Empty Names - 11 - Afterparty
Author's Note: Sullivan makes largely-accurate-but-crucially-flawed assessments of his teammates, round two. And some more glimpses of what he's capable of doing besides standing off to the side making snide comments. Sullivan may be terrible and kind of creepy, but he's surprisingly fun to write.
Word Count: 3,959
Content Warning: Mild body horror.
<-Previous Chapter Masterpost Next Chapter->
There are at least seventeen dining rooms in Bridgewood Manor. From the chandelier-lit and gleaming grand banquet hall whose long table with a throne-like chair at one end that seats dozens to a dim, cozy café with intimately curtained booths for two. The whimsy of tea tables on lilypads drifting across a pond while whole flowers grow suspended in the air contrasted with the stark modernist experiment in black and white and chrome. All are served by kitchens with staff constructed from the purchased memories of expert chefs, bargained as collateral in their youth and collected upon their retirement. Only the finest ingredients stock the stasis-locked pantries, indefinitely preserving the foodstuffs that only a centuries-old sorceress from still-older money could have purchased without blanching at the price that comes from the combination of quality, rarity, and need to transport across worlds.
Sullivan and his friend are sharing their dinner of water, a loaf of bread, a small wedge of cheese, and an apple apiece, sitting on the floor of a never-used guest bedroom.
“My friend, I dare say we struck gold with these recruits of yours.”
“You know that’s practically a pun coming from you?”
“I prefer to think of it as ‘being on brand.’”
“Honestly, I’m more surprised to hear you speak highly of them.”
“I only said ‘struck gold.’ It still needs extracted, refined, smelt, worked, and shaped into something worthwhile.”
“I think you might be overworking that metaphor.”
“No, what was overworked was your inspirational speech there at the end,” Sullivan says, shaking a still-unbitten apple at his friend for emphasis. “Then again, I suppose it’s comforting to hear that you’re still just as corny and over-rehearsed as ever in that department.”
“That was one hundred percent off-the-cuff, thank you very much.”
“That just makes it worse. You understand why that’s worse, right?”
“No,” they say around a bite of bread.
Sullivan slowly shakes his head. Void Without, they’re going to be the death of him one day.
“My advice, drop the speeches. You’ve always done better with the more de facto leadership of being the one to step up and take responsibility for getting things moving than as a formal role.”
“I’ll take your word on that. Heh. It’s not like I’ve been able to learn from experience.”
Sullivan nearly drops the apple. Did they just make a self-deprecating joke about that? Oh, no no no no, changing the topic right now.
“But as I was saying,” he resumes without a trace of fear, “the kids have potential.”
“I’d hardly call Eris and Lacuna ‘kids,’ and barely Ashan.”
“Oh please, you and I are both older than the three of them put together and I married a woman with anecdotes older than the country we do most of our work in these days. They’re kids.”
His friend freezes for half a second, awful recognition flickering across their face. They open their mouth to speak but the moment passes, their expression returns to an easy casual smile, and whatever they were about to say is replaced by “Do go on then. You almost never speak well of anyone, so this should be good.”
That was a close one. Sullivan curses himself for bringing up their age. Is he really that out of practice from so short a time apart? He continues on as if he noticed nothing.
“Well, obviously there’s wizard boy being a proper anchor world mage twisting thermodynamics to fuel spells from a magic system where that shouldn’t work just because it makes sense to him.” He starts rhythmically tossing the apple in the air and catching it again. “It’s not every day you find a mage who actually thinks to make tactical use of his power source’s side effects instead of tunnel visioning on actual spells. Not to mention his capacity for power draw and output exceeds even my expectations. If he can figure out a way to internalize a more efficient channeling schema and diversify his repertoire we’ll have a true rarity on our hands.”
“So that’s it? Just another rare and valuable artifact for the collection?”
“If one wants to set a strong foundation for the sort of organization you’re looking to build then one must needs start with the best of the best to inspire the next generation. He has the potential to be that. And besides,” he rolls the apple down his arm, behind his shoulder and into the other hand, “he’s demonstrated a truly classic willingness to throw himself into the fire to save his comrades. He’s a good fit for you.”
Not that Sullivan or his friend needed the help back there, but the kid couldn’t have known that.
“That is the sort of thing I would have done in his place, isn’t it?”
“More like ‘have done repeatedly.’ Maybe you’ll get to ease off and take turns now. He’ll make a good right hand for you. With me ever as the left, of course.” He begins contact juggling the apple, noting with satisfaction how his friend’s eyes follow it. “The techie meanwhile: adorably spineless. She’ll probably just do paperwork for us all day if you let her, but - credit where it’s due - I underestimated her usefulness when you said you were bringing her on as our fifth.”
“You’re referring to the remote glyphs. She was reluctant to talk about that when I brought it up.”
“Oh she’s definitely not supposed to have those,” he chuckles. “The records of what she was working on before she got sacked were thoroughly scrubbed, but having seen it, there’s not much else it could be. It’s hilarious how skittish she is about anything she’s actually good for, but I’m sure that with the right push she’ll make good clay for you to shape into whatever you want her to be.”
“I’m not interested in ‘shaping’ anyone. These are our teammates we’re talking about, our friends, not a bunch of shiny new toys to play with.”
“Call it ‘inspiring’ her then if it makes you feel better. She’d probably like the clay analogy though. Given today’s revelations and her circumstances I’d be willing to bet she’s got at least a decent theoretical grasp of any transmutation related topic you care to name. It’s an obvious case of someone who doesn’t know who they want to be but knows it’s not who they are now. Show her like you showed me. It should be easy enough; it’s obvious every time she looks at you that she thinks the world of you.”
“Just like it’s obvious she’s terrified of you? Seriously, what did you say to her when I wasn’t around?”
Sullivan clasps his apple-less hand over where his heart should be and gasps in mock indignation. “Why, I was nothing other than my usual charming self.”
“That’s what worries me. You were being antagonistic enough while I was around; I’m not completely blind to how you are when I’m not.”
The apple’s returned to its original hand when Sullivan pulls it away from his chest into an exaggerated shrug. He cheated that particular sleight-of-hand, but that’s one of the perks of being him.
“I was just stress testing them. If they can’t take a bit of light provocation now, how can we expect them to hold up a year from now in a real high-stakes situation with tensions running high? Besides, if I’d really been trying to antagonize anyone there would have been bloodshed.”
His friend sighs. “I know, I know. But for once, could you at least pretend to get along? I really want this to work out.”
Sullivan stops playing with the apple. “I know, and so do I. That’s why I did it. But since you asked, I’ll… show some restraint.”
“Thank you. Building up team trust and understanding is going farther than just learning to tolerate each other.”
Sullivan peels a bit of skin off the apple with his teeth instead of answering. The taste is so-so. Better as a prop than food, especially for one who doesn’t need to eat.
“I notice you didn’t mention Eris,” his friend says after a few bites of their own meal.
“Muscles? What’s there to say? Every team needs its resident brute and she fits the role. Big, simple, strong, durable, and resorts to physical force at every opportunity without thinking the consequences through. But, as they say, ‘when all you have is a hammer…’” He traces a ring around the apple’s stem with a finger and then rips out the core with one tug. “It’s cute though how protective she gets of the techie,” he continues as he tosses the de-cored ring of fruit to his friend. “Pound of gold says the two of them are sleeping together by the end of the year if they’re not already. Muscles will probably be obsolete once the other two come into their own, but she’s a good shield until then and - as we’ve seen - putting her in danger’s a good way to motivate the techie. Not that you would ever do that intentionally of course.”
His friend pauses, apple halfway to their mouth, and gives him a flat look.
“And not that I would either, don’t worry,” he assures them while lazily swinging the apple core by its stem. “Besides, it’s not like I’ll be going into the field with them again anytime soon.”
“You have a lead then?”
“That remains to be seen, but as you pointed out yourself when you got the call for this job, a bizarre accident on a known smuggling route just weeks after a cross-world smuggling ring got wiped out and robbed is enough of a coincidence to be suspicious. I’ll be checking on our lighthouse-dwelling acquaintance to ask him if he knows anything about this ‘pulse’ our sole survivor mentioned. After that I still need to have an interview with said survivor to make sure there aren’t any other details he’s forgetting, sort through the salvaged luggage and cargo for anything incriminating, and grease whatever appendages on whatever politicians in Crossherd I need to in order to get all those pod people out of my garden and back to Culescu.
“Suffice to say, that all should keep me occupied for some time, and even if it turns out to be unrelated to your initial case there should be some positively delicious secrets to be dug up in the course of looking into why this happened. Assuming you want me to find out, of course.”
“Go for it. If there’s a chance something or someone intentionally caused this disaster then we need to know. I’m guessing that ward monitor you had me plant at the lighthouse still hasn’t picked up anything?”
Sullivan shakes his head. “No one’s been in or out of there except us and Cabetha’s crew, and at this point I don’t think anyone’s going to be. Either that or whatever it is they’ve been doing to keep from leaving a trace is even more paranoid in its thoroughness than I thought. I’ll retrieve it when I’m back out there tomorrow morning.”
His friend nods. “In the meantime, I was planning on seeing if I can track down Jero and talk xem into helping wake up the passengers.”
“Xe’s still on-world, last I checked. Let me know when you’re bringing xem by so I can get xem through security. You bringing wizard boy along with you?”
“No, I figure we can let him and the others rest for a few days while you and I wrap things up on this quest.” They smirk a little as they say that last word and Sullivan lets them have this indulgence without comment. “I take it you’re fine with him staying here that long?”
“Whatever faults I may hypothetically have, I have always been an excellent host. I’ll not remove a guest who hasn’t done anything to deserve it. I’ll see to it that the staff keeps him and our other guest from getting lost without me.”
“Thanks. Speaking of Ashan though, any idea what’s with the tattoo on the back of his neck?”
“Tattoo?” Sullivan asks, his surprise nearly causing him to miss the falling apple core he’d just tossed into the air. Barely catching it with his teeth, he pulls it the rest of the way into his mouth and swallows it whole.
“I just caught a glimpse of it when he was pulling his hair back. You were busy with the radio and I think Eris was distracted by seasickness, so I suppose it makes sense if neither of you saw it. It looked like a glyph of some kind. Thought you might have recognized it if you saw it, having lived with Carnette and all.”
Sullivan smiles wide. “Now that is some interesting gossip.”
“Please don’t sneak into his room while he’s sleeping to examine it”
“Fine,” he concedes with a huff and a roll of his eyes.
*******
It’s approaching midnight and - to his own surprise - Sullivan’s been true to his word and not spied on any guests in their sleep. Not for the first time lately, the thought crosses his mind that he might be going soft.
