Chapter Text
Heiwajima Shizuo did not believe in ghosts.
Really, he didn’t believe in anything supernatural: not aliens, not specters, not monsters underneath the bed. People could be monsters enough on their own, he knew. Those other things didn’t fit within his own reality and seemed pretty ridiculous anyway. He didn’t know what happened when you died, but he doubted it had anything to do with getting to float around creepy houses for the rest of eternity.
In his own defense, even his roommate Celty who was something of a closet conspiracy theorist when it came to aliens didn’t believe in ghosts and Shizuo was far more prepared to believe her insistent notions that some other kind of life existed out there somewhere before he believed that things that went bump in the night were white and covered in a sheet.
That was probably why it didn’t occur to him in the least that the shadow that had been following him around all week could be anything other than some punk looking for a fight.
Shizuo hadn’t paid much attention to it at first, the way he kept catching sight of a blur, something moving out of the corner of his eye like the wind was blowing visibly nearby. He was going to college and lived on campus so he was almost always surrounded by people, or at least could see a couple of others around. Random movement wasn’t something he focused on if he could help it. The problem was it continued when he went back to his apartment.
It didn’t make any sense that someone could be there without him knowing about it. It wasn’t like the place was very big. There was nowhere to hide. But the shadow was still there, hovering. He could almost sense the presence of someone or something else around him the way he could when he was walking down a quiet path and turned to find that another student had started to walk soundlessly behind him at some point. It made the hair on his skin stand up, made him jumpy for no good reason, but in place of the ordinary absolute silence of the apartment, he swore he could hear things occasionally rustling.
It went away more or less when Celty returned home a short while later, exhausted from a midterm. She tossed her keys onto the counter and flopped onto one of the couches, sighing heavily. Shizuo came over immediately, still glancing around, not sure how to explain away what had been happening earlier but equally unable to put any acceptable label to what it might have been.
“Hey,” Celty signed when she caught sight of him and had begun another, more mundane line of questioning when she realized how shaken he looked. “Are you okay?”
Shizuo swallowed and glanced around as quickly as he could as if he moved fast enough he would be able to pin it down. “I’m…fine. I just don’t feel too well.”
Celty’s eyebrows drew together and she gestured for him to sit down which he did, dropping down onto the couch next to her, running a hand through his hair, wishing it wasn’t shaking the way it was. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Shizuo confessed, feeling stupid. “I was seeing things and it freaked me out. It was nothing, I’m sure.”
Celty’s frown informed him that his defense was not as strong as he might like it to be, but she nodded nonetheless. “You must be tired from midterms. Or maybe, did you watch a scary movie recently?”
Shizuo thought back and knew that he hadn’t. He forced on a smile anyway, nodded. “Yeah, now that I think about it. You must be right.”
Celty’s expression remained dubious, but she’d known him long enough to know it was better not to push. “I’m sure you’ll be alright. You can tell me if you think you’re really sick. I can bring Shinra over to check you out.”
That was distracting at the very least. He fought to keep his expression neutral at the mention of Celty’s pre-med boyfriend. Shizuo didn’t mind him that much—he was glad he made Celty happy—but he wasn’t wild about letting an unlicensed medical student take a look at him. “That’s okay. Like you said, I’m sure it’s nothing.” He changed the subject then, asking about Celty’s midterm and her day. The conversation continued and they lapsed back into normality, the night continuing on like any other.
It took him some time to get to sleep but he didn’t see any more shadows that day.
The next day, Tuesday, he couldn’t find his sunglasses even though he’d definitely left them where he always did, on his desk. He needed to get going to class, but there was something unsettling about not being able to find them after what had happened the day previous.
“Hey, Celty,” he called, stepping out into the apartment proper to find his friend making herself breakfast.
She blinked and turned to sign at him. “Shizuo? I thought you’d left already.”
“I need to go soon, but have you seen my sunglasses?”
Celty’s face scrunched up in thought. “They aren’t where you always leave them? On your desk, right?”
Shizuo shook his head. “You didn’t move them?”
Shaking her head, Celty kept tending to her eggs, looking concerned again.
