Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Sometimes, Erik hated his job. Checking out old, abandoned houses, seeing if they can fixed up and sold. It usually consisted of driving out to rather remote locations and wandering around the place, attempting to not be creeped out by the dilapidated, damp buildings.
This particular house, once he finally got there after several wrong turnings, was larger than any other he had visited alone. The sun was setting as he parked up, and, cursing, he fished out his torch from his bag before trudging to the front door.
For some reason, Erik always felt the need to knock before entering the buildings. Most of them had experienced tragedies which left them deserted for decades before his company bought them, refurbished and sold them on. He felt that he needed to respect the house, and the people who once lived there.
After listening to the knock echo through the hallway, Erik shoved the door until it opened with a creek. Shining his light inside, he quickly found a lightswitch, relieved and rather surprise when it worked, the long, ornate hallway flickering into view.
From his research, Erik knew the last man to live here had died in the early 1960s after being shot and subsequently struggling with partial paralysis alone.
Erik shuddered as he looked up at the main staircase, knowing that was where the man had fallen and died, not found for weeks. He sighed and began walking the ground floor, photographing each room and making brief notes of the condition of the furnishings. What shocked Erik more than anything was the lack of dust and mould, usually highly prevalent in abandoned buildings. It was as if someone still lived here, though the decor and lack of food in the fridge, which had long since stopped working, suggested differently. He walked through the rest of the house, wondering if, for once, squatters had decided to clean up a place they were using instead of vandalising it.
He explored the rest of the place until he came to a door at the end of a corridor. From beneath the door came a light. He frowned, wondering if someone was playing a trick on him.
“If anyone’s in there, I’m calling the police.” He called, expecting some kids to run out. The was nothing, not a single movement or sound, aside from a small noise he heard - just for a moment - right beside him. He put a hand to his ear, having felt like someone had exhaled right next to it. After turning and watching down the hall a while, he sighed and entered the room, figuring he must just be imagining things. As he walked in, he gasped in amazement. A library, larger than any he had seen, filled the room. He walked through the maze-like layout of bookcases, examining the spines of some of the books. There appeared to be an extensive collection of novels and series aimed at children of varying age, dated over fifty years ago. He then came to a section of books on evolution, a stack of journals, sketchbooks…he was just about to reach out and take one of them out to examine, when he heard a gentle laugh behind him. He spun about and stared at the bright light directly before him.
“Who’s there? I wasn’t joking about calling the police you know!” He said, raising a hand to shelter his eyes from the light somewhat.
“Old friend, is that really necessary?” Asked the voice, british by the sounds of it, young and well educated.
“I am not your friend.” Erik growled. “My name is Erik, I work with Darkholme estates, who the hell are you?”
“Erik, oh Erik..” the voice breathed, and he felt a slightly cool hand on his cheek for a moment. Erik stumbled back at that, bumping into the bookcase.
“Are you a fucking ghost?! Am I talking to a fucking ghost? Christ, I’ve lost it…” Erik felt himself panicking. Perhaps it was because he’d skipped lunch and dinner that day, that he’d been driving so long, he was tired, that was it, it must be.
“Calm your mind, Erik..” Came the voice, and as soon as Erik felt two fingertips touch his temple, he felt a wave of calm wash over him. He felt himself being guided to a chair, which he gladly sat in.
Once he was calm, he looked up, scared of what he might or might not see.
Opposite him, sat in a matching armchair, was a young man wearing a thick jumper over a shirt and suit trousers. He clearly needed the extra layer, seeing how pale he was.
“I’m not cold, Erik.” The man said, smiling. Oh, his eyes were such a bright blue. He was so caught up in them that he didn’t realise for a moment that the man had responded to his thoughts.
“This is some kind of trick, you can’t be reading my mind…” Erik murmured, rubbing his forehead.
“This is no trick, Erik. I believe somehow you were reborn, and it appears fate has brought you back to me. I…well, as you stated earlier, am a ghost. When I was alive, I had a mutation which allowed me to read people’s minds. You and I were friends. You could control metal. I wonder, can you still do that?”
Erik frowned a while, then looked up at him. “How the hell did you know that? You can’t have read my mind, I’d forgotten about it!” It was something he had stopped doing as a child, and as a result had all but lost the ability.
Charles just smiled gently. “I told you. We were friends.”
“We are not! I have never seen you before!” He yelled, scared and tired. He stood, and suddenly felt rather dizzy. His low blood sugar had apparently only just caught up on him.
As he collapsed, he was aware of cold, gentle hands slowing his descent, feeling weightless as he passed out.