He pinches the ivory candle floating in front of him to snuff out its black flame, dropping the interior of the spherical mirror chamber into darkness and releasing the ghost he’d spent the past half hour cross-examining from the infinite reflection of its corpse. He claps twice and soon he feels the subtle shift in the air from the chamber opening. He gathers up the cadaver and candle in his usual fashion, takes a hold of the silk rope that’s been lowered to exactly where protocol dictates, and allows himself to be lifted out. The pull of gravity returns, a trapdoor slides shut with a soft wooden swish-thunk, a carpet unrolls with a whump, and old wooden furniture creaks as it returns to its proper alignment.
As he lets go to drop into the plushly upholstered chair now beneath him a buzzing electric chandelier flickers to life, revealing the recreation of a nineteenth century occultist’s séance parlor around him. Dark red velvet curtains (expensive) lining the walls, crystal ball (mundane) nestled in a pillow on the table (mahogany) in front of him, ouija board (fake) on one side, tarot deck (fake but good for introspection) on the other, human skull (real) on a nearby pedestal, cabinet of curiosities (fraudulent) behind him, and eldritch communion incense (distressingly real) resting cold and unburnt in a tentacle-shaped holder.
It had been another one of Carnette’s little jokes, setting up this hackneyed facade on top of the actual necromantic summoning chamber of her own design. There was always one of those to go through anytime Sullivan wanted to get into the tools and mechanisms she’d left behind. Daily reminders of her just as constant as the blue metal wedding band on his finger.
Sullivan’s no mage himself - and never could be in this world cluster - but he could still manage his fair share of rituals, especially with the help of his dearly departed wife’s implements, reagents, and grimoires. Using one of the bodies of the Culescun crew members he’d discreetly gathered up while his video feed was off to summon the associated ghost to verify Dis!ma*s’s story had practically been child’s play with the mirror chamber doing most of the work for him. Truth be told he’s feeling disappointed, both at how little a challenge it was and at how little new he learned. Just because the ghost had corroborated the story Dis!ma*s had told them that didn’t mean there wasn’t more going on that neither of them knew about, nor did it mean there wasn’t still something the live one had left out. Never trust a sole survivor. Sullivan’s been one enough times to know.
As he removes the ivory candle from his person and places it in a candlestick he contemplates repeating the process on the ship’s resident flesh-shaper. On the one hand, the other two were just grunts and someone of higher station might know more. On the other hand, it’s not every day he gets his hands on a body with a skill this rare and it had been dead long enough before he got it into stasis that there’s not enough essence left lingering for both summoning and… personal indulgence.
A series of rapid beeps emits from his breast pocket. What to do about that morsel is a decision that will have to be tabled for another time. It was hard to tell with how they blended together, but at a rough guess Sullivan would say about twenty. Roughly twenty people have just crossed the bounds of the perception ward around Lachlan’s lighthouse. More than he’d anticipated - even before he gave up on anyone showing - but not, he thinks, more than he can handle.
This morning it had taken the carriage roughly forty minutes to make the trip from the front door of the Manor to the base of the cliff below the lighthouse.
Alone, Sullivan figures he can make it in five.
He stands and his skin ripples and writhes from that which is beneath it.
Space warps and compresses to a single point in his vision.
He takes a step and is out in the hallway.
Another step and he’s at the far end.
A turn, a step, another hallway.
Cross rooms and repeat.
The internal labyrinth of Bridgewood Manor is not conducive to this mode of travel.
He doesn’t bother waking his friend or Ashan.
Outnumbered as he expects to be, he may do some things they wouldn’t approve of.
He’s faster alone anyway.
And he hates to disturb his friend’s rare sound sleep.
One minute.
He steps out the door into the night air.
One step to the edge of the forest.
Three steps to the correct tree.
He lets himself settle for a moment so as not to confuse the security.
A brief transit north through the dark of the bridge.
Still faster for the master of the house alone than it would be with others.
Rise from the weathered wooden floorboards to stand in an arctic wind.
No longer a storm but still enough to rattle the remains of the old collapsed cabin.
Two minutes.
The twisting beneath his skin resumes.
One step down to the shore.
Practically a leisurely stroll down the winding coast.
Faster than the wind whose bite is but a tickling nibble to him.
Three minutes.
The boom echoes across the water and off the cliffs from kilometers away.
The pillar of fire erupts high enough to pierce the perception ward.
The lighthouse’s last light.
He picks up his pace.
Four minutes.
The receiver in his breast pocket beeps twenty three times.
The beeps are more spread out this time.
He swears and rounds the bend in the coast.
The dragon and the bone ship are long gone.
A single, strained step takes him across the bay and to the top of the cliff.
The receiver beeps once with his passage.
He stands at the base of the lighthouse.
It looks like the door’s been kicked in and then lit on fire.
Five minutes.
He steps to what’s left of the top of the lighthouse. The glowing red metal grating of the widow’s walk bends beneath his weight and begins blackening and cracking the leather soles of his shoes as he perches at the edge of the hollowed out tube. There’s light to be seen down there from the molten stone walls; not much, but enough to show that naught remains inside but swirling smoke and ash.
Sullivan stills that which is beneath his skin before opening is mouth wide (but only humanly so), sticking out his tongue, and breathing in the char on the air. Plenty dead here, but nothing remotely recent. Annoying, but curious. He stands up straight and looks around, taking full use of the high vantage point as he blinks his eyes to cycle through spectrums and filters.
A quarter of a kilometer inland, well outside the bounds of the perception ward, he spots the last fading wisps of a spatial distortion marking a mass teleport. Even from here he can tell there’s not enough left to trace the destination. He gives a whistle of appreciation for whoever was skilled enough to break space that cleanly. Turning his reconfigured gaze back to the burning hole that was once an alchemist’s workshop he notices a previously unseen current toward the bottom. May as well check that out.
Casually, he rolls up the hems of his tailored pants, breaks apart the brittle and crumbling ruins of his shoes, peels off his flaming socks and steps over the ledge. He falls twice the height of the lighthouse tower into the hollowed-out depths of the cliff before the shock of his upright landing sends a boneless ripple through his body. The cavern he’s landed in is low and wide. As above, so below remains nothing but cooling molten rock, ashes, and smoke. Oh, and an entrancingly toxic mix of fumes from whatever alchemical concoctions the fire was meant to dispose of. A shame the fire vaporized the equipment as well. If he could condense this into a cologne the scent would simply be to die for. Not that he’d have many places he could get away with wearing it, but he’s sure it would be a hit in the few that he could.
Alas, he has a job to be doing, so he’ll have to satisfy himself with the short-term sensation of the gases that burn his face and nose just as surely as the floor is burning his bare feet. He follows the invisible current of warping space to the gasping remnants of a collapsed bridge near the wall. Had he arrived any later it would have been gone completely. It’s visible now, up close, refracting the orange veins of light emanating from the wall more than what mere heat distortion could accomplish and gathering the ubiquitous fumes into a slowly swirling vortex.
Sullivan sticks a hand into that vortex, hardly feeling it as his palm is shredded and his nails are plucked. Not passable - no surprise there - and routed through multiple proxy destinations. Clever and thorough, as befits an alchemist worthy of the name, but not so clever that one worthy of the name of Bridgewood can’t get a feel for the general area of the final destination. More importantly, he can feel the last traces of the alchemist’s “footprint.” The man escaped before he set his home to blow up in the faces of unwanted guests. Lachlan always had been the sort of man who’d rather destroy his own secrets than share them. Not quite Sullivan’s style, but close enough that he can respect it.
He withdraws his arm with a smile and massages his wrist while his hand returns to a pristine and manicured state. Now this was a lead. And even better, his friend wouldn’t need to be sad and blame themself for the man dying under their watch. He’d been worried about that when the the two of them first found the bodies aboard the Culescun ship, but fortunately Dis!ma*s’s timeline of the crew having died before his friend even got the call to investigate seemed to be enough for them to compartmentalize and rationalize it all as a success.
But best of all, it had been ages since Sullivan had a proper manhunt, much less one promising to end in a conflict with a large force backed by significant magical firepower. He’ll need to expedite his other plans for the next few days because this is going to be delicious.
<-Previous Chapter Masterpost Next Chapter->
4 notes
·
View notes
Scorpio Season: One
Harry is the ghost that haunts the sorority house, Misty is the only one who can see him, and Scorpio season is far too short.
tw: Death
***Do Not Repost Without Permission***
It had started with a simple knock on her bedroom door.
Misty Garland was sitting and reading on her bed the first time she’d heard it. It was a windy fall day, the slightest bit of sun poking through the clouds every so often. Her sorority sisters had thought it was the perfect weather to go day-drink over at the Kappa house. Misty thought she would rather die.
Her knee-jerk reaction had been to call out a soft “Come in!” to the knocking visitor. But it wasn’t until after the words left her lips that it hit her-- she was home alone.
It wasn’t something that could be passed off as the creaking of the walls of the old house, or the knocking of a branch against the window. No, it was a clear, distinct knock, as if someone were trying to get her attention.
Intrigued, she’d set her book down and padded barefoot across the floor. “Hello?” She’d called out half-heartedly, knowing perfectly well that it was in vain. Cautiously, she’d turned the gold knob and pushed her squeaking door open, only to be met with an empty hallway. Just as she’d expected.
It should have worried her. She should’ve been frightened or at the very least, slightly alarmed. But she wasn’t. She wasn’t any of those things.
If anything, she was intrigued.
A slow smile spread across her face as she stepped out into the hallway. One half of her brain reminded her that this could very well be one of her sisters who’d chosen to stay home instead of blacking out on Strawberitas and Jungle Juice with creepy guys. If that were the case, however annoying it would be, she decided she’d laugh it off. Chalk it up to a harmless, albeit immature prank. She’d get whoever it was back, in tenfold.
However, that was not the case.
After searching the entire house top to bottom, (even going so far as to enter all of her sister’s rooms uninvited) Misty came to the equally exciting and somewhat disconcerting conclusion that she was, in fact, home alone.
For the rest of the evening, she waited for a second knock that never came. She spoke, whispered, even shouted into the void, calling upon whatever dark spirit that had seemingly taken up temporary residence in her sorority home.
When only half of her sisters returned home that evening (with the other half apparently electing to stay with their respective boyfriends, girlfriends, fuckbuddies, etc) she’d gone back and forth debating if she should mention it to anyone. Ultimately, however, she’d decided that explaining it was not a good use of her time. So she’d gone to bed early, hoping to hear another knock.
Another knock never came.
It was about a week later that her attention was caught again. It wasn’t from a knocking, but from a gentle thud against the cold tile of the kitchen floor.
Misty had been in the kitchen, washing the dishes that had been slowly accumulating in her room for the past few nights of mid study-sesh snacks. The house was fairly quiet that evening, save for the television in the living room and the chattering of gigging girls in the dining room-- obviously doing more chit-chatting than studying.
She’d been zoned out, lost deep in her thoughts when she’d heard it. Something in the pantry had fallen. Assuming it was a clumsy sister, she’d turned around to help clean up-- only to find that no one had been there at all.
There it was, though-- a loaf of bread that had fallen from the top shelf and landed in a spot that, according to physics, it wouldn’t have logically been able to land.
