Chapter Text
Willie loves the Hollywood Ghost Club. Caleb was right when he called it a community. The massive hotel is crawling with ghosts, and they just keep on joining. He’s been here for... well, he doesn’t really know how long. Time works weirdly in the club, but it doesn’t matter. The point is that he’s been here at least five years, probably more, and he still hasn’t met everyone there is to meet.
He has made friends, though, a few of them. Dante and Fuego are usually his dance partners, so he spends a lot of time with them, and the twins, Dahlia and Daisy, have their rooms right next to his, so they’ve had a lot of late-night hangouts. None of them are his age—no one at the club is, really, it’s all adults—but they’re cool, and the twins are only in their twenties so it’s close enough. They’re willing to hang around with some kid, anyway, and that’s all Willie needs.
And then there’s Caleb. Before his death, if Caleb had approached Willie like he had, Willie probably would have flipped him off and skated away. On the very short list of things Willie hates, authority figures are at the top, and Caleb radiates authority. But Wille’s desperation for people to talk to far outweighed his distrust, and he’s so glad it did. It led him here, and Caleb is actually pretty cool. He’s always around, checking on the other ghosts, preparing them for his legendary parties. He listens to Willie, and is willing to let him ramble about whatever new book he’s reading or all the places he travelled on his day off. It’s nice; the last adult to do that for him was Uncle Jerry. Willie doesn’t know if he’d go so far as to call Caleb a father figure, but uncle seems to fit right. It’s almost like the life Willie could have had if he’d chosen to live with Uncle J and April instead.
And if he hadn’t been hit by a car. He tries not to think about it.
The work helps keep him distracted. He wasn’t really expecting it, but Caleb had explained that ghosts can get lost in their own grief without something concrete to do, so working at the club helps structure their time. Willie knows from experience that he’s right, and honestly, the work is fun, so he definitely doesn’t mind it. It’s a small price to pay for eternal food and housing, plus a whole host of people to socialize with every night. So, Willie works without complaint. Mondays and Wednesdays, he waits tables, Tuesdays and Thursdays, he goes out on the town to look for new recruits, and Fridays and Saturdays, he dances in the shows. Sundays, his favorite day, he gets the entire day to do whatever he wants, wherever he wants, just as long as he’s back for dance rehearsal the next day.
On those days off, he goes anywhere his imagination takes him. He’s been to every continent, including Antarctica. He’s skateboarded through Buckingham Palace. He’s convinced at least a thousand tourists that the Louvre is haunted. That was one of his favorite trips. Right now he’s working through a list of every major art museum in the world, one Sunday at a time. The only issue is finding someone to come with him. Dante, Fuego, and the twins are more than happy to hang out with him inside the club, but they’ve all been around for so long that traveling has lost its novelty, and they definitely don’t want to spend their day off watching Willie do tricks at the skatepark either.
“How come I’m the only teenager here?” Willie asks one day as he browses Caleb’s bookshelf. There’s a massive library in the hotel open to all residents, but Caleb keeps his favorite books in his office and he’s given Willie free rein of his collection.
“Not many young ghosts have your talents,” Caleb says.
They’ve talked before about how Caleb had guessed, correctly, that Willie’s skateboarding experience would make him an excellent dancer, and they quickly discovered that Willie had some ghostly skills as well. He was much quicker to learn how to manipulate physical objects than other ghosts, and for reasons unknown to both of them, he can do a lot of tricks with cars, setting off alarms and locking doors and stuff. Willie has a theory it’s because his death was caused by a car.
But he tries not to think about it.
“What about all those life-fast-die-young rockstars?” Willie asks, pulling down an ancient copy of Romeo and Juliet. “There’s gotta be a few of them hanging around LA.”
“Where do you think I found Mandy?” Caleb smirks. Mandy is the drummer for the house band, but in life she was the drummer for a legendary glam rock band. “Most of those types at least make it into their twenties.”
