Chapter Text
Mike Wheeler has lived in Indiana his whole life. Sure, he's moved around a couple times (seven. It's been seven times), but never out of the state. It's where his grandparents live and even his great-grandmother and his aunt and his uncle and all his cousins and even his great uncle Gerald, who he's never met on account of being mostly disowned but very, very rich.
He's lived for some time in Indianapolis (which didn't last long) and he's lived near the border of Kentucky although he's never actually stepped foot inside it and he's lived in the dead center too. He's had some interesting homes to say the least. The apartment in Indianapolis was small and crowded and had stains in every corner and cracks in the wall where he'd see mice or even rats scurry off to.
Their second house was somehow worse, creaky and dirty and even with his mom's obsessive cleaning habits, it was never enough to make it homely. It even had this creepy door that reminded him of Coraline or something.
There have been quite a few houses in between, none memorable enough for Mike to waste any time thinking about.
The seventh house was his favorite. The one they had just moved from. As landlocked as it felt, Mike had liked the town. Though he never really made any friends, he'd had fun there with a few acquaintances and loved his room. He'd felt more himself there than he'd ever felt before and for the first time, it felt like maybe some people actually liked him and didn't think he was weird. But like always, it never lasted long and the Wheelers moved again. This time to a little town no one had ever heard of before. Hawkins, Indiana.
"Mooooom, hurry!" Holly squeals as she jumps up and down, her backpack following her motions with a thump at every hop.
"Hold on, honey," their mom answers as she fiddles with her keys to unlock the new door.
Mike just crosses his arms. He's already seen the outside of the large house, the biggest one they've lived in yet and he's not too impressed. Or maybe that's just his mind keeping him safe from disappointment again. Even if he did come to love this house, it wouldn't matter. His family would just up and move them again.
The house is tall with steep, slanted roofs and an almost tower like structure on the side. The whole thing is painted crisp white and looks over the little town on a hill. It looks like the type of house that would be in a painting, or maybe a movie. A nice setting, a house neighbors might whisper about. But it's not like he'll be looking at the outside much. He'll probably be spending most of his time in his bedroom.
There's a click and the door opens, Mike's little sister immediately shooting inside and running around. "Look! Look at the fireplace! And the staircase!" Her footsteps pound through the house as she disappears with more squeals of delight, flying through every room.
Mike rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, staring at the empty living room they just entered. There's cobwebs in the corners where the wall meets the ceiling and dust across the windowsill. Whoever had lived in the house before had apparently been an old couple that retired to Florida and they hadn't left much furniture, most of it for their kids or grandkids.
That was fine for the Wheeler's, his mom in particular, who would never settle for old lady style and would instead insist on her own perfect designs, mostly neutral and modern and very, very dull.
Mrs. Wheeler places her bag down with a relieved sigh. "So, what do you think?"
Mike's dad barely looks around before heaving a great sigh. "Looks like I'll be needing to do a lot of work in here."
"Oh, it's not that bad! Just start getting the boxes out of the trunk and the moving van should be here any second!"
Mike's older sister comes in, already holding two large boxes and plops them on the ground. She takes the place in. "I'm going to go check out my room," she announces. "And bring some of my stuff up." She retakes her boxes and heads up.
"How about you, Mike?" his mom asks. "Don't you want to go claim a room?"
He shrugs. "Not like it will matter for that long," he mutters under his breath.
"Excuse me?" his mom raises a stern eyebrow.
"I just..." But all the exhaustion of the car trip and the pain of having to leave a place he was beginning to call home is hitting him and he really doesn't feel like arguing with his parents right now. "Yeah, I'll go check out the rooms."
Holly somehow has already claimed the biggest one and although Mike would like to argue, he knows his parents will side with her, the spoiled brat she can sometimes be. Nancy's room is practically the same size as the one left for him so he doesn't mind that much. There's plenty of space for all his furniture, once it arrives and wall space for his many posters.
The windows are fairly large and light up the room nicely, sun hitting the dusty off-white walls. His last room was blue, so maybe he'll paint this one too if he ever finds the time and motivation. The floors are wooden, a little scratched up but nothing too bad. He places the one bag he was carrying on the floor, just for some semblance of personality in the otherwise empty room.
