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Clear morning skies promised a beautiful Wisconsin day. From the pinnacle of his mansion, secluded away from prying eyes and tourism as he was, Vlad could freely and deeply breathe the crisp, clean air scented subtly of cheese and paper mills. Smelling of home. The sea of blue stretched towards every horizon, though the sunlight even at this time of day caused him to squint. (Spending virtually all his time indoors or in the Ghost Zone probably had something to do with that, though Vlad was skeptical. Reading, he reasoned, should strengthen his retinas, not deteriorate them, while the searing glare of ectoplasm was offset by the infrared film of his ghost eyes. And certainly he wasn’t old enough to require glasses all the time.
…though perhaps supplement doses of fresh air and vitamin D couldn’t hurt.)
It was regrettable, really. The weather forecast boasted an unimpeded sunny day where Vlad could have partook in a number of charming outdoor activities, risking a sunburn at most. Golfing came to mind, though he dismissed the notion with a mental sigh. Could have, he thought, if not for the behemoth, looming, ancient and powerful and entirely bull-headed ghost-knight and his equally vicious steed insisting otherwise.
“Come. We are squandering the light of your precious sun.”
Vlad rolled his eyes, then winced when he caught the refracted shine off the pond. “I still don’t understand why I can’t fly in my ghost form. Alongside the two of you.”
“Flying near us and flying with us are entirely separate activities. And you shall ride without the aid of your enhanced abilities. They would impoverish your experience.”
“How? I’d still be riding.”
Fright Knight shook his head. “Too much do you rely on your ghost powers. You would do well to dedicate more effort towards broadening your natural capabilities. Admirable your control over your ghost half may be, your origin and existence, until your termination, are ever human.”
“…you’re not planning on any termination-related events today, are you?”
“Nay. Now cease your delays and mount up.”
Fright Knight’s tone was unyielding. If Vlad weren’t so stubborn he would readily admit he was being most frustrating. It was weeks ago that he’d given his word that Fright Knight could pick their next outing. Three planned dates later with plenty of impromptu meet-ups and missions in-between, and Vlad was still digging in his heels about the only activity his boyfriend suggested. Truthfully, it was a miracle that Fright Knight waited this long to start physically enforcing his demands.
Still, though, a little heads up would have been nice. Fright Knight couldn’t have known that Vlad’s day was clear of any prior obligations when he rudely awoke his boyfriend at six a.m. and Vlad resented the ambush. Had Fright Knight given him some warning, he could have easily filled his calendar with important business meetings and interviews that simply couldn’t be canceled. Instead, he made the mistake of telling the truth when he was groggy and interrogated in his own bed. Now here he was, standing on his rooftop clucking like a pigeon all because the almighty and enduring Spirit of Halloween wanted a joy ride.
Plus, he was almost certain Fright Knight picked flying because he knew Vlad wouldn’t like it. Payback for all the activities and events Vlad had made him try since they began dating, no doubt.
“All right, all right,” Vlad said with a resigned sign. “Just one more thing. A warning, really,” he tacked on when Fright Knight scowled in a warning of his own. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve ridden a horse. I’m not so sure I’ll be an easy rider and my balance is terrible.”
“That is of no consequence.” Fright Knight patted his mount’s neck. Nightmare nuzzled back in response. “I shall compensate your nonfunctional equilibrium and Nightmare is a skilled steed.”
“Yes, but has he ever carried two before? I was under the impression you rode solo.”
Two heads turned sharply to appraise him; Fright Knight puzzled, Nightmare critical. Vlad glared back (it was a fair question, after all) until Fright Knight repeated, “’He?’”
“…Yes?” The two continued to stare until Nightmare released a derisive snort. “Oh. My, uh, my mistake.”
“You’ve…believed Nightmare to be male?”
“It was an honest mistake,” Vlad protested.
“How so?”
“I…well, I had no reason to think she…” Grasping for straws and failing, Vlad wondered if his mortal termination was arriving regardless of Fright Knight’s intentions. Suddenly it felt like a great time to walk straight off the roof and rid himself of this entire day. “You know, never mind. Shall we ride?”