Caleb removes his reading glasses and looks up from the pile of papers he’s studying. Maybe contracts for the new batch of lifers he admitted last week. Willie had to sign one of those, too, when he joined, but he didn’t really bother to read it.
“If this is about you being lonely,” Caleb says, “you can always recruit more teenagers. That is your job, after all.”
A sudden shame burns in Willie’s gut at the implication that he’s not doing his job well enough. “Sorry. I-I didn’t know I could.”
Caleb shrugs it off. “It’s up to you who you bring.”
Willie nods, embarrassed for reacting so dramatically to something so small. He puts Romeo and Juliet on the shelf, letting his eyes wander to hide his burning cheeks from Caleb.
“I recommend King Lear next,” Caleb says, going back to his contracts.
“Cool,” Willie says, locating the play and plucking it from the shelf. “Thanks.”
“Will you be joining me for lunch today?”
“Yeah, definitely.”
Caleb has never been one to show much affection, but it’s silently acknowledged among the ghosts that you can tell who Caleb is fond of by who he voluntarily eats with. There’s only about ten of them, and somehow Willie is among that number.
“Excellent.” Caleb stands from his desk, tucking the contracts under his arm. He comes closer to Willie to pat his cheek before striding out of the office. “I’ll see you soon.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It takes five more years for Willie to find another teen willing to join the club. At least, that’s what the calendars say. To Willie, it feels like maybe two to three years at most, and it’s the biggest slap in the face when he spots a newspaper and realizes that it’s 2001. A new millennia came and went, and he didn’t even feel it.
He tries not to think about it.
He’s spent those years desperately trying to find company. He’s met a couple teenage ghosts over the years, but it’s surprisingly hard to convince them to join. Some of them have already found ghostly friends their age (Willie ignores his burning jealousy at that) and a lot have an inherent distrust of the club. Willie gets it, he really does, but he doesn’t know how to convince them that there’s nothing to fear; that the club saved him and it could help them too. Some of them he finds are willing to listen, but then Caleb deems them not talented enough to join.
It’s always a special sort of shame when he brings those ones back. Caleb simply pats Willie’s cheek and says, “Do better,” and Willie spends the next few weeks roiling in guilt and working harder than ever.
He’s in one of those periods when he finds her. Caleb sent him out this morning with specific instructions to search the theatres and clubs along Sunset Boulevard, as the ghosts of performers often haunt their favorite venues.
He pops into a smaller club, not even bothering to look at the name, and sees two performers on stage: an older man singing a jazzy song Willie vaguely recognizes, and a teenage girl harmonizing with him. Willie thinks it’s an odd duo, but he’s seen stranger things in show business, and the girl’s voice is amazing, so clearly she’s earned her place.
He’s been poofing around for a while, so he decides to take a break and listen to the performance. As he watches, he notices that the man never seems to acknowledge the girl. It’s a bit strange, but maybe they just don’t have great stage chemistry.
And then the man finishes his song, turns to grab his water bottle, and walks straight through the girl.
Willie leaps to his feet, his mouth falling open as the girl starts chattering away to the man who clearly can’t hear her.
“You’re getting better Pete,” she says, circling around him. “Of course you can’t hold a candle to my talent, but we’ll get you there. Maybe schedule a couple extra coaching sessions this week. Couldn’t hurt.”
Willie jumps up onto the stage, and if the girl notices him, she doesn’t show it. She probably thinks he’s a lifer.
“You’re really good,” he says.
The girl stops moving and tries to elbow Pete, though her arm goes right though. “Kinda rude to ignore someone complimenting you, Pete.”
“Uh, he can’t hear me,” Willie says. “I was talking to you.”
The girl’s head snaps around and she finally looks at Willie, stumbling back when they make eye contact.
“You’re a ghost?” she asks.
“Yep,” Willie grins. “You too?”
The girl nods and holds out her hand. “I’m Sarah.”
