Chapter Text
Merlin flicked the dirt-stained light switch once, twice, thrice, frowning when the room stayed stubbornly dim. Dust flew up from the dingy floorboards as he entered, the smell of ash still clinging to the once pristine and ornate fabrics of the worn sofa. All the textiles had long been bitten away by moths, leaving the room dreary and disconcerting. Not for the first time, he wished he had never agreed to Arthur’s foolish adventures. He wrinkled his nose at the obscene amount of soot still clinging to every surface.
“Light doesn’t work in here either,” Merlin reported back to Arthur, only raising his voice slightly in the hopes that it would carry to wherever that prat was without Merlin having to actually continue exploring.
The clotpole laughed from down the hall, his footfalls audible as he headed back to Merlin. “Can’t say I’m surprised, Mer lin. It’s been abandoned for ages, it’s not exactly like someone is paying taxes for it.”
“I would still like to be able to see ,” he grumbled in response, knowing from the soft tittering that it hadn’t gone unheard. He peered down at a shattered picture frame, hardly able to make out more than a sepia skirt. It wasn’t much of a stretch to assume it had once portrayed Margaret Wishdon. She had been the woman who ran this house, back when it was in its prime and not decaying more every moment. Little had been known about her personal life–undocumented in the small village the home had resided in–until her death.
It had been in this very house, on some autumn night nearly every person slept through. Margaret had been rumored to sweep through the house when the moon hung high over the village, checking in on every room meticulously before she even thought of letting herself retire. That night, one of her maids, Eden, had accompanied her and was reportedly the only witness to the event. According to Eden, Margaret had been pausing randomly in the halls, gaze fixed forward on some unseeable point on the horizon. She made no movement during those lapses, even when Eden nudged her politely. After a minute, she would break from her stupor and continue on her path as if she had never stopped. Her last pause occurred at the top of the basement stairs, eyes locked on the room she never visited on any of her nightly patrols. It had been locked for years, welded shut by her late father for reasons he had never shone light upon. Eden had stated, years later when the story had caught the attention of the news, that Margaret rarely even glanced down towards the basement, much less focused on it. She had blinked thrice, mind acute yet again, and stepped forward as if the floor stayed level. It did not.
Margaret had toppled down the steep stairs faster than Eden could reach out to grab her, hands closing on empty air. Her bones had broken before she even reached the landing at the bottom, her head hitting harshly against the wall. Arthur suspected that the blood was still there under all the grime. Merlin hoped it wasn’t. He wasn’t even scared of what might still lurk in the house–far from it actually–he simply was tired of dealing with a cocky Arthur and ghosts all night.
“Stop being such a scaredy cat,” Arthur chortled, pushing past Merlin to look around properly, “There’s not even anything in here, idiot.”
Merlin huffed, rubbing at his shoulder as his eyes flicked over to the specter watching them from her perch on the sofa. The woman was clothed in her nightgown, her hair braided up and crowning her skull. There didn’t seem to be a visible cause of death, but she was too young and healthy to have died naturally. She locked eyes with him and smiled, bemused at why only one of them seemed to be able to see her. When she opened her mouth to speak, Arthur interrupted by waving his hand in front of Merlin’s eyes, ripping away the woman so she no longer appeared.
“What are you looking at, you dunce?” He hissed, eyes flicking back and forth between the sofa and Merlin. To anyone else, he might simply seem upset, but Merlin knew him long enough not to be fooled by his veneer anymore. So he simply grinned.
“Why? Are you scared , Arthur?” Merlin drawled, nudging his friend teasingly. Arthur flushed red and shoved him back, scowling deeply.
His answer came far too quickly to be true. “No! You’re scared,” he snapped, storming out of the room quickly.
Merlin cracked up with laughter, looking back at the surprised ghost with a shrug. “He’s always like this,” he whispered to her, eyes sparkling with mirth. She nodded hesitantly, eyes moving to the door. When she spoke, a low hum thrummed throughout the room, sounding just like a creaking floorboard. “Yeah, I know, he takes some getting used to,” Merlin agreed, “but he’ll throw a fit if he finds out I didn’t follow him. It was nice meeting you!” With that, he swept out of the room.
His smile fell almost immediately as the chill throughout the house set in again, making him pull his jacket colder. All this time exploring abandoned houses and yet he still doubted he would ever get used to how cold they all were. Arthur always said it was a sign of spirits, but Merlin had seen far too many ghosts in saunas to fall for that. In his experience, no dead soul liked to hang around in places like this, meaning the ones that did usually were the worst kind to deal with. They weren’t cheeky or mischievous, like the kids or a few of the older apparitions, nor were they confused or tired like the majority, but they were spiteful and morose. It was always a nightmare to deal with them.
He found Arthur in the next room over, mumbling to himself as he fumbled with a light only inches away from an amused-looking ghost, this one dressed in her working clothes that made her look like a maid. She looked up at his arrival and he smiled at her awkwardly before approaching.
“So, what exactly are you planning this time?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at how Arthur jolted at his voice. “If you don’t faint like a damsel in distress, that is.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes, scowling at Merlin. “I hate you,” he muttered before turning back to the tiny flashlight he was attempting to balance on the table’s ledge.