Naturally, now that he would rather partake in the activity he’d been trying all morning to get out of, Fright Knight wouldn’t budge. Instead he raised an eyebrow and asked, “Were you expecting a pink saddle and braided mane?”
“Oh, forget it.”
“Or painted hooves?”
“Listen—”
Fright Knight’s shoulders shook as he chuckled, “Perhaps long eyelashes and lip rouge? Petticoats to defend her modesty?”
Never one to stand for insult or injury, Vlad was bristling with an array of scathing retorts when Fright Knight’s easy laugh rolled from his mask and over him like a wave, washing away his indignation. The abrupt disarming rendered Vlad acutely aware of how ridiculous he must look, ears suddenly burning and finger pointed lamely at the sky in preparation for a now-forgotten tirade. What replaced the sudden vacuum was an overwhelming sense of…
Well, being overwhelmed. That’s not fair, Vlad wanted to object, but he pressed his lips together before he made another blunder. I couldn’t prepare for that. He never told me he could laugh.
Fright Knight, laughing quietly to himself, gestured to Nightmare. “Shall we?” he echoed.
Vlad forced himself to remember to breathe. “Sure.” Fright Knight bowed graciously as Vlad approached and barely waited for him to try on his own before sweeping him up bridal-style and depositing him atop Nightmare.
The assistance was helpful, given the height difference and Nightmare’s unhelpful attitude. She probably would have snorted with laughter of her own watching Vlad try and fail to climb up. All the same, Vlad felt his heart stutter at the romantic antics when Fright Knight, settling in behind him, reached around Vlad’s waist and gripped the reins with his left hand. He pressed his right on Vlad’s chest, holding him securely in place.
Oh my.
“Hi-yah!” Nightmare sprung from the rooftop, wings unfurling and pounding furiously to gain elevation. They flew high and away from the mansion, ascending so swiftly that Vlad’s stomach dropped and ears rang. Instinctively he scrambled for any sort of purchase and found himself gripping Fright Knight’s steadying (anchoring, he realized, because of course Fright Knight rode without a saddle) hand in a vice-grip with both his own. With the world dizzily shrinking below them, Vlad tried to remember the keys of riding from his childhood. He swore there was something about his knees, but given that they were weak as jelly, it didn’t really matter.
He focused on deep breaths instead, shivering when they crossed a high wind. He wished he were Plasmius. As a ghost he wouldn’t have to worry about hypothermia or breathing or swooning.
After one particularly violent tremble, Fright Knight steered Nightmare down to a more reasonable elevation, where winds were slightly warmer but trees still looked like ants. Watching them at their distance and speed was almost nauseating, though Vlad found it difficult to look away. Closing his eyes only emphasized the beating of Nightmare’s wings and her legs running across thin air, dissonant with his own natural rhythms.
Normally he had no problem with heights. He was either secure in an airplane or flying of his own virtue. I’m a distinguished millionaire, he griped to himself, peering down at the ground and immediately wishing he hadn’t. If I had any interest in this sort of thing I’d already be in six skydiving calendars.
“Behold.” Fright Knight pointed towards the horizon and Vlad was one glottal stop away from berating him for letting go of the reins until he realized the alternative was to lose his only handhold. He instinctively clutched Fright Knight’s arm harder, took a sharp, stinging breath in through his nose and squinted through watery eyes.
“What am I looking at?”
“The clouds.”
Vlad peered more intently but saw nothing but white fluff. “What about them?”
“Behold them,” were the instructions, and Vlad, seeing no other viable option, did as he was told. Or, at least, he tried. For several minutes he came up short on finding flaws or majesty among the loosely consolidated water vapor.
Finally, he asked Fright Knight what it was he saw in them. “The gathering grievances of the heavens. Becoming tragedy, for the might of water ever bows to gravity and shall fall at the height of its power.” He pointed, reins once again in hand. “That one resembles a gull of the sea.”