As he heads over to the window to place one of his trinkets on the sill, the light suddenly flickers and he squints at it, a single bulb with an ancient looking chain hanging from it. It flickers again and again and again before it goes out.
Great. Now they're going to have to get some electrical work done, another thing to add to the list of things to do.
All of a sudden, the door creaks and he whips around to see it move subtly before stopping. The light flickers again.
"Hello?" he asks.
The door moves again, just an inch, back and forth once before stopping.
"Holly? Are you playing around with my door?"
Flicker. Creak. Mike takes a step forward and everything stops again.
"I'm serious, Holly... Please stop, you're starting to..." he trails off before he can admit to being a little freaked out as his light goes on again, turning brighter and brighter and brighter and-
The door suddenly slams shut, sending Mike jumping back as the light bulb above him bursts and shatters, sending glass all over the floor. He quickly shields his face as a couple pieces bounce off his skin, leaving a couple stray scratches but mostly unharmed.
"Mike? Michael?" His mom's concerned voice shouts from outside before she bursts into the room and takes the scene in. "What the hell happened?"
Mike blinks at her a few times before he's able to put anything into words. "T-The light... It just shattered."
Her brows furrow as she looks at the remnants of the now broken bulb. "Ted!" she yells to his dad downstairs. "We're going to need an electrician in here!" She turns back to Mike. "The moving van just got here so clean this up and then come help us outside."
He nods and she leaves to go downstairs, leaving him to fight his shock. Well, whatever, right? An old house means old lights and old lights malfunction, they break. That was normal. And doors are creaky, right? He notices the window opened a crack and sighs in relief. Of course, it was just the wind.
Two days later, the house is fairly furnished and decorated and Mike is seated in the living room with three of his notebooks as he drafts one of the stories he's writing, pencil tip at the edge of his mouth as he thinks and a pillow on his lap to prop up the notebook he's currently using. The tv's on in the background playing the Dark Crystal show he's seen a hundred times. He likes the puppets.
Another idea comes to him as he adjusts, laying back so his head is lying on the armrest and his feet stick off the other. He stares at what he has so far, which is very little. He's been kinda in a block for a while, plus, extremely busy with the move, so he's trying to take this opportunity of peace with his dad at work, his mom and Holly at the park, and Nancy who knows where, to try to get some of his fantasy story done.
He sits back up and jots something vague down. Whatever, he'll work out the details when he's actually writing it. He groans at his five sentences that somehow took him an hour to write and flops over so he's lying on his stomach, notebook pressed into the cushion.
He moves his pencil back to his page when an odd sound comes from the tv and he turns. The screen glitches, becoming static and then the show and then static again. As he's about to get up and see what's wrong when the static suddenly stops and a scream comes from the tv.
There's a closeup of a woman screaming loudly on the screen and then a flash of blood. It doesn't make Mike jump, just turn his head in curiosity. He recognizes the movie, Scream, a horror classic that he's seen twice already.
He blinks at the screen again, waiting to see if it will turn to static again. When it doesn't he shrugs and turns back to his notebook. Whatever, he likes Scream anyway and is too lazy to change it back. He goes back to his work and the tv doesn't change again.
About a week later, Mike wakes up in his bed like always, in the familiarity of the sheets and pillows and one little stuffed animal he lets himself keep there. Yet still, he wakes up in all the strangeness that still is his new room. He's already put up a lot of his posters, both his M.C. Eschers, his Dark Crystal, Friday the Thirteenth and Ghost Buster movie posters and of course Conan the Barbarian. Plus his little pride flag he got with one of his acquaintances back at his old house when they'd gone to the Indianapolis pride parade.
Still, with everything, the walls look somewhat empty and he has a box or two left to unpack.
He yawns and twists over in bed, directing his attention to the other side of his room over to where his dresser is before a pop of color catches his eye. He sits up before he can think he's going crazy and takes a look at his mirror. Sure enough there's red marks covering it. Too intrigued to waste time putting on contacts, he grabs his glasses and gets up for a closer look.
There on his mirror in bright red writing reads,
"Leave this house."
He blinks at the writing. Once. Twice. Then looks down to see an opened lipstick with a crushed red top. Maybe he doesn't recognize the handwriting, but he thinks it's pretty obvious what's happening here. Just another stupid prank from one or maybe even both of his stupid sisters.
