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“This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved we’re investigating the Archer House as part of our ongoing investigation into the question- are ghosts real?”
Merriell smirks knowingly and shakes his head at the camera, Burgie rolling his eyes behind it. They’re once again standing in front of a normal house in the late hours of the night with cameras strapped to their chests and tripods in their hands, ready to spend the night in what Eugene is convinced is a haunted house.
“This house had a terrible thing happen between its walls, leading many people, as well as myself, to believe there are ghosts haunting its corridors,” Eugene continues, barrelling on with his opening monologue as if he isn’t positively shaking in his boots.
“Guess we’ll find out!” Merriell announces happily, throwing his hands out to the sides, “even though we probably won’t, ‘cause, you know, ghosts ain’t real.”
He can feel Eugene’s exasperation rolling off of him in waves, his patience with Merriell’s skeptic antics wearing thin before they even set foot in the house. Sure, what does Merriell have to worry about? What’s a nightmare to Eugene is basically a camping trip for him, complete with a ghost story and an endless supply of opportunities to make fun of Eugene. “Well, let’s just go in and see,” he suggests in his no-nonsense tone before turning around and stepping up the driveway to the house’s front porch.
Merriell jogs after him, only to stop short when Eugene halts in front of the front door, expression already morphing into the far-off, disconnected stare he has when he’s really terrified. “I really don’t like this place’s energy,” he states weakly, voice caught on a breathy chuckle. He takes a few steps back, tucking his hands into his armpits. “I’m gonna die here, holy shit.”
“Nothing’s gonna happen,” Merriell assures him. “You’re gonna give yourself a few good scares, imagine some spooky noises, and run straight outta here in the mornin’ happy to be alive.”
“Alright, you go in first if you’re so sure of that,” the redhead prompts him, gesturing towards the door in a ladies first motion.
Rolling his eyes, Merriell does just so. “You always say that like it’s some big challenge,” he tells Eugene once he’s inside, the smell of unaired dusty spaces in his nostrils. “‘S just an empty house.”
Eugene, to his credit, only glares at him for two seconds tops before taking a deep breath, closing his eyes and giving himself a little shake. Merriell almost wants to cheer when he actually steps into the house, but he’s actually proud of Eugene for doing this even though it clearly scares the hell out of him. Instead, he takes Eugene’s hand and squeezes it, just for a second, before dropping it. Oswalt will edit it out later. Eugene flashes him a grateful smile before turning on his flashlight and facing the empty hall.
“Okay,” he starts, jumping into it in his narrator voice. “So this is the Archer House.”
Merriell looks around, the beam of his flashlight tracing the walls. It’s obvious that no one’s lived here in a long time, just by looking at the decor; garish oranges, yellow, and reds dominate the space, starting from the fading striped wallpaper to the shaggy carpet. The furniture is mostly wood, and an old, boxy TV screen reflects his flashlight from the far end of the living room. “Very 70’s,” he comments, amused, shining his light on the dormant lava lamp on the side table next to the yellow sofa.
“Yeah, well, that’s when people last lived here,” Eugene says, ignoring Merriell’s attempt at humor altogether. Merriell pouts playfully at the camera, making Jay snicker quietly to himself from the corner where he’s monitoring the audio. “The Archers were the last family to actually live in this house back in 1974. All the other people who tried to live here after moved out within a week on account of the ghosts.”
Merriell has to laugh at that, it’s just too fucking ridiculous. “Okay, Gene, why don’t you tell me more ‘bout those ghosts.”
“Shut up, let me tell you about the Archers first,” Eugene says. Merriell raises his hands in surrender, and Eugene launches into his ground-setting exposition. “So, the Ed, Rebecca, Rose, and Dana Archer lived here from 1960 to 1974, moving to Oregon shortly after Ed and Rebecca got married. They had Rose in 1962, and Dana in 1966.”
“Fans of even numbers,” Merriell observes. “Takes some plannin’, having all of those things happen on even years.”
“Even numbers are pretty great,” Eugene agrees, letting Merriell drag him into one of their famous side discussions with glee. “I always really liked them.”
“Really? I never liked any number,” Merriell says. “Never really had a head for ‘em. I’m more of a words kinda guy.”
Eugene snorts. “I think we all noticed that.”