“If you actually did then you would’ve stopped dragging me along on these things ages ago.” Merlin peered over the other’s shoulder, trying to ignore the ghost’s chortling from only a few feet away. He did, however, smirk at how Arthur tensed up as a breeze unnaturally swept through the room. “Now, I know you love to ramble about your ‘superb methods’, so go ahead and ramble.”
After he put upon a long-suffering sigh, Arthur left the flashlight alone and turned so he could glare at Merlin properly. “We’ve been over this. We ask the ghosts a yes or no question and they turn the flashlight on or off depending on the answer. Seriously, who knows why I keep you around.”
Grinning, Merlin shrugged, laughing softly when the breeze swept through once again and Arthur’s eyes skirted around the room.
“Shut up ,” he growled, shoving Merlin away even though it only caused more laughter.
“I didn’t even say anything!”
Arthur didn’t even dignify that with a response, turning to focus on the flashlight. He cleared his throat dramatically, though Merlin knew that was only to push away all his nerves. Arthur was not as brave as he liked to pretend to be. “Is there anyone in the room with us now?”
The maid approached the flashlight warily, sending Merlin a questioning look which she just received a nod to. Hesitantly, she reached out, jerking away when the room lit up with light. Merlin sent her a reassuring smile as Arthur breathed in deeply. It was always nice to scare him, after all.
“Okay, okay… This is good!” Arthur said after a moment, though it was unclear whether he was trying to convince himself or the others. “Turn the light off if you’re willing to communicate with us.” The light flicked back off, plunging them into darkness once again.
Merlin scoffed, rolling his eyes at how dramatic Arthur always insisted on being. The woman was already entertaining their stupid game, there was no need to confirm it.
“Shut up, Mer lin,” Arthur scowled, elbowing him roughly before turning back to the flashlight. “Am I speaking to Margaret Wishdon?” The woman’s face twisted up unpleasantly, barely visible to even Merlin in the poor lighting, and she pulled her hand away from the light. “A worker, perhaps?” Arthur tried again, keeping the disappointment out of his voice. The light flickered back on, though she still seemed slightly put off by the mention of Margaret. She moved her skirt aside and settled on the side of the table, eyeing Arthur warily but occasionally glancing at Merlin. Not quite what he expected from first impressions, but not abnormal enough for him to be surprised. She seemed a lot more tense than before like she wanted them to leave all of a sudden.
Gods, he hated cold ghosts. At least she wasn’t violent. Yet.
Arthur sighed, reaching out to grab the flashlight, “Alright, thank you for your time.” Before he could pull away, however, the maid reached out and wrapped her translucent hand around his arm, her eyes wide as she murmured something. Arthur shuddered at the cold sensation, frozen suddenly. The maid leaned down, eyes flickering up to meet Merlin’s briefly before focusing on Arthur again, muttering things under her breath that had Merlin’s hackles rising. “Can you hear that?” Arthur whispered cautiously, his grip tightening on the flashlight.
“You’re going insane the longer we do this,” Merlin huffed, striding over to take the flashlight from his companion. He forced himself not to react as he passed through the maid’s freezing body, relaxing when she let go and backed herself into the corner while hissing. Her body pulled in on itself tightly, eyes sharp and calculating as she stared at the two of them with her nails clutching the skirt of her dress so much it wrinkled the fabric. He pocketed the flashlight and forced himself to roll his eyes at Arthur. “Seriously, your antics are despicable.”
Arthur swallowed harshly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he stared at Merlin with wide eyes. “I,” he began before taking a deep breath and stepping back. It took him a moment to regain his composure, red still flushing his cheeks until he averted his gaze away from the other man and said roughly, “You’ve no sense of humor, Mer lin.”
“Oh, like you’re one to talk,” he huffed, herding Arthur out of the room while struggling to ignore the hissing woman.
Arthur frowned even once they were back in the hallway. “I can still hear something. I swear there was a ghost in there.”
“Ghosts aren’t real, Arthur,” Merlin said, rolling his eyes as he pushed the blonde down the hall. He couldn’t help glancing back at the room, though, convinced he could still hear the hissing through the floorboard. “Now come on, didn’t you want to check out that staircase?”
Huffing, Arthur grabbed Merlin by the arm and started pulling him along, muttering curses under his breath as the other just laughed.
———
The stairwell was unsettling, to say the least. Merlin had suspected that some kind of apparition would be lounging on the stairs–or at least there would be the reek of death that always seemed to stick to everything–but there was nothing. It was eerily sterile and unlike anywhere he had ever been before. Goosebumps rose on his skin and he risked a glance over at Arthur to clock his reaction. Nothing suspicious. He frowned, rubbing at his arms despite knowing the odd feeling would stick to him like glue until he left. His skin felt too tight, a notion he hadn’t experienced for years, back before he was used to the flesh he inhabited. He flexed his fingers, rubbing at the skin around his knuckles as Arthur investigated.