“Hmmm.” Vlad leaned as far back as he could, trying to leech the warmth that came from the flaming cape and sunlight reflecting off armor. He had the idea to try warming his hands in Nightmare’s mane, but thought better of it. He couldn’t be sure what her reaction would be and the last thing he needed was to have her try to buck him off at several thousand feet). “Go on.”
Fright Knight’s imaginative waxings were impressive, especially considering that he mostly stuck to a few main themes relating to terror, war, and the supernatural. If the words themselves got repetitive (and they never did for long), Vlad focused on the quality of his voice; dark, clear, commanding. He was beginning to suspect the Spirit of Halloween could compose a saga for a doorknob and still have a captive audience. It wasn’t so much the sheer poetic literacy as it was his enthusiasm. Though he never lost his serious tone, Vlad could hear the conviction strengthen and focus intensify in Fright Knight’s delivery when he was particularly enthused. It was difficult to not get absorbed.
Truthfully, if he were in the proper mood, Vlad happily would have listened to him for hours. It was a rare treat when he found a voice he liked hearing as much as his own and, if nothing else, Vlad Masters was a man who loved indulging in rare treats.
He flinched when Fright Knight jostled his shoulder, though quickly realized it was to get his attention. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
“I said: your shivering has subsided.”
“Oh? Oh, yes, I suppose it has.”
“Good. Now that you are acclimated, the true flight can commence.”
“The true—?!” Nightmare, who had apparently been waiting for this moment, tossed her head back and neighed. Vlad felt her shoulders and back and wings coil underneath him as his stomach followed suit. “Fright, no, this isn’t—”
“HI-YAH!” Nightmare shot forward like a bullet, leaving whirlwinds in their wake as she galloped through the sky. Any relaxation Vlad had acquired was undone in a heartbeat and then some. Past the wind-and-chill tears in his eyes, he saw the once-stable clouds towards the horizon careening in directions he couldn’t follow. He could just barely make out Fright Knight’s boisterous bellows over the wind.
Don’t do what I think you’ll do, don’t do what I think you’ll do, don’t do— “Fright!” Vlad warned in a voice far too frail for his own liking. “Do not—”
“Hah!” Nightmare folded her wings and threw herself into a dive, gracing Vlad with an unimpeded view of the ground they hurtled towards. He and Fright Knight shrieked in unison; one a sound of terror and the other of terrible delight. When Vlad’s all-too-human lungs emptied of air, leaving him gasping for breath to resume his screaming, Fright Knight sang his battle cries without break.
Fortunately, Nightmare didn’t wait until the last second to unfurl her wings and slow their plummet. Unfortunately, she did engage in a series of twists, rolls, and loops that would have left Vlad marveling at the wonders of gravity and physics were he not so painfully woozy.
After one particularly elongated, upside-down arc, Nightmare steadied herself and soared on a warm thermal. Vlad squeezed his eyes shut and tried to muster up any form of a real temper for the enduring mistreatment, though he only felt weak and indignant when he heard Fright Knight behind him.
“That…was not…funny,” he groaned, giving the hand on his chest a light whack. Fright Knight only laughed louder. “You are terrible.”
“Indeed,” Fright Knight proudly agreed. “Would only the next time be as frightening for you.”
“Next…oh, absolutely not.” Vlad wished he could turn around to glare. “There’s not going to be a next time, you animated suit of armor. I nearly had a heart attack!”
“No, you did not,” Fright Knight replied simply. “Don’t be frail.”
“You know, I only meant that half-literally, but let’s say I’m right. You strong-arm me to accompany you on this ride—”
“’Twas you who vowed to go on this date.”
“—which I understand I agreed to, but then you forbid me from riding in my ghost form, which I don’t expect you to appreciate the implications of, but would offset the cold and arthritis and potential heart failure—”
“You are nowhere near the realm of heart failure. Have faith in my expertise.”