Merriell does a little fancy bow, complete with a tip of his imaginary hat. “I do aim to please,” he says in a fake British accent, chest turning warm at the way Eugene smiles at him. He loves making Eugene happy, especially during these investigations, when he’s stressed and scared. It’s sort of become his way on checking in on him; Eugene doesn’t like it when he asks him if he’s okay when they’re on location, nerves making him snappy and sensitive, so as long as he can still make him smile, he knows they’re clear.
As they move upstairs, though, Eugene becomes visibly uncomfortable, eyes glassy, gaze not entirely there. He soldiers on nonetheless, professional even in discomfort. “So, up here is where things turn dark,” he announces as they reach the second floor, carpet giving way to creaky hardwood floors. “Around September of 1973, the Archers started having marital problems. Rebecca took to visiting the next door neighbours, Orson and Valerie Liu, for advice. Unfortunately that made Ed think that Rebecca was cheating on him with Orson, and as you can imagine he wasn’t stoked about it, but he didn’t do anything about it until the seventeenth of March, 1974.”
“I have a bad feelin’ about this,” Merriell cuts in, holding up a hand as if to stop him physically. “Are you sure we’re not filmin’ this for the true crime season?”
“I wish we fuckin’ were so I didn’t have to be in goddamn house right now,” Eugene laughs, that slightly hysterical breathless chuckle that tells Merriell that he’s too overwhelmed by emotions to fully process his words. His experience with dealing with Eugene like this tells him that some sort of breakdown is soon to follow, and he is not looking forward to it.
He still follows Eugene into the hall between two bedrooms, where the redhead continues the story. “On the night of March seventeenth, the Archers had a big fight, and Rebecca once again went next door to the Lius for comfort. Ed decided that enough was enough, took a kitchen knife, went upstairs and killed Rose and Dana in their sleep. When Rebecca got home about an hour later and found the girls, Ed told her that this was, quote, payback for what she’s done, end quote, before killing her as well.”
“Jesus Christ!” Merriell yells, completely taken aback by that reveal. Sure, he always comes to these investigations knowing nothing, trusting Eugene to deliver the story to him, but they’re always of the harmless my-house-is-haunted-because-a-door-closed-by-itself variety. It’s not often that they deal with something this gruesome during the supernatural season. “I don’t believe in that stuff, but that man is a demon!”
“Big time,” Eugene agrees heartily. Merriell sees Burgie nodding out of the corner of his eye. “I’m sure you’ll be glad to know that he served life in prison until his dying day. Oregon didn’t have the death penalty back in ‘74, it was reinstated ten years later in 1984.”
“Well, I hope he’s rotting in hell,” Merriell spits, voice full of undiluted venom. He was always more sensitive to cases involving fathers and husbands abusing their family, for obvious reasons. Rage and hatred boil in his chest, fists clenched at his sides. He’s glad this man is dead and gone.
They go into Dana’s bedroom first to conduct the actual investigation, which usually means five minutes of the spirit box blaring its unbearable noise at them with the occasional blip from an errant radio. Eugene is strangely quiet during this part; where he’d usually try to interpret every sound and make sense of what he can, he barely even pays attention to the machine in his hand. It might be the flashlights, but he looks pale and bloodless, purple bruises appearing under his eyes out of nowhere. After two minutes of just the spirit box going off with no commentary from Eugene Merriell takes it upon himself to take the annoying machine from his boyfriend’s hands and turn it off, handing it to Leyden silently and making a chopping motion across his neck until Burgie turns off the camera, turning off the GoPro strapped to his chest as well.
It’s only then that he notices that Eugene’s shaking, tremors taking over his body and a cold sweat breaking out over his forehead. “Gene?” he asks carefully, a slight panic rising in his throat. It’s become pretty par for the course for Eugene to have a bad reaction during shoots, but they were never this bad. He genuinely looks like he’s about to pass out. “Genie?” Merriell tries again when a few second go by and Eugene shows no sign of hearing him, resting a tentative hand on his hip.
The touch seems to draw Eugene back to reality somewhat. He draws a shallow breath, the air rattling raspily in his throat in a way Merriell doesn’t care for at all. “I feel really sad,” he says finally, voice feeble and breathy. His eyes wander across the room slowly, looking like he doesn’t actually see anything around him. Merriell is torn between not wanting to crowd him and the urge to cup his face in his hands and make him look at him in the eyes.
