a nasty old man, who wanted to kiss a woman that could look like his daughter. He wanted to watch while his boyfriends fucked you silly, wanted you to choke on his cock and eat you out for hours afterwards. He would only stop when you were begging for him to do so, when you were pushing at his head to make him go away, tugging at his hair.

 

He loved knowing that you could hear them fuck or mess around. A part of him liked to believe that you were secretly watching, yearning to be touched by them too.

 

He didn’t even know why he was so horny for you. It had been a while since it happened so quickly. Maybe it was watching you interact with the others.

How you looked when standing next to them, how you and Johnny almost instantly seemed like peas in a pod together. How Simon studied you, how Price smiled when you laughed.

 

Yet Kyle’s hesitation worried him. He didn’t want to mess this up, to give Kyle something to be stressed about.

 

He wanted his boyfriend to be happy here. All of them.

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

John Price wasn’t really sure what to feel about you yet. He didn’t hate you, couldn’t. Not really. Pity, sympathy. He felt an overwhelming urge to show you kindness, to show you the softness which you had  clearly been deprived of for half a decade, even if you denied missing it.

 

He was so curious that it almost overwhelmed him sometimes, he wanted to touch, to feel your body. Not necessarily in a sexual way… okay, sometimes in a bloody sexual way, one that made him feel like a twat for even having those thoughts while having four other boyfriends.

He researched a lot of things more than he wanted to admit, attempting to dig something up that was just a tiny bit similar to you, another sign of something supernatural. Yet it was almost impossible.

 

You didn’t talk a lot about it and John couldn’t blame you. He didn’t want to talk about the way his leg burned or the way he had to grip his cane. How it made him feel centuries older than he knew he was. How he couldn’t move as easy as he used to, how he couldn’t stand up for too long, how he couldn’t fuck his lovers as hard as he wanted to. How getting up from a chair sometimes felt like one of the hardest struggles in his life.

 

Yet…

 

Despite everything, every confusion over you, everything that was wrong with the bloody house, how he struggled, he was… happy. Happy that they moved out here. Happy that they chose this house, despite his bloody hesitation at first. 

 

He liked watching Johnny and Simon bickering over the best way to paint the walls, over who of them were the best at it. (It was definitely Johnny. He was able to do it the smoothest.)

He liked seeing Nikolai bent over, his ass on display for John to appreciate as he hammered on the pipes beneath the sink, which definitely wasn’t a great way to fix something like that. How you, even in your ghostform, pushed at Nikolai’s coffee cup to make him stop, no doubt because you were attempting to sleep. Or maybe because you didn’t want water to flood the kitchen. Maybe both.

 

He liked watching Johnny crawl behind Kyle on the garden tractor they had bought, big grins on both of their faces as they shot through the tall, old grass that almost seemed dead, leaving spots of wildflowers and bushes behind. Maybe they could grow something else out there. Plant a few trees. John listened to their ideas, never against them – only when Johnny mentioned getting a cow. John wasn’t getting cows. He didn’t like the idea of getting awoken by those. They could start with chickens. See how that went.

 

Kate checked up on them now and again and a part of him felt bad for not telling her about you. Then again, what was he supposed to say? A part of him wondered if Kate would turn up with a team of doctors, convinced they had gotten themselves into some kind of hysteria together, thinking they hung out with an actual ghost.

 

Next time she visited perhaps. Then she and Olivia could meet you.

 

At the same time of all of this, John wanted so badly to remind you of proper manners. The urge to spank your ass when you spoke with food in your mouth or stuffed your cheeks full with food as if you weren’t fed on the regular by them.

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

He would never make it, the bullet entering his skull, Simon unable to push him out of the way fast enough, he would –

 

Johnny sat up suddenly, breathing fast. There was a static tone in his ears, joined by an underlying ringing that didn’t disappear. His eyes flickered around the room he didn’t know, fear pulsing through his body, adrenaline spiking - were they on a mission? What kind of mission, what was — right .

 

They had moved. Retired. No explosions out here, unless he made them. He had promised not to make some for a while. His eyes flickered around the bed. Some of them were snoring loudly enough for him to hear without hearing aid, but all of them seemed tense due to his sudden movement.

 

His eyes flickered to the hole in the ceiling at the end of the bed. Your ‘room’, as Nikolai called it, was dark.