Vlad rolled his eyes. “Yes, because clearly you’ve been studying homo-sapien cardiology in your abundance of free time.”
“Heartbeats are well within the domain of my knowledge.”
Below, a flock of geese journeyed south. “Enlighten me.”
“Every creature is subject to fear,” Fright Knight intoned. “As the harbinger of terror and master of fright, it is both my duty and my nature to understand how fear affects the mind, body, and spirit. Heartbeats are quite telling.”
“…You…hear heartbeats?”
“I sense them.”
“…and you’re keeping tabs on mine?”
“Always.” Gloved fingers tapped Vlad’s chest. “Allow yourself to fear, but do not forget; I shall not allow true harm to befall you.”
For a while they flew on in silence; Fright Knight because he had nothing more to say and Vlad, for once, because he couldn’t find the words. The flight allowed him plenty of time to mull over what he had just learned, as Fright Knight and Nightmare both seemed to have gotten some of the adrenaline out of their systems. Occasionally Nightmare would terrorize some geese or hawks or would engage them all in aerial acrobatics, but those became few and far between, with only the occasional spiraling bank or sideways roll before continuing onward at a more gentle pace (though each time Vlad was acutely aware of his heart hammering against his ribs, against Fright Knight’s hand). Overall, the ride took a more scenic tone, as Nightmare traced the contours of a river or drifted steadily north so that farms gave way to forests. Vlad had a sneaking suspicion they crossed the Canada border several times.
It would have been peaceful were the anticipation not so high. Vlad had long since stopped shivering, but each turn left him tensing up for a dive-bomb that never occurred or a somersault that never unfolded. He tried hard not to fidget, but with his legs falling asleep and his mind left abandoned with nothing to do, it was hard not to. It didn’t help that every time he glanced over his shoulder, Fright Knight seemed utterly at ease. Several times his eyes were closed and over the course of the hours his grip on the reins loosened, allowing Nightmare navigational autonomy.
Finally, Vlad had to ask. “I enjoy it,” was the reply.
“Well, sure, but what are we getting out of this? What’s the goal?”
“Enjoyment.”
Suspiciously, Vlad confirmed, “There’s no other motive?”
“Need there be?”
Vlad wasn’t sure if he believed him; Fright Knight had less of a concept of work-to-life balance than Vlad did. It wasn’t by any fault of his; it was simply a ghost’s nature to be highly attuned to their purpose. Without it, their lingering wills would diminish and eventually they would fade. It took a ferocity of spirit to persist after death. For one such as Fright Knight, whose very presence was not postmortem but the cumulative manifestations of centuries of myths and traditions, he never needed to experience any aspect of existence beyond the scope of what he already knew. And for all the 21st century modernization of Halloween, it didn’t exist just for fun.
But when they crossed the beach of county roads to the endless tides of cornfields, Vlad reluctantly admitted he may be wrong. Fright Knight’s shriek sowed mayhem among the crows, whom Nightmare snapped at and chased with unbridled abandon. Fright Knight laughed without reservation and let her have her fun until her quarry were mere black specks on the horizon. Then he turned her attention to a target of his own.
He didn’t bother with invisibility as they rode low among the crops, Nightmare’s hooves skimming the tops of the corn stalks. After a little maneuvering to ensure Vlad was still secure, Fright Knight freed Soul Shredder and began ambushing sentry scarecrows. Vlad tucked his legs tighter against Nightmare and kept a watchful eye on the sword and it was swung this way and that, holding tight with his knees and onto Fright Knight’s hand when the jostling became too treacherous. It wasn’t a far fall to the ground, but still. He couldn’t be sure Nightmare wouldn’t try to kick him on the way down.
“Is the destruction of property also for sheer enjoyment?” he did ask sardonically as they closed in on their next victim.
