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Lambs to the slaughter…
Various members of the living crowded around the front of the house, running around like headless chickens, trying to set up everything they could before it got dark.
What they were trying to set up, Chris wasn’t sure. It had been quite a few years since any of the living had dared to trespass into his domain, and it seemed technology had come quite a way since he’d seen any of it. He didn’t really care. No matter what contraptions and contrivances the living brought with them, they weren’t going to get rid of him; they couldn’t. He’d haunted this old house for over two centuries, ever since he’d been hung, drawn, and quartered, and had his remains hung from the rafters of the very attic he was now standing in - or perhaps floating was a more fitting choice of words.
Chris didn’t really care about his choice of words.
What he cared about was removing the ridiculous breathing humans scurrying about outside his house, about to disturb him. It was a mistake on their part; it had been a long time since Chris had had any entertainment other than re-reading the few crumbling books that had survived this long, and so he’d had plenty of time to plan what he would do to any possible intruders.
It wasn’t going to be pretty.
But it was going to fun.
Very, very fun.
He knew ghost hunters when he saw them, no matter how much their technology had changed, and knew they intended to ‘put this spirit to rest’ - which was something Chris had no interest in. With every passing anniversary of his death, he got more and more powerful: soon he would be able to seek out the descendants and statues of the ‘brave’ men who had killed him, and enact his revenge. Only after that was done would he go peacefully into that goodnight.
Until then…time to have some fun.
Smirking coldly, Chris dematerialized and sunk through the floor.
The short, stout woman who currently owned the land that the house stood on was allowing two men in through the front door. Her face was pinched with worry, but the two strangers didn’t share her good sense: looking around the house with curiosity.
“I can definitely feel something.” the first man, who had hair that was a rather unfortunate shade of dish-water brown: “A very strong presence.”
His compatriot, a taller man with eyes that shifted from side to side nervously: “An evil presence.”
“The ghost doesn’t like the living coming into the house.” the landowner remarked - from her spot just outside the front door: “It tends to react…violently when confronted.”
“Violently?” Nervous Eyes asked.
Why let her tell them, when I can show them?
Remaining invisible for now, Chris used his power to make the floor under their feet groan, making the house sound like it was in agony.
The landowner squeaked, and Nervous Eyes jumped backwards, but Dish-Water’s eyes only sharpened. He scanned the room, eyes pausing in a few locations, but never one Chris was in. It was obvious that he wasn’t one of the few members of the living who had the Sight, who could still see him even when he was invisible to most living beings, but he was far too interested in this situation when he should be scared.
Chris was going to have to get rid of him.
And he was going to enjoy it.
“Get Willow in here.” Dish-Water demanded, looking his compatriot: “I want to see if she can see it.”
Chris doubted that this Willow could, but he still ducked out of sight of the door as Nervous Eyes went out to do as he was told - returning a few minutes later with the sound of someone following him…someone who froze outside: “No.”
“No?” Dish-Water rolled his eyes: “What do you mean ‘no’?”
“I mean there is someone in that house that very much does not want me or any of us to be in there with them.” the new voice replied: a young woman, by the sound of it, her voice quavering slightly: “We should leave.”
Ah, a young woman with some sense.
Unfortunately, Dish-Water did not share her good sense, the same as he didn’t share Nervous Eyes’: “Just get in here, Willow, and do what we pay you for.”
Willow hesitated for a few seconds, before doing as she was told - and making Chris freeze in place.
Rosalie…
It wasn’t his Rosalie; upon second glance, Chris could see that this Willow was not the woman he had once loved and now despised, but rather a pale imitation. Where Rosalie’s skin had been perfect porcelain, this woman’s face was splattered with freckles. Rosalie’s hair had been a rich shade of auburn, like a fine brandy, whereas Willow’s was the colour of damp autumn leaves. And Rosalie’s eyes had been a captivating feline green - Willow’s were a plain hazel.
The two women were most definitely not the same, merely similar…but it was enough to ignite the fury that had been simmering low in his chest for a very long time.
Without thinking, Chris buckled the floorboards under Willow, Dish-Water, and Nervous Eyes’ feet, sending the three of them stumbling backwards before they were knocked down. He buckled more floorboards, chasing them out of the house, before slamming the front door shut behind them - and still his rage burned. The window frames rattled, the walls roared, and the railings on the porch shook, and Chris still felt himself shake with anger, until the four living humans raced off of the porch.
The landowner almost threw the keys to the house at Dish-Water, who stormed over to his truck, prompting Nervous Eyes to trot obediently after him. Dish-Water shouted commands at the assembled members of the living before driving away in his car with Nervous eyes, and soon all of them were packing things back into their vehicles, and leaving just like their boss had. Only Willow looked back…filling Chris with a vicious sense of anticipation.
He wanted her to come back.
So he could tear her limb from limb.
Hours later, after the sun had set and the moon had risen high in the sky, Chris felt a quiet presence approaching the house.
Willow had returned, and much quicker than Chris had expected.
