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Outside the Oriande Mansion, 9.30 pm.
A figure stands tall, bathed in watery, blurry white light, a halo that ripples as it spreads its arms in triumph and says:
“What’s up ghosts aficionados and other ghoul people? Got it? Ghoul, cool?”
The figure disappeared as the camera took a nose dive to the grassy ground.
“Lance, we’ve talked about this in the car.”
“I thought it was a nice touch.”
“Not you too, Hunk.”
“C’mon, Pidge!”
In front of Lance, the tiny girl crossed her arms, still stubbornly adverting the camera from him. He could barely make out her silhouette in the darkness, she was summed up in a general small defiance and big, round glasses ablaze with every speck of light coming her way. Of Hunk, all that he could grasp was his terror-frozen air, and the trembling cone of his flashlight. Among other heated debates in the car, they had discussed whether it was best to wait for the sun to set before starting their annual Halloween ghost investigation. Hunk was firmly against, Pidge did not care either way, and Lance had spent a good half hour detailing how they could not do it any other time than at night.
“That’s when bad stuff happens, Lance.” had argued Hunk in a whimper.
“Exactly!”
“We’ll start the investigation when we arrive on site, day or night, okay?” had snapped Pidge, and that had settled it.
Now, Lance reveled in the imposing presence of the mansion looming behind him, elegant turrets shrouded in shadows, broken windows glittering in the sparse moonlight, wind roaming around the hill and stone walls in barely audible footsteps. He forced himself not to turn around and face the mansion, not yet. He soaked up the chill on his spine, the way it made the hairs on his neck stand up, his blood bubbling like lemonade.
This feeling, this exact feeling, was what had pushed him to start his paranormal investigations, dragging along his two reluctant friends. Reluctant as they were, at first, they soon got swept in, in spite of themselves, and they had to admit (in chorus with their followers), that they made the perfect Scooby Gang. Presenting, this season:
Pidge: the tech buff and hard-boiled paranormal sceptic, also the one that finds the spookiest camera angles, best ghost-provoker of the team
Hunk: the scaredy cat, jumps at the slightest creaks, provides the funniest mumbled monologues in front cams
Lance: the charismatic presenter, pretty, funny and…
“… stupid! Lance, you forgot the pincers again! How are we gonna pass the fence?”
“Huh.”
Shit. Lance turned around to face a bright round of checkered metal. The circle of his flashlight traveled upwards, damn was this fence high.
“You sure they’re not under the seat like last time?” he asked.
Pidge slammed the van’s door eloquently.
It’s not like Lance could help it, he was a romantic at heart. When he imagined a haunted house with an aura and a reputation as rich as the Oriande Mansion, he tended to forget the modern, police-assigned and altogether vibe-killing metal fence. He shrugged.
“We’ll just wing it.”
“I still have bruises on my butt from the last time we winged it…” muttered the Hunk-sized shadow walking to his side to test the solidity of the fence.
“Okay, who wants to go first?”
Three hands bolted upwards in the harsh light. They drew straws.
Vestibule of the Oriande Mansion, 9.46 pm.
“Okay, from the top.”
Lance settled his flashlight on the pedestal table on his left, wedging it against an empty flower vase near his own camera. He was sitting in a plush chair, somewhere in the vestibule of the mansion, in the middle of a blurry circle of uncertain light. He could not see anything beyond the chair, the moth-eaten rug beneath his shoes and the little table. All of it was dusty, chipped and outdated. Hell yes baby, that’s what I’m talking about!
“It definitely looks like a haunted mansion.” whispered Hunk, stealing worried glances around him as he settled the tripod. Lance did not have to look at Pidge to know she was rolling her eyes. “Try the one in Disneyland then.” she said, before admitting, “I bet I can get a couple of nice creepy shots, though, check out this blackened mirror.”
Hunk shook his head, shutting his eyes, “Nope, not checking out the mirror, not checking out anything at all for that matter.”
“Guys! I said from the top.”
Pidge reoriented her camera on his face, adjusted the focus, and finally gave a thumb up, though not before hissing: “And no corny play on words, for Zelda’s sake…”
“Hello again!” Lance’s smile widened. That was one of his favorite parts, imagining his followers tuning in, like they were here already in the room. “Nice to see you all on this bleak Halloween night, you ghoul people…” Offscreen, he discreetly flipped Pidge off. “This night, we investigate a particularly thorny case: the Oriande Mansion.”
Lance gestured around the vestibule for emphasis.
“As you can see, this place totally looks the part. But we will need a little more than aesthetics to prove that it is, as the countless testimonies and legends report, undoubtedly haunted.”
“It’s not”, muttered Pidge behind the camera, loud enough to be heard. Their followers loved her snarky skeptical comments.
“What can be said without a doubt, however, is that these walls have seen a lot of unsettling events and colorful people throughout the last century. Don’t be fooled by its amazing Victorian glamour, the majority of the house was built no sooner than in the thirties, by the heir of one of the biggest financial empires in America at the time: Lotor Galra.”