He sighs and pockets the lipstick. If they're dumb enough to leave it in his room, they're aren't getting it back. He's got school in forty minutes any way, he's got bigger things to worry about than stupid pranks.
"Mom!" Mike calls, holding up his heavy laundry basket that's a couple weeks overdue being cleaned. "I can't get into the basement!"
"Coming, honey!" she calls from upstairs and he rolls his eyes, plopping the basket to the ground with a sigh. Her heals clack all the way down the stairs and she jogs, holding up a little bronze key. "Here, sorry, it locks on its own sometimes."
He takes the key. "Thanks."
"Of course, sweetie. Now, I'm going out tonight with some friends, okay? Holly's over at Beth's and Nancy's at Ally's for the night. Your dad's taking a nap. Are you okay to take care of yourself tonight?" she asks, patting his cheek.
"Yeah, mom, of course," he says. What better way to spend a Friday night than at home alone? Because apparently even a seven year old with an obsession with princesses and Taylor Swift can somehow make friends faster than him. Turns out people in Hawkins aren't exactly like him and he can't seem to find common ground with any of them. Not that he's tried that hard since their just going to move again soon any way. But still... It would be nice to have someone to hang out with. "Enjoy your night," is what he says instead.
"Okay, thank you," she says, giving him a kiss of the cheek before grabbing her purse. "Be good and I'll be back around midnight." She waves before closing the door behind her and leaving him in the silence of a too big and still too unfamiliar house.
He sighs and turns back to the basement door, sliding the old copper key in the hole and turning it. He starts to open it when-
Slam!
He jumps back as the key clatters to the ground. "What the..." He picks it up and tries again. This time the door doesn't budge at all, as if there's something heavy against it. He pushes and pushes, knowing it had at least opened a crack before, but he was never known for his strength and just gets very out of breath.
"Fuck," he kicks the door in frustration.
As he pockets the key and decides to give up, a noise comes from the other side and he turns back. Carefully, he kneels, leveling his eye with the keyhole to see what's blocking it.
He's sees... fabric? Is that... Is that a person blocking it?
He steps back quickly, his heart rate picking up. There's a click of the door locking again and then the pounding of footsteps on the other side. Mike grabs the doorknob quickly, sliding the key back in to unlock and push open. By the time he does, almost stumbling down the steps with the force, there's no one there.
"Who- Who are you?" he asks as he takes a step. "I saw you. I know you're down here."
Completely, forgetting his laundry, he runs the rest of the way down. "Woah..." the walls are covered in art of all sorts, paintings and drawings alike. Scenes depicting raw emotion through storytelling mostly, different recognizable elements of fantasy. Dragons, knights, wizards. Some are better than others, almost like you could see the age in progress in them, each detailed like it took a lot of time.
He realizes this is the first time he's been in the basement at all. He hadn't really been to eager to tour the house and once he knew where everything was, that's all the exploration he had needed.
He finally turns his attention away from the art to see a boy behind an old velvety couch in the middle of the room.
For a second, they just stare at each other, Mike in shock, the boy in... who knew. Mike's heart beats. He blinks. The boy blinks back. Mike blinks again.
"I- I can see you."
The boy's eyes widen.
"You- What the hell are you doing in my house?" Mike demands.
The boy blinks again and mutters something under his breath.
"Excuse me?" Mike asks, taking a step forward. "You're trespassing my home and you're giving me attitude?"
That earns him another blink. The boy takes a deep breath before he opens his mouth and Mike waits in anticipation. "I- You can see me."
"Yeah," Mike folds his arms. "Obviously."
"And you're not freaked out..." the boy speaks, his voice deeper than Mike was expected and questioning with a hint of fear at being caught.
"Well... I don't have a weapon, but it doesn't look like you do either," Mike states, tilting his head. Honestly, the faster they got robbed, the faster they get out of the hellhole of a town. "But you're just a kid."
"So are you."
Mike raises an eyebrow. "So you're saying I should be scared?"
The boy shrugs. "Probably."
"Okay, that's it," Mike pulls out his phone. "I'm calling 911."
The boy's eyes widen again as he stares at the cell phone. "What- what? You're going to call it on that?"
"On my IPhone?" Mike asks bewildered. "Uh, yeah. What else?"
