Chapter Text
All that he can see for miles, is dark road and field. A sky partly obscured by thick gray clouds, the only witness to the shammy van, valiantly treading down bumpy roads. In every way, the setting alone could prove unnerving.
And maybe it would be, if he could hear the supposed silence outside of the car. But his friends’ collection of noise keeps that specific experience far away.
“Do you actually know where you're going?” Comes a voice from the back of his van, yelling to be heard over Skizz’s loud music. Impulse flicks the dial for said music down,-steadily ignoring the ravenette’s sad noise,- looking into the rearview mirror to meet his short friends eyes.
“Of course.” Impulse says confidently, even though he’s not sure.
But how hard could it be to find the most haunted place in a reasonable distance from their homes? Surely not hard.
Surely.
Grian raises an eyebrow, leaning forward into the shared space of the front seats. “Yeah?” He questions, Impulse watches him suspiciously for a moment before nodding once. The shorter man's eyes shrink and he leans even closer to say, “You missed your turn.”
The gremlin and Skizz both burst out laughing. And Impulse sighs, pulling off to the side of the road.
With a quick, but bumpy, turn around they find the correct road at Grian’s direction. He of course gloats about this, with his eyes. And Impulse has to fight the urge to remind them he didn’t want to do this in the first place.
He doesn’t want to spend his weekend ‘Ghost Hunting’!
But it’s his own fault. He knew introducing Skizz and Grian was a bad idea. What with Skizz’s strange fascination with the occult, and Grian’s ‘encounters’-and he’s not saying Grian is lying per say… but how much can he really remember from his traumatic childhood?-.
What he’s saying is, when he introduced them he was honestly setting himself up for this.
He has no one else to blame.
“Impulse! Impulse! Stop!” Grian screeches, violently yanking him out of his thoughts, and causing him to slam on the break. His poor car squeals with the abrupt stop, abused wheels doing their best. Poor girl.
When he doesn’t see anything up front he looks back at Grian, worried. The shorter man, gives him a strained smile, “Sorry.” He says, pointing out the side window, “This is it.”
Impulse follows his gaze.
What he finds is nothing like what he expected.
The house looks like a suburban family home, a blue suburban at that. Two storie, with just the right amount of windows and big yard, the kind that could smooth entertain kids and a dog alike. He can very easily imagine it as the setting in a family movie.
So why is it out here? Why can you only find it by following an uncared for dirt road-barely that.-why…
Why does it feel so off ?
He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of these silly thoughts. He can’t let his friends' theories get to him.
So he ignores his previous thoughts, pulling into the well paved drive, his van almost seeming to purr at the change. Once set in park he turns back in his seat, watching as Grian gathers their ‘supplies’, lit by the yellow above headlights.
“Do you think we need a first-ade kit?” The small man questions.
Skizz immediately says, “Yes.” And Impulse hums his agreement. Even if-when-they don’t find ‘ghosts’, old houses can be a hazard on their own. With rotting floors,-they could fall through a floor!-and loose rusted metal- tetanus.- or any number of wild animals.
Why again is he doing this?
Grian holds something up, a box with a poor, ‘ghost detection system’ inlaid in it, “What about this?”
Skizz squeaks, eyes lit up with excitement,- oh. That's why.- “Yes!” He agrees, reaching for one of their two. They were cheap and likely scams-but it means so much to his friends.
And if there's one absolutely true fact, Impulse loves his friends. Even if they are idiots. He sighs, “Gri, can you pass out walkies?”
“Oh! Yeah!” The blonde replies, sifting through their mess of stuff, and handing out three walkie talkies.-Repurposed from his and Skizz’s highschool days.-With that, and checking that they both have their bags, they exit the car.
The night air is a rushing surprise of cold and wet. Driving Grian to untangle the jacket tied around his waist and throw it on top of his sweater.
“Cold?” Skizz questions, flaunting his sleeveless shirt. Grian glares at him, refusing him an answer. This somehow results in a staring contest between the two of them.
Impulse rolls his eyes at the two, grabbing his own, yellow, sweater out of his bag alongside his flashlight.-though Grian’s is enough light for the moment,- When his friends persist, stubbornly drying out their eyes, he locks the car and starts toward the door.
Luckily, based purely on the quick following patter of two pairs of shoes, the others notice.