Misty glanced around the kitchen nervously, unsure of whether or not she should even dare touch the bread. She cleared her throat, becoming more and more aware of the lump growing there. She willed her brain to come up with something to say, anything, but all she could force out of her mouth was, “I… who…?”
Honestly, she wasn’t sure what type of response she was expecting, so she wasn’t surprised when she was met with none at all. Her eyes had darted between the bread and the sink, which she’d left running, as her brain tried with all of its might to explain this situation in a logical manner.
She held her breath, waiting to see if it would move again while her heart pounded loudly in her ears. There was no way she could have imagined this, because there it sat, plain as the nose on her face. With a deep breath and another hurried glance around the room, Misty took a step forward, slower than she’d ever moved in her life. She craned her neck to see if there was anyone in the pantry (of course there wasn’t) and willed her heart to stop thumping so loudly. Surely there had to be an explanation for this. Maybe it was a prank. Maybe she had left a window open and it was windy outside.
A loud laugh came from the dining room then, nearly startling Misty out of her skin. She gasped, whirling around only to quickly realize that the sound was no more than a sister, laughing at a joke presented by another sister. Because of course.
Misty sighed, shaking her head at herself and rolling her eyes at how jumpy she was. For heaven’s sake, it was just a loaf of bread.
She walked to the bread, picking it up to return it to its rightful home in the pantry and allowing herself no further thoughts about the incident. Whatever it was, there was no logical explanation. And some things, Misty thought, were just better off that way. She was comfortable not knowing what had caused the bread to fall. Maybe she would never know. And she was okay with that.
Or so she thought.
The final time Misty had heard it had been the most prominent sign, and the one thing that had tipped her over the edge. It was a night not unlike any other, and Misty was tucked up into bed. She’d elected to keep the window open while she slept, because the weather that day had been perfect-- not hot, but not too chilly either. The perfect weather to cuddle up under a blanket. Misty loved it.
So there she was, nightlight on and covers pulled up to her ears. The sheets smelled like the lavender spray she spritzed all over her bed each night, and although it was familiar and comforting, she couldn’t help but notice that tonight smelled slightly different. The sheets smelled almost spicy, like cinnamon, and although it seemed a bit odd, Misty didn’t spare much more of a thought about it as she yawned most ungracefully.
In the spot between sleep and consciousness, Misty’s ears buzzed. She could feel herself slipping into fully numbed relaxation, her thoughts coming in and out of focus like waves. She knew she was about to be pulled completely under and slip into a dream that was already beginning to form in her brain… and then she heard it.
“Misty.”
Loud and clear.
Immediately, her eyes shot open. As her full consciousness came quickly back to her, she sat up in her bed, eyes scanning the dimly lit room for the source of the voice. Her blood ran cold as she waited in anticipation to see something-- a shadow, a full figure, anything-- but as she lay there, trying to catch her breath, she couldn’t tell whether she was terrified, relieved, or annoyed to be met with absolutely nothing.
“Is someone there?”
The only sound she was met with was her own breathing, and she let out an exasperated sigh.
“Look, I know you’re here,” she said slowly, absentmindedly fidgeting with the sheets as she waited for a response. “And I’m… not scared of you.”
It wasn’t really a lie, of course; she wasn’t scared so much as intrigued. Truthfully, even as a little girl this sort of thing had always fascinated her. She’d always felt she had a special and strange connection to the other side. But it had been ages since she’d really tapped into it, and now that she was practically face to face (so to speak) with what she assumed--and hoped-- was a spirit, she was feeling, at the very least, overwhelmed.
“Did you hear me?” She asked, voice a bit louder than before. “I’m not scared.” Nothing. “You’ve been messing with me for like, a while now. And I want you to know I hear you.” Nothing. “You don’t have to hide yourself.”
And still, nothing.
Misty sighed. “You know, I think it’s pretty rude of you to not introduce yourself. You just show up and wake me up when I’m almost asleep and then ignore me? You throw stuff around, you knock on the walls and the doors and stuff, and for what? Just so you can get a laugh?”
When she was met once again with the deafening sound of silence, she rolled her eyes. Misty reached up to rub the sleep out of her eyes with a finger and gave her room one last scan before speaking again. “I’ll get you to talk,” she says, “one way or another. Don’t think I won’t.”
Nothing.
“This is a threat.”
Nothing.
Misty shook her head, laying back down in her bed and pulling the covers up to her chin. It really was a threat. She had read about ways to contact spirits her entire life, but she’d never actually been brave enough to try any of them. In fact, in all honesty, the thought of doing it now still scared her a bit. Nevertheless, this spirit intrigued her. And as Misty drifted somewhat uneasily into sleep once again, she went over the different ways she was going to try and contact them to know once and for all what it was they had to say.
Which is how Misty finds herself where she is now.
Currently, Misty sits alone in the attic of the old sorority house, setting up for a ritual that she’s never been brave enough to try. The attic is old and a bit stuffy, and Misty coughs as she crawls along the dusty floor into the center of a circle of unlit candles. In hindsight, Misty realizes that the ritual doesn’t really need to be performed up here, considering that she does have the entire house to herself this evening. Still, it seems fitting-- the perfect amount of spooky while still being in a somewhat well- lit and cozy area.
The sky outside is a dark blue, bright enough for her to be able to see her surroundings just barely; and as she glances around in the darkness, she notices that one of the candles in her circle is slightly out of place. She reaches forward to adjust the candle, then takes a deep breath in through her nose to steady and ground herself before reaching into her pocket for a small green lighter.
“Alright,” she says, reaching forward to begin lighting the candles one by one. “It’s just you and me here. And you will show yourself to me one way or another, alright? Nice and easy.”
As she works her way around the circle, lighting each and every candle, Misty prays that the spirit is a kind one. Maybe a sister from the very beginning of her sorority’s chapter. Maybe a lost child trying to find their way to the other side. Maybe--
“OW, fuck!” Misty yelps when she accidentally burns her finger lighting one of the last candles in the circle. She sticks the finger in her mouth to wet it, then pulls it out and shakes it violently, trying desperately to ease the pain.
Misty sighs in frustration at the slight inconvenience of her throbbing finger, then finishes lighting the final candle in the circle. She glances around, pleased with her work, before settling herself in the direct center of the candles, cross legged and as relaxed as she can possibly be.
She tries her hardest to calm her pounding heart. Everything she’d read online about this process had highly recommended getting a professional medium-- one who wasn’t going to get anxious and mess up the process. Misty, of course, did not have access to that. So here she is.
Taking another deep, slow breath-- in through her nose and out through her mouth-- Misty allows herself to sit in the stillness for a few beats. She feels her heart rate slow down, and she takes another breath. Reaching beside her quietly, so as not to disturb the peace that is washing over the room, she picks up one of the stones she’s brought up here for protection.
The small stone feels rough and cold in her hand, and she squints down at it to make sure it’s the stone she wanted. It’s light purple color tells her that it’s an amethyst, and she focuses intently on it for a few moments before taking another long breath-- in through her nose, out through her mouth.
Misty holds the amethyst in her palm, allowing herself to really observe the feeling of it. She focuses on the weight of the stone in her hand, and the way the cool, rocky underside feels against her sweaty palm. She tries to focus on the energy she can feel from the rock, envisioning it surrounded in a glowing white light. She stays like this for a while, and when she’s certain she can actually feel the warm light that she’s envisioning, she clears her throat gently and speaks.
“I dedicate this crystal to the highest good of all. May it be used in light and love.”
Misty lets her words hang in the air for a few moments before repeating them, three more times. After she’s certain her words have stuck, she slowly brings the stone up to her chest. She allows herself to pause, to really feel the faint thump of her heart and the jaggedness of the stone against her chest. She takes in another deep breath and closes her eyes.
“I program this crystal for clarity. For heightened intuition, for protection from evil. I program this crystal for open communication, and unclouded thoughts. I program this crystal for calmness.” With one last breath, she speaks her final words-- a repeat of an earlier sentence. “May it be used in light and love.”
Misty lowers the crystal then, placing it in front of her in a spot where she can always see it out of the corner of her eye. Programming the crystal did help to ease her nerves, yes, but not entirely. Seeing it sitting in front of her in her little circle of candles does wonders, however, to remind her to stay calm, stay focused, and stay present.
So, shit, she thinks, she’s done everything she can at this point. Now it’s time for her to act.
Shot in the dark, she opens her mouth.
“If there is someone in here with me tonight,” she begins slowly, eyeing the room, “will you please show yourself?”
When she is met with silence, she sighs. “It’s just me here,” she says softly. “Just me. We have the whole house to ourselves. I just want to know who you are. If there’s something I can help you with.”
Misty pauses, and goes to open her mouth to speak again when she sees it. The gentle flutter of only one of the flames. If she’d have blinked, she would’ve missed it-- but there it is. A little wiggle of the flame that deviates from the gentle flicker of the others. Misty smiles, and lets out a little surprised breath.
“Was that you?” she asks, then pauses. She doesn’t even realize she’s holding her breath as she watches the flame intently, and when it flickers abnormally again she lets out a pleased laugh.
“I see,” she says, unable to hide the smile on her face and the pounding of her heart. “That was easier than i thought it was going to be. Are you the spirit that’s been messing with me?”
There’s a brief pause, and then the candle flickers again. Misty can hardly believe her eyes. “I knew it,” she says, more to herself than to the spirit. She scrambles to think of the next question she’s going to ask, because she wants to hold the spirit’s attention as long as she possibly can.
“Can you do something else to show me you’re here? Maybe like… move two flames instead of just the one?”
There are a few moments of silence, and Misty almost worries that she’s asked too much of the spirit. She’s about to say a few words of encouragement, to remind the spirit that it’s only her and them in this room, when she sees it.
Every single flame flickers chaotically, in all different directions. Misty can hardly believe her eyes.
“Oh my god,” she breathes. “Holy shit.”
Misty swallows thickly as she ponders what exactly is happening. “Okay,” she says slowly. “Can I ask you a few questions?”
There is no response, but Misty thinks nothing of it. “Who are you?” she asks, then immediately rolls her eyes at herself. How is she expecting the spirit to identify themselves to her?
“Okay, don’t answer that,” she quickly adds. “Umm… how can I ask this?”
There’s a creak in the floor, as if someone were stepping closer to her, and it makes the hair on her arms stand up. She licks her lips as she tries to keep herself calm.
“Okay… um… are you a ghost? One flame for yes, two for no.”
She feels stupid for asking that, but she isn’t really sure how else to ask. She stares at the candles almost a little too intently, and scoffs when one of the flames flickers.
“Should’ve figured that,” she mutters, “sorry.”
Misty notices that one of the candles is slightly out of place, and she reaches forward to adjust it. Just as she does, however, she is overcome with the sense of feeling insanely cold. She gasps, retracting her hand quickly, and the air in the room becomes tense.
