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Something echoed down the hall, something loud and clanking. "Alright, who's messing with the armor?" Bruce called from his study.
No response.
Bruce huffed and stood up. His right arm twinged with pain where one of the Penguin's bodyguards had gotten a solid hit on him. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and left the study.
When he reached the suit of armor in the hall, the silent guardian that had watched him ever since Thomas had brought it home from a business trip, he found it perfectly arranged and untouched. He went to the dining room, where Alfred was setting the table. "Alfred, were you cleaning the armor just now?"
"No, I did that two days ago," Alfred said. "Why?"
"I thought I heard something."
"Perhaps one of your sons felt like playing a trick on you," Alfred said.
"Yeah, maybe," Bruce muttered.
At the dinner table, Bruce looked at the dwindled party. Jason was working late (no surprise). Dick was back in Bludhaven, and he'd asked Stephanie to come help him. Damian was supposedly sleeping over at the Kent house, but Bruce suspected that he and Jon were fighting crime (even though Jon had been grounded for a month). That left Tim, Cass, and Duke. "Any of you hear anything strange earlier?" Bruce said.
"No?" Duke said. "But, I mean, it is a big house. I heard weird stuff all the time."
"There was a bird pecking my window this morning," Tim said through a full mouth. "Scared the hell out of me."
Bruce sighed. "I thought I heard someone disturb the suit of armor."
"Why would anyone want to mess with that thing?" Duke chuckled.
"I heard something," Cass said. Everyone turned to look at her. "Not the armor. I was... in the gym. I was putting my things away before dinner. I thought I heard someone."
"What did they say?" Bruce said before he could stop himself.
"It said... where is he?"
"Let me guess, when you turned around, no one was there," Duke said. Cass shook her head again. "That's weird, but maybe you just heard someone else talking through the walls."
Cass looked down at her plate. "I don't think so."
"Well, if it happens again, let me know," Bruce said. That was the end of the conversation.
That night, Bruce stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom. He couldn't sleep. The house settled, creaking and cracking. Nocturnal birds flew past the window. Someone (probably Tim) walked around upstairs. Everything was so loud.
Bruce looked at the clock by his bed. The red digital display drilled into his eyes. 12:32 am. He reluctantly closed his eyes.
Something shrieked right in his ear. He gasped and flung himself out of bed, assuming a fighting stance. There was no one there. His eyes fell on a bat, squirming and shrieking as it tried to free itself from the tangle of blankets. "Jesus," he muttered. One of the Batcave's residents had escaped somehow. In a false drawer in the nightstand was a black glove from an older version of the Batsuit; he donned it and snatched the bat with his gloved hand. "I guess I'm staying up tonight," he said as he marched down to the Batcave.
As Bruce suited up and checked the computer for any sign of trouble–there was activity near S.T.A.R. Labs–he felt something cold touch his shoulders, something that felt less like a breeze and more like a hand.
When Bruce returned to the manor in the morning, bruised and aching, he made sure to watch closely for any bats that tried to exit the Batcave with him. The excursion had gone well enough. As soon as he’d stepped out of the Batmobile, though, he’d felt something off in the air. He hurried up the stairs before he could let it linger.
He sat at the breakfast table with Duke, who was reading a book with one hand and eating cereal with the other. “Nothing to do today?” Bruce said.
“No. I mean, unless something comes up.”
“I might have you go and Cass go down to Blackgate later,” he said as he took a bite of his hash browns.
“Sure, I guess,” Duke said with a shrug. At that moment, all the lights in the room flickered and died. A deep thrum vibrated through the floor as the lights came back on. One of the bulbs in the chandelier popped as the rest came back to life.
“Was that you?” Bruce said.
“Wh– No?” Duke said. “That was really weird.”
“Hm. I’m going to drop in on the Foundation,” Bruce said as he stood. “I’ll have Harper come by and check the wiring.” Duke nodded and went back to his book.
Bruce’s hands shook a little as he sent Harper a text while walking back to his room.
B: The lights in the dining room acted strangely. Is there a power outage in Gotham? Come by and check the manor wiring when you have the time.