They step onto the creaky wood porch, empty but for a swinging bench, and up to the door. It’s painted white, with a small, square, window inlaid in its top. Grian passes him, standing tall to peer into the dirty window.
“Grian, Can you see anything?” Skizz questions.
The small man leans closer, casting breath against the glass. “I don’t think so.” He says, sighing and taking a step back. Regardless, he and Skizz are radiating excitement.
“How do you think we get in?” Skizz questions, looking around the dark yard.
Grian purses his lips, face lit by the unnatural glow of his flashlight. He suggests, “An unlocked window or could we force the door open?” He directs that question at Impulse.
Impulse gives them a look, knowing they forgot something incredibly obvious. Skizz doesn’t notice and Grian is too busy, suggesting increasingly insane ideas, to pay him any mind.
Really? Is this what he’s gonna have to deal with all night?
He should not have signed up for this.
But if he is being honest, he doesn’t necessarily like the idea of Grian and Skizz out here by themselves. If they did happen to run into ghosts they would definitely die.
With an already exhausted sigh Impulse steps around the dorks to at least try turning the doorknob before they do something stupid.
It turns, and with a click , creekkk , the door swings inward. “Oh!” Skizz exclaims, excited, “That was so smart!”
Despite himself Impulse smiles, awkwardly happy at the phrase.-He’ll pretend the comment didn’t heat his cheeks, and be incredibly relieved that the others can’t see it.-
“Well-I wouldn’t- It was obvious, really.” He defends, hoping to not seem too… gay. Yeah.
“Thank you, Impulse,” Grian says. When, after a moment, Impulse doesn’t respond he pushes past them, rolling his eyes. The floor audibly screams under his weight, and with the sound the others, after being jolted out of their thoughts, are quick to follow him.
The chill isn’t much better in the building, and the air tastes dusty. With the natural light from the moon dimmed-barely able to fight it’s way through the windows-Skizz and Impulse’s lights join Grian’s already active beam.
It’s when the lights flick on that they notice just how in use the house looks. The open entry to a sitting room shows a vintage tv, and undisturbed seating-the long table… thing by the door is piled with unopened mail and books. There are even shoes by the door.
With this in mind the silence is eerie, and the weird feeling of this building doesn’t help. The door swings shut, making just as much noise, and Impulse jumps-barely-, turning around to stare at Skizz. Just Skizz.
The ravenette smiles, excitement and apologetic awkwardness waring in the expression-
Creekkk , the floor says as Grian walks farther into the house, pushing his glasses up and shining his light across the ceiling. Without a word to his companions he starts toward the stairs-
“Grian?” Impulse calls, dragging clarity back into the short blondes eyes. Wide like a deer caught on a dark road, “Aren’t we sticking together?”
Before Grian can answer Skizz does, “Impy haven’t you seen a mystery movie?” He questions, stepping closer, “We need to split up if we wanna find any ghosts. Right G?”
The shortest of them shakes his head, but he agrees, “Right. I-Yeah.”
“But we can’t.” Impulse argues, somewhat worried about Grian. And wishing he knew the man better so he could make a good faith judgment. “The buddy system isn’t possible with just three people.”
“We don’t need buddies, the supernatural like you more when you’re alone.” Skizz informs, sounding all too confident.
And Grian looks back at the stairs once more, “Yeah.. I can go alone and you fella’s can stick together.” He says, Impulse opens his mouth prepared to argue- “No, don’t worry about me. It’ll be faster like this, and I can take care of myself.”
Well-
Impulse can’t really dispute that. Plus it was getting late when they arrived in town.-he didn’t want to come tonight but the others insisted it was more ‘authentic’-and he’s driven all day. The point is, he’s tired.
“Alright.” He agrees, reluctant though he is.
Grian smiles, backing towards the stairs, “Great! I’ll take the upstairs, you two can do downstairs. Call on the walkie if you need me!”
“Sure!” Skizz agrees, watching as he turns and marches up the steps-
And Grian turns, just to leave them with the parting words of, in the tone of an annoying mother, “Have fun you two!”
Impulse stares after his form, exhausted.
This was such a stupid decision.
_____
Grian isn’t sure what draws him up the stairs.