 

Johnny sat up properly, sneaking out from Gaz’ and Simon’s arms - the latter raised his head. He moved his lips but Johnny couldn’t hear him without the hearing aids and though there was a tiny bit of light, he couldn’t read his lips properly. Instead he crawled out of the bed, tiptoed to the bed table, took his hearing aids and slid in before he carefully opened the drawer to pick up what he needed right now.

 

Simon looked at him. His dark blonde hair was getting longer. No longer the same buzzcut, it was pointing in different directions, the definition of bed hair.

Johnny liked it that way, it was nice to run through. To hold, to tussle lovingly, to pull in the heat of the moment. Beautiful. Soft. 

 

Johnny held up his little box of wonders with a grin. The light might be shit but he could see Simon roll his eyes.

 

“Don’t get too cold.” That was that, his giant laid down again, pulling sweet Kyle closer instead, the other man letting out a tired, soft hum.

Johnny found you downstairs, on their couch, your eyes on the television screen for a moment, before you looked over at him. There was no sign of guilt as you stuffed your mouth with another bite of their leftovers, chewing the piece of stew with gravy on.

 

Without waiting or swallowing, you spoke.

“Hey - it’s like two AM,” you greeted him, tipping your head to the side and yeah, he was usually asleep by now, “Why are you up, scottish boy?”

 

Johnny huffed at the attempt at bullying him.

“Can it nae be ‘cause I like tae spend time with ye?” he asked, watching you chew for a moment, before he raised his box a little in the air, shaking it shortly, “I had a wee nightmare - it helps if I smoke some weed - do ye wanna–”

 

You had abandoned the plate instantly, quickly getting up from the couch without one moment of hesitation, dragging a blanket with you. 

“Yes! Please! I miss it.”

 

“Miss it, huh?” He teased, turning around before he walked towards the back porch, listening to your footsteps as you followed, “a proper lass like ye? Dinnae tell me that ye smoked.”

You snorted, followed him outside, closing the door after him, while he sat down on one of the steps of the staircase, opening his little box of wonders.

 

“Of course I smoked weed,” you replied as you settled next to him and while he chose a joint for the two of you to share, you casually continued, “especially after I lost my leg. That was a weird time and I was already—“

 

Everything in his head stopped and Johnny couldn’t help himself as he instantly put the box down in his lap, turned his body towards yours and pulled your blanket to the side, ignoring the annoyed “ hey! ” that left you. He squinted at the two legs that stuck out from the pair of shorts that you wore.

 

“I see that ye found it again.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you didn’t really sound mad, so Johnny returned his focus on the joint, picking it and the lighter up while grinning, “it was back when I was uh - well, after I woke up cursed it was back.”

 

Johnny put the box on the porch, raising an eyebrow at your explanation.

“Wat? Really?”

You nodded, before you snatched the joint out of his hand, putting it between your lips, turning on the lighter. Johnny tried not to stare, the way your lips closed around it, the way you looked beautiful. You were a great distraction from his nightmare. Which, well, you probably weren’t aware of, but it felt weird to tell you.

 

He watched you light it, take a couple of puffs and a moment later, you offered it back to him.

Johnny was convinced he was in love. Just a little bit. He turned to focus on the joint instead, taking a drag. A pleased sigh left him a couple of seconds later.

 

“This is good stuff,” you muttered happily, looking up at the stars that shone, almost looking as pretty as you did. He hummed in agreement as he took a couple of deep drags, waiting for the feeling of calm to run over him, for the weed to set in and make him feel good.

“Are they all asleep?” you asked a couple of minutes later, as he gave you the joint again, and your eyes met. Jesus, Joseph and Maria. He had to talk to the boys around this whole thing he was feeling. 

 

He nodded and it took him a couple of seconds to focus, a small cough leaving him. “Uhm yeah. I woke Simon up. Maybe Kyle too, but he dinnae wake properly. But they’ll fall asleep soon again.” 

You nodded. He watched you lick your lips, watched you take another drag before you passed the joint. Then, silently, you scooted a bit closer to him, offering him to sit under your blanket with him. He did so, your bare legs touching. God, he hoped you didn’t see how he was slowly getting a little turned on.

“Kyle doesn’t like me,” you finally whispered, looking at your feet and yeah, boner gone, confusion taking over instead.