Something paranoid started scratching around in his chest, but he forced it down. “I must have shoved them somewhere weird yesterday. I was rushing around some,” he said, more for his own benefit than for Celty’s. “They’ll turn up. I should get going here.”
He departed after grabbing his bag, stepping outside and almost expecting to see the shadow again, but there was nothing. He felt a flare of irritation at himself for getting caught up in something so stupid. It’s nothing, he insisted to himself as he walked. What are you, eight? You’re just seeing things.
It was getting more difficult to believe as time went on though. His glasses did turn up: they were sitting folded on his desk when they hadn’t been there before when he’d gotten up to fill his water bottle before class at the nearby drinking fountain. He’d forgotten to do it at the apartment in the midst of his confusion at that morning.
Shizuo snapped his head around, trying to riddle out who’d put them there, how they’d got to them in the first place, but there was hardly anyone around. He was early in spite of himself, sitting in an area alone. His temples ached with the effort of trying to force logic into a situation that clearly would have none of it and his heart beat quicker as a result of the instinctual alarm that washed over him like he was sinking too-fast into ice water.
He sank down into his chair, still glancing around. He could feel it again, that presence, and sure enough, the shadow was back, haunting the edge of his vision, always just out of sight. Something like dread dripped down into his chest, and he swallowed hard to fight it off even as he swore he could hear quiet, broken laughter coming from nowhere soon after.
The shadow didn’t leave him after that, but he didn’t mention it again to anyone. His new plan was to ignore it as much as physically possible, pretend it wasn’t real, because it wasn’t. This had to be some kind of trick or practical joke and he wasn’t falling for it. Whoever was doing this wasn’t going to get to him no matter what they did. Unease remained a heavy weight in his stomach, but he worked around it, made himself stop looking over his shoulder every five seconds.
On Wednesday morning when he got out of the shower there were handprints in the fog on the bathroom mirror. He wiped them away, did his best not to think about it.
On Thursday he had a late class and was walking back home alone afterward when he heard footsteps behind him. Shizuo ignored it the best he could for several long, tense minutes, but he swore they were getting closer. It was dark, the path he was on. He didn’t tend to worry much about shit like that. He knew how to defend himself fine, would probably be more worried for whoever decided to jump him of all people, but tonight he almost regretted not taking a longer, more-travelled route. As much as he resisted, everything made him jump: the wind clicking the mostly-barren branches on the trees rising up on either side of the path like a wall together, the rustle of leaves around his feet, even the swish of the fabric of his coat against itself.
The footsteps were definitely getting louder, click-clacking around in his head, making him want to start running even though that was ridiculous. He wasn’t going to be scared of what was probably another kid on their way home for the night. Shizuo steeled himself and spun around, ready to tell whoever it was to calm down or go around him. He didn’t get that far however. Instead he froze, feeling his heart rate kick back up again.
There was no one there. Only him and the trees and the leaves on the walk. The footsteps had stopped as well. He flicked his eyes around desperately, hating how he felt like that asshole in a horror movie who decided to go off their own making it so the audience knew their fate was sealed several minutes before the murder occurred. He swallowed hard, refusing to be that guy.
“I don’t know who’s there,” he called out, trying to keep his voice steady. It sounded so loud in the silence of the night. “But fuck off. You don’t want to get hurt.”
With that, he spun back around and kept walking, maybe a bit faster than before. At first he didn’t hear anything and brief relief rushed through him. It came too soon.
Before he knew it the footsteps were back, closer than ever, as was the same eerie laughter from before, more a hiss than anything else. Shizuo clenched his teeth together, curled his fingers into fists, and kept walking, refusing to give in and turn around again. He felt unsteady, light-headed, and when he sprinted the last stretch to their front door, ripped it open, and slammed it shut, probably too loud, drawing Celty’s attention, he couldn’t even blame himself.
Before he’d started running he’d felt cold hands running distinctly down his back, scratching as they went.
Shizuo collapsed up against the door, breathing heavily, flicking on as many lights as he could reach. Celty appeared soon after, her hair still wet from a shower, wrapped up in a towel. “What’s wrong?” she signed frantically.
