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'I really advise against doing this, Nicky…'
'You're so lame, dude, but uh… wouldn't you rather be getting high? Must have a similar effect.'
"Shut up. Both of you."
Every crunch of leaf and crackle of branch sends a shiver down Nicky's spine. It's a trail he knows—no, it's a trail Nick knows. Not him.
Nicky looks over to him. The little twelve-year-old translucent boy with shimmering skin, clothes and hair, all with a slight reddish tint. He's got his arms folded, and he's burning a hole into the bumpy dirt trail with his gaze as they walk, mouth zipped shut.
They haven't been here since… well…
'I've never been here,' Nicholas says, interrupting Nicky's line of thought while somehow simultaneously completing it. He does that a lot.
They both do.
The unfamiliarity filters into every breath Nicky takes, and yet the heavy, unforgettable familiarity weighs him down and slows his steps and his trudge through the mud turned dirt. Forever torn , he sighs.
The wetness of earth seeps into his shoes and he feels the icky, damp, reality of what he's doing here as the front door comes into view.
Nicky moves to bring his hand to the handle, but it stays in place, with a rush of coldness sending shivers up his forearm.
In his periphery, he can tell, but he looks over anyway.
Fingernails of glittery red and black are pressed deep into the skin of his wrist, connected to the slightly more opaque tan skin of Nick, who's shaking like a leaf and averting his gaze.
Nicky lets out an exasperated sigh.
This is exactly why I need to do this , he tells himself, pulling arm out of Nick's grasp and feeling nothing but warmth where it wasn't before. Just like always. They're not even real.
He turns the knob, but the door won't budge. Why an abandoned house would be locked so securely, he doesn't know, but he has an alternative solution at the ready.
'Wait, I really wouldn't—'
The door slams down with a thump that makes the kids jump, but Nicky doesn't flinch, foot still in the air.
He steps into the living room, and takes his bag off his shoulder, tossing it onto the rug beneath him.
Though it seems unnecessary, he pulls the candles out of the bag and places them at the edges of the rug, forming a circle, and he lights them one by one.
It's been five years of this hell, he'll do anything to be free.
Nicky'll be eighteen soon, and that's as good a time as any for a fresh start.
The next thing he pulls out of the bag is a bottle, sealed shut. Ideally, Nicky would have brought gloves to handle the stuff, but this was a decision somewhat made in haste.
He puts it down gently, and pulls out the last item: a pair of scissors.
There's a small squeak, and Nicky looks up. The kids are standing just outside the circle, right across from Nicky. Nicholas has got his arm wrapped around Nick's, and his eyes are shut tight. They've been quiet this whole time, but their silence means nothing.
Nicky kneels down to sit on the fluffy, worn out rug and pulls at his hair, finding the section he dyed blue.
There was something about severing the parts of you connected to the ghost, he remembers reading.
Will it kill them? No, you can't kill what's already dead. Even if he does… it doesn't matter.
Nicky takes the scissors in his left hand—he didn't manage to grab his own, so he'll be dealing with righty scissors for this—and snips at the lock of hair.
He looks at the vibrant royal blue strand in his grip, and then at where the two ghosts stood.
Nicholas is still there.
Fuck.
Well, that's what the other stuff is for, anyway. For now, he grabs at another lock of hair, once red, but now faded into more of a gross orangey colour, and chops that off too.
With both pieces cut, he can move onto the next step. He places them between the candles at opposing edges of the circle, red to his left, blue to his right.
Nicky sighs and shivers, the cold of this house is something he knows well, and at the same time wishes he never knew at all.
He picks up the bottle and unscrews the cap with shaking hands.
"Shit," he mutters under his breath.
A drop of this can fuck a demon up.
The thudding of his heart pulls his focus away from the deadly weapon of a liquid in his hands.
The original plan was to pour it into the cap first, but that seems even riskier, so instead, he brings the bottle over to the blue lock of hair, and pours a fair amount on top of it.
'Is that…?'
'Holy water.'
Anxious and haunted voices completing sentences. It could not be more fucking annoying.
Nicky douses the once red lock.
The bottle is cold, and Nicky knows he didn't get any on himself but he cant help but throw it as far away as possible anyway.
It shatters on the ground near the kicked down door.
There's the sound of a wheezing breath, and Nicky glares at the kids, but their mouths are clipped shut, stance the same as before.
And then there's a gasp, and ah—
It's coming from himself.
An asthma attack? No, he's learned the difference by this point.
And with the trembles, maybe he should have seen it coming.
But there's no time for anxiety, besides, the sooner this is done with, the sooner everything will finally be better.
Nicky casts a flame in the palm of either hand, and hovers them over each lock of hair.
"Here goes nothing," he breathes out.
And he sets them both aflame.
✧
Lark is fast asleep and snoring up a storm, and Sparrow feels herself dozing off as well, until there's a tapping at the window.
It's Nicky's little ghosts!
She rolls out of bed and carefully slides the window up and open.
"Hey, what are you two doing here?" she whispers.
They've never spoken to her, but Nicky says they're always talking his ear off, so they must understand her words.
Nicholas gestures for her to climb outside, and so she does, sliding the window closed on her way out.
The two boys hold her hands, and it's a rush of cold air that she can find some comfort in.
They lead her somewhere that's quite a ways away. It's not like they've never gotten her before, what with Nicky's whole… Nickyisms and such, but he's usually pretty close by…?
After a while of crunching leaves beneath her feet and trying to read the near indiscernible ghostly expressions of her friend's companions, bright orange light comes into view.
And as she travels further into the trees… oh…
Fire.
It's a burning house.
"Hey, Nicky is a demon, so fire is like, his thing anyway, isn't it?" her voice shakes.
The ghosts only stare back.
They bring her closer.
Despite how very clearly dangerous this is, she can't help but follow the pull.
And as she steps through a flaming door, she's guided further inside, and—
Sparrow screams.
She screams loud enough the whole world might hear.
And she's holding him, and his body is charred, he's got no pulse, and he's cold despite the fire surrounding them.
And she shakes him, and she shakes him, and she shakes him.
And he doesn't wake up.