H: No. Everything seems fine here. I’ll be there in an hour.
It’s just a little power surge. Stop worrying about it, he thought. He returned to his bedroom and changed into a suit. After a moment, he grabbed a black tie; it was unremarkable, but it had been his father’s. He smoothed out the jacket and tie and realized there was a blurry figure standing behind him. He whipped around. No one was there.
The window was open. For a moment, he worried someone had broken in, until he remembered that he’d opened it after coming up from the Batcave. He grumbled to himself as he shut it and drew the curtains for good measure.
As he went to the garage and got into his regular car, he distinctly heard a voice whisper in his ear, accompanied by another cold caress.
“You fool.”
When Bruce returned two hours later, Harper was sitting on the counter in the kitchen, eating some leftover cookies. “Those were Dick’s,” he said.
“He didn’t hide them well enough,” she said. “I checked the whole house. The wiring all looks fine. I replaced the broken bulb in the chandelier, but other than that? Nothing’s wrong. Duke mentioned the vibration. I didn’t feel anything like that at any point. No surges, no problems, no nothing. I don’t know what to tell you.”
Bruce sighed. “Well, thanks for checking anyway, especially on such short notice. What do I owe you?”
“I’ll send you an invoice later. The cookies are a good start.” She dropped down from the counter. “See you around.”
“Wait!” he said. She turned and raised one eyebrow. “Did you notice anything unusual?”
“No… wait. Yeah, when I was in the basement, I heard running water. I went upstairs and found the guest bathroom sink filling up. Duke and Alfred swear up and down that they weren’t in there. I haven’t seen anyone else.”
Bruce put his sweaty hands behind his back. “Good to know. Thanks.” Harper nodded and left, sticking half of a cookie in her mouth as she walked away.
Am I being haunted?
The thought came to him, unbidden and unwelcome, as Bruce picked at his lunch. No, that can’t be. That’s ridiculous.
Or was it? After all, the Lazarus Pits were real, as was Slaughter Swamp. The border between the living and the dead was already thinner than he would like to admit, especially in Gotham. If any city was haunted, it was sure to be his dear old hometown.
And really, if he was being honest, all this weirdness hadn't started last night. It had been going on for at least two weeks now, maybe longer, and he’d tried to ignore it. The strange sounds. The flickering lights. A cold spot in the attic, a problem he'd solved by avoiding the attic like the plague. Whatever was going on, it was reaching an apex.
His phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket. It was an unknown number. He answered anyway–it might have been one of the kids calling from a burner phone (not for the first time). “Hello?”
There was only heavy breathing on the other end. “Real funny,” he said as he hung up and jammed his phone back in his pocket. Then the phone in the hallway rang.
A chill raced down Bruce’s spine. Slowly, he stood up and went into the hall. He grabbed the phone like it was a bomb ready to explode. “Who is this?” he said, heedless of whether or not it was a business call or one of the kids.
More heavy breathing. This time, though, he let it go on long enough for the ragged, slobbering inhales and exhales to resolve into one word. “Betrayer.”
“Don’t call again!” Bruce roared. He slammed the receiver down into its cradle, even though it was an antique rotary phone. Did Solomon Grundy somehow decide to pick up the phone? Was that Clayface? Scarecrow? The Riddler, even? No, how could they get the manor number? It must’ve been a stupid prank. There are plenty of regular people who don’t like Bruce Wayne.
Then the phone rang again, this time in his study.
“What is going on?” Bruce snapped as he stormed down the hall. He stopped dead in the study doorway. He couldn’t go in there. There was a malaise upon the room that he could feel in his bones.
The phone continued to ring.
He heard footsteps behind him. “Bruce?” Tim said. He put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, causing Bruce to jump and whip around. “What’s wrong?”
“You pick it up,” Bruce said, jerking his head at the desk. “P-Please. Just– Please.”
“Alright,” Tim said gently. He crossed the threshold and picked up the phone. “Hello?” He listened to the voice on the other end. “Okay, cool. See you later.” He hung up. “That was Jason. Said he’s stopping by for dinner and to recruit Duke for a mission.”