She clears her throat as she processes what she just felt. “Was that you?”
There is no response, but the thickness of the air does resolve a bit. Misty settles appprehensively back down into her comfortable position before changing the subject.
“How long have you been dead?” she tries.
There’s a brief moment, and she considers rewording her question, when she notices that four different flames flicker in succession, one right after the other. “I see…” she says, “So four years then?”
There is no response, and Misty thinks about their answer. “That’s not very long,” she says, frowning. “This must be a pretty fresh death, no? I’m sorry.”
One of the flames wiggles, almost sympathetically, and it makes Misty giggle. In all honesty, she’s feeling completely comfortable with this spirit.
“Look,” she says, relaxing her posture a bit. “I wish I was better at this. Truth be told, I’ve never really…. talked to a ghost before? So like, I hope I’m doing this right. I wish I had a better communication system though.”
The flame that wiggled gently before suddenly begins to shake with more vigor, burning brighter and somewhat bigger than it had before. This catches Misty’s attention.
“Do you have something you’d like to say?” She asks, and the flame grows slightly larger.
“You’re free to say it,” she says, moving to tuck her knees under her butt. “Like I said, it’s just you and me in here.” She watches the flame dance, enthralled and fascinated by its movement.
“Why me?” she asks, and another flame begins wiggling violently as well. “I mean… why have you contacted me? Surely you have something to say.”
A third flame begins shaking, and Misty is growing a bit anxious. “I know you have a voice,” she says, her own voice a bit louder now. “I’ve heard it. You woke me up the other night.”
Misty’s eyes dart from one flame to the next, willing herself not to panic at the way the flames seem rather large. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the reflection of the flames on the glassy edges of her amethyst, and she thinks perhaps she should reach for it to remind her to stay grounded, stay calm, stay focused.
Just as she raises her hand to reach for it, however, a fourth flame grows larger in size.
“What are you trying to tell me?” she asks, growing a bit frustrated. “I don’t know how else to help you other than--”
Misty is cut off when she sees the amethyst move, ever so slightly. She freezes in her tracks.
She wants to pass that off as a trick of the lights, but there’s no way she can. She saw it move, plain and simple. Not to mention she’d heard the soft scratching of the stone moving against the wooden floor.
When Misty looks up, almost all of the candles are flickering aggressively. She gasps, completely panicked now.
“Show yourself!” she blurts out. “I know you’re here, I know you have something to say!”
She watches the flames intensify, and she almost considers abandoning this entire mission and blowing them all out right here.
“Why are you doing this?” she asks. “Just… say something!”
In somewhat of a trance by the way the candle lights flicker, Misty feels her heart rate increase as she stays stuck, frozen against the wooden floor. That same smell of cinnamon as before fills her nose, and she swallows thickly around a dry throat. “I--” she nearly chokes on her words. “Why are you trying to scare me?” she shouts. “I said, say something!”
Still nothing. Now she’s growing increasingly more impatient.
And then it happens.
With a sudden gust of air Misty is shoved, and all of the air in her lungs is let out with a forceful grunt. The candles are extinguished all at once, and the room instantly grows a stuffy sort of dark. The moon shining brightly in the window somehow fills Misty’s stomach with anxiety and dread, not relief. She swallows thickly, taking a few moments to gather her wits and straining her eyes against the thick blackness surrounding her.
The stillness of the room is alarming, and Misty’s heart pounds aggressively against her rib cage. It isn’t until her lungs start burning that she realizes she’s been holding her breath for fear of breaking the silence, and she lets it out slowly and cautiously.
With a shaky hand she reaches forward until she feels her lighter once again, and she flicks it on. She can hardly see in the dimly lit room, but her eyes begin to adjust, and she glances around herself nervously. “Who are you?”
“It’s about time, sunshine.”
The voice comes from behind her and startles her so much that she jumps, flinging the lighter halfway across the floor and bathing the room in darkness once again. Shit.
“Ohh,” coos the voice, deep but unthreatening. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Here.”
Misty feels a brush of cold air that causes the hairs on her arms to stand up before, one by one, each candle in the room flickers alive once again. Her jaw trembles as she tries to find the source of the voice in the now illuminated room.
“I thought you weren’t scared,” the voice says again, now coming from a different direction.
“I wasn’t,” she says, then swallows around the dryness of her throat. “I’m not.” It’s a complete lie, but she doesn’t want to let her guard down now.
The voice is raspy and deep, but friendly, and a thick, honey drip of a british accent coats the noise sweetly. “That’s a lie,” it says, and it sounds like a man. A pouty man at that. “You weren’t so afraid of me before. Now you’re shaking.”
“You just startled me, that’s all. Where are you?”
“Well, I’m not going to show you if you’re going to be scared.”
Somehow, his words aren’t comforting. Still, Misty isn’t a quitter. “What is there to be scared of? Are you a ghost?”
“I am.”
She smirks. “Are you an ugly ghost?”
This time, he scoffs. “Hardly.”
“Well!” Misty says. “Someone’s full of himself, isn’t he?”
“I’m not!” he insists, and he sounds closer now. “It’s just that you spoke a big game before. Now I’m not so sure you’re ready for this after all.”
Misty sighs, growing increasingly more irritated by the second. “If I wasn’t ready for this, I wouldn’t have summoned you. I thought you were intriguing before. Now you’re just annoying.” She moves like she’s going to stand, and suddenly feels another gust of cold air on her arm.
“Wait!” He sounds as though he’s right in front of her now, and she’s overwhelmed by his cinnamon scent. “I’m not trying to be annoying. I just… want to make sure you’re ready for this.”
“I told you I am,” Misty huffs. She gestures vaguely around the room. “Your words are scaring me more than any of this did. Why wouldn’t I be ready to see you?”
“I don’t know,” he says softly. “Just… sometimes people don’t know how to respond when they see their first manifestation.”
“I’ve seen a ghost before, dude.”
Now, it’s his turn to sound intrigued. “Have you?”
“M-hm. I’ve always been able to sense these kinds of things.”
“But have you seen one?”
“Shadows mostly. Or I heard voices.”
“But a physical manifestation--”
“You don’t count shadows?”
“Of course I do.” There’s a noise, and it sounds as if the spirit has just sat down. “But I’m not a shadow.”
“What are you then?”
“I’m a different type of ghost. Did you know there are several types?”
Misty leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I mean yeah, of course, but I had always just assumed you all showed yourselves as shadows.”
“Not all of us. I mean, we can-- but it isn’t natural for me. I’m not sure we’ve got an actual name for me, but there are many out there like me. We’re a certain type of intelligent ghost that can physically interact with the linear time and space around us. Usually we’re harmless.”
“Are you harmless?”
Once again, she can practically hear the spirit’s smile. “Usually.”
“So… when I see you, you’ll look like, what, just a regular dude?”
“Yeah, more or less.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad. Why are you hyping this up so much?”
“I don’t know! It’s been a long time since I’ve manifested in front of someone!”
“Ah.” Misty grins. “So you’re the one who isn’t ready.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“It’s why you’ve been stalling for so long. You wanted my attention so badly, and now you’ve got it. So show yourself.”
“Fine,” he huffs. “There’s no need to be pushy.”
Silence follows his words, and Misty stares blankly ahead-- waiting for something to happen. She shakes her head slowly and shrugs. “I don’t…. Get it....”
“Turn around.”
Once again, Misty jumps out of pure surprise when the spirit’s voice comes from behind her. She whirls around almost too quickly, nearly losing her balance despite being seated. The minute she sees him standing calmly behind her, she rises.
She takes a moment to really just look at him. She’s not sure what exactly she’d been expecting; maybe a glowing transparent blob of a young man from the early 1900s, or, worst case scenario, a perfectly normal looking guy who just happened to have a very visible axe lodged into his brain (or some other indication of his death)-- but in any case, he doesn’t look like anything she’d been anticipating. He looks like any other guy she’d see walking around on campus, and if it weren’t for the hardly visible glow outlining his body, she’d assume this was a new Kappa pledge pulling a prank on her as part of his hazing.
He’s got shaggy brown hair that hangs from his head in curls that frame his face and his ears. His eyes are blue-- or are they green? Misty isn’t close enough to be able to tell, and truthfully she’s still a bit apprehensive about befriending a dead guy, so she stays put. Whatever color they are though, they’re beautiful. He’s not floating-- she doesn’t know why she’d been expecting him to-- but standing flat on his feet he’s still taller than her. He’s one of the prettiest people she’s ever seen, and it makes her feel faint (although she blames that on the fact that she’s face to face with someone who’s died).
“I’m Harry,” he says slowly. He’s calm, but he’s unsure. He watches her as if waiting for some type of earth-shattering reaction. The less she moves, the more nervous he becomes. When she doesn’t say anything, he speaks again. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
For someone who isn’t alive-- Misty can’t seem to get over that fact-- he dresses remarkably well. He honestly does look like a Kappa brother, and it weirds her out.
“How did you do that?” She frowns at herself. That was the first thing she could think to say?
Harry laughs, relieved that she’s seemingly so calm. He shrugs. “Dunno. Just something I can do.” He takes a step towards her and, instinctively, Misty takes half a step back.
This time, Harry smirks, but he doesn’t move closer. “Are you still scared?”
“I was never scared!” Misty groans.
“Just startled then.” There’s a twinkle in his eyes, and now Misty can see that they’re clearly green.
Misty rolls her eyes. It’s impossible to stay annoyed at him when he’s looking at her like this. “Fine!” she sighs. “I’m a little scared.”
“Ha!” Harry beams jubilantly. The smile fades just as quickly as it came, however, and he frowns. “Why are you still scared?”
“I don’t know! I’ve just never done this before.”
The bright smile returns to his face, softer this time, and Misty-- though still apprehensive-- relaxes a bit. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says gently.
“I didn’t think you were,” Misty replies. “But I also don’t know why you wanted my attention so badly.”
Harry shrugs. “Because. I think you’re pretty.”
It’s so straightforward that Misty is taken aback, and she scoffs. “What, seriously?”
“Yeah.” Harry blinks back at her, standing by his words completely and keeping that air of smugness about him.
Misty waits for a further explanation, but when Harry only stares back at her and raises his eyebrows, she realizes that she isn’t getting one. She laughs in disbelief. “So you went through all this trouble…. Just to tell me I’m pretty?”
“Suppose so.” Harry’s head cocks a bit to the left, and it’s the first time that Misty notices the endearing little dimple on his cheek. She doesn’t know why he flusters her so badly, but she feels her cheeks heating up when she realizes that yes, he’s telling the truth. He really did just want to tell her she was pretty.
Misty’s hand comes up to comb through her hair and she swallows thickly. “Oh. Well. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The silence that follows isn’t awkward, but it’s tense. The air is thick with tension, in fact, and Misty wonders if it’s possible to flirt with a ghost.
Harry clears his throat. “Anyway. If you want me to leave you alone--”
“No!” Misty responds, almost too quickly. “I don’t. Not at all.”