He’d like to say it’s some kind of supernatural energy or something-but honestly that's too far fetched. The more realistic explanation is simply curiosity.
A morbid one perhaps, because it’s fascinating to be in a place that looks inhabited, when he knows people haven’t lived here for half a decade.-He did do some research.-it feels off, and he loves it.
So following his curiosity, he marches up the steps only to stop on the landing. Down a, somewhat ominous, hallway are four closed doors, two on the left, one on the right and one last one at the end.
He walks toward the first door, listening to the sounds of Impulse and Skizz stomping around downstairs as he does. Somehow the sounds are endlessly reliving, even if he doesn’t know his companion’s well. But it’s been nice to spend the day with them. They’re nice.
Even if they do pay a bit more attention to each other than the obviously supper entertainment that is him.
He likes them.
But that wasn’t the main goal of the day, and Grian reminds himself of this fact as he comes up to the first door. He turns the doorknob, only to be surprised when it simply swings open.-Though he’s not sure what else he expected..
The room is empty, but for a simple bed and nightstand. A sight that only feels strange when compared to the rest of the house.
He steps into the room, forcing past his irrational-non-ghost related-fears. Walking up to the bed, and dipping to look under it for anything, his heart unreasonably in his throat, afraid-and excited- at the idea of what could be hiding under the mattress-
He is only slightly disappointed to find nothing but dust. But with that he checks the closet and once again finds nothing.-not even a piece of clothing..-
Regretful of the missing scares he was expecting, Grian leaves the room. Clicking the door shut as he goes. Moving down the wall to the other unopened room. The door itself has the remnants of the stuff on the back of stickers, likely left over from peeled ones. Reminiscent of his and Jimmy’s attempts at decorating their own door.
With a slight smile-though a melancholy one-at the image, Grian checks into the room. This one, unlike the last, looks lived in. Books strewn about a small bedside table, and things scattered across the floor. The scene complete with an unmade bed.
“Hello?” He calls,-in his best friends words-like a daft spoon. Hoping the ghost will just come out and… what have a friendly conversation?
The ghost, as is to be expected, does not respond.
Grian moves, slowly, light fliting across the walls, landing, quite steadily, on what is presumably a family portrait. Four figures stand against the backdrop of a picturesque park. Two adults, probably in their mid to late thirties, and two mini’s, both in tiny suits, one with shoulder length brown hair and a big gummy smile, the other is more reserved with his expression,-Though it still shows joy.-fitting with his black hair, cropped around his ears.
This must be the family that lived here. He wonders what could have happened to them. With that-somewhat depressing-train of thought, he glances around the room looking for any ghostly visitors.
Once again he doesn’t find anything. And with a sigh, he makes to leave, feeling weird about looking through anything in a room that still feels inhabited.
But when he turns he finds the door closed. He didn’t-Did he? That’s…
Every step closer feels deathly, his feet scraping against the wood floors. But nothing changes, and he can no longer hear the others…
Biting his lip he reaches for the doorknob, fingertips brushing the cold metal-
A pop sounds echoing around the empty room, and Grian jumps spinning around to face the bed- torch slipping from his grip, and switching off as it hits the floor.- Heart rabbit fast-Something rolling-
Only to hear a quiet and draped in static, ‘Grian?’ Recognizable as Impulse despite it’s struggle.
He pauses. Takes a deep breath. And pulls his bag around, lifting up the flap and groping around the dark pocket for his walkie. He pulls the handheld box, eyeing the small red light and pushing down the button to transmit, asking a simple, slightly annoyed, “Hello?”
‘Gri? Are you ok? We heard a bang?’ Asks Impulse, staticky voice worried.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just dropped my torch.” He assures, bending down to feel around the dark floor for said missing torch.
‘Oh, Good. We were worried for a moment there.’ , Impulse says, pausing for only a second before, ‘Did you find anything?’
And Grian’s fingers wrap around a cool slim cylinder, “Ah ha!” He exclaims, fiddling with the torch till he finds the switch, finally flicking the light on as he makes to stand. The room immediately brightens, and the amateur-attempted-ghost hunter breathes a sigh of relief.
He holds the light outward and starts towards the door, holding down the button and speaking as he does, “I haven’t seen anything paranormal.” Extremely disappointed in his failure, until a thought occurs to him- “Have you?”