“What do ye mean?” he asked, giving you a little nudge with your shoulder, “we all like ye.”

 

You huffed. It sounded sad.

“No, you don’t,” and despite the nice hum of the weed in his body that made him want to giggle, he didn’t, “Kyle doesn’t. Simon just stares. Price seems… weird about me too.”

 

“Dinnae say that,” he urged softly, “What even makes ye think that?”

You didn’t say anything for a couple of moments. You looked like you wanted to and had Johnny been a bit more sober, he might have encouraged you to do so. Instead you shrugged.

“I just feel it.”

“how?”

“Feel it in my bones,” you answered, before tilting your head to rest it on his shoulder, “feel it… in my ghost bones.”

 

Johnny snickered. So did you.

Chapter 7: its not that simple

Simon found Johnny sleeping on the couch the next morning, a blanket thrown over him as he drooled slightly onto a decorative pillow. There was a bottle of water next to him, as well as a candybar, both unopened. He looked completely knocked out, his hearing aids even neatly placed on the sofa table.

 

Seemed like you had made sure he was comfortable after falling asleep, since Johnny was bad at doing so himself. 

But knowing that he slept was good though. Even when Johnny didn’t tell about his nightmares, Simon knew they were bad; he struggled with his own and sometimes he got confused about what was real and what was dream.

Johnny was snoring. He stank of weed, his little metal case of wonders also on the table. One of his hands hung down from the couch, palm pressed against the carpet.

 

For a moment it felt like a flash of cold went through him. Simon wasn’t sure whether he was imagining it or not. If you were there in your ghost form, having waited for someone to come down before leaving.

 

He walked to the sleeping man, making his steps louder than usual, just to warn the other man that he was coming. His palm touching the floor twitched and his snoring stopped a moment later. A slightly red eye opened and looked at him - then a tired grin.

 

Johnny made a grabbing motion towards him and though Simon rolled his eyes, he still pushed his soft slippers off and crawled into the couch, more or less just crushing his boyfriend with his weight. A loud, pleased sigh left Johnny and Simon kissed his neck.

 

He could sleep a bit more with his stoner.

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

You looked over his shoulder, no, you were almost crawling over his shoulder and Nikolai didn’t even pretend to be a gentleman, enjoying the feeling of your tits against his shoulder. Even daring to take a look once in a while.

 

 

“Why is that popular again?” You asked, pointing to the screen of the laptop, Nikolai’s eyes following the direction to the pants, blinking for a moment.

 

“Pants are always popular, nyet?” He asked confused over what exactly you meant. He wasn’t really sure why the jeans you referred to offended you.

 

Simon looked over his other shoulder and if this wasn’t a wet dream, Nikolai wasn’t sure what it was.

 

 

“She means the low-rise part,” Simon helpfully said, “it’s the return of 90’s and 00’s, Ghoulie. Like flared pants were popular a few years ago.”

 

“Why do you know about fashion, LT?” Kyle asked from the other side of the table, arms crossed. Nikolai had the feeling that the other man was upset, though he wasn’t quite sure why. He was going to offer to buy him new clothes as well though, in case that was what he was upset about.

 

“Am I not allowed to followed trends?”

You snickered and Nikolai couldn’t blame you.

 

“Do I have to wear a visible g-string as well then?” You asked, amusement in your voice and fuck. Nikolai felt his cock awaken instantly, chubbing up at the thought. You, walking past him with some of your g-string showing? Fuck, he could grab you by one of them, hear you whine over it. Or maybe just run his hands along it, knowing it was barely covering your cunt.

 

“Da,” he answered before he was able to help himself. Or maybe he could get Ghost into a pair of low waisted pants and a g-string.

You snorted, giving him a little shove with your shoulder but Nikolai had no regrets. Fuck, he could imagine bending you over something, pulling your pants down and merely pull that string of fabric to the side. He would press the head of his cock into your dripping pussy, would tease you for wearing such a flimsy undergarment.

 

 

“Mmm, are the pants available in a darker blue?”

 

Your voice pulled him back to reality. He clicked on the pants, showing the different colors and his heart beat a little faster.

 

“I’m not sure,” you muttered, the doubt in your voice making Nikolai want to pull you close and kiss you until you forgot about whatever worried you, “what if my scars will be visible?”