“What do you mean?” he questions instead, rubbing soothing circles into Eugene’s side with his thumb. “Sad how?”
Eugene makes a small sound at the back of his throat that sounds suspiciously like a whimper and immediately has Merriell’s protective alarm going off. “Dunno,” he mumbles, sounding almost dreamy with the far-away quality his voice has taken on. “Don’t feel right. My chest hurts.” Then his eyes finally land on Merriell’s face, and relief takes him over when he finally sees recognition in them. Slowly, Eugene raises a shaky hand to Merriell’s chest, fingers loosely clutching the fabric of his shirt. “Hey, Merriell?”
“Yeah, cher?” he responds, almost desperate to have Eugene keep talking to break him out of this weird trance he seems to have entered.
“I don’t think I like this room very much,” the redhead says, head lowering until his forehead is resting against Merriell’s shoulder. Merriell immediately wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him closer as his other hand cradles the back of his head, fingers stroking his hair. The feeling of Eugene shaking in his arms makes his heart go into overdrive and his palms start to sweat. Something wild inside of him tells him that the world will simply end if he doesn’t make Eugene feel better.
It takes some time, but eventually they make it back downstairs. Merriell makes Eugene sit down on the horrible orange couch and settles down kneeling on the floor in front of him while he slowly drinks the water Burgie handed him. He notices with relief that the longer they stay downstairs the more stable Eugene becomes, the shaking subsiding and the color returning to his face. He lets out a measured breath, letting some of that tension flow out of his veins with the air leaving his lungs.
“How you feelin’?” he asks cautiously after a few quiet minutes where he let Eugene rest and regain his senses.
Eugene runs a hand through his hair, thinking about it for a second. “Better,” he says eventually, then looks down to his lap and laughs, embarrassed. “I don’t really know what happened.” Merriell takes the water bottle out of his hand and puts it aside on the carpet before taking both of Eugene’s hands and holding them between his, giving his knuckles a soft kiss. “I think,” Eugene starts before stopping himself short, sneaking a hesitant glance at him as if he’s worried for his reaction.
“Go on,” Merriell prompts him, giving his hands a squeeze.
Eugene scrunches his nose, looking like he regrets saying anything. “You’ll make fun of me.”
“I won’t,” Merriell says, trying to make his voice and expression as honest as possible as he makes a small X over his heart with a smile. “Cross my heart, Gene.”
It looks like it takes Eugene some more deliberation, but he finally caves. “Fine,” he acquiesces. “I think. God, you’ll think I’m stupid for this, but I think Dana affected me,” he confesses, face turning red as he avoids looking at Merriell, whose first reaction isn’t amusement like it usually is when he says things like this.
Instead, he’s confused. “Like, she possessed you?” he attempts to clarify, brow furrowed.
Eugene shakes his head. “Not like possession, but more like. It felt like I could feel what she was feeling. Or what her ghost was feeling.”
Merriell takes some time to think about it. Eugene is right- in a normal situation, yeah, he’d laugh him out of town for saying something this ridiculous. But he saw the way Eugene behaved up there, and as scared as he can get during their investigations, he never came even close to what just happened. Merriell hated seeing him like that more than anything in the world, and he doesn’t like how insecure he’s being right now either.
“Okay,” he says simply.
Eugene's head whips up, staring at him like he just grew two extra heads. “Okay?” he parrots, incredulous in the way his eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up. “Who are you and what have you done to my boyfriend? You don’t believe in any of this stuff!”
“Sure don’t,” Merriell agrees, smiling at him. “But I believe you.”
This seems to shut Eugene up, teeth clacking together due to how fast his jaw snaps shut. He looks at Merriell as if he’s seeing him for the first time, a smile that can only be described as absolutely besotted splitting his face in half. That, if anything, tells Merriell that he did the right choice.
Cupping the back of his neck, Eugene leans forward and pulls him into a kiss, passionate with how hard he presses his lips against his with the force of his gratitude. Merriell curls his fingers under his chin and smiles into the kiss, the taste of Eugene’s smile familiar when they draw back. “Thank you,” Eugene whispers against his mouth when he gives him one more quick kiss.
“I still don’t believe in ghosts,” Merriell clarifies, feeling like it needs to be said before Eugene gets any ideas. “This is an outlier.”
When Eugene laughs, it feels like things have gone back to normal; as long as he can still make Eugene smile, he knows they’re okay.