Another ominous blink. "IPhone?"
"What are you? From the 80s?" Mike rolls his eyes, pulling up the keypad on his phone. "You're acting like my grandparents."
Silence.
Mike presses the 9.
"Yes."
He looks up. "Yes?"
"I'm from the eighties."
"Oookaaay..." He presses the 1. "Not only am I dealing with a sassy intruder. I'm apparently dealing with a crazy one as well."
"What- what year is it?"
Mike holds off on pressing the second one. "2023? Are you on drugs?"
The boy's eye go wide. Wide wide. Like, the expression, big as saucers? Well, now Mike's seen it. "I wondered why everything looked so different..."
Mike shakes his head.
"You're Mike right?" the boy asks and this time it's Mike's turn to widen his eyes.
Okay, maybe this was more serious than he thought. He somehow acquired a stalker in his first week of being here. Or maybe it was Nancy's stalker who just had some facts about her family. Yeah, it's probably her he wants.
"Mike, you shouldn't be able to see me."
"And why not?"
"Because I'm dead."
Mike blinks.
"I'm a ghost."
Mike blinks again.
Immediately he abandons the keypad and swipes left before snapping a picture of the boy in front of him.
"What-"
He looks down at his phone to see the photo he just took. There's the walls of the basement and the couch and the shagged carpet flooring and... no boy.
"Oh, shit," he states. "So you are from the 80s. Huh." He looks back up at the boy. "How'd ya die?"
"Seriously?" the boy asks. "You're- How are you not totally freaking out right now? I'm dead. I'm a ghost, you know, oOoOooo, haunted... How- How is this normal for you?"
Mike walks over to the ghost and examines him closer. He looks human enough with his fair skin, couple moles, brown hair. There's no sign of death, no blood, no wounds. His clothes are maybe a little old fashioned although he probably wouldn't have clocked it as 80s, just a bit odd. He's wearing a striped shirt and his hair looks ridiculous for the time, look someone plopped a bowl over his head and cut around it.
He pokes his forehead and it hits flesh. It's a bit cool but otherwise, well, fleshy. Even the other boy seems surprised by this as he tries to swat Mike's hand away only for it to go through him.
"Hmm, you're more like a half ghost," Mike comments. He grabs his arm and holds it up before waving it around a little.
"Stop that!" the boy says, retracting his arm and dropping it. "I am too a full ghost."
"Ooo, can you float?" Mike asks as the idea that this is an actual ghost starts to hit him and feels his nerdy self start to take over.
"Uh, well, no..."
"Can you walk through walls?" Mike asks.
"Also no..."
"Okay, full ghost, what can you do then?" Mike asks, leaning on his hip.
His hands come to the sides of temple and he twists his head back and forth a couple times before lifting. With a horrifying squelching noise, his head comes completely detached from his neck. "This good enough for you?"
Mike gapes it him. "Woah, ew," he says as blood drips from the part of the neck still attached to the decapitated head, but he says it with curiosity, awe.
"Isn't this horrifying to you?" the ghost's decapitated head asks as his body holds it in front of him. "Isn't this disgusting and gruesome and terrifying? Scream worthy?"
"It's gross, sure, but it's also cool as fuck," Mike says. "Can I hold it?"
The body pulls the head closer in defense. "What? No!" The arms reach up to place the head back in place, twisting once, twice and then it's back on as if it had never come off. "How are you so casual about this? Isn't this strange? Isn't this unusual?"
Mike shrugs. "Well, I suppose it is, but then again, I myself am strange and unusual."
"You own posters of movies even I've seen. You live a big house in a normal town with a normal family. What exactly makes you strange and unusual?" the ghost asks again with that attitude, crossing his arms as he says it.
"Well," Mike says with a grin. "I can see ghosts, can't I?"
The boy narrows his eyes. "Well, it's going to bite you back when use my full ghost powers to scare you."
"Ghost powers?" Mike feels his eyes lighting up. "What kind of ghost powers?"
"You're just going to have to find out," the ghost says, hands on hips. "When I scare you so bad you pee yourself. I'm going to scare your whole family so bad, you'll leave this house immediately and never return."
"Is that your goal? Scare us out of our house?" Mike asks. "Ghosts have goals, right? Like you can't pass to the afterlife until you move on. Is this how?"