“You don’t have to wear something cropped,” Simon gently reminded you.

“You don’t have to do anything you are not comfortable with, milaya,” Nikolai softly reminded you.

“I’ll try,” you finally decided and Nikolai almost wanted to tip his head to the side and smooch you.

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

“You’re acting like you’re her sugar daddy,” Kyle snapped and oh. Nikolai watched the younger man refuse to meet his eyes. He walked closer, Kyle instinctively backing up until he hit the wall and Nikolai rested his arms on each side of his boyfriend’s head.

 

“Ah. You are jealous.”

Kyle huffed, but Nikolai knew that look that flashed across on his face, knew that he had hit the nail on its head. 

 

“No.”

“Da. You are jealous.”

 

Finally Kyle’s eyes met his. Nikolai topped his head a little to the side, mind rushing through the different possibilities.

 

“Are you upset over the attention?”

“I - fuck, I don’t care what you do, Nikolai. But you have boyfriends. ”

 

 

“Is it her you are jealous of?”

 

That seemed to make him hesitate a bit more.

 

“I’m not jealous,” he finally said, looking away again, “I just… it’s a bit… much.”

 

 

“Sweetheart,” Nikolai whispered, caging Kyle even harder against the wall as he stepped closer, “you know I love you, yes?”

“.. yeah.”

“No matter what,” Nikolai softly continued, “I love you and the others so much. You are my whole life.”

 

 

Kyle wasn’t as tense as before. He leaned forward and hid his face in Nikolai’s neck.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” His voice sounded so small, and Nikolai curled his arms around him, holding his boyfriend tight.

“Nothing is wrong, sweet one,” he assured him softly, “you are merely human. Uncertainty and jealousy is a part of being human. There is nothing wrong with that. It is way that you react to it that is important, da?”

Kyle didn’t say anything.

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

Simon wasn’t sure if he liked you.

 

Maybe, it wasn’t you. Or well. It was. 

 

He had wanted them to retire somewhere nice. Alone .

He hadn’t asked for an extra member of the house, not somebody he didn’t know or understood for that matter.

 

And if Simon Riley had to guess, merely from the way Kyle looked at you, he wasn’t happy with you being there either. 

 

They were going for a walk - like a proper little date, out on their new property, to inspect the corners of it. Check if there was anything they needed to know.

 

In truth, it was because he wanted to spend some time alone with Kyle. He seemed upset and while Simon wasn’t the best with starting conversations always, he was good at noticing things.

“I’m not sure I want to live here.”

 

Kyle stopped. Simon wasn’t sure why he had been so honest so suddenly, but the words had already left his mouth, so there was no going back.

 

Their fingers were braided into each other. Kyle’s good hand was a little cold and he wondered if the other was too… if he needed to get him some gloves later this year.

 

“That’s… dramatic,” Kyle finally said to which Simon huffed, but his boyfriend started walking again, a little closer to him than before.

 

“You don’t want to either.”

“I don’t like it when you assume my feelings, LT.”

“… Simon.”

“No, when you’re assuming my feelings, you’re not Simon. Analysing me ‘n shit.”

 

Kyle didn’t look at him, he looked at the forest ground, kicking a branch in front of him. They walked a little further while Simon’s mind raced.

Simon wasn’t free from emotions like it was rumoured back at the base. He merely struggled a lot with them, which truly wasn’t that unusual for soldiers that had been through traumatising experiences or for people with abusive upbringings. 

 

The forest was beautiful. Rays of sunlight hit the forest ground, managing to sneak their way through the trees’ many leaves. There was a gentle humid scent, birds chirping happily around them, like a background soundtrack.

 

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t mumble or whisper it, he said it loud and clear. They both stopped walking and their eyes met. Kyle was just as beautiful as the day Simon saw him for the first time. Dangerous and intense but the kindest and most loving man beneath those layers.

 

They didn’t stop holding hands.

 

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Simon felt his bottom lip twitch a little before he continued, “I really shouldn’t assume how you feel about things. I need to ask you. Not just create your opinions in my own head.”

 

Kyle nodded.

 

“So. How do you feel about it?”

 

“‘Bout what exactly, Si?” 

 

Simon gave his boyfriend’s good hand a squeeze.

“Everything?”

