Chapter Text
The man looks old. His thinning hair was gray and he had two tiny braids in his neck, and his chin was covered in a well-kept, brown beard. He has lots of wrinkles to show for his age, though most of them are the happy wrinkles, like the ones you get from laughing and smiling all the time.
He sits on the front-porch of the white, sub-urban house drinking a cup of tea. A black Labrador lies at his feet and the dog seems about as ancient as his owner, it’s movements slow and weary.
Apart from the pet, he is alone. Well, I am there, of course, but that doesn’t really count, as humans generally don’t notice me.
The house has been restored to its former glory right before the man moved in, so gone is the flaking paint, rotting wood, and faulty wiring. All is in pristine condition, the contractor had ensured the man.
He’d addressed him as Mr. Haddock.
Weird name.
Not that I know my own name - it might be even weirder. But hey, one gets forgetful after three hundred years or so.
I’d love to see exactly how much this bearded figure can take. At first glance, I’d give him half a year. Older people tend to start blaming themselves or forgetfulness to explain the pranks I pull in an attempt to scare them. Indeed, scaring elderly effectively requires great skill and cunning, an art I have honed to perfection over the course of many, many years.
But it takes time. You need to build it up slowly.
So I undo the leash on his dog when he goes inside to get another cup of tea. Curiously, the dog doesn’t even move. Usually, animals will at least acknowledge my presence, but this one seems pretty oblivious.How boring.
When Mr. Haddock returns, he notices the loose leash. With an absentminded shrug, he puts it inside.
Okay perhaps this one will take a bit longer than six months... but I could be patient. The reward - yelling, screaming, running, and panicked looks - was always worth it. And who knows, maybe the next inhabitants will be a family with children. That’s much more fun than a graybeard with his dog.
The dog looks at him and makes this questioning, dog-like noise. You know what I mean. Not quite a growl or a bark, just a sound to draw attention.
“Oh, right. You want some water, bud?”
His voice sounds a bit nasal and I can’t help but laugh, making the dog’s ears twitch in response.
So he does hear me.
The old man fetches a bowl of water for his companion and sits back down. For a minute I think about sabotaging his chair, but then he might fall and break his hip or something. That’s not how I roll.
I think about tipping over the metal sugar-cube thing, but that would be way too obvious as he’s practically looking straight at it. On the other hand, it’s right at the edge of the table…
I sigh from frustration and the dog looks in my direction. I stare right back at him, daring him for a response, but he just goes back to sleep. Boring.
In an attempt to find distraction, I start to wander. Not that I can go very far, since I can’t go beyond the grounds of the house at most places. There are only two places that extend further: I can reach the road and part of the little park across it, and a tiny part of the neighbour’s living room. That was the original property outline, before other, newer stuff was build.
My only relief is when Mr. Haddock’s groceries are being delivered. I get to screw with the delivery-boy to my hearts content! Static on the radio in his van, making him trip on the carpet in the hall, messing with the light in the fridge… it’s all part of the ‘freak-out-his-guests’-toolbox.
I mean, you have to do something to pass the time. It’s awfully lonely, being unable to really interact with anyone. That’s why I prefer families with young children so much! If I’m lucky, there is a more… what should I call it? An ‘aware’ child? Yes, I’ll go with aware.
If new inhabitants have aware children, who can hear and see me, two possible scenarios may ensue: a) they freak out big time, all the time, which usually leads to rapid abandonment of the property, me laying low in the attic, or both, or b) they accept me as their friend. When that happens, I get to play with them as if I was real. I can talk to them. Touch them. Play with their toys when on-one else is looking.
It’s just generally a lot of fun. And with me around to protect them, they’re not even scared of the dark anymore. Not that there is anything to be afraid of in the shadows - I’m the only spirit here, trust me - but it feels good to help them overcome their fears.
Once, there was this brunet. A cute little boy. He was a bit of weary of me at first, but he didn’t scream or freak out. He just… observed me for a while. And eventually, when I made his plush bunny dance, he accepted me. He lived here longest.
That was an awesome time; he was one of the nicest children I’ve ever known.
How long ago was that? I don’t remember.
Anyway, the fun can’t last forever, as parents inevitably get suspicious. Their Timmy is a bit too old to have an imaginary friend. Or: who is Miranda talking to all the time? Maybe she should see a psychologist?
