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It was meant to be a normal night. Of course, that was what probably should have been a signal that something was strange in the first place. James Bond didn’t have normal nights. If you were to ask him, he’d probably give a self satisfied smirk and say that was because he’s above average, with a new woman in his bed every night, but the truth of it was, with a job like his, most nights he was more likely than not shipped off to some country or drowning his sorrows in the bottom of the nearest bottle.
Not tonight, though.
Tonight was meant to be one of those rare nights. The nights where nothing was going to happen. James was home after a particularly long mission, and tonight he was simply tired. He’d dropped his bags by the door, and after a good long shower had promptly deposited himself into bed. Soon, James was at the wonderful part of the evening where his brain was about to shut off—
and there was a crashing noise somewhere deep in the flat.
Sitting up immediately, James was out of bed with a weapon in hand within minutes. Having been too tired to bring his gun to its usual position by the nightstand, James made do with the tried and true baseball bat that he kept by the bed for just this occasion. He was just as deadly with one as the other.
Padding quietly on carpeted floor, James quickly made his way to the living room. A quick peek in the dark showed everything quiet and in it’s place. He flicked on a light switch only to see—
“Hello, James.” Came the voice that James had thought he’d never hear again, save for recordings and restless dreams. It was the voice that he’d never forgotten, no matter how much time had passed. “I’m back from the dead once more.”
“Oh, I’m going insane.” James sighed, letting the baseball bat droop from his hands as he walked over to the nearest armrest with a particularly undignified flop.
“Oh no, James.” The spectral figure smiled, face contorted in absolute glee as he floated in the middle of the room, “You didn’t think you could escape the consequences of your sins that easily, now did you?”
James put his head in his hands, “The doctor warned me about the alcohol withdrawal effects. I didn’t realize they’d be so serious.”
The ghostly form of Alec Trevelyan floated closer, a crease appearing briefly on his brow. He looked as he used to right before he died: the short blonde hair meticulously combed over, the scar marring the one side of his face, the black tactical gear he always seemed to favor. The only difference was the outline of Bond’s alcohol cabinet visible through his half transparent form. James Bond really was going bloody well insane.
“No— James, unfortunately for you I’m very real indeed.” Alec gave another sly smile, reaching out a foot and kicking at the baseball bat propped up against the side of James’ armrest. It didn’t have the effect that Alec may have been intending, as his foot simply passing through it, the bat only shaking a little in response.
James, to his credit, had the decency to look a little disappointed on Alec’s behalf before getting up and going back to bed without a word, taking the baseball bat with him. The ghost of Alec Trevelyan floated there in shock, until, of course, James shut off the light on his way out.
The next morning, James woke up to absolutely nothing strange in his bedroom. No more floating figures of long dead friends. No more voices he’d never thought he’d hear again. No more strange noises. It was easy for James to dismiss his memories of the past evening as simply a bad dream. That was, of course, until he made his way to the bathroom.
When the light flicked on, James found himself greeted by large, red, letters proclaiming, “PREPARE TO SUFER”
“Alec,” James called out, “You spelled ‘suffer’ wrong.”
There was another knocking noise from within the house before a familiar head popped out of the wall, grinning devilishly before realizing the content of what James had actually said.
“I— well—” Alec sputtered, “Being a ghost takes up a great deal of energy. You’re a clever man, James, I thought you’d get the message.”
“Mmmm.” James hummed, not feeling the need to address the fact that his delusions kept insisting they were real. He leaned forward, inspecting the letters.
“You know, I was half expecting this to be blood. Enjoy women’s lipstick do you?”
Perhaps because he was no longer restricted to the confines of having a mortal skull, Alec’s face contorted into something distinctly displeased and ghoulish.
“It was easier to find…” He muttered.
“You really are a second rate ghostly delusion, aren’t you?” James asked cheerfully before opening up the cupboards to find his shaving kit. By the time James looked back up to the mirror, the ghost of Alec Trevelyan was gone.
Having just come back from a mission, James was afforded with the luxury of having a decent amount of time off to recover. Normally he’d take this time as an excuse to hide away in his home for days, but he definitely needed to get some grocery shopping done if he wanted to subsist on something a little more sophisticated than baked beans.