“T-That was all?” Bruce said. His heart was racing, and he felt sweat beading on his brow and neck.
“Geez, Bruce, what’s the matter? Come on, sit down,” Tim said. He put an arm around Bruce’s shoulders and tried to lead him into the study.
“No!” Bruce gasped. “N-No, no, I can’t…” The malaise in the room was even thicker now, surrounding him like a cloud of fear toxin. Is that what’s happening to me? No, it can’t be, or Tim would be affected too…
“Okay, okay,” Tim said. He led Bruce to the sitting room and plunked him down in his favorite armchair. Tim pulled up a chair of his own. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know ,” Bruce said, trying to steady his breathing. “I don’t know if it’s me, or the house, or what, but I feel like I’m being haunted, and I know that’s ridiculous, but I just– I know I’ve got issues, but this feels different, and I don’t understand it. M-My cell phone rang, and there was only heavy breathing, so I hung up, and then the phone in the hall rang and the breathing said something, they called me a betrayer, and then as soon as I hung that one up the phone in the study rang, and the lights acted up this morning, and Harper said the sink was running, and a bat got into my room last night, and I felt something cold in the Batcave, and–”
“Enough!” Tim said, breaking the spell. “It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay. What can I do to help?”
“I d-don’t know,” Bruce said. “An exorcism?” He tried to laugh.
Tim smiled. “I mean, I’m sure I can find someone to do that. Maybe the house just feels a little empty, is all. I love Cass to death, but she isn’t exactly much of a conversationalist, and Duke’s been busy. Plus, there hasn’t been much villainous activity lately, not even whatever you dealt with last night, which I’m assuming was a pretty easy job. Maybe you’re just stir-crazy. Why don’t we just get you out of the house?”
“Okay,” Bruce said. “Sure.” He got to his feet slowly.
“What do you want to do?” Tim said.
“Um… Oh, I don’t know. Let’s just take a walk around the park to start.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll let Alfred know we’re going out. You go get ready, and I’ll be right back.” Tim hurried out of the sitting room, leaving Bruce to go to his room by himself.
There was someone there, sitting on his bed, waiting for him.
The figure was made of smoke and shadow. Its features were indistinct and shifting. When Bruce appeared in the doorway, it stood up, revealing itself to be rail-thin and taller than him. “You’re not real,” Bruce whispered. “No, this isn't real.”
“Not real?” the figure hissed as it stepped forward. “Wrong. Very wrong.”
“Get out of my head!” Bruce yelled. Before he could stop himself, he charged forward, almost intending to tackle the figure. It dissipated into nothingness as he plowed through it. “And stay out, dammit!” Before anything else could happen, he shoved himself into clothes suitable for being seen in public and raced out, nearly knocking Tim over.
“Jesus, Bruce! What happened?” Tim said.
“I saw something in my room. It spoke to me.” Bruce felt like an idiot as soon as he said it. “I think I’ve finally cracked, Tim. I’ve gone off the rails. Maybe I need to– to go to Arkham, or something.”
“Absolutely not,” Tim said firmly. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He grabbed Bruce by the wrist and pulled him down the hall, towards the front door. With his other hand, he pulled out his cell phone and called someone. “Hey, Dick. You still busy? Oh, good. Need you and Steph to come back as soon as you can. Please. Thanks. Yeah, sure, I’ll get that while I’m out. No, he's coming with me. We’ll be back in a couple hours, probably. Thanks again.”
Bruce just sighed. Then he heard something that cut through the din of Tim’s voice. Footsteps. Right behind him. It was all he could do to keep his eyes forward.
“I don’t mean to baby you or anything, Bruce, I’m just really worried about you. Maybe I was a bit excessive back there,” Tim said. They were sitting on a park bench, watching the autumn leaves flutter in the breeze.
“I feel a little better, at least,” Bruce said. “Fresh air is always nice.”
“Can you explain what you saw?”
Bruce nodded. He took a deep breath, and told Tim about the figure in his bedroom.
“You think we have a carbon monoxide problem?” Tim said. “That does things to you.”