“You don’t?” Harry beams back at her, and Misty realizes that he really is just as nervous as she is.
“I don’t,” she replies. “But, I mean-- are you just gonna live here from now on? In the attic?”
Harry laughs, a tinkling noise that sends butterflies straight to the pit of Misty’s belly. “I live in this house one way or another. Have for several years. It’s just that I can only show myself at a certain time of year.”
“But why is that?”
“You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” Harry laughs, taking another cautious step towards Misty. When she doesn’t retreat, he relaxes and fully closes the gap between them. Once again, the smell of cinnamon fills Misty’s nose. Slowly and decidedly, Harry reaches forward to touch her arm and the instant his hand comes in contact with her skin, she is flooded with goosebumps.
His skin is cold, but not as cold as she was expecting. Although honestly, she wasn’t expecting to be able to make tangible contact with him at all. But she can feel it so clearly-- five fingertips trailing comfortingly along the skin of her arm with the gentleness and intention of a lover. Five perfectly groomed fingernails that show no indication of death. Standing this close to him, she can make out the details of his face; a little scar on his neck, a small freckle on his lip, soft smile lines around his eyes. Misty shivers-- partly because of the coldness of his touch, but mostly because it’s been ages since she’s stood this close to someone so beautiful.
His fingers trail down to her hand, and then more specifically, the one finger she burned. She’s almost in a trance as he brushes his cold fingers against the stinging patch of skin, and in an instant any pain she felt in the throbbing finger is now gone.
Misty glances from her finger, then back to Harry, who’s smiling the most tender smile she’s ever seen. “How…?” She begins slowly.
Harry lets out a sigh, and Misty realizes they’ve just been staring at one another. “Don’t worry about it, sunshine.”
Misty practically melts into his touch, and she isn’t sure if he’s got a spell on her or what, but she has the overwhelming urge to kiss him now. She swallows, then opens her mouth to speak before Harry cuts her off. “Your sisters are home.”
“What?”
She doesn’t have time for answers, however, when through the attic window she sees the blue mini cooper of one of her sorority sisters pull up to the curb. She watches the car for a moment. “How did you--”
But when she turns to finish her question, Harry is gone.
------
The following day, Misty finds herself bundled up and sitting in her favorite spot on campus, despite the chill in the air. She’s sitting on the cold grass against a large rock, overlooking a tiny stream that runs throughout the entire small town. She knows it won’t be long before the stream freezes over, so, despite the cold weather, she’s brought herself here to read and listen to the babbling water while she still can.
Harry hadn’t showed up for the rest of the night last night, which had led Misty to wonder if she’d dreamt the entire thing. It had kept her up most of the night, and when he still hadn’t appeared this morning, she knew she had to do something to get her mind off of him.
Which is how she’s found herself here now. Most of her homework for the week is done, so she’s decided to spoil herself by grabbing her favorite coffee at the shop she frequents and a new book at the library before heading to her spot.
It’s a brisk October day, and the Halloween decorations hanging from the campus houses flutter in the chilly wind. Misty wraps her scarf a little tighter around her neck and snuggles further into her coat as she turns the page of her book.
“There you are.”
Misty jumps, nearly spilling her coffee, when she hears it. The thick, British drawl she’s been so desperately craving to hear all morning comes from behind her, and she whirls around to see Harry, in the exact same outfit he’d been in last night, smirking at her.
“Stop doing that!” she hisses. Despite her grumpy tone, she scoots over when Harry makes his way to sit beside her. She feels immediately comforted when she smells the cinnamon that comes with his presence.
Harry chuckles, plopping into the grass. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to.”
“It’s about time you showed up,” Misty huffs, putting her finger between the pages of her book to mark her place.
The smirk on Harry’s face is so smug that Misty wants to slap it off of him. “You’ve been expecting me?”
This throws Misty off guard, and her cheeks go hot. “Well, yeah,” she says, trying to maintain her attitude. “I mean, don’t you think you owe me an explanation?”
Harry laughs. “No, I don’t.”
“Seriously?” Misty rolls her eyes. “You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”
“Not a person,” Harry states. “I’m a ghost.”
“Well whatever you are, you’re annoying.”
“Thank you.” Harry nods towards the book in her hands. “What are you reading?”
Misty doesn’t answer him, suddenly far more self-conscious than she’d been before. He reaches out to take the book and pulls it closer to himself to read the title aloud.
“‘When Ghosts Speak: Understanding the World of Earthbound Spirits.’” He snorts. “Seriously?”
“Well if you won’t tell me anything, I have to figure it out myself.”
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know!” Harry says, relaxing against the rock and stretching his feet out in front of him. “Fire away.”
Misty eyes him for a moment. “You’re not kidding?”
“I’m an open book.”
She takes his sudden burst of confident vulnerability and considers the questions she wants to ask. There had been so many in her head since he’d disappeared last night, but now that she’s on the spot, she’s blanking.
Misty clears her throat. “Alright. I’ll start off easy. How are you here?”
Harry smiles. “I can go anywhere I want to. Just like you.”
“Can anyone else see you?”
“If I wanted them to. But I don’t.”
Misty looks around, suddenly nervous that anyone nearby might hear her speaking and think she’s talking to herself. Luckily, she seems to be the only person crazy enough to willingly subject herself to this weather. So she turns back to Harry.
“So then why did you wait for me to summon you? Why didn’t you just show yourself?”
“That’s where it gets tricky,” Harry responds. “I can only manifest during a certain time period every year. But in order to manifest at all, I have to be invited first. After I accept the invitation, I’m free to come and go as I please until the end of the season.”
“So you’re going to be a pest for this entire fall then?” Despite her words, Misty smirks.
Harry matches her wit and chuckles. “No, not that kind of season. Scorpio season.”
“Oh god,” Misty groans. “You’re an astrology freak, aren’t you?”
Harry snorts. “Look, I didn’t make the rules. That’s just the way it is. When Scorpio season starts, I can show myself. When it ends, I leave.”
“Where do you go? When it ends, I mean.”
Harry shrugs. “I dunno. Nowhere bad. It’s just kinda… nothing. I can’t explain it.”
“Is it scary?”
Harry considers her words, then shakes his head. “I… really can’t explain it. It’s not scary. It goes by fast. I just kind of… sleep, I guess. Nothingness.” A sudden thought dawns on him, like he’s remembering something. “But! I can pop into people’s dreams while I’m there.”
“You can?”
“Yup. I don’t do it too often, just because it takes a lot of my energy, but I’ve seen some pretty interesting things, I’ll tell you that.”
Misty doesn’t say anything, and Harry lets her sit in silence while she processes his words. He knows it’s a lot, and he knows he would be weirded out if he were in her shoes. So he watches her, trying to gauge her reaction.
Finally, she turns to him. She doesn’t look nervous, but something is on her mind. “Can I ask you something… a little more personal?”
“Anything.”
“Okay.” Misty takes a deep breath, focusing her attention on the birds hopping around nearby. “How did you… die?”
“How did I die?” Harry repeats her question, then blows out all of his air in a puff. “It’s not anything exciting.”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, I just--”
“No, no!” Harry holds up his hand. “I don’t mind. It’s just… anticlimactic I suppose. And you’re probably going to laugh.”
Misty leans closer, a serious look spreading across her face. “I wouldn’t dare laugh about someone’s death.”
“No, you will,” Harry says, smiling to himself. “It’s kinda funny.” He takes a deep breath, preparing to tell the story. “I fell off the roof of your house.”
Harry laughs, but Misty doesn’t find it funny at all. “That’s horrible, Harry. How did you--”
“While having sex.”
Misty stops her sentence dead in its tracks, and a new look of pure surprise blossoms on her face. “You…”
Harry sighs, launching into the story. “A few years ago, your sorority was throwing a Halloween party. I wasn’t into Greek life but a few of my mates dragged me along. I was already pretty drunk by the time we got there, right, so all bets were off. Well, I met this girl, right? Never even learned her bloody name, but I guess she was a sister. Made eyes at me from across the room and it was over. Drank some more, chatted her up, and then we decided ‘hey, might as well.’ Only, all of the bedrooms were taken. So then, she had the brilliant idea to go up on the roof. It was raining so, you know, in hindsight we should’ve known better. But we were drunk and horny and stupid. So we went up, started going at it, slipped, and uh… splat. So to speak.”
Misty doesn’t know how to respond, and Harry doesn’t expect her to. He just chuckles. “Found me with my pants around my bloody ankles,” he continues. “ Not a very dignified way to go is it?”
“That’s awful.” Misty frowns.
“Eh. What can you do? Apparently the girl lived but she felt so guilty that she dropped out of school and moved away. I guess no one’s heard from her since.”
“You don’t think she did it on purpose, do you?”
“Oh, nah. No way. It was an accident.”
“I’m sorry to make you talk about it.”
“I don’t mind talking about it,” Harry replies. “All I can do is laugh about it at this point.”
“Well,” Misty says, shifting her position against the rock. “I still don’t think it’s funny.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“Can I ask you something else?” she asks, changing the subject.
“Mm?”
“Why me? Like, what was it about me that made you decide ‘Ah, yeah, she’s the one I’m gonna haunt?’”
Harry smiles, crossing his foot over his opposite leg and resting his ankle to his knee. He gives her question a moment of thought before responding. “Told you. Think you’re pretty.”
Misty rolls her eyes but the smile that forms on her lips is undeniable. “That’s seriously it?”
“I mean,” Harry says slowly, absentmindedly shaking his foot back and forth. “Yeah. Been stuck at that house for the past, what, four Scorpio seasons now? You’re the first girl I’ve seen who’s caught my attention.”
“Ew, so you like, spy on us?”
Harry snorts. “No, god, I’m not a perv. But, you know, I live there, too, so. Sometimes I’ll join in for movie night. Or game night. I also pop in to the occasional party. But I don’t spy.”
“Good,” Misty says. “Although I don’t even think you’d find anything juicy anyway. They’re a bunch of duds.”
“Can I ask you something now?” Harry’s got an intrigued smile on his face.
“Yeah.”
“Why did you join a sorority? You seem to hate everything about it.”
Misty sighs. “I don’t hate it,” she says slowly. “I mean, it definitely wouldn’t have been my first choice for like, extra-curricular activities.”
“So why then?”
“I’m a legacy,” she replies. “My mom and my grandma were both Beta Sigmas. They would’ve killed me if I didn’t.”
“Is it really that serious to them?”
Misty smirks. “For someone who lives in a sorority house, you sure know nothing about sorority girls.”
Harry’s laugh is sudden and it makes Misty’s heart warm despite the coldness of his presence. “It would appear so. Jeez.”
The two fall silent for the next few moments, residual giggles dying off into happy sighs. It’s obvious that they both enjoy one another’s company, and Misty is ridiculously glad that he’s come back to check up on her today.