As soon as such questions are asked during hushed, late-night conversations at the kitchen table, it is time for them to move on. I will start some serious haunting around the parents to make them leave. Stuff will start to break. Infestations happen. Other, more mysterious stuff.
It’s best for the kids, you see? I can’t have people think he or she is bat-shit insane - or at least delusional. So they have to go.
And I will once again be left alone, with absolutely nothing to do.
I boop it’s nose. He half-barks, the kind of sound that’s dog-language for ‘piss off’.
Out of no-where, the old man goes inside. When he comes back, he has a note-pad, a pen, and a second glass of lemonade with him. He puts it all on the table next to his chair.
“You know”, he starts, hesitant. “It’s getting really hard to find someone willing to deliver my groceries here.”
Who is he talking to?
“Does the warm weather bother you? I brought you some lemonade regardless. Though I must admit, I don’t know whether you can physically drink it or not… It’s the gesture that counts, right?”
Holy. Shit. He’s talking to me.
Never in my 300 years of haunting have I met an aware adult. I’d often wondered if they even existed. Apparently they did! This was so exciting!
“I can’t see or hear you… but I know you’re there”, the man continues.
And with that, my mood sinks like a brick in a gooey pond filled with disgusting algae.
He’s not aware. He just believes in ghosts.
That was so anticlimactic. I scream in frustration, startling the dog, and leave. I go to the outermost edge of the park I can reach and sit down beneath a tree.
My life sucks.
I keep to myself during the days that follow. Twice more did Mr. Haddock - who introduced himself as Hiccup and his dog as Toothless - attempt to talk to me. I never responded.
I’m not sure why. Maybe because I was so disappointed that he wasn’t aware at all. That he was just someone who believed the stupid stories they tell to scare children. And of course there might be consequences if I confirmed I was there. I couldn’t just carelessly confirm my existence to an adult… What if he wasn’t a kind old man? What if he wanted to harm me? What if he was some ghost-hunter you always hear about on TV? Who knows, he may have someone with a black chevvy impala on speed-dial.
I’ve never talked to other spirits — I’m not even sure there are other besides me since I never met one — so I sure as hell wouldn’t know how much of that TV-crap was actually true. It wasn’t an appealing risk to take though.
Of course I can’t entirely avoid him. We live in the same house after all.
I casually drop through the ceiling into the living room and find him there, sitting in a chair with a tablet in his lap. I float above him and have a peek, unable to contain my curiosity.
He’s scrolling through pictures and I recognize him in some of them. A lot of them are of him with a blond woman, or just the woman on her own.
“You don’t need to live centuries in solitude to feel lonely,” he whispers.
His words surprise me so much I almost fall to the ground.
“I may not be able to see you, but it seems Toothless here has no such limitations.”
Hell, I hadn’t seen the dog move a muscle, yet somehow he’d indicated to Hiccup I was here. I may have underestimated the black Labrador. It may just be my imagination, but I swear he’s looking so smug right now, lying on that big pillow of his.
“Although…,” the man continues, “I guess it does take centuries of loneliness to become afraid of actual company.” His words have an unexpected sting to them. “After all, you haven’t replied to me so far, even though I know you’re there and I know you can. So apparently you don’t want my company. You just want to stay alone.”
I am breathless. Or I would be, if I still had to draw breath.
I’m not lonely. I have lots of things to do and I’ve had plenty of friends. What makes him think I’m just as sad as he is? I’m just bored most of the time, is all.
“Or you’re scared,” the man ponders. “Though I wouldn’t know what you’re scared of... But I do feel like we’re making some progress here!” He smiles, and for the first time I see what caused those happy wrinkles. It’s a charming smile. Assuring. It spreads a look of open warmth across his face, reaching all the way to his bright green eyes.
“I mean, you’re still here! This must have been the longest conversation we’ve ever had so far.”
I’m not sure what to do as I stand in front of him. Gingerly, slowly, I reach out. My hand is just a few centimeters from his skin when I stop myself. Instead, I touch his tablet, swiping to the next picture.
The man raises an eyebrow and a hint of sadness creeps into his kind smile.
“That is… was my wife. Astrid. She passed away twelve years ago. That’s when I got Toothless.” He falls silent, probably lost in memories. “You know, Spirit, it’s all right if you don’t want to talk to me. To be honest, it’s already a relief that I won’t be spending my last years alone.”