The ghost's lips thin, "This was my house first. I'm just trying to reclaim it!"
Mike doesn't bother to humor his frustration. He also doesn't bother telling him that he doesn't have to worry and that his family will last two years at most in this house. "Cool," he says. "I've always wanted to live in a haunted house!"
This only seems to piss the boy off more as he glares.
"Do I get to know the name of the ghost who's going to be haunting my house?" Mike asks. "Since you know mine."
"Will," the boy says through gritted teeth.
"Will. Hm, like Shakespeare."
"I don't think Shakespeare went by Will."
"Okay, William. Take it as a compliment."
"Michael! I need you to do the dishes!" It's his dad apparently woken up from his nap.
Mike rolls his eyes and groans. If he doesn't get up there in about three seconds, his dad is going to be pissed. It's like fathers forget that kids don't acquire the power of teleportation until they hit proper adulthood. "Well, see you around I guess," he says to Will, giving him a friendly punch to the shoulder just as an excuse to make sure he's real one more time.
Will doesn't answer and Mike runs back up the stairs, shutting the door and laying eyes on his still dirty laundry with a groan.
"Michael, what took you so long?" Theodore says as he grabs a pre-cooked chicken from the fridge. "I called you like five minutes ago."
Yep, definitely wasn't about ten seconds. "Sorry, dad," he says instead, knowing how far attitude usually got with his father. He goes to the sink and starts putting dirty dishes into the washer.
His dad shoves his meal into the microwave with a beep without sparing him another glance. "I'm going to eat and watch the game. You're on your own for dinner."
"Sounds perfect," Mike mutters.
His dad doesn't even honor him with a response, grabbing his chicken and heading to the living room. As he continues to let the water wipe the food remnants off the plates, Mike's mind wanders back to the basement and he turns his attention to the door. He hears the click of the lock and then silence again and shakes his head.
For all the houses he's been to and however nice the last one he got used to was, none of them was haunted. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be the worst one yet.
There aren't any signs of Mike's new ghost friend (friend?), Will, the next day. He goes back to the basement to do his laundry, having to again use the key, but this time there is no one else down there.
The next day, Mike goes to school like normal as if he doesn't have an actual ghost in his house. He thinks about Will in math, about what kind of things a ghost can do and why Mike might be able to see him. In English Mike thinks about why a ghost might be haunting his house, how he might have died, how he didn't know what year it was. In Spanish, Mike thinks of the lipstick on the mirror and the changing on the TV and the light bulb that shattered.
And by Chemistry, Mike thinks of Will himself and how he didn't look like a ghost with his bright hazel eyes and solid body. He doesn't know why the ghost consumes his every thought- well, actually he does. He's a fucking ghost for crying out loud, anyone would be fascinating, anyone would be obsessed. The afterlife is real, and apparently really weird. And able to interact with the living world?
Or maybe he was just a special case, he doesn't know.
In visual lit, he finds himself ignoring the movie in favor of looking at his chromebook, looking up everything he can about ghosts. He finds a bunch of mythology stuff, religious whatever, a few scientific theories, a few people clearly making shit up, some articles about past lives, etc. Nothing super substantial. But then, why does he have to do research when he has a real, living (dead) ghost in his house?
By the time he gets home, he barely wastes time saying hi to his mom before he's dashing back down to the basement. Will's apparently given up on trying to lock them out, Mike not needing the key, and he runs in and calls for him. "Will?"
There's a creak behind him and Mike whips around, hope and excitement filling through his chest. "Hey, Will, I've got a few questions for you." There's nothing there. "Oh come on, don't be shy now."
There's another creak and Mike turns his head back to the front of the room. Nothing again. He takes a step forward, wondering if Will is around the corner. Sure enough, a creak sounds from the other side. Mike cocks his head moving closer and closer and.
The lights flicker and Mike turns towards the ceiling. Suddenly, something dark and sticky starts to spill from where the ceiling meets the wall, the red substance sliding down slowly in great long drips.
It's blood. There's blood dripping from the walls.
Mike watches it carefully before stepping towards it, hand outstretched and fingers moving to press against a single drop that's close enough to reach. He places his finger to it and feels nothing and when he pulls it away, there's nothing on his finger. He grins.