“Willie,” he says. He shakes her hand and laughs a little at the way she marvels at their conjoined hands.
“Wow,” she says. “Sorry. Um. You’re the first person I’ve actually talked to in a long time.”
“I know the feeling,” Willie says, and god is that all too true. “You know, I actually sort of work at a club for ghosts, and we need a new singer.”
Sarah’s eyes light up. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Willie says. “Why don’t we give Pete some space and I’ll tell you all about it?”
Sarah nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, that would be awesome.”
Willie takes her hand and poofs the two of them out of the theater. A distant voice in the back of his head points out how similar this conversation is to the one he had with Caleb decades ago.
He tries not to think about it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When he finally brings Sarah to the Club, she loves it, and Caleb finally, finally congratulates Willie on bringing back a ghost with talent worthy enough for his stage.
The week after he brings her back is by far the best week of Willie’s afterlife. He finally has someone he can talk to, and though she died a full eight years after Willie did, they can still relate to each other much better than any of the adults at the club. She’s willing to watch him skate, and he could listen to her talk about all the music he’s missed for hours. When Caleb finally calls her into his office to sign her contract, Willie can barely contain his excitement.
It takes longer than expected for her to return, so Willie picks up the latest book he’s borrowed from Caleb, and blows through the last few chapters. He figures he might as well go get a new one now, since it will give him a chance to check in on Sarah.
He poofs outside the stairs to Caleb’s office and is about to start up them when a strong arm blocks his path. He stumbles back to see Dante and Fuego blocking the stairs.
“Hey guys,” Willie says, “what’s up?”
“Caleb’s still with Sarah,” Fuego says, and there’s an edge to his voice Willie can’t quite comprehend.
“Okay?” Willie says. “I was just returning this book.” Caleb has never cared before if Willie came in during one of his meetings, as long as he’s quick and quiet about it.
“He gave us specific instructions not to let you in,” Dante says.
And that hits Willie like a fucking car. “Oh,” he says, taking a step back and trying to blink away the sudden tears welling up in his eyes. “Did I do something wrong?”
Dante and Fuego don’t get a chance to answer, because Sarah comes barreling down the steps, shoving them out of the way. She locks eyes with Willie and he sees a fury burning within them.
“This is some fucking club you’ve got here,” she says.
“I—“ Willie gapes. “What do you mean?”
“Did you sign that fucking contract?”
“Yeah?” Willie says, looking between Dante and Fuego, who just look resigned. “We all did.”
“Did you read it?”
“Not really?” Willie admits, and Sarah huffs.
“I suppose he didn’t give you one of these either.” She pulls her sleeve up to show Willie the Club logo stamped on her wrist in purple ink.
Willie steps closer to examine it. “What is that?”
“Figures,” Sarah scoffs, shaking her head. “I should’ve known better than to trust you. This is what I get, I guess.”
Footsteps start to come down the stairs, and she glances back over her shoulder. She turns back to Willie and says, “Fuck you,” before poofing away.
Willie gapes at the space where she just was, then glances up at Dante and Fuego. “What just happened?”
Caleb appears at the top of the stairs. “William,” he calls, and Willie shivers at the use of his full name. “Come here.”
Caleb vanishes back up to his office, and Willie creeps up the steps, trying to swallow the lump of fear in his throat.
“Have a seat,” Caleb says from behind his desk when Willie pokes his head in.
Willie does as he’s told, shrinking into the chair when Caleb looks him over. He feels like he should apologize, but he doesn’t know what for. He’s just so confused, and he can tell Caleb is furious and he doesn’t know why but it must be his fault.
“Caleb—“ he starts.
“Where did you find her?” Caleb asks. There’s no emotion in his voice, but there’s a dangerous glint behind his eyes.
“At—at some club,” Willie says. “I don’t remember which one.”
Caleb hums. He keeps his eyes locked on Willie’s, but doesn’t say anything.