My feelings confuse me and I feel the strong urge to get the hell outta here.
He swipes right and a different photo appears, showing two men of relatively young age, and my jaw drops. The man on the right, I recognize as the greybeard operating the tablet. But it’s the one on the left that caught my attention. His face is awfully familiar. Bright smile, dimples, brown eyes… I touch the pad, tapping on the left man’s face. The tablet zooms in. Handy.
The old man looks up, confused, and stares right past me as he asks: “What is it?”
I move my finger over the photo. Shit, it goes to the next picture. I go back. Tap. Zoom in. This is more difficult than I thought… kudos to Mr. Haddock for being able to use this.
“You mean that man?” I nod yes, only to realize he can’t see me. Without thinking, I grab his hand and put it on the strikingly familiar face. The man startles, but lets it happen. He even laughs a bit. “Wow, you can touch me!”
I intently tap his hand to the screen. This is no time to be amazed! Tell me who this man is, please!
Thankfully, Hiccup seems to understand I don’t want to dwell on what I can and can’t do.
“Okay, okay, this man. That was my best friend. Look, I have more pictures over there.” He points at a dresser with some photo’s on it and I instantly take a closer look. Why haven’t I noticed these earlier?! Right in the middle of family-pictures is an ancient black and white photograph. On the left was a young version of Hiccup - god he looked so much more awkward when he was young - and on the right was, without a shred of doubt, Jamie. Good old Jamie. The longest friend I’ve ever had. He was older in the picture than he was when I knew him, but the resemblance was still striking.
I carry the photo to him. Again, surprise all over his face, but I have no time to dwell on that. I want to know more, so I push the wooden frame in his hands, hoping he’ll get the hint.
“Okay? Thanks? Look, I need to know what you want. Tap me once for yes, twice for no. Simple enough, right?”
Genius. I tap once.
“Good. You want to know more about Jamie?”
Another tap.
“All right…” Hiccup swallows hard. “Did you know him?”
One more tap.
“Well be damned.” The graying brunet laughs and shakes his head. “He was my best friend. I’ve known him since we were what, eleven? Back then, he was the reckless one, and I was the one that thought up our nifty, mischievous plans. We’ve been best friends since secondary school and we’ve always stayed in touch. He became an artist, you know?”
Somehow it makes me incredibly happy to hear him talk about Jamie. Letting kids go isn’t always easy, and it sucked so bad when Jamie had to leave.
Somehow, I wished I could have been his best friend forever. A stupid thought, but still.
Hiccup’s voice brings me back to the here and now. “Even though I’m older-” the man has to swallow hard, his eyes damp. “I still outlived him. Sorry, that’s a stupid way of putting it, I know, but we’d made a bet out of it when we were young.” He laughs despite his sadness. “He was very much convinced he’d outlive me, not the other way around.”
And suddenly it hits me. He was talking past tense. Jamie is dead.
That cute little boy is long gone, turned into a teen, an adult, an old man, and eventually a lifeless body.
When he’d left my ‘life’ I’d become bored again. I’d been bored out of my skull, or so I told to myself, so I’d looked for distraction.
I didn’t want to admit I wasn’t just bored; I refused to acknowledge it was much more than that.
I missed him. Missing someone felt weak to admit… but it had felt as if a part of me was gone. I missed him so, so, much, and now I find out he’s dead.
Hiccup’s head shoots up towards me and he rubs his hand. It’s wet.
Why is his hand wet?
“You’re crying…” Hiccup mumbles more to himself than anyone else. I rub my eyes to find out he’s right. I am. I’ve never cried before.
Without hesitation, he reaches out. His hand collides with my shoulder and before I know it, he has me in a tight hug.
My tears wet his shirt. I cry because I still miss Jamie, because I miss having fun with him. Hell, I miss having any kind of fun, any kind of company. This old rot was right. Stupid elderly people and their infinite wisdom.
My life is lonely, and I hate it, and what I hate even more is there’s nothing I can do about it.
I hug him back despite the awkward sitting position he’s in and he comforts me. He slowly strokes my back and combs through my hair and that breaks me up even more. I can’t even remember the last time someone showed me this kind of affection, this kind of comfort.
It hurts.
“It’s okay”, Hiccup whispers. “I miss him too.”