After about a minute of silence, however, another question pops into her head. “So. You’re a Scorpio then?”
Harry laughs, shaking his head. “I’m not, no. Or, I wasn’t, when I was alive.”
“Why Scorpio season then?”
“Because it coincides with spooky season, I guess. Or maybe because I died at a Halloween party? I don’t know. I didn’t make it up.”
“What are you then? What’s your sign or whatever?”
Harry smirks. “Guess.”
“Taurus.”
He shakes his head. “Guess again.”
“Leo.”
Harry makes a face now. “No. God, a Leo? Who do you think I am?”
Misty giggles. “I don’t know! I don’t know shit about astrology!”
“Obviously.” Harry snorts. “I’m an Aquarius.”
“Is that good?”
“It’s the best.”
“Great.”
Harry giggles, letting the conversation naturally fizzle out before starting his next sentence. “Misty?”
It’s the first time she’s heard him say her name to her face, not just in her ear late at night while she’s trying to sleep, and it fills her with butterflies yet again. “Hm?”
“I’m glad you’re not, like, scared of me. Really glad.”
Misty giggles. “I am, too, honestly.”
“Even though you were scared in the beginning.”
Misty’s smile turns into a scowl, but there is still a playfulness in her eyes and in her tone that makes Harry laugh. “I wasn’t. I hate you.”
“No you don’t.” Harry scoots the tiniest bit closer to Misty and nods at her book. “So. Tell me what’s going on in your book.”
-----
Harry just might be the most annoying person-- or rather, entity-- that Misty has ever come across in her entire life.
And she can’t get enough of him.
They’d spent a good portion of their days together throughout the past week, with Harry lingering around longer and longer each day. Misty didn’t mind, of course, and she welcomed his company. By the fourth day of spending time together, they were chatting as if they were the best of friends. Misty had learned about Harry’s life prior to coming to this school, about his mom and his sister and how he checked in on them via their dreams whenever he could. She learned about what he’d been studying prior to his death, and what he wanted to do with that degree. And Harry answered each and every one of her questions with patience (and usually a snarky remark), which Misty loved.
In turn, Harry had learned much of the same information about Misty’s life, and he found her fascinating. He asked her just as many questions as she asked him, and whenever she called for him, he showed up. He loved it every time.
He’d manifested in the kitchen this morning as she was pouring herself a cup of coffee, and he’d followed her around like a child while she tried to find something decent for breakfast. She hadn’t acknowledged him much, for fear of any of the other girls noticing, but she did manage to sneak him a few sleepy grins that he found himself melting for every time.
He’d then followed her up to her room, where he chatted with her while she crunched away at a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. They’d discussed her plans for the day and he’d asked her if he could stay with her (although truth be told, he didn’t really have to ask; he knew she’d say yes anyway).
It hadn’t been a very busy day by any means. Misty had had a few errands to run (which Harry had found unbelievably boring and dipped out of, promising her he’d be waiting for her at home). Presently, Misty finds herself sitting on her bed, laptop resting comfortably on her thighs, while she types away at a book report that she has due at midnight.
Harry had offered her his help, which she’d taken him up on, but Misty soon came to find out that the word ‘help’ in his case was used very loosely. Harry had elected instead to continuously chat and distract Misty, and each distraction was met with a protest from her… as well as her deepest insight on whatever topic Harry had decided to bring up. Truth be told, Misty welcomed the distraction. She loved picking his brain, and he hers.
Currently, Misty types away mindlessly, while Harry sits quietly at the foot of her bed flipping through one of Misty’s old yearbooks. Every now and again he’ll marvel at something in the yearbook, or he’ll tease Misty about her braces or tell her she looked cute during spirit week. “‘Nerd Day�� huh? Suits you.”
After Harry has been particularly quiet for a while, however, Misty starts to get suspicious.
She glances up from her work to find Harry staring at her, a mischievous grin that she hates to love tugging at his cheeks.
“What?” she says, subconsciously squirming under his gaze.
He only blinks, hardly bothering to look away or wipe the smirk from his face. “Sorry. Just thinking.”
“About?”
“Don’t know if I should say…”
This makes Misty’s cheeks grow hot, though she tries her hardest to cover it up. “Harry don’t be an idiot.”
Harry chuckles, using his finger to mark the page of Misty’s yearbook that he’s currently on. “It’s nothing bad,” he says casually. “It’s fine.”
“Then stop staring at me,” Misty says with a smile. “Creep. If you have something to say then say it.”
Harry grins, reaching down to wiggle his fingers against the underside of her foot. “I do, actually. I have an idea.”
Misty lowers her laptop screen just a tad so she can see him better before speaking. “What kind of idea?”
The smile on her face and the narrowing of her eyes tells Harry that she’s in before she even knows his idea, and he has to contain his giggles as he speaks.
“You wanna play a prank on your sisters?” He asks. “Just to spook them a bit. ‘Tis the season and all that.”
“What kind of a prank?” Misty sits up, leaning closer to Harry and lowering her voice excitedly.
“I don’t know,” Harry says, “maybe like… I could throw some stuff around. Make a few noises. Pretend to possess you.”
Immediately, Misty is intrigued. She gently tosses the laptop to the side and beams. “Shit, you think we should?”
“I do,” Harry says, a twinkle already forming in his eye. “Obviously we’ll have to work out the details, but yeah. Something like that.”
“Pretend to possess me,” Misty says, “do it.”
Harry raises his eyebrows. “Someone’s a bit eager, aren’t they?”
Misty rolls her eyes, but the embarrassed little smirk on her lips doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry. “Not like that,” she says, then tacks on a mumbled and affectionate “stupid.”
“Not like what?” Harry wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, purposely making Misty squirm. She laughs and tosses a pillow at his face.
“Nevermind,” she says through a grin, “I don’t even want to do this anymore.”
“Liar,” Harry says.
“Brat,” Misty replies.
Harry’s eyes twinkle. “I take it that you’re in, then.”
“I guess,” Misty says. “Don’t look so smug.”
“You’re cute when you’re annoyed with me,” Harry says casually, and it takes Misty a moment to even register what he’s said.
Misty feels the heat rising in her cheeks at his words, and as flustered as he’s made her, she bounces back quickly. “I must be adorable all the time then.”
Harry shrugs. “You said it, not me.”
“Anyway,” Misty says, desperately trying to change the subject to cover up how giddy he’s making her, “what did you actually have in mind?”
Harry smirks. “How good are your acting skills?”
---
Coincidentally, tonight is movie night among a few of the girls and their boyfriends. Which, Misty and Harry had quickly realized, was the perfect setting to execute their plan.
It’s 8:30pm, and Misty is sitting on the couch under a blanket, snuggled between a few other sisters. There are sisters scattered around the entire living room, some cuddled up with their respective partners and some without. Everyone has alcohol of some sort; Misty herself is about a glass and a half of wine in, and she’s actively trying to ignore the thoughts about how badly she wishes Harry were sitting beside her on the couch.
Especially since she’s the only one who can see him right now, sitting so casually in the corner of the room, eyes glued to the screen like everyone else’s, and looking so, so handsome.
If Misty didn’t know any better she would think he was just another one of the guys, and for a moment she allows herself to indulge in the make-believe world in which Harry is her boyfriend who has come over to join the girls for movie night. In her mind, he’s just gotten up to get Misty a bottle of water, but got so interested in the film that he ended up just sitting down to finish the scene.
It’s selfish, Misty knows. But seeing him like this, so casually cute, makes her heart hurt. Obviously she’s got things way easier than Harry, considering she is the only one between them with a beating heart. But she has to wonder if it gets lonely in his world. He can only visit his loved ones through dreams. He can only show himself for a month out of the year. Even now, he sits alone in the corner of the room, far from everyone else.
He had joked about it earlier, saying the reason he sat so far away from everyone was because the spot he was in gave him the best seat of the house every time. However, a few moments later he’d admitted that the actual reason was because he didn’t want to make anyone cold and ruin the fun. He’d given her a soft smile and brushed that statement off with yet another joke, but it had broken Misty’s heart.
As if sensing her thoughts, Harry turns just in time to catch Misty staring at him, and he grins immediately.
“Stop staring at me, creep.” He winks at her.
For a full five seconds, Misty is terrified that Harry’s just blown his own cover. She tenses up, glancing around the room in shock just waiting for someone to say something about hearing a voice. When she realizes, with confusion, that not a single person has moved, Harry speaks again.
“Don’t worry, they can’t hear me. Only you.”
Misty glances back at Harry, wanting to say something back but knowing she can’t, and he grins. “God, I bet it’s killing you, not being able to talk back to me. I could have some fun with this.”
When Misty shoots a subtle glare in Harry’s direction, he gasps. “If looks could kill,” he says, shaking his head.
Misty wants to laugh and throw something at him and fight back but she knows she can’t, and he’s right, it is killing her. She cracks her neck gently from side to side, in an attempt to relax herself, and Harry laughs.
“Alright, I’ll have mercy. Are you ready to get started? Or are you super into the movie?”
Misty’s face goes into a completely deadpan expression as she glances at Harry, as if to say “really?” How on earth is she supposed to answer that?
“Oh,” Harry chuckles. “Uh, blink once if you want me to start.”
Misty blinks as subtly as she can while still trying to make her answer clear to Harry. He beams.
“Blink once if you think I’m hot.”
This time, Misty can’t control herself. She lets out an exasperated sigh that does, unfortunately, catch the attention of a few of her friends.
“You good?” The girl sitting beside her on the couch-- Kennedy-- laughs.
Before Misty even has time to respond, however, Harry swoops in and saves the day. He knocks hard, twice, on the wooden floor, and every head in the room turns.
There is an intense shift of energy once everyone realizes that there is nothing that could have possibly made that noise.
“Uhhh…???” Another sister, Rosie, speaks up, curling even further into her boyfriend.
“What the fuck was that dude?” Greg, one of the most unbearably fratty boys Misty has ever known, sits up.
And there sits Harry, smirking in the corner, obviously pleased with his work.
Misty realizes quickly that she can’t blow her own cover, so her face changes to one of apprehension and terror, mirroring everyone else’s. “Uhh… everyone heard that, right?”
“That was like, distinct!” Rosie says. “Like two deliberate knocks.”
All at once everyone starts talking over one another.
“What the fuck, dude--”
“Was it over in that corner?”
“Go check it out--”
“No you go check it out!”
“Was it one knock or two?”
“You guys, what the fuck was that?’
Misty glances at Harry, who is staring back at her expectantly, as if to ask if it’s okay if he makes the next move. Misty gives him a subtle nod, and Harry rises to his feet.
He walks gently along the wooden floor, making sure to get as close as possible to the people sitting scattered along it. He wants them to feel his presence, and each person has a different reaction.
It’s Luca, Rosie’s boyfriend, who says something first. “Wait, I’m not even kidding you, I’m cold as shit right now.”