"Will, I know you're there," Mike says, placing a hand on his hip. "You can't scare me."
There's no response. The blood drips on.
"It's a cool party trick, really, I mean it."
Nothing.
"It's just not a scary one."
Suddenly, a very angry ghost stomps from behind the wall, eyebrows furrowed in deep creases as he walks straight up to Mike. "It is too scary!" Will argues. "Any normal person would be very much scared out of their mind right now."
Mike grins. "Well, it just so happens that blood doesn't scare me, so."
Will just looks even angrier.
It's almost fun- no, it is fun, watching this boy get so frustrated at Mike's indifference. He doesn't know why it's so fun to press his buttons, just that it is. "Maybe your out of touch with what's scary these days."
"Out of touch???" Will cries in outrage. "You're telling me that people no longer find blood scary?"
Mike shrugs. "There's scarier. You know, there is one thing I'm absolutely terrified of."
Will raises an eyebrow. "Oh really? And what is that?"
"Guess you'll just have to find out," Mike grins. "But I have some questions for you." He pulls out a paper from his pocket and unfolds it, everything he's been wondering written in a small scrawl completely covering the paper. He squints and holds it close to his face to read. "Have you ever met another ghost? Where do you usually stay? Did you live here your whole life? Are the other people who lived here ghosts as well? Is the blood an illusion and how do you control that? How do you know how being dead works?"
Will blinks at him as Mike continues listing off his questions.
When Mike finally finishes, maybe some five minutes later, he looks back expectantly at the ghost. "So if you could answer some of those, I'd be forever grateful."
"No," Will says.
"No?"
"You'll just have to find out," Will says, mocking the way Mike said it before.
"Oh come on, that's not fair!"
Will just shrugs.
"Michael!"
"Fuck," Mike says with a sigh, turning to yell up to his mom in the kitchen. "What is it?"
"You need to watch Holly! I've got a big work dinner tonight!"
"Well," Mike turns back to Will. "So I guess we'll see each other later."
Will doesn't even grant him a goodbye before Mike is heading back up the stairs, mind already on the stats worksheet he has to do.
The next day, Mike finds spiders crawling all over his room when he gets home from school. He shrugs at them, collapses onto his bed as they scatter, and pulls up the newest book he's reading. Eventually, the spiders fade away and Mike's smile grows just a little bit more.
Mike looks up from his book to see Will staring at him from the doorway, face scrunched in absolute frustration.
"Spiders?" Mike tilts his head at the ghost.
There's a fire in Will's eyes and it just makes Mike grin even harder.
"You know, I'm actually a fan of all things creepy and crawly. You're going to have to try a little harder than that to scare me." Mike turns back to his book, listening to Will's angry stomping away the entire time.
Mike will give Will some credit, even if all of his attempts have been futile, the ghost does not give up easily or at all. As much as he wears his heart of his sleeve and gives Mike everything he needs to keep pushing his buttons (which are oh so fun to push), Will keeps up his attempts. And in all fairness, Mike can see them becoming scarier each time. Just not scarier to him.
On Wednesday, a bunch of bats fly into Mike's face as he walks into his house after school. Later that night, around two or three in the morning, there's a bunch of scratching noises in his room along with some mice squeaks and animal growling. He plops in his earbuds and allows the music to drift him back to sleep.
Thursday brings even more surprises. Will graduates from creatures and moves on to jump scares, which Mike gives him much less credit for.
Jump scares are just a cheap way to scare an audience in today's horror media. They're dumb and half of them are fake outs any way. Not to mention, they just never do seem to scare Mike. He can see them a mile away. Plus, he has an insane four year old sister, who he babysits fairly often, he's used to surprises.
So when Will jumps out from behind the door, dripping in blood from wounds all across his body, Mike doesn't even flinch, instead looking him up and down. "This must take you a lot of effort."
Will deflates, wiping the blood from his face. "Seriously? You're not scared."
"Nope," Mike says, popping the p before heading up the stairs to do homework.
Still, Will doesn't give up, and still every time, Mike tries to ask him a question. He is in fact giving up getting any ghostly knowledge from Will, but he thinks it's funny pouring salt on whatever fake wound Will's created for himself in failing to scare Mike. Plus, he likes when Will answers back, even if it's just talking back.