“I don’t think that causes hallucinations . Maybe it’s all just catching up to me. I’ve lost my last marble. I’ve tried to keep my problems in check, but… I don’t know. It feels like I’ve finally lost that fight.”
“Maybe,” Tim said reluctantly. “But listen, going to Arkham certainly isn’t going to help. Come on, what were you thinking? No way. Listen, Dick and Steph are coming home, and so is Damian. I might even be able to persuade Jason to stick around, or at least to let him let Duke stay. We’ll watch the house. You said Harper noticed something, so that means we’re bound to notice something too, and then we can all take care of it together. Okay?”
“Okay,” Bruce said, looking at his hands.
Tim stood up. “Come on. It’s a beautiful day. Let’s stay outside for just a little longer. Also, we need to stop by the store on the way back. Dick wants me to get some mace.”
“He can’t get that himself?” Bruce said, smiling despite himself.
“He said he’d pay me back,” Tim said with a shrug.
“We’re ho-ome!” Tim called as he threw the front door of Wayne Manor open two hours later. Bruce trailed behind him, carrying a bag of junk food.
Damian was sitting on the banister. There was a bandage on his forehead. “Father.”
“When did you get home?” Bruce said with a slight grin. It wasn’t even worth trying to tell him to get down from there.
“Half an hour ago.”
“How was the sleepover?”
“Fine,” Damian said, divulging no secrets. Just then, Titus came barreling down the stairs, barking madly. He jumped up on Bruce, laying his paws on his shoulders.
“Ack! Down, boy!” Bruce said. Titus ignored him and licked his face.
“Titus, sit,” Damian said. Titus obliged. Damian hopped off the banister and grabbed Titus by the collar. “I think he needs a walk. The car doesn’t agree with him.”
“Did you take him to Jon’s house? I guess I never noticed his absence. I was… preoccupied.”
Damian sighed. “Jon wanted Titus and Krypto to meet.”
“How’d that go?”
“Not too badly. They tried to fight at first, but Clark broke them up. After that, it was fine.”
“That’s Mr. Kent,” Bruce said reflexively.
“Uh huh. Come on, Titus. Let’s go for a walk,” Damian said as he pulled the leash out of his backpack. Titus barked gleefully and followed his master out the front door.
“Be back for dinner!” Bruce called. He realized Tim was still there. “Yes?”
“Uh, nothing. Sorry. Dick! Are you home? Give me my money!” Tim yelled.
“He’s in his room,” Alfred said as he appeared in the dining room doorway. Tim nodded and ran up the stairs, his bag of mace and ammo swinging wildly. Alfred raised an eyebrow at Bruce. “Help me make dinner.” It wasn’t a request.
“Alright, alright,” Bruce said. He followed Alfred into the kitchen and dropped the bag on the counter. “What’s cooking?”
“Martha’s pot roast,” Alfred said as he gave the bag the stink eye.
“Mom never made pot roast. She preferred meatloaf.”
“Ah, this is from Martha Kent. Fetch the slow cooker, please.”
“Oh,” Bruce said as he rummaged through the cabinets. “Um, where is it?”
Alfred sighed and pointed at one of the lower cabinets. “You need to spend more time in the kitchen.”
“I’m not much of a cook,” Bruce said as he pulled out the slow cooker and planted it on the counter.
“You can learn to be a better one. I won’t be around forever,” Alfred said.
“Yeah, I guess,” Bruce mumbled. “Okay fine, show me this recipe.”
“Gladly.”
There was something soothing about the experience of cooking, something Bruce desperately needed. He ended up making the whole dish by himself, working off of Alfred’s instructions. “It was that easy?” he said as he stared at the slow cooker.
“Indeed,” Alfred said. “How are you feeling?”
“I was feeling alright, but now I'm kind of back on edge, again. The house feels… wrong. Something’s going to happen any minute now, I swear.”
“I personally have noticed nothing unusual since the lights flickered this morning,” Alfred said.
“Yeah, but… Alfred, I saw something. A ghost? And it spoke to me. I don’t know if I’m hallucinating, or if something real is happening.”
Alfred couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Aren’t ghosts real?”