“What—“ Willie’s voice cracks, and he clears his throat to start over. “What did she mean? About the contracts? And that stamp?”
Caleb sighs and rises from his chair, moving behind Willie to pace across the office. Willie doesn’t dare turn around.
“You know that I require a payment in exchange for membership,” Caleb begins.
“She didn’t want to work?” Willie asks.
“No, she was willing to work,” Caleb says. “It was the down payment she had an issue with.”
“Down payment?” Willie frowns.
“Oh, William,” Caleb chuckles. “You really didn’t read the contract, did you?”
Willie shakes his head. “You said it was just a formality.”
“It was.” Caleb perches on the edge of his desk, resting one foot on the seat of Willie’s chair. He waves a dismissive hand. “You don’t need to worry about it. But some people take more convincing than others. That’s what the stamp is for. Just to remind her that she made a commitment she needs to honor.”
“Oh,” Willie says, “Okay.” That doesn’t really explain why Sarah was so mad, but if Caleb says it’s nothing, then he trusts him. “I’m sorry I brought her,” Willie says, rubbing his thumb over his arm. “I didn’t know she’d do that.”
Caleb places a hand on Willie’s cheek, fingers just barely brushing over the crack in his skull. “I know,” he says, and a weight lifts off Willie’s chest. “However...”
And the weight comes crashing back down. Caleb removes his hand and Willie almost cries at the loss of contact.
“I don’t want you recruiting anymore,” Caleb says.
A jolt of panic shoots through Willie. Recruiting is an excuse to spend the day skating through LA, and it’s a highly coveted position at the Club. Willie can’t lose it. “Wait, no. I’m sorry, please don’t—“
“Relax, William, this isn’t a punishment. I simply want you dancing four days a week instead of two. You are our best dancer, after all.”
It feels like a punishment. He knows it shouldn’t, but it does. It’s a compliment, right? Caleb loves his dancing; he should feel flattered. So why does he feel like he’s fucked everything up?
“Chin up,” Caleb says, using a finger below Willie’s chin to drag his head up. “You can even take a few days off, if you want.”
Willie nods, trying to quell the growing pool of guilt in his stomach. “Thank you.”
“Of course, William. I’ll see you for dinner?”
Willie nods and poofs out of the office. He lands on his bed and curls up under his blanket, trying to make sense of the afternoon. He’s lost another friend, and he’s lost his job, even if his replacement duty is supposed to be better.
He’s confused, and a little hurt, a little angry at Sarah. Most of all, he’s just lonely, but that’s on him for not recruiting well enough.
He’s so blame, so he tries not to think about it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It takes him a few weeks to work up the courage, but one night he catches up to the twins on their way back to their rooms after a show.
“Hey, did you guys read the contracts Caleb had us sign?” he asks.
Daisy gives him a quizzical look. “Of course we did.”
“So what does Caleb mean when he talks about a down payment?”
“Oh, Willie,” Dahlia tuts, and Willie’s getting really tired of hearing that sentence in that pitiful tone. He’s not dumb. Maybe a little naive, sure, maybe a little too trusting, but it’s been ten years and Caleb hasn’t betrayed his trust yet, so he should really be given more credit. “The down payment is your soul.”
Oh.
Oh.
So he sold his soul. Caleb owns his soul. Caleb owns him.
Willie doesn’t even give the twins a response. He walks through the door to his room and paces, trying to work this out in his head.
So Caleb owns his soul. Theoretically, Willie is not in control of his own soul. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Willie’s never felt out of control. He apparently hasn’t been in charge of his own soul for ten years and he hasn’t even noticed.
It can’t be that big of a deal, then, if he hasn’t noticed. If this is what soullessness feels like, then honestly, it’s a small price to pay for everything he has at the Club. So Caleb owns his soul, but it’s fine. Willie’s fine with it.
He’ll just try not to think about it.