Will tries one more jump scare ("Have you ever even seen a horror movie?"). He tries looming over Mike's bed so he surprises him when he wakes up. ("Creepy, absolutely, but not scary"). He moves on from physical jump scares after that.
One morning, Mike even wakes up from weird lumps all over his arm.
"Oh no," Will says as he leans against the wall where the bathroom is. "That looks like cancer!"
Mike looks at his arm and then at Will and then at his arm again before blinking. Unlike Will's terrible performance, Mike is able to draw a little drama. He's always been told he's a great liar, he was in the school play back in seventh grade, he lives for a little acting. So he pouts at Will, really tries selling it before he holds his arms up to the bathroom mirror and sees the lumps don't reflect back at him. "You know that's not funny, Will," he says in his most sincerest of voices. "My grandma died of cancer."
Will's eyes go wide, lips parting in surprise. "I- um- I just thought- did I at least scare you a little bit?" he asks in almost a squeak, a quite endearing squeak if Mike admits it.
Mike snorts, nudging Will's shoulder. "Chill, I'm kidding. And no, not scary. I don't think you really know how cancer works."
"Maybe not," Will shrugs, not even frustrated at his failed attempt but instead still flustered by Mike's own prank back. "Research was limited in the 80s."
Still Will does not give up. And the harsher the scare attempts are, the more Mike presses for answers, asking harder and harder questions.
"Does every house have a ghost in it?"
A frustrated grunt and then Will's gone.
"On a scale from 1 to 10, how similar are your powers to Poltergeist? You've seen Poltergeist, right?"
No answer.
"What happens if you leave this house?"
Will actually does answer this one, to Mike's surprise. "The sand worms eat me."
Mike decides not to press on that particular area of being a ghost.
"Do you ever get lonely?" Mike asks after Will's latest failure.
"Excuse me?"
"Lonely," Mike repeats, "You know, like since everyone in your past is probably really old or dead and you're stuck here as the only ghost who no one can see except me."
The ghost opens and closes his mouth.
"Sometimes," he admits.
"Yeah," Mike sighs. "I think, if I was a ghost, I would be pretty lonely." As of now, he's a living, breathing human with two parents and two sisters and a whole school of people his age to interact with and here he is with a ghost who also happens to be the only person he's spoken any words to today. So yeah, he doesn't need to be dead to know a thing or two about loneliness. "This house can be pretty lonely sometimes."
"Yeah," Will tilts his head at Mike.
For a moment, they stare at each other, some weird understanding passing between them that had never happened before. For the first time they find some level ground to stand and Mike felt like he actually knew something about the ghost, something just a little more vulnerable.
"You know," Mike finally breaks the silence. "I don't know why you're so obsessed with me. You-"
"I'm not obsessed with you," Will interrupts quickly. "That's ridiculous. Why would you even..."
"Relax," Mike smirks, not expecting to strike a nerve so easily. This time he wasn't even trying to push Will's buttons. "I only meant that if you really want to scare us out, you should go after my parents, not just me all the time."
"Oh," Will blushes.
"Don't know what you thought I meant..."
"Nothing. That. I- I knew what you were trying to say," Will defends hurriedly.
"Well, I'll take your word for it. Someone who was really obsessed with me would know my greatest fear," Mike smirks.
Will rolls his eyes, still obviously recovering from being flustered. "Whatever. Maybe I will try the rest of your family."
"I'll give you a hint," Mike says. "They hate a mess."
And with that he lets the ghost leave. Mike falls back into his bed, a huge smile on his face he hasn't felt in a long time, and wonders what Will will throw at him next. Deep down, he likes the attention. Deep down, he can't wait. And maybe less deep down, he knows these things to be true. But Mike's never been a straight forward thinker or a straight anything for that matter and he's going to keep pretending to be lonely until it comes true.
As his eyes blink close, threatening to slip him into sleep, Mike can't escape the image of Will's face, the way he pouts, the way his eyes just look so... well, alive even dead, the way he's quiet when he wants to be, but never afraid to be loud either, to argue.
When his final thoughts slip into dread, of school, of having to babysit Holly tomorrow, of dealing with his parents, Mike discovers he finds a small comfort in knowing Will will always be around to give him attention. And maybe... just maybe, that fact alone is enough is Mike's real biggest fear.