Harry grins down at Luca, shooting Misty a wink. “Uh ohhhh,” Harry says softly. He reaches down to lightly tickle his fingers against the back of Luca’s neck, and Luca instantly shoots up onto his feet.
“Swear to GOD dude, something just fucking touched me!”
Rosie shoots to her feet as well, taking a step away from Luca. “Luca you better not be fucking around--”
“Why would I fuck around about that shit?” he asks, voice raising.
“Guys there has to be a logical explanation for this.” Kennedy speaks up, reaching for her drink on the table. “Like, it’s getting colder outside. Maybe there was a draft.”
Rosie sniffs the air a few times, then swallows. Misty has never seen anyone look so worried before in her life, and it makes her want to laugh. “Guys, I smell cinnamon.”
“Oops,” Harry says, turning to Misty. “Might’ve gotten a bit too close there.”
In an instant, Harry is out of Misty’s sight. But he manifests again in the back corner of the room and steps on a particularly creaky floor board, causing everyone’s heads to turn.
Harry observes the shocked looks on all of their faces, then gives Misty a shit eating grin. “I do that a lot, actually,” he says.
As if backing up his words, another sister, Angie, speaks up. “That’s the noise!” she says. “Lindsey and I were in here the other night and we heard it!”
“I’ve heard it too,” Kennedy says. “It happens like, all the time.”
“So you’re just like, not even scared?” Rosie asks, panic in her voice now. “You’re like, completely fine with it? Like it’s normal to you?”
“Misty.” Harry’s voice is now right in Misty’s ear, and it makes her jump. She can feel his cold presence against her skin, and his all too delicious spicy scent engulfs her. She shivers, but turns her head as if to let him know he’s got her attention.
“You ever seen the movie Beetlejuice?”
Misty giggles and nods subtly, glad that no one in the room is really paying attention to her right now.
“Yeah?” Harry chuckles against Misty’s skin. “Thinkin’ we could do somethin’ like that one scene.”
Misty doesn’t even have time to question what scene he’s even referring to, his coldness is gone just as quickly as it came. She turns around again, eyes scanning the room of her panicked classmates and sisters, before she finds him in the corner of the room, messing with an iphone that’s charging. He doesn’t pick it up, instead he just taps the screen. Luckily, the phone is unlocked.
“It’s 2020,” he mumbles, “Who doesn’t have a bloody passcode on their phone?”
The unlocking of the phone, however, does not go unnoticed.
It’s Rosie who points it out, because of course it is. “Guys,” she shrieks, “look at Greg’s phone!”
All eyes are on Harry-- or rather, the phone, and Harry rolls his eyes. “Shit,” he mutters, then looks up at Misty. “Ask them if they hear something.”
Misty wastes no time. “Guys… holy shit do you hear that?”
The room goes quiet, save for the movie that no one had bothered to pause. Lindsey scrambles for the remote and quickly mutes the television, and everyone is stock still.
“I don’t hear anything,” Rosie whispers, and Misty quickly cuts her off with a sharp “Shhh!”
She glances back over at Harry, hoping he has a plan. He doesn’t even look at her, he just continues scrolling through the phone with a concentrated frown on his face.
Greg rises to his feet and takes a cautious step towards his phone. “What the fuck--” he mumbles.
And then Harry nods, pushes a button, and everyone jumps as the opening bars of Tainted Love fill the room via the bluetooth speakers in the corner.
A small smirk begins growing on Harry’s face as he slowly rises from his squatted position beside the phone. “Ahh,” he says slowly. “An absolute classic.”
Everyone seems to be in shock at what’s happening, so no one moves or reaches for the phone to stop the music. Harry is beaming at Misty, and now she can’t even try to hide the smile on her face as he begins bopping towards her.
His shoulders are grooving along with the beat, and he does a silly side step type of jig in Greg’s direction that makes Misty almost lose her composure completely. He punches the air with each prominent beat, wiggling his hips closer to Greg.
“Get his phone, Misty,” Harry says quietly, continuing his slow dancing movements. “Don’t let anyone turn the song off.”
Just as Greg takes a step forward to get to his phone, Harry swoops in, taking both of Greg’s hands in his and dancing with him-- a very poor version of a ballroom dance.
Nearly everyone in the room shrieks. “Greg this isn’t funny!” Rosie squeals. “Knock it off!”
“I’m not fuckin’ doin’ this!” Greg calls over his shoulder, as Harry spins him around the room.
Misty seizes this opportunity and makes a beeline for the phone, glad that everyone is too preoccupied watching Greg dance with a seemingly invisible partner. Harry, although focused on the dancing, keeps his eyes on her the entire time. When he sees her pick up the phone and subtly slip it into the pocket of her sweat pants, he grins. “Good girl.”
Misty tries to ignore how those words make her feel.
Harry ends his dance with Greg by dramatically turning Greg away. He glances at Misty with the most mischievous look she’s ever seen. “Who’s next?”
He doesn’t give her time to even think of an answer, he’s already shimmying his way over to Rosie. He stops briefly to deliberately knock a pillow off of the couch and giggles, “oops!” when it startles the daylights out of Lindsey. Everyone in the room has begun to frantically look for the phone, including Misty-- who is just trying to play her part. The scream that Rosie lets out when Harry grabs onto her though, is something Misty can’t even ignore. She bursts out laughing, earning a few shocked looks from her friends..
“Help!” Rosie screams. “It’s not fucking funny Misty!”
Misty immediately tries to compose herself, forcing her face into as serious an expression as she can muster. “Sorry,” she says, “It’s just--”
“Rosie if this is a prank, I swear,” Angie cuts Misty off and lunges towards Rosie, feeling the air around her.
“It’s not!” Rosie wails. “I don’t know how I’m doing this!’
Harry twirls away from Rosie and right into the arms of Angie, who gasps as she’s led clumsily, around the room. “Oh my god!’
“Oh my god!” Misty repeats, trying her best to seem as shocked as everyone else. “What the fuck is happening?”
“That’s good,” Harry says over his shoulder, “But I’m gonna need more feeling from you.”
Misty lets out a horrified shriek that puts Rosie’s own shriek to shame. “We have to find the phone!” she cries. “We have to turn this stupid song off!”
Harry frowns now. “Hey. Tainted Love isn’t stupid. Watch your mouth.’
Misty ignores him as she joins in on the frantic search for the phone that she knows damn well is deep in her pocket. Every now and then she and Harry share a knowing glance, as he switches from partner to partner.
Misty stands in the furthest corner of the room, pretending to busy herself looking for the item, when suddenly Kennedy laughs. Misty doesn’t even bother looking up, assuming simply that Harry has switched to her. It’s when Rosie speaks that Misty’s attention is caught.
“Kennedy what are you laughing at?!” Rosie wails, tears in her eyes.
“It’s kind of funny!” Kennedy says, taking a sip from her drink before setting it back down. “Like, whoever is doing this-- a ghost or a demon or like, whatever-- has a sense of humor. They know a good classic when they hear it.”
Harry, who’s currently spinning Luca into dizzy oblivion, grins. “Kennedy’s got the spirit!”
“It’s not funny!” Rosie cries. “How can you laugh?!”
Kennedy shrugs, already beginning a bop of her own. “I dunno, I think it’s funny. I don’t think whatever’s doing this is like, evil.”
“I don’t think it is either,” Misty chimes in, although she’s brushed off by everyone’s talking. Some people try to stop whatever force is making them dance, others are too scared to go near the dancer for fear of being next. Kennedy, however, just continues to groove on her own.
Misty reaches discreetly into her pocket to turn the music up a bit more, and Harry laughs gleefully. “Louder!” He calls to Misty, finally releasing his hold on Luca and scanning the room for his next victim.
As Misty watches him, cheerfully prancing around the room and trying to catch Linsdey-- who’s darting around the room like a chicken with her head cut off-- she tries her hardest to ignore the twitching of her heart. There’s no way she likes him, absolutely not. He’s dead, for fucks sake. But he looks so full of life, so full of happiness, and she realizes that this is probably the most fun he’s had in years.
“Misty what are you doing?” Kennedy calls. “You’re not even looking for the phone, come dance with me!’
“Yeah Misty, come dance!” Harry adds, shimmying his way up to Kennedy and taking her hand.
Kennedy shrieks, but she isn’t scared. She laughs immediately, as Harry pulls out his best dance moves for her.
“Someone is fucking with us,” Angie says, “They have to be.”
“Misty, why are you just standing there?” Greg asks. “You’re not even trying to help us!”
“Because,” Misty replies, her brain running a million miles an hour to come up with an excuse. She’s distracted by how much fun Harry’s having, beaming at his one willing participant as he twirls her around. She smiles. “Because I agree with Kennedy. Whatever kind of spirit is doing this is obviously having fun. I think we should let him--” Misty quickly realizes what she’s said and corrects herself “-- or it, whatever it is, just keep vibing with us. This is probably the most fun it’s had in years.”
“You’re right,” Harry calls over his shoulder as he dips Kennedy, “It is.”
“You’re a fucking freak,” Rosie sobs, practically throwing herself into Luca’s arms.
“Misty is the only person this spirit hasn’t fucked with!” Lindsey points out. “She has to be up to something!”
Harry makes a face. “That’s a good point,” he muses. He gives Kennedy one last twirl before disappearing completely out of Misty’s sight-- only to reappear right beside her seconds later.
“Care to dance, ma’am?”
Misty lets her guard down completely and laughs as Harry takes hold of her. For a moment, she seems to forget all the eyes in the room. She forgets that she is the only one who can see Harry. Kennedy cheers her on as Harry moves her body-- far more dramatically than he’d moved anyone else’s.
“Miss Misty!” Harry says, making a face as if he’s beyond impressed with her moves. “You can dance!” He dips her aggressively and she squeals, reaching up to hold onto him for stability.
Kennedy starts to jokingly dance around with the other sisters, but Misty hardly notices because she’s so distracted by the silly faces Harry’s pulling as he flings her around. He goes to dip her again, nearly bashing her head accidentally on a lamp. “Whoops,” he says through a giggle.
Misty laughs so hard she snorts, and Harry brings her upright again with the biggest smile on his face. “Never heard you laugh this hard before,” he muses, “it’s cute.”
Instantly, Misty’s cheeks grow hot, and her insides twist as hard as Harry’s spinning her. As if sensing how flustered she is, Harry laughs, reaching down to pinch playfully at her side.
“I know it’s killing you,” he mumbles. “It’s kinda killing me, too.” Harry lifts Misty off the ground, spinning her around ungracefully and making her shriek “Although I know if you could talk to me, you’d probably yell at me. Or make some smartass remark.” Harry spins Misty out, then in, his face now unbearably close to hers. He grins. “So I am liking this a bit.”
Misty catches herself staring at Harry’s lips, and she subconsciously licks her own. She wants to say something so bad, and she knows he’s teasing her because he can. She hears Kennedy’s laughter mixed with another (maybe Angie’s?), and she sees the commotion occuring around her in the room, but it doesn’t feel real. The only thing she can focus on is Harry, and his scent, and the icy feeling of his breath against her skin.