“It is training.” With a fluid, easy swing, Fright Knight missed his mark and lodged his sword neatly into the pumpkin head. Both knight and steed disappeared in a flash and Vlad crashed unceremoniously into the dirt. The whole fall took less than a handful of seconds, and once he flopped onto his back, Vlad could almost pretend nothing was amiss. A gentle wind brushed through the cornstalks. Insects hummed. For a few moments he let himself stare at the azure sky, wondering how exactly he’d let Fright Knight talk him into any of this. Obstinacy must be part of his charm, Vlad supposed, though Vlad had, as Fright Knight pointed out earlier, given his word. Fright Knight wasn’t the sort to understand a broken promise.
It didn’t stop him from muttering as he picked himself off the ground, brushed the dirt off his pants and jacket, and, wincing at the tightness in his legs and hips, retrieved the sword, his boyfriend, and Nightmare. Stubborn and embarrassed, Fright Knight insisted on properly laying waste to the offending scarecrow, decapitating it with passion. Nightmare kicked the severed pumpkin into the cornfield for good measure.
It was endearing, the way Fright Knight lopped the scarecrow up into tufts of straw and cloth with undivided devotion. It was the same singular focus he dedicated to any task he deemed worth his time, whether it was striking fear into the hearts of his opponents in the midst of battle or reading and reciting poetry. Often he concentrated so heavily that Vlad had witnessed enemies taking advantage of clear openings in Fright Knight’s horrible defenses. It hadn’t mattered; Fright Knight was powerful enough that the attacks didn’t even register as a threat. Nor did Vlad register as a threat when he’d sneak up on the enthralled knight engrossed in a book or movie. At first it had annoyed Vlad deeply, how oblivious Fright Knight could be. That annoyance still lingered, but it was tinged with something else, a sense of awe or respect and some jealous. To be powerful enough to be able to lack that much awareness with so little consequence was a life Vlad could hardly dream of.
Still, it was difficult to remain disgruntled when the Spirit of Halloween, Master of Terror, Lord of Doom exacted revenge on a generic-brand scarecrow with such ardor. His form isn’t even that good, Vlad mused, letting his eyes linger over a shallow stance and strong arms that wasted so much energy with wild swings.
Once his opponent was properly disposed of, Fright Knight scrutinized the position of the sun and declared they would venture forth. If he found Vlad’s lack of complaints unusual, he didn’t comment, just as how Vlad didn’t comment when Fright Knight’s steadying hand automatically rested itself over his chest.
They returned at sunset, descending through the spectrum of yellows and oranges and reds back to Vlad’s gray rooftop. He groaned when he slid off Nightmare and hopped quickly from foot to foot to return feeling to his toes and soles even as it sent shoots of pain up his calves. It was exactly as he imagined he remembered it from his childhood only worse.
“I don’t suppose your finely-attuned senses can tell me if I have blood clots or frostbite, can they?” When Vlad didn’t receive an answer, he huffed into his icy hands.
“Allow me.” Fright Knight took Vlad’s hands in his own and tugged them, and Vlad himself, closer to his armored chest. For a moment Vlad thought Fright Knight would do something entirely cliche, like kiss his knuckles or utter some romantic nonsense. Instead, Fright Knight lifted Vlad’s hands further up and up until they were engulfed by the flames pouring from his helmet.
The purple fire never burned, which was why Vlad had used them for their heat on several occasions. He shivered when the warmth spread from his thawing fingers. After the discomforts of the day, the simple warming sensations was pure bliss. Soon the aches and numbness would melt into memory, if only he were patient enough to endure. Even with the cold pricking at his back and under the hems of his pant legs, Vlad could feel his temperature rising. Another shiver trailed goosebumps down to his toes and back.
When Vlad opened eyes he hadn’t realized he had closed, Fright Knight was watching him. Even staring straight into his helmeted face, it was hard to tell what he was thinking. But here, standing face-to-face on his rooftop after a day of primarily speaking, listening, and feeling (and sensing, Vlad recalled) for communication, he suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable with Fright Knight’s green eyes on him. While he wasn’t silly enough to entertain the thought of mind-reading, he couldn’t help but wonder just how telling his heartbeats were to his private thoughts and feelings.