She looked scared as she walked the house, but her steps were certain nonetheless. As much as the urge to murder her the same way he wanted so desperately wanted to murder Rosalie, Chris couldn’t deny Willow’s strange mixture of fear and determination was…curious. Very few humans had ever come to his house twice, and those who had had never had the good sense to know they should be afraid of him. Willow was very clearly afraid of him, and yet she was still approaching the house.
Curious indeed.
“Um…hello.” she called, pausing at the foot of the porch steps: “It’s Christopher, isn’t it? I did some research in town, apparently you’ve been here a long time.”
Chris knew that couldn’t be the only thing she had learned from her research…but he still had no answers as to why she had returned her.
So he allowed her to keep talking.
“I know a little about ghosts…enough to know that, based on the amount of time you’ve been haunting this place, you’ve likely had enough time to gain the ability to turn corporal. And enough time to get bored.”
Chris couldn’t argue with either of those statements.
“So I brought you some books.” Willow carried on, gently placing a decent-sized bag on the front of the porch: “I wasn’t sure what you read when you were alive - the history books said you were educated, so I grabbed some books on history, non-fiction books, and some classical fiction as well. There’re also a few modern books in there - horror stories.” she rambled: “Andrew will probably kill me for giving you ideas, but…I don’t know…seemed appropriate. You liked scaring us, I could feel your satisfaction…and your murderous rage…so I figured maybe you’d like horror…”
Chris honestly wasn’t sure what ‘horror stories’ were…and equally honest, he didn’t really care.
Fresh books were fresh books, and this woman had just left a pile of them on his front porch. A woman he had wanted to murder a few hours ago, all because of her unfortunate resemblance to a woman she had nothing to do with…
The thought made Chris feel rather guilty.
He was no stranger to murder - before or after he’d been murdered himself - but he’d never killed an innocent person before. The thought that he’d been angry enough to kill a woman in cold blood, over something as inconsequential as a fleeting resemblance, was enough to make his stomach turn. Especially when it was a woman who was kind enough to gift him with so many books, even after his earlier performance.
“I owe you my thanks, for the books.” he said to the now-stunned Willow: “And an apology, for my earlier behavior.”
Willow swallowed nervously, but nodded her acknowledgement: “I accept your apology. And your thanks.”
“That is very kind of you, but I still find myself in your debt - ”
“Oh, you really don’t - ”
“Please,” Chris asked, knowing he couldn’t stand to feel like he owed this woman for being so kind as to bring him gifts when he had behaved so awfully to her: “There must be something I can do to make amends for scaring you so badly this morning.”
Willow smiled, the expression nervous, but somehow still soft and sweet: “I mean…there is something…but it may seem a little strange.”
Chris couldn’t deny his unease at a ghost hunter, one with the Sight no less, asking him for something ‘strange’…but he’d hear her out if it meant he may absolve himself of his misdeeds: “What is it?”
“I know I can see ghosts when they’re non-corporal…but I don’t know if I can feel them. Do you know if I can? Or would you mind if I tried to hold your hand to find out?”
It was a little strange…but Chris couldn’t see the harm in it.
Instead of answering, Chris stepped forwards and returned to his non-corporal state before reaching out a hand to Willow.
She smiled gratefully and reached up with her own hand, gently extending her fingers until they were tangled though his.
The heat of her skin burned, but that didn’t stop Chris from involuntarily clenching his hand. It felt like he’d just stepped close to a roaring fire after being out in the cold - he had thought he could still feel differences in temperature after he’d gained the ability to become corporal, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of Willow’s skin.
“I…I haven’t felt warmth like that in a long time.” Chris explained himself, finally realising that Willow was looking at him with an alarmed expression: “I apologise. I’ve scared you again.”
“No, no, I…uh…I get it.” Willow rushed out: “I wasn’t born with the Sight; I gained it after I died for three minutes on an operating table. Being able to see ghosts wasn’t the only thing that changed…everything just seemed so much…more for a little while.”
Her alarmed expression had turned into one of understanding, and Chris couldn’t deny that that was soothing: “I’m sorry to hear of your traumatic experience. You seem remarkably well adjusted for someone who gained the Sight in later life. Many…do not seem to deal with the new ability very well.”
“It was hard.” Willow agreed: “But I got through it, mainly because I had good friends around. I couldn’t tell them what was wrong - they would’ve thought I was crazy - but they were still there to give me a hug when I needed one.” She paused, as if thinking something through for a few seconds, a cautious expression overtaking her face once more, before she smiled nervously: “Would you like one?”
Chris couldn’t remember the last time someone had offered to hold him - even before he’d died.
He’d led a solitary existence, removing men who’d had no right to exist from the Earth when the law couldn’t or wouldn’t, and the only woman who’d appeared to show any interest in him romantically had been pretending to lure him into a trap at the behest of her lover.
A hug from Willow would likely be excruciating - both from the temperature of her body compared to his own, and from the fact he hadn’t been held in almost a quarter of a century…but Chris thought that it might be worth the pain just to be held. Especially as Willow did not exactly seem opposed to the idea.
“I would.” Chris replied to her: “I very much would.”