Shizuo squeezed his eyes shut, shoved his back up against the door, but he could still feel the trails the hands had made on his back like burns. He sank down onto the floor, curling up, most likely scaring Celty half to death, but unable to stop himself.
He jumped at the warm hand on his shoulder, slapping it off immediately before he realized it was only his roommate, kneeling beside him, shaken, jerking her hand back. Shame rushed through him. “I’m—I’m sorry, Celty,” he said, trying to ground himself in her presence. “I’m sorry.”
“What happened?” she demanded, eyes wide, full of concern.
Shizuo sighed, putting his face in his hands and confessing everything that had happened thus far to her. She listened, her face unreadable. When he finished, he shook his head. “I know it sounds crazy, but you know me. I wouldn’t make this shit up.”
Celty set her hand on his shoulder again, carefully, making sure he saw it first and even then he still flinched. She frowned, glancing around like she would be able to see it. “Has this happened before?” she asked.
“No.” He would have remembered.
Celty’s eyebrows were drawn tightly together as she thought. Eventually she sank down beside him, sighing as well. “I don’t know how to help you,” she signed, looking defeated. “I’m sorry. I wish I knew the right answer, but I’ll only know for sure if this keeps going on for an extended period of time.”
Shizuo caught on after a moment. Celty was a psychology major, after all. It would only be normal for her to assume that that might be what was going on here, but he still had to fight back the way he felt mildly offended. He tried to remind himself that she was only trying to help and that none of this probably made much sense. It probably did sound insane.
“It’s fine,” he heard himself say. Dread swirled around in his stomach, making him feel nauseous, but he didn’t get scared. He didn’t believe in stuff like this. Against all odds, it had to be someone fucking around with him for a laugh. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure it’ll stop soon.”
Celty looked less than convinced, but, after a bit more reassurance, she let Shizuo head off to bed for the night, still shaking a little in spite of himself. This was something he was going to have to handle on his own. He couldn’t have everyone thinking he was crazy. That was probably exactly what whoever was doing this wanted. He just didn’t know how to go about it. He couldn’t stay as strung-out as he was for much longer or he’d explode.
Shizuo lasted one more day of the shadow before he confronted it. It was more obvious than ever, hanging around blatantly in his line of sight. Shizuo swore it was looking more and more like an actual figure every day. He caught sight of hair blowing in the wind, of individual fingers, of the curve of a shoulder throughout the day. It was like it was rebelling against the way he was trying to deny its existence by becoming more defined which was annoying. Shizuo had decided focusing in on his irritation over the whole situation rather than his fear would be better. At the very least it was keeping him sane even if clinging to the results of his short temper was usually never a good idea.
He felt like an idiot, but he decided to try to talk to it again later that afternoon. He’d been sitting alone outside, trying to study. Most people had fled from the oncoming cold of the season, choosing to sit inside, but Shizuo would take the cool and the quiet over the noisy heat of the study hall any day. The thing was distracting him, moving around more than usual, almost like it was waving a hand in his face.
“Quit it,” Shizuo grumbled. “Didn’t I tell you to fuck off?”
He swore to fucking god he saw the thing shrug.
A chill rushed through him at the possibility that it could really respond to him, maybe even talk. He wasn’t so sure he wanted it to. It didn’t help that talking with it was negating any pacts he’d made with himself either to ignore it or to keep believing that this was some punk’s idea of a good time. Talking to it meant that it might be real. “What do you want?” he demanded, still looking down at his books, pretending to erase something.
No reply, but the air around him felt colder suddenly. Shizuo could sense someone—or something—else’s presence like he’d been able to before, but much stronger, as if he turned there’d be someone beside him. He swallowed hard, fought back the shudder of instinctive fear that rattled him. “You’re pissing me off, you know that?”
This time he got laughter. It was worse every time he heard it. It made his stomach turn over with how real it sounded. Shizuo clenched harder at the edge of the table in front of him, tried to school his expression blank, but he didn’t know if it worked. There was movement again, more obvious in front of him, and suddenly there was a true shadow cast over his book.