Maybe everyone is too distracted, and she can lean in and kiss him. Can she kiss a ghost? Obviously she’s never tried before but he’s so close, he’s right in front of her… surely--
Misty’s thoughts are interrupted with the sudden sound of silence. She turns quickly, completely broken from her trance with Harry, to see Luca holding the wireless speaker in his hand, one thumb on the power button, mouth wide open in fear.
After a few more beats, Luca speaks. “Does anyone still feel anything?”
Misty turns to find that Harry is gone, completely out of her sight, and she tries to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach.
“It’s gone,” Rosie says. “I think it’s gone. No one is moving anymore.”
Misty scans the room, trying to find Harry somewhere blending into his surroundings, but much to her dismay she finds him nowhere.
Greg slaps Luca’s arm dramatically before taking a step into the middle of the room. “Bro, what happened?”
“What the fuck was that?!” Rosie’s mascara is running slightly down her face, but her voice is at a much lower and less panicked level than before. “What the fuck just happened?”
“That was fucked,” Luca says, moving closer to Rosie. “Like, fucked.”
Misty tries her hardest to play her part, trying to act as shocked as everyone else, but she can’t stop her hand from flying to the cold spot on her chin-- where she’d felt Harry’s own mouth brush. She can’t stop herself from thinking about his words, wondering how lovely it would’ve felt to kiss him.
“And Kennedy and Misty didn’t do shit to try and fix it!” Rosie cries, reaching up to wipe at her now completely wet eyes.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Kennedy says, “What should we have done? Begged nicely for this invisible fucking force to leave us alone? I’m sure it would’ve totally listened to us.” She chuckles almost bitterly, reaching for her abandoned drink on the table. “You guys don’t know how to have fun,” she finishes, punctuating her sentence by chugging the rest of her beverage, “And it shows.”
The evening is cut short and it passes by quickly and in a blur, with everyone checking around the room multiple times for whatever the source of the music was-- to no luck. At some point, Misty discards the phone subtly onto the couch for Greg to find. Everyone around the room discusses their perspective of what had occurred, and Misty tries her best to participate-- although she is mostly spoken over by a crying Rosie and an overly anxious Linsdey.
It takes nearly an hour for Misty to find herself in her own room, after reassuring her nervous sisters that they would be fine sleeping in their rooms alone. She’s tried her hardest to brush Harry’s words about her laugh off, to stop thinking about them, and about him in general but she can’t. As she slips out of her clothes and into her pajamas, she finds herself thinking deeply about his smile.
Misty hears the most gentle knock on her door, pulling her from her thoughts. She finishes pulling her pajama t-shirt over her head before calling out a soft, “Come in.”
Harry manifests himself in her room without even opening the door, and Misty jumps when she sees him in the corner by her dresser. She rolls her eyes as she speaks. “You didn’t even need to knock.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt,” Harry states, a smirk on his lips. “I didn’t know if you were changing.”
“You’re fine,” Misty says, plopping onto her bed. “I mean, I was changing, but like, you’re a ghost. You can walk through walls.”
“I am,” Harry says, “and I can. But I’m still respectful. What kind of a ghost do you take me for?”
Misty giggles, tossing a pillow at Harry. He dodges it-- not that he needs to-- and he snorts.
“Anyway, I just came in to say goodnight,” he says, his smile still wide on his face. “And to make sure I didn’t like… overstep tonight.”
Misty smiles back, ungracefully untucking the covers beneath her. “You didn’t overstep,” she says. “And anyway--” she doesn’t dare look at him as she continues her words, “I liked it.”
“Did you?” Harry seems completely unfazed, and Misty can hear the smirk on his face. It’s infuriatingly sexy.
“I did,” Misty says, finally turning to face him. She rolls her eyes when Harry is, of course, nowhere to be found, but she’s not even worried about it. She knows he’s still here. Her confidence grows in his absence. “I liked it a lot.”
“Did you?” He asks again, his voice lower and coming from behind her now. He’s close enough that he sends shivers down her spine, which don’t go unnoticed by him. He laughs.
She turns around to catch his smile as he sits directly behind her on her bed, close enough that she can feel the crisp chill of his skin.
“Yes,” she says quietly, “I did. Told you I did.”
Once again, Misty feels hypnotized by his beautiful face. Harry knows this, and he hesitantly raises his hand to trail along her arm. She shivers again. Without meaning to, she leans into him. His smile tells her she’s not alone in the way she’s feeling right now.
“That’s good to hear,” Harry says, voice barely above a whisper.
Misty lifts her head, lips ghosting along the icy feel of his chin. “Did you?” she breathes.
“Did I what, sunshine?” Harry’s mouth seems to follow Misty’s own without kissing her, and it absolutely drives her crazy.
Misty gulps, gathering as much courage as she can muster. “Did you like it?”
With a cheeky grin, Harry removes his hand from Misty’s arm-- much to her dismay. She is knocked back to reality just as quickly as she’d left it, but his words make her insides flutter. “I fucking loved it.”
Misty giggles nervously, deciding to change the subject. “Everyone’s going to think I’m fucking crazy from here on out.”
Harry snorts. “No they won’t. They’ll forget. They’ll continue to think it was a weird occurrence, but they’ll forget that you were one of the only ones who didn’t.”
Misty frowns, jokingly. “So I’m forgettable then?’
Harry rolls his eyes, his smile deepening wider. “Hardly.”
Now Misty beams, ignoring the twisting in her stomach. “In all seriousness,” she replies, “You’re right. It was a weird night. I doubt my quick compliance to you was very memorable to them.”
“I liked your compliance.”
Harry says these words so softly that Misty has to look at him twice to make sure she’s even heard him correctly. He’s no longer looking at her, but the smile on his face makes Misty’s insides go weak, and she notices her own breath hitching in her throat.
“I--” she begins, not knowing where to even begin with a response to him. “I liked--”
“You don’t have to say anything about it,” Harry says. “You don’t have to say anything at all.” He smiles sheepishly at her after a moment. “I just want to tell you that you were right. That was the most fun I’ve had in years. And I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You don’t have to!” Misty adjusts herself on the bed so she’s facing Harry more. “I had so much fun. You deserved it. And honestly--”
Mist trails off, licking her lips and preparing herself for what she’s about to say,
“I liked being the only one who could see you. And hear you.” Her voice grows quieter. “I liked you… Telling me what to do.”
Harry’s smirk deepens as he leans closer into Misty once again. His lips look so delicious, so inviting, Misty isn’t even sure what she’s looking at anymore.
Moments pass, with Harry and Misty both so close to one another that it’s overwhelming. Misty wants to kiss him more than anything else in her entire life, but she’s scared, and she pretends she doesn’t notice the way he melts when she sighs against his skin.
“Harry,” she breathes slowly, “I don’t know if it’s possible… but I--”
Harry stands suddenly, catching Misty off guard. “You should go to bed,” he says, quickly but sadly. “I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to cut off the--”
“No you’re right,” Misty says, suddenly feeling completely self-conscious. She retracts into herself, crossing her arms along her lower body. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for!”
“No, I know!” she lies. “But I… you know, I mean, it’s weird!”
“It’s not weird,” Harry insists. “Misty--”
“I have to go to bed,” she says, scrambling ungracefully to get under the covers. “It’s time.”
Harry looks at her for a few more moments before blowing all of his air out in a loud puff. “It’s time,” he repeats. He steps cautiously towards her, then softens himself as he reaches for her hand.
Misty eyes his movements, then smiles as she gently takes his hand in her own.
There are a few more moments of charged silence, before Misty speaks
“Don’t end tonight on a weird note,” Misty jokes, smiling up at Harry. “I had so much fun with you.”
Harry gives her hand a squeeze. “I did too, sunshine. Promise.”
“And you’ll come back tomorrow?’ Misty asks. “And it won’t be weird?”
“Why would it be weird?” Harry laughs, and Misty, once again, grows flustered.
“I don’t know!” she whines. “I just feel weird!”
“Don’t feel weird,” Harry says, leaning forward. He kisses her head without thinking about it, and he ignores the slight shiver of her body when he does so. “Promise it’s not weird.’
She smiles up at him. “I liked tonight,” she says, for what feels like the hundredth time.
“I did too,” Harry reassures her, fighting the urge to bring her hand to his lips so he can kiss it. “So fucking much.”
Misty stares at him for just a tick too long, then smiles to herself-- clearly happy with their conversation. She snuggles down under the covers and Harry, without hesitation, pulls them up further to tuck her in.
“You didn’t promise me you’d come tomorrow,” she says softly, her eyes fluttering closed.
Harry reaches across her and flicks off her lamp, allowing his eyes to focus in the darkness before speaking. “Of course I’ll come tomorrow,” he says. “I’ve come every other day, haven’t I?”
“I just hate the idea of waking up and you not being here, you know?” Misty opens her eyes, blinking softly up at Harry. ‘I want to have you while I still can.”
Something about Misty’s words breaks Harry’s heart, and he leans in impossibly closer to her. ‘You may have me whenever you like, pretty girl. I will be here whenever you call.”
“Promise?”
Harry can feel tears welling in his eyes and he absolutely hates it. He tries desperately to blink them away. “Promise.”
“Good.” Misty settles herself further under the covers with a content sigh.
“Get some sleep,” Harry mumbles, reaching up to wipe at his eyes as subtly as he can. God, he wishes he were human. More than anything in the world, he wishes he could give Misty the love she deserves-- fully.
“Okay,” Misty sighs. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Harry nods. “Tomorrow.”
Misty smiles. “Goodnight. Don’t watch me sleep, weird ass.”
Harry snorts at her words. Of course she’d end the night on that note. With a gentle “goodnight,” He rises to his feet and takes a few steps away from her bed, just so that she can’t detect his presence by his scent. He makes himself invisible to her while still watching her for at least another full two minutes.
The way he’s truly starting to fall for this girl is completely alarming, especially considering their circumstances. If he’d still had a beating heart, it would be breaking, and he hates the isolated yet heavy feeling in his chest as he watches her drift gently into unconsciousness. He wants her, plain and simple.
And as Misty’s thoughts turn into dreams, she can’t seem to get the ghostly boy out of her mind. She wants him, just as badly as he wants her. It’s something she fears she’ll never tell him, for obvious reasons, but she still allows herself to indulge in the visions of them experiencing a somewhat normal relationship together as she drifts into sleep.
And as the moon rises over the old, creaky house, both Harry and Misty find themselves imagining, if only for the night, that they can love one another the way they know they were meant to. Surely it won’t be enough to sustain their longing for one another. But for tonight, Harry knows that he’ll subtly pop into Misty’s dream. And he knows Misty will never mention it to him, but it will sustain them both for the time being. It will make them both happy.
And Misty’s happiness, Harry thinks, is the most important thing of all.
526 notes
·
View notes