Merlin glared back down the hallway, shifting his feet as he tried to deny the hissing he could still hear. Damn that maid. Damn the whole house, actually. No wait, damn Arthur the most. The air stung with nothing and it made him want to drag Arthur out of the house as soon as possible. There wasn’t a hint of Margaret’s ghost or death and the whole thing stung with suspicion. Someone had messed with the stairwell, but he couldn’t place what it was. He scowled when Arthur looked back up from the bottom of the stairs to beckon him down, trying to reign in his temper. Something about this area was unsettling him, undoing all the work he had done to get comfortable in this body and he hated it.
Pausing at the top of the stairs, he rubbed at his knuckles again and grumbled to try and drown out the hissing. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he mumbled as he made his way to Arthur, “Need someone to hold your hand, dear? Are you getting scared?”
Arthur scowled, shooting him a harsh glare. “Have I ever told you I hate you?”
“Many a time,” Merlin singsonged, ruffling the other’s hair as he stopped next to him. “So, a door,” he grinned, gesturing to the locked basement door with a dramatic flourish.
Rolling his eyes, Arthur shoved him playfully back towards the stairs. “Go check out the other rooms if you’re going to be such an ass.”
“Love you too,” Merlin teased with a grin, settling down on the bottom step just to annoy his companion. Instead of scowling even more, Arthur froze up and turned bright red, blinking at Merlin in shock.
“Uhm, right… door,” he said awkwardly after a moment, turning back to the bolted door. Merlin’s fingers twitched once again to pull Arthur away, pursing his lips as he watched the blonde stare at the handle. He clearly didn’t want to open it, but he would never admit to his fear. It was up to Merlin, apparently.
“It’s so late though, Arthur. I’m so tired,” he whinged, “Can’t we go back home? We’ve looked at the whole house anyway.”
Arthur glared at him for interrupting but sighed and relented. “Fine, fine, you big baby. We can go home.”
Merlin grinned, reaching out for Arthur to help him up. “Thank you,” he said cheerfully, smiling just to annoy Arthur more. It worked, like always, but he didn’t shake Merlin’s hands off of his arm. However, Merlin’s grin fell away when he saw what was lurking at the top of the stairwell.
The maid stared down at him, eyes hollow but looking like they were reading his soul. Her dress’s hem pooled on the dusty floor and she smiled emptily at him. He tightened his grip on Arthur’s bicep, tearing his gaze away as they passed right through her, frowning as a single name passed through his thoughts.
Eden.
———
Merlin plopped down on the plush sofa, letting his body sink into the soft cushions as Arthur puttered about in the kitchen and some trashy romcom played in the background. He grinned down at his phone, typing out a response to Lancelot.
L: I can’t believe you’re letting him cook dinner.
M: It can’t be any worse than last time
M: …right?
L: Merlin, love, he boiled a cake for your birthday last year.
L: Morgana promised to kill him if he went near her stove again.
M: Okay so maybe this was a bad idea
M: But I can’t exactly stop him now.
L: Need me to sneak over some takeout?
M: He’d kill us both if he found out
M: He’s been kinda… off(?) lately, ig
L: Jealous.
L: You mean jealous.
M: No? Why would he be jealous?
M: He’s just been a little more extreme.
M: A lot more doting and that kind of stuff
M: It’s odd.
M: Get Gwaine to save me?
L: Gwaine would laugh in your face.
M: He’d save me tho
M: It’s Gwaine after all
L: We both know you don’t need saving.
M: Yeah, but I appreciate it anyway.
M: It’s sweet.
L: I’ll send Arthur the memo.
Merlin rolled his eyes, chuckling when he heard Arthur’s phone ding in the other room.
“You’ve been texting Lance again, haven’t you?” Arthur called from the kitchen, sounding amused yet exhausted all at once.
Merlin laughed from his cushion cocoon, “What? Me ? Never!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Arthur sighed, and Merlin just knew he was rolling his eyes. “Leaving me out, are you?”
“I’m pretty sure Lancelot texting you a joke you probably don’t understand means you’re being included.”
“If I was being included I would understand the joke,” Arthur pouted, his voice suddenly a lot closer than it had been moments ago. Merlin looked up and froze when he saw Arthur leaning over the couch to talk to him, a little grin on his face paired with his Kiss The Cook apron he stole from Gwaine (who had stolen it from Merlin). Oh, how he hated his roommate at times.
“It’s not like I try to figure out what you and Morgana are always on about,” Merlin pouted, trying to Arthur back so he wasn’t hovering right above his face. Arthur just grinned and didn’t let himself be moved. Gods, did he mention how he hated how muscular his roommate was too?
“Nor I you and Gwaine,” Arthur rebutted, “I’ll never comprehend why you two flirt so much.”
“Because it’s fun, obviously,” Merlin drawled, grinning up at the other and trying to ignore the way his skin flushed at the closeness. “Aren’t you supposed to be cooking?”
Arthur’s eyes widened, “Oh yeah!” He pushed away from the sofa reluctantly and rushed back to the kitchen.
Yeah, Merlin had a feeling Lance was going to have to sneak over takeout later.