Shizuo wished he didn’t have to, but he forced himself to lift his head, look in front of him. He couldn’t help the way he jerked when he did. It was there, a pitch black swatch, sitting in front of him like it had been there the whole time. The fact that it was vaguely human-shaped was far more unsettling than if it had been amorphous. The fact was Shizuo thought he could make out a head, shoulders, maybe even arms. He fought to keep his breathing steady, to not look away even as primal terror gripped him.
But it was impossible because the thing was real and it was there and it was fucking cocking its head at him like it understood was he was saying, far more solid than any shadow he’d ever seen. It was blocking the pale rays of the sun drifting down, but in a way that made it seem like it was absorbing them, sucking them in like a black hole. Shizuo had never wanted to run from something more in his life.
But he didn’t. He stayed where he was, firmly planted, by fear maybe, or determination to figure this out. He reached out desperately for the anger he’d felt earlier, hung onto that as he faced this thing down. It didn’t move toward him, didn’t do anything, only sat there which was bad enough as it was, so Shizuo was vaguely grateful.
“What do you want?” Shizuo repeated, and he couldn’t help the way his voice shook. He wanted to tear this thing apart, get it out of his sight, cast it away, back into whatever hole it’d crawled out of.
It shifted like a liquid, smoothly, and Shizuo could feel it looking at him. That might not have been so bad, but then its expression started to twist, becoming more defined in the process, and Shizuo could see teeth. They looked like normal human teeth, but they were the only definite feature the thing had so it didn’t make it any easier to look at. He realized then that it was smiling at him, or trying to, a sharp, cold thing that made him feel like he could no longer suck enough air into his lungs. Worse yet, it seemed like it was trying to actually open its mouth, maybe to say something.
It didn’t get to.
Someone opened the door behind him to walk outside, making Shizuo jump about three feet in the air and when Shizuo turned back the thing was gone as quickly as it had come. Shizuo didn’t know the guy who’d been walking by, but he must have looked pretty bad because he stopped. “Hey, man,” he said. “You okay? You’re white as a ghost.”
Shizuo couldn’t even muster up the urge to be irritated by it, only nodding to get the guy to go on his way.
That night Shizuo decided he couldn’t take it anymore. He’d been shaken all day because of the encounter and he couldn’t live like this. He jerked awake in a cold sweat and noticed a shadow hovering in one of the corners of his ceiling as it had been all week, ominous, silent, unmoving. He couldn’t tell if it really was more human-shaped now or if it was his imagination. He didn’t care; he sat up and glared at it.
“I’m not doing this anymore,” he whispered harshly at it. The last thing he wanted to do was wake up Celty. “I know you can understand me. Come down here and tell me what the fuck you are and what you want.”
Laughter echoed around the room. The thing was stretching out again, coalescing into a more obvious shape. Shizuo stood his ground, thoroughly fed up with all this. The paranoia was eating him alive. “I’m dead fucking serious. I’ll kill you.” The last threat slipped out unthinkingly, but it felt good to snap at it, to let out some of the tension building in his chest.
That, for whatever reason, seemed to do it. The thing was fully visible again, its presence turning the air in the room to ice. It sat up on top of his bookshelf, obviously human in shape, swinging its legs back and forth like it wasn’t six feet up in the air. It was still a black smudge, but its limbs were defined. It looked like an outline that someone had colored in black instead of adding more detail to it. Shizuo couldn’t decide whether he liked it less or more when he could actually see the damn thing. Its face remained vague, unrecognizable, but its mouth was there as before.
The smile was back as well and Shizuo knew it was looking right at him. The thing laughed again and it sounded more hysterical than before, more honest, like someone’s actual laugh instead of those empty, fake recordings they played over the top of game shows sometimes. Eventually it stopped, and then, finally, it spoke.
Shizuo didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t what he got. The thing’s voice didn’t match its looks at all: it sounded like a voice he’d hear coming out of any ordinary guy’s mouth. The dissonance was disconcerting, but he’d have to leave that for later so he could focus on what it was saying to him.
“I’d love to see you try,” it cooed at him, quiet and smooth. “But unfortunately, I don’t think you can kill what’s already dead.”