“I mean… I don’t know, they’ve never been a problem here ,” Bruce said weakly. “Maybe it was only a matter of time. This city is cursed, figuratively and literally. Why should this house be any different?”
“Whether or not there truly is a ghost, I promise I will help you deal with it, Master Bruce. You are a haunted man, whether or not there are ghosts in this house. But I am here. We are here. Whatever it is, we will fix it.”
“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce said. Unsure of what else to do or say, he put his arms around Alfred, who responded with an equally stiff hug.
Then the fridge creaked loudly. Bruce and Alfred stepped back in horror as the fridge flung itself open, spilling bottles and containers and produce everywhere. The drawers and shelves rattled, and a high-pitched whine that might have come from the ice machine filled the air. “Oh, God,” Alfred murmured.
“Run, get the others!” Bruce said. As Alfred took off, he threw himself against the fridge door and was surprised at the amount of resistance he encountered. It was like someone else was pushing from the other side. The cold wreathed around his legs and reached into his nose and mouth. “Show yourself!” he yelled, despite the cold pushing itself further into his lungs and burning him from the inside out. It was no natural chill. “Who are you? Why won’t you leave me alone?”
There was the sound of a surging tide of footsteps, and Cass, Duke, Dick, Tim, Stephanie, and Damian crowded into the kitchen, with Alfred lagging behind. “Holy shit!” Dick said. “What the hell’s going on?”
“A little help?” Bruce snapped. Without further hesitation, Dick joined him, pushing against the fridge door with his whole back. Damian and Stephanie joined as well; inch by inch, they closed the door, despite the resistance increasing almost by the second. Finally, the door sealed shut.
“Shit, Bruce, what’s happening?” Stephanie gasped.
“This house is haunted,” Bruce said. “You all saw that! This is real!” He wanted to cry; whether it was from fear or relief or both, he couldn’t tell.
“I’m gonna call Constantine. Shit, I’ll get him myself if I have to,” Tim said, already running for the Batcave entrance.
“We don’t have ghost-fighting weapons!” Stephanie said. “What do we do?”
A deep, cruel cold seeped into Bruce’s bones. He saw everyone else shiver involuntarily. “We talk to it until Constantine comes.”
The power went out again. This time, it stayed out. The only light came from the setting sun streaming through the kitchen window, and the burst of sparks that came from the outlet the slow cooker was plugged into. Dick swooped in and unplugged it before anything worse could happen. “Dad…” he said.
“Stay. Please. I need you. All of you.”
The figure came out of the darkness. It was the same as the one in the bedroom–tall, thin, made of shadow. “Oh my God,” Duke whispered.
“Light! I need light!” Bruce said. Duke startled, then flung his arms out, filling the room with bright light. The figure seemed unfazed; indeed, it seemed to be drawing the light into itself, becoming more and more solid. It took another step forward. The room sank further and further into darkness.
Damian brandished one of his blades. “Stay back!” he snapped.
The figure turned to look at Damian. “Ah… my grandson…” it hissed.
“...Father?” Bruce whispered.
“Yes…” Thomas’s ghost(?) said.
Bruce took a step forward. “What… what are you doing here?”
“Dad, no!” Dick said as he grabbed Bruce’s hand. “That can’t be him!”
“Why not?” Bruce said distantly. He pulled his hand free of Dick’s grasp and took another step forward. “Why are you here? After… all this time?”
“You… failed me…”
“How?” Bruce said, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. One more step.
“No!” Cass suddenly said. She threw her arms around Bruce’s waist and pulled him back. “Don’t! It isn’t him!”
“What?” Bruce said, his attention torn between the ghost and Cass.
Thomas snarled and stepped forward, drawing Bruce’s attention back to it. “I wanted you… to be…”
Thomas’s voice was cut off by a resounding “Oh, fuck off!” The ghost exploded into a pillar of screaming white flame. Bruce turned to find a blond man in a trench coat, holding a cigarette in one hand. He stretched his arm out towards the flame, using it to light the cigarette, and took a deep drag from it. “Evening, Wayne.”
“C-Constantine?”
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” Constantine turned to the pillar of flame. “Interesting little problem you’ve got here.”