He felt another rush of heat, this time blooming in his cheeks and searing the tops of his ears. Fright Knight rubbed his thumbs over Vlad’s palms, encouraging his blood to pump, and Vlad nearly crumbled at the gesture.
“I’m not frail, you know,” he murmured, fingers twitching helplessly in ethereal flame.
“Aye.” How long they stood like that, Vlad didn’t know, but the next time he shivered Fright Knight returned his hands to him. “Spare thyself from the night chill. I’ll follow.”
“Sure.” He cupped his hands together in front of his chest and turned to retreat inside, but Fright Knight’s next words checked him.
“…you truly do not enjoy flying, do you.”
It wasn’t a question, just a resigned acceptance of fact. Vlad winced and glanced over his shoulder. There was no hurt or malice or sullenness emanating from Fright Knight. There wasn’t much of anything Vlad could discern from his general demeanor even though Fright Knight stared openly right at him.
It was hard to stand ground against a lack of an attack. Vlad could handle a temper tantrum or targeted remarks about Vlad’s own selfishness and hypocrisy. But Fright Knight gave him nothing, except maybe an out for “next time” if Vlad chose to take it.
It was almost gracious, and that made Vlad even more inclined to be snide. But it was also unusual, so Vlad closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to ignore the rising bitter winds to honor the space Fright Knight gave him, knowingly or not.
If Vlad were to be honest with himself (and he always told himself he was), the day wasn’t terrible. Yes, his legs and back were sore and stiff and would stay that way for days and he’d need several long, steaming baths before he regained full circulatory function. But it’s not like Vlad wouldn’t have taken several long, luxurious baths anyways, for no reason other than he wanted to, and he usually suffered from aching joints and limbs after a full day in the lab forgetting to eat or take a break. And in the lab he didn’t usually have Fright Knight so close, let alone Fright Knight having fun of all things.
When Vlad opened his eyes, Fright Knight was still watching him. Likely waiting for the verdict. It took Vlad a few careful seconds to construct his answer. “I don’t enjoy riding,” he corrected slowly. “It’s not anything against Nightmare. It simply never appealed to me, even as a child.” Fright Knight nodded once. “However,” Vlad went on, steeling himself for a future of cold, windy skies, “I do enjoy flying. It’s one of the greater gifts of being half ghost. And I…” Vlad cleared his throat. “I enjoy spending time with you. And seeing you enjoying yourself.”
Fright Knight nodded. “Next time we shall pick a warmer day.”
“Maybe a picnic partway through?” Vlad asked hopefully.
“So be it.” With a wave of his hand, Fright Knight declined Vlad’s polite but entirely useless offer to assist with Nightmare. Vlad didn’t take it personally. While he retreated inside to treat himself to a soothing bubble bath, knight and steed took to the skies for an unimpeded race beneath the emerging stars.
By the time Vlad, adorned in his softest sleepwear and reclining in one of several leather couches, was pouring himself a post-dinner glass of wine, the evening gusts had settled so that he could hear the wood crackling in the fireplace. Fright Knight returned alone and likely would only stay until Vlad dozed off. Between the exertion of the day and unwinding with the bath and wine, Vlad knew he wouldn’t be awake for long, but Fright Knight made himself comfortable beside him. Without a word, Fright Knight wrapped an arm around Vlad’s shoulders and tugged him close. This time his hand didn’t rest over Vlad’s heart, but he still registered the skip in its beat all the same. Nor did he need to see the faint tinge of pink in Vlad’s cheeks and ears to know it was there. They didn’t speak of that, either. It could have just as easily been due to the wine or the result of spending a fine autumn day outdoors without a scarf. Once he arranged himself to accommodate for the armor, Vlad relaxed against Fright Knight’s side and hummed in contentment. He didn’t try to pretend at being asleep, but that didn’t mean he’d wake up fully when, what felt like eons later, he felt Fright Knight lift him from the couch and fly through several floors and walls to his bed.
Maybe being carried about wasn’t so bad, after all.