 

Kyle huffed, clearly not pleased with the wide range but a small smile still appeared on his lips. Simon took that as a win.

 

“I like the house, it’s just… I’m not sure I like her. ”

Simon didn’t say anything, merely nodded. Waited for Kyle to continue when he felt like it. He didn’t dislike you, you seemed like a kind enough person - at least when you were done with trying to scare them away. You taking care of Johnny after he smoked proved that. He just hadn’t asked for you to be here. This was supposed to be their sanctuary. Where John would stop dyeing the few grey hairs at his temples, where they could watch movies into the late night without worrying about tomorrow's shift. Where Johnny could follow Nikolai and Kyle around as they tinkered at cars or other machines. Where they could watch matches without having to worry about being quiet. Simon wanted to make a patch into the forest with thick tiles, so that John could go for a walk without worrying about falling. Nobody would judge them for how they looked or the fact that they were all togethers. They could fuck as loudly as they wanted to, knowing nobody was around for miles and miles on end.

 

“I’m scared you all will love her more than me.”

 

It was such an honest but vulnerable sentence. Insecurities seeping into it, Kyle merely whispered it as if afraid to acknowledge it himself. He was staring into nothing.

 

Simon reached out with his free hand, gently tipping Kyle’s head up, forcing their eyes to meet.

 

“Of course we won’t, Kyle,” he was serious in his voice, and he pulled him a little closer, letting go of his hand to hug him properly, “you’ll never be replaced. You can’t be replaced.”

 

Kyle didn’t say anything and a couple of seconds passed before he finally huffed Simon back, his fingers digging into his shirt.

“She is so pretty,” he didn’t need to see Kyle’s face to know he was crying, he could hear the way his voice shook, “and fun and the others already love her and I can’t stop feeling like I’m the mood killer, unable to deal with his own issues. I just want it to be easier, Si, I just want it to make sense, I still want to be loved and cared for, I just… I just…”

 

He was sobbing into his neck and Simon didn’t say anything, merely holding his boyfriend close. Kissing his head, gently rubbing his back, feeling the wet spots of the T-shirt.

 

“I love you, Kyle,” he told the younger man, “I love you so much. No matter what happens. I love you.”

 

Kyle kept sobbing.

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

 

“Kyle said you weren’t sure if you wanted to live here.”

 

“Hm?” It wasn’t that he didn’t hear John, he fully did, he just needed a couple of extra seconds to figure out what to say. He took the cigarette from his lips, blowing out some smoke.

 

“You heard me.” John grunted slightly as he sat down next to him on the stairs, putting the cane next to him.

“Are you doing your exercises?” He couldn’t help but ask, knowing that the other man hated having to do them, but he worried. He did. He watched Price grunt as he found a cigar from his pocket.

 

“Are you deflecting?” He just replied, before looking at Simon again, “now, explain to me what Kyle meant.”

 

“Where is he?”

“In bed,” John clearly hesitated for a moment, “he told me about his feelings. About what the two of you talked about.”

 

Simon nodded. He didn’t mind. He was going to tell the others anyways, so it didn’t really matter whether it was he or Kyle who did so. Relationships felt best when one was truthful to the other. Or, well other s in this case.

 

“We didn’t really talk much about me - didn’t want to, wanted to focus on him.”

“But?”

 

John clearly wasn’t letting it go. Simon took another deep drag of his cigarette, feeling the way the smoke curled around him, imagining it like a fog in his lungs.

 

“Dunno,” he muttered a moment later, “I’m just not sure. It’s not what I imagined.”

“Is it because of her?” Directly to the point. Simon pursed his lips.

 

“It’s just… I didn’t imagine us having a flatmate when we retired.”

 

John didn’t laugh. Clearly waited for Simon to continue, just like Simon had waited for Kyle to continue in the forest. Why didn’t they just have a bloody meeting at this point?

 

“Kyle is jealous,” Simon watched the burning cigarette as he talked, “properly jealous.”

“And you?”

 

“I just don’t… understand her. It freaks me out, John, not gonna lie.”

 

“Do you dislike her?”

Simon huffed.

 

“Mmm, no. I dislike that there are things about her that I don’t understand. I dislike that she can walk through mirrors - and I dislike her lack of manners once in a while but…” he looked over at his boyfriend, “she is kind. Her and Johnny get along pretty well, it seems like they’re up to no good half the time. Even though Kyle doesn’t like her, she isn’t mean to him. Hell, you and Nikolai clearly want her.”