The voice that comes over the walkie this time isn’t Impulse, ‘Ah, no. I don’t think the ghosts like us..’
Impulse does cut in then, ‘And I’m starting to get tired. If we wait much longer we might have to camp in the van.’ He says, calm as anything. As if he isn’t subjecting them to torture with the mere suggestion. Sleeping in such a small place with two people he barely knows-
Ugg, Grian shutters at the thought.
“Right, well I’ve got two more rooms to check, before we head out?” Grian sits the light on his shoulder, using his head to hold it in place as he reaches for the door.-Previous fear and confusion forgotten,-
‘Sure, we’re going to wait in the van.’ Impulse says. And the door swings open, allowing Grian to step through without issue.
Skizz butts in to add, ‘Grian. Keep the walkie on you and call immediately if something happens?’
Grian laughs,-at this point, absolutely sure the stories they heard on the internet were wrong,- but he pushes down and replies, “Sure.”
‘Kay. We’re just in the car.’ Impulse reminds, sounding almost fretful. Just as he reaches the second to last door.
“Yep.” Grian says absently, Stepping up to the door.
A slam is heard downstairs, as Grian assumes his companions leave him alone. Ignoring this he follows… something , shoving his walkie away and moving to twist the door open.
Only to wince and retract his hand, as it meets burning metal. Worried about the potential of a fire he places his hand close to the wood…
It’s not hot.
In fact it’s cold, the kind of cold that eats into your bones, that can’t be helped even by layering up. He backs away, debating his options- this is the first strange thing to happen in the house-his hope for the strange returning.
He takes another step back… And another until he hits the wall.
With this he takes a running start angling so that his shoulder will take the brunt of his collision.
He bangs into the door, wood fighting desperately against him, and sending a jolt of pain down his shoulder. Still it swings inward, handle now broken. Grian, no longer supported, just barely stops himself from following.
Panting he looks around-hoping to see something. Something, anything to make this journey worth it.-He finds a room, immaculate, with a carefully made bed. Boxes piled by the wall, a empty book shelve-but nothing of interest.
Once again he reacts with a, “Hello? Anybody in here?”
Nothing responds, and with a growing, disappointment that he is going to pass off as suspension, he drags the-totally real-ghost sensor.. Thing, out of his bag. He flips the switch, eyes tracking the spiny lights.
Though it stops after only a moment. Sitting clearly in the green, a green that supposedly means your immediate vicinity is un-haunted.
He does not believe it. Not for a second. So he calls out, “If you’re in here, I want you to know that we aren’t here to hurt you. Maybe we could help.”
Nothing so much as moves.
Grian sighs, puffing out his cheeks, trying a new-incredibly spoon like-tatic,“I’m alone, Skizz said you like people more that way?” Though he’s not sure where the ravenette got that information, that seems incredibly shifty…
Nothing.
“Maybe, just give me something! I-I may not be able to convince them to come again.” He says, pleading with the-fake, definitely fake- ghosts, his previous spark of hope dwindling-
Still it is silent. Nothing shifts, the immaculate room stays as such, and his spark suffocates.
In a huff Grian leaves. Feeling incredibly defeated, he knew the likelihood of actually seeing anything-It’s infinitesimal.
He’s not stupid.
But… he was hoping otherwise. That he might find something.
And he did not.
Maybe.. Maybe that's ok though. Cause he will, eventually. Even he if he has to do it by himself. And he didn’t hate everything about today.
He’s fine.
Grian doesn’t doddle, making his way out of the house, and out to the van. He does glance back to send a glare at the house before opening the door though.
Stupid un-haunted house.
With that he pulls the back door open, interrupting-a likely embarrassingly sappy-conversation between Impulse and Skizz. Swinging his satchel off, tucking his torch back into it’s pocket, and jumping in.
______
He feels… st range. The world feels strange.. Off somehow.
Not that he could tell you why. Or how.
Everything is just off.
Leisurely, he looks around the building. The cream walls carefully framed pictures showing off the blurry faces of people he doesn’t know. But he- he must. Why would they be here otherwise?
Oh! They’re blurry, he must not be wearing his glasses! That makes so much sense! See he can do.. Was it math or logic?
