Chapter Text
It was nearing three in the morning, and Tubbo was sitting in a beat-up sedan, half asleep, wanting fries, in front of some dilapidated house his friend had dragged him out to. This was surprisingly not an uncommon situation for the teenager to find himself in, about every two weeks Tubbo’s best (and only) friend Ranboo would bribe Tubbo to come ghost hunting with promises of fast food afterwards. Though he didn’t believe in the supernatural, and got slightly fed up of Ranboo almost shitting himself every time he heard some creak in the abandoned building of the week, Tubbo couldn’t say no to Ranboo’s pleading and getting snacks afterwards.
“Come on man, don’t fall asleep,” Ranboo said, gently nudging Tubbo’s shoulder after putting down some new gadget he bought online on the car’s dash. Ranboo had been absolutely obsessed with the paranormal for a while, and although Tubbo lay firmly in the non-believer category, he loved to listen to Ranboo talk about something he enjoyed.
“Uh, fine…” Tubbo mumbled, brushing his chocolate-colored hair out of his eyes. Damn, he needed a haircut.
Yawning, he asked, “So, uh ,what’s going on with this place you dragged me out to?” He looked up at the looming Victorian mansion through the windshield. One half was covered in ivy, and the roof over the porch appeared to be collapsing, and Tubbo wondered if the two boys would end up falling through the floor.
“Well, uh, I guess to sum it up, some rich dude built this house in the late 1800s for his family. The wife ended up dying before construction was finished, so he moved in with his three sons. The oldest one was expected to take over the family business, but just kind of left one day and never came back. Nobody really knows what happened to him after that point, I guess. The middle one, called Walter or something, died in some mining accident a few towns over, and the last one fell off the roof.”
“Wait, he just fell off?”, Tubbo blurted out.
“As far as I know, yeah. There’s multiple stories about how it happened, some people think he was playing on the roof with some kid, others think he had some love affair, but I don’t really know about what actually happened. He was only 15 or 16 when it happened.”
“Damn dude, I don’t know about you but I think we have enough common sense between us not to fall off a roof.”
“Yeah,” Ranboo laughed, “pretty sure we won’t be falling off any roofs any time soon. Come on, help me get the stuff out of the trunk”
Tubbo slightly shivered at the thought of going outside, it was late fall, but the temperature had dropped fast, and he only had a light hoodie on.
“Alright, boss man,” he said, stepping out of the car. Most of the time Tubbo forgot how much shorter he was than Ranboo, but walking around to the back of the trunk, he realized how much the other boy towered over him. Ranboo was pretty lanky, and had recently dyed half of his hair black, and the other white, saying how it matched his brand or something. It definitely suited him, Tubbo thought.
“Here, take a flashlight,” Ranboo said, tossing one over. “You can be in charge of the spirit box this time.”
“Got it.” Tubbo felt slightly apprehensive transporting the bags of cameras and temperature monitors over to the front porch of the house, though it was likely just the fact that they were at an old abandoned house at night. Tubbo had no idea where Ranboo got the money for all the equipment, but he wasn’t complaining, it just meant he didn’t have to be the one paying for food afterwards.
A few seconds later, Ranboo jogged over, carrying a flashlight and some more equipment, already looking like he had seen a ghost.
“You going to be good?” Tubbo asked, even though he knew the reply was always yes. Even though Ranboo was jumpy and always ended up screaming at least once, he genuinely enjoyed looking for various spectres, and Tubbo enjoyed spending time with Ranboo.
Something was slightly different this night though. A foreboding sadness seemed to loom around the house as the pair walked up to the porch, the gravel of the path up to the house crunching under their feet.
Something bad definitely happened here, Tubbo thought, even if there aren’t any ghosts or whatever.
“So, uh, what “ghost activity” supposedly happens here?,” Tubbo asked, halfway between genuine curiosity and trying to stall to avoid having to enter through the large oak doors of the house into the unknown darkness.
“I’m not an expert or anything, but I’m pretty sure whoever or whatever is in this place, they’re a poltergeist. From what I read, it’s got all the classic signs: throwing objects, loud noises, pinching or hitting people.”
“Okay,” Tubbo replied. Sucking up his apprehension, he said, “Alright, well let’s go in there I guess.”
The pair didn’t notice the eyes watching them from an upper story window as they pushed open the ancient carved oak doors.