He was only gone from his flat for a couple hours, but by the time he returned he was greeted with a terrible sight. Most of his living room had been completely torn up: bookshelves upended, couch cushions flung across the room, bottles of brandy smashed on the floor, the whole works.
James simply sighed, the bags slumping in his arms a little.
“I really do have to file a formal complaint, this is the third time the cleaners have done this to my place.” And with that he made his way to the kitchen to put away the groceries without a second thought.
A distinctly disappointed Alec floated his way through the ruined alcohol cabinet, sending a couple of previously ignored bottled to the floor. James Bond never even looked up from his work.
In the evening, James had settled himself into bed, once again hoping for a well rested evening, before waking up only moments later to find his sheets completely drenched. Peeling back the sticky layers of fabric, James found his bed and his pants completely soaked in a mysterious sticky liquid.
“You know, Alec, there’s nothing scarier than incontinence. Please do try to get to the bathroom next time.”
Picking up his pillow and a spare change of pants, James relocated to the living room sofa that he’d cleaned only an hour earlier. A frustrated Alec kicked at the side table, sending a glass of water crashing to the floor. It didn’t matter, though, because by then James was fast asleep and couldn’t hear it anyway.
The next morning, the messages on the mirror amped up considerably.
“That’s just rude, you know.” James called out, peering at the very large red letters dripping the word WHORE, “Though not entirely inaccurate, I might add.”
He leaned forward, dipping a finger into the dripping letter W before giving a quick taste. “I didn’t realize they made icing this runny, but good on you old boy, you’ll get there yet.”
“You know, James, for as much as you quip and try to laugh, you’ll have to face what’s coming for you one day or another.”
The lights in the bathroom began to flicker, and the door slammed shut with a telltale locking noise. The lights cut, and a ghostly laugh began to circle around him, echoing on the tile.
“Seven minutes in heaven?” James asked, a little too hopefully, “I’d always wondered when you’d ask to try that out.”
Almost immediately the laughing stopped, the lights turned back on, and the door unlocked.
“I beg your pardon?” Alec’s voice was the most human he’d sounded this entire haunting.
“Think on it,” James said, still keeping the cheer in his voice, “The offer’s always open.” He winked into the mirror, WHORE message and all, before sauntering his way out of the bathroom. If he’d stuck around, he’d have noticed a very confused Alec float his way out of the bathtub, a very obvious “what the fuck” on his lips.
It was becoming increasingly obvious that absolutely none of Alec’s ghostly tactics caused any affect on the mental stamina of James Bond. When he spoiled the milk, James only muttered about being awful about groceries and left to buy a new carton. When he broke things, James simply picked them back up, pieces and all. When he made scary noises, sometimes he could get James to grab the baseball bat, but every time he realized it was simply Alec, he put the weapon away and went back to what he was doing. Floating eerily in his hallway in the middle of the night was no use, because a bleary eyed James would simply walk through him, leaving a very uncomfortable feeling in Alec’s incorporeal stomach.
“You know,” Alec said one evening, floating just beside the head of James’ bed, “you can’t escape me forever. We all die, James, and soon you will come to join me.”
“Mmmm…” groaned a very sleepy agent, “Who’s to say that’s a bad thing? Half the time I hope you’re real anyway.” James paused to give a large yawn, “I miss you Alec, wouldn’t be a bad thing to spend eternity with you at all.” Then James rolled over and immediately began to snore.
Alec couldn’t bring himself to do any haunting for a full day after that.
Of course, when James decided to start leaving out saucers of milk for him as if he were some kind of stray cat, Alec took it upon himself to add even more obscenities to James’ mirror.
“Calling me an arsehole in a different language doesn’t mean I don’t understand it!” James called out, the toothpaste in his mouth making him a little hard to understand, “Though I do appreciate the use of tomato sauce, probably your best one yet!”
James didn’t even flinch when, after getting dressed to head back to MI6 for the day, all of the locks on all of the doors suddenly shut, and James could not open them. He simply shrugged and went out the window, calling back behind him, “I miss you too!”