He approaches one of the framed pictures, trying to make the face clearer, so he can recognize them. But they don’t become clearer as he comes closer, and they seem to shift from one face to another.
Annoyed Grian backs away, pouting.
This is when he hears it .
High pitched squeaky laughter, though he can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from. On a bout of instinct he looks down, oblivious of his missing feet, and there he finds a dim green trail. Without a thought he follows it, down a long sprawling hall and into the entrance of a living area.
The vintage tv, seated on a stand, is off. The seating is un-inhabited, nothing looks disturbed-
Until he looks down, finding the source of the noise. Two, young boys, lying on their stomachs, laughing as they draw. The raven haired boy’s face is in stark clarity, smiling eyes and a happy stretch of teeth. The other-
Somehow he is blurry, with a short pony of chocolate brown hair. But his face-
All that Grian can see are his eyes, shining sparks of emerald.
Neither of the kids notice him, lurking in the entry unable to move now that he wants to. Like he’s a ghost-or something.
Time stretches-and he’s not sure what's happening-
The ravenette is gone, and the tiny emerald eyed boy is scribbling, pictures entirely different from his earlier ones, as he tries to ignore the loud voices coming from the kitchen-and Grian feels that deep in his chest-
And all of the sudden the tiny emeralds are on him. Except they're not tiny anymore, expanding past the size any eyes should be and engulfing the person that used to stand behind them. All different shades of green, swirl around his captive audience.
Grian attempts, once again, to move.
His feet refuse him.
The figure becomes clearer, something like a person,-or person shaped?-progresses on him, dimming as it does, till the emeralds in place of its eyes are in stark contrast again.
It tilts its head looking him over, and he wonders what it sees. A piece of meat? An interesting new toy? A curious creature so unlike it and yet so similar? A friend?
He finds, while pondering these considerations, that he cannot speak. This both, does and does not, come as a surprise.
The creature opens a gaping black maw-
And Grian, feat still glued to the syrup floors, fears-
His unwanted company starts to make sounds- “Wh-”
Fortunately he finally falls free. Unfortunately he falls into an endless darkness- Cold and lifeless- All as emeralds watch, preparing for an opportunity to… hurt him? Probably!
He hits something, feet first and he spins-masks and-
And G rian wa kes. Jolting up in an unrecognizable single bed.
He, still coursing with adrenalin, attempts to stand. Only to be dragged back down by unseeable hands, tripping him and sending him sprawling onto his face. Sounds dimmed by carpeting -though he still bangs as he hits.
Something shifts in the room over and Grian registers his current whereabouts. In a hotel, four hours from his hometown, with Impulse and Skizz. Right.
“Grian?” Calls a groggy voice, and the blonde pushes himself up to gaze into the attached room, where his friend is just rousing. “Are you ok?”
The light flicks on, illuminating Impulse, currently sporting a severe case of bedhead. Or that might be his eyes telling him Impulse looks blurrier than he is…Grian smiles awkwardly, trying to blink away the sleep stuck in his eyes. Though he is already feeling more awake. “Hi, I uh- I think I had a nightmare?”
Impulse stares at him for a moment, grogginess clearly coloring his movements-Skizz snores. “Do you need-”
“No. I’m fine.” Grian interrupts, adjusting so he is sitting and brushing himself off, “Why don’t you just… go back to sleep big guy.” Impulse glares at him, suspicion evident, but once again Grian’s horrid assurance works-possibly because of how exhausted his friend has been this weekend…-and his companion lays back down.
With a sigh of relief, glad to avoid the awkwardness of trying to describe… that,-hopefully Impulse will forget this whole thing by morning.-he pulls himself onto his couch bed.
He-
He’s not sure sleeping would be a good idea tonight. Not with… his dream.
He honestly doesn’t know what to think of his dream.
But that’s ok, he just won’t. No thoughts, not about strange cursed emeralds or yelling or masks of black holes in place of a-
Nope.
No thoughts.
…
Maybe he should turn on the telly…
Grian follows his thought, standing and padding across the small room to search for the remote and his glasses. To only find them after turning on the cold yellowish-green light of his flashlight and looking under the table.
He does find them though. And he is able to set himself up with a strangely textured blanket and a brainless show. His fear shoved back under the bed-where it belongs-and tired eyes ignored.
He rests.