“How’d you get here so fast?” Stephanie said.
“Walked, so to speak,” he said. “Alright, enough toying with this thing. Goodbye .” He snapped his fingers, and the ghost let out a bone-rattling wail as the flame grew even brighter before burning itself out, leaving only a scorch mark on the floor.
“What… what was it?” Bruce said.
“A low-level demon, maybe. Or a malevolent ghost. That spell works on both,” Constantine said with a shrug.
“Anti-climatic much?” Stephanie muttered.
“Whatever it was, you don’t want it stinking up the house. What matters is that it's gone.”
“T-Thank you,” Bruce said. “Er… I’m glad you decided to come.”
“Didn’t have anything else going on,” Constantine said as he took another drag on his cigarette. “I’m willing to ward the house too, if you’ve… got the cash.”
Bruce rolled his eyes slightly. “Yes, I have the cash. Go ahead, take your time. I…” He looked at the slow cooker. “I’d say you can stay for dinner, but I think it’s ruined. And I even made it myself too.”
“No thanks. Nick’s making dinner, and I told him I’d be there.”
“You guys are back together?” Tim said.
Constantine turned around, surprised to realize that Tim had been behind him the whole time. “Yeah. For now. Alright, I’ll get to work. I’ll send you the invoice later.” He flashed Bruce a tight smile before walking out, leaving a trail of cigarette ash behind him.
“That man is going to stink up the house,” Alfred muttered. He looked at the dead slow cooker. “Well, it seems you got out of dinner duty this time, Master Bruce.”
“Not by choice,” he said with a grin. “Want some help?”
“No. You go relax. The rest of you can help instead.”
Bruce sat on the couch in the sitting room, watching TV. Constantine drifted in, taped a piece of paper with a sigil on it to the wall, and drifted out again, leaving an acrid smell behind. Bruce's stomach turned. He felt…
“Dinner’s ready!” Dick said, carrying a plate in each hand and one on his head. “Here you go!” He handed one of them to Bruce. “I figured you probably didn’t want to get up. Mind if I join you?”
“Sure,” Bruce said. “Thanks.” He took a bite of the shrimp scampi. “Why do you have a plate on your head?”
“Tim dared me to. He thought I didn’t have it in me anymore. Look who’s wrong!” he said just as Tim entered. Tim stuck his tongue out and took the plate from Dick’s head. Slowly but surely, everyone else filed in and sat down.
The front door opened, and Jason wandered in. “TV dinner, huh? Did I miss it?”
“No, you did not,” Alfred said, carrying two plates. He handed one to Jason and sat down in a rocking chair.
Just then, Constantine poked his head in. Jason jumped a little. “The hell are you doing here?” he said.
“Leaving. The invoice should arrive… tomorrow morning. Don’t be too startled.” With that, Constantine walked away. No one heard the front door open or close. Jason shrugged and sat down.
“How are you feeling?” Cass said softly to Bruce.
“Oh, um… I don’t know. Not great. But relieved, I guess. Whatever that was, it’s gone,” Bruce said.
“What do you think it was?” Stephanie said.
Bruce sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want to know. I can’t truly believe that was my father. I don’t think he would have said that to me. Maybe it was just echoing my own thoughts back at me.”
“Whatever it said is only as real as you want it to be,” Jason said through a mouthful of shrimp. “But also, I wasn’t here, so what do I know?”
“Maybe you’re right,” Bruce said.
Damian exited the room and reentered holding Alfred the cat in his arms. “I don’t think that was my grandfather. I refuse to believe it.” He dropped the cat in Bruce’s lap and walked away with his empty plate.
“Thanks, kiddo,” Bruce said, smiling as the cat purred in his lap.
Dick yawned and stretched. “I’m hitting the hay early. Still sore. Good night, Dad. Sleep well.” He patted Bruce on the shoulder and walked away. One by one, everyone else left, until it was just Bruce and Alfred the cat. Bruce shut off the TV and carried the cat into his bedroom. It curled up next to him on his pillow when he got into bed.
That night, Bruce slept well.
He left the door ajar, just in case.