 

The way Johnathan fucking Price blushed was cute, cheeks and nose going all red before it spread to the rest of his face.

 

“We don’t want her.”

“ Heh .”

“Simon.”

“Eh, you like ‘er then. Like like, as Johnny likes to say.”

“It’s not like that.”

“No?”

 

John took a drag of his cigar, clearly trying to explain himself.

 

“No. I want to… take care of her. Like I want to do with all of you.”

“Collecting another stray, sir?” He asked teasingly.

“Ah, shut it, ya’ muppet.”

 

The silence that followed didn’t feel heavy. Despite smoking, Simon felt like he could breathe a little easier than before.

 

“Nik though…” John started and Simon couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Head over heels,” he mused a moment later, listening to John snort.

 

“Can’t blame ‘im,” John muttered, “she is pretty. But nothing is going to happen unless we’re all aboard- you know that, right?”

 

Simon nodded absentmindedly. He knew what John meant. Nothing would happen as long as he and Kyle weren’t onboard. He didn’t even need to wonder if Johnny was into you - the way the two of you had easily connected was clear proof that you would get along.

But… Simon never dreamt of a flatmate once he finished his army career. In all honesty, he never expected to survive long enough to even have a time afterwards. To become a veteran. He dared to dream later on, when they all got together, but he had never dared to truly believe in it before they bought the house.

 

With a ghost lady. They couldn’t really throw Ghoulie out, she technically wasn’t a squatter. Not in a normal way, at least. For a moment Simon wondered if they should just rebuild the shed to give her her own room… or at least fix the hole in the ceiling in their bedroom.

 

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

Ghoulie, Johnny and Simon were watching a movie downstairs, showing their flatmate some newer movies she had missed the last five years - the sound was definitely too loud, but John didn’t care. In fact, it fit him quite well.

 

It gave them some privacy. 

Kyle let out a pleased sound as John finally fit in fully, his balls resting against Kyle’s pretty ass. Nikolai tipped his head to the side, catching the next couple of sounds from their boyfriend, keeping them from John. 

 

Their beautiful boy. John wanted to… he wanted many things. He wanted to convince Kyle of their love in so many ways, yet none of them felt as if they would be enough. As if he was unable to truly explain to the younger man how much he loved him. How he was a part of John now, his love and mere existence had grown roots in John’s body and no matter what, he would never be able to let him go.

 

“Sweet boy,” he cooed and oh, his eyes closed for a moment as Kyle tightened around him. They had taken their time opening him, whispering praises and covering him in kisses and loving nips. John had already made him come once, letting Kyle fuck his throat, while nikolai had whispered dirty sentences in Russian into his ear. Kyle spoke Russian much better than John did but he didn’t mind. Not with how it had made their boy buck into his mouth, use John’s throat.

 

“John,” Kyle’s voice was a little ragged, his lips wet with spit from the messy kisser that was Nikolai and when their eyes met, John let out a pleased hum.

“What, sweet boy?”

 

He tightened around him again. 

“Please move - daddy, please –” oh, if John could purr, he would have done so now.

 

John did as requested, pulling back, never looking away from Kyle’s eyes. Then he slowly thrusted into him, the glide easy from all of the lube, a soft noise leaving Kyle.

His fingers dug into back, clawing desperately, the sweat on John’s back making it a little hard, but neither of them cared. John loved fucking Kyle like this - hands on each side of his head, almost in missionary, keeping him safe from the would outside him.

 

“Do you want daddy to fuck you harder, darlin’?” Nikolai asked, casually stroking himself while laying next to them, knowing he would have his turn with Kyle after John. They had almost silently agreed that they would make Kyle lose his mind this evening.

 

“yesyesyesyes–”

 

Who was John to deny him? He fucked him harder, the wet sounds filling up the room, creating a rhythm as they moaned and gasped. The feeling of Kyle beneath him, the way he whimpered into his ear, tightening and whining whenever John whispered how much they all loved him. How they were never going to stop loving him.

 

Kyle came with a scream, barely muffled against John’s neck and John followed a moment later, filling him up.

Notes:

Yes, at this point my OC Beatrice will most likely have a cameo in most of my fics