“Old money”, Hunk chimed in.
“Old, old, old money.”
Lance recalled the ancient photographs they had found on the web during their prep work earlier this week. This Lotor was a pretty decent looking guy, with long, white hair (or blonde, the photo was in black and white), regular traits and something… something dark and disturbing, shinning at the back of his eyes. He also had one of the most unnerving smiles Lance had ever had the displeasure of coming across.
“Local legend has it that he was an occultist, an amateur alchemist and even, according to some sources, a prominent illuminati.” Lance heard Pidge snort, and smiled in spite of himself, “I’m not even joking. These theories are based on the bizarre architectural patterns of the house, some people have counted a lot of eyes and triangles.”
“So it has to be illuminati”, said Pidge ironically.
“That, or Bill Cipher”, mused Hunk.
“Either way”, interrupted Lance, “what can be said almost for certain is that he frequently held séances for his close group of friends, all mediums or psychics of renown.”
“Get to the point!” Pidge perked from behind the camera with a devilish smile, “I want to get to the part where Hunk whimpers like a baby.”
“Hey!”
“Fine, fine.” Lance leaned towards the camera, elbows on his knees, and murmured with the compulsory eyebrow wiggling: “Lotor and his friends all died in this house, and if rumors are to be believed, it was during one of these séances. The local records show no cause of death for the four of them, just a question mark. Whatever happened here fifty years ago was enough to puzzle all officers and detectives at the time, and still baffles historians to this day. Since then, people have reported strange lights behind the curtains, voices and footsteps are frequently heard, and several paranormal investigators like ourselves – ”
“Though they had an actual authorization to be here…” interrupted Pidge.
“Okay, official paranormal investigators”, Lance corrected himself, “and not juvenile delinquents like us, have reported seeing disembodied shadows, electrical equipment starting to malfunction for no reason, and in some cases, painted pictures moving as they walked past them…”
He saw Hunk full-body shiver with some satisfaction. Practicing spooky storytelling with his nieces and nephews was paying off.
“The house has mostly stayed deserted since Lotor’s mysterious death, people moved out almost as soon as they moved in, spooked away by all the inexplicable phenomena, sometimes reaching as far as possession! The current owner, Allura Altea, lovely lady by the way…”
“Dude, stop the flirting, she’s not even here.”
“C’mon, Pidge, you gotta admit she was fancy.” Lance said with a wink for the camera, ignoring Hunk adding: “And way too old for you. And out of your league on a cosmic level. And – ”
“ANYWAY, she claims that when she was younger, and still living in this house on holidays, she was frequently possessed by Lotor. Apparently, he used to talk to her in a way that put her in some sort of trance, and made her half-consciously do all sort of stuff, until she decided not to go back to this house anymore. It may be worthwhile to add, for the record, that when we interviewed her, she strongly advised us to stay away.”
Dramatic pause.
“That being said,” Lance carried on, having regained his cheery tone, “Let’s go for a tour, shall we?”
Pidge turned her camera to her own face to give her usual rational-eye-rolling, while Hunk started his breathing exercises. Standing up, Lance turned his own camera on, flashlight in his other hand. Still talking to Pidge’s camera, he confided: “Now is the moment you’re all waiting for: the Dumb Decision, can I hear a hooray?”
Pidge deadpanned the most neutral “hooray” ever hoorayed.
“My friends and I are going to trespass the Horror movie number 1 rule: we’re going our separate ways. Hunk, thoughts?”
“And prayers, man.” His poor friend might start hyperventilating any second now.
“Allrightey, ghosts and boogies, girls and boys, LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!”
First floor, 10.03 pm.
Hunk was trying his damnest to blink as little as possible, eyes watering at the thermal camera’s bright colors. Living, moving puddles of blinding pink and abysmal navy blue exploded in slow motion on his screen, as he was repeating under his breath: “I hate this I hate this I hate this I hate…”
He had elected the first floor, like he always did. It was the closest to the exit, and to safety. He followed the light path drawn by his flashlight, down the main corridor, probably leading to the kitchen or some ballroom, geez that corridor was virtually endless! How rich was this Lotor guy?
“I hate this I hate this I hate this I swear if something shows up I’m gonna lose my mind, I’m gonna lose my goddamned mi – WHAT WAS THAT??”
He snapped around, but the whispering had already stopped. It had sounded so close, almost directly spoken in the shell of his ear. In the dead silence that surrounded him, between each loud beat of his panicked heart, he could make out some footsteps in the distance.
It must be Pidge.
“Why do I keep on doing this, I could be blasting my stomach with candy and watching a Tim Burton movie right now! I’m having such a horrible time…”
Over his head, the ceiling cracked again under ominous footsteps. Please let it be Pidge…
Second floor, 10.06 pm.
Pidge was having a marvelous time.
The second floor was apparently the grandest place in the mansion, made to receive rich guests and host posh parties. She visited a few spare bedrooms, most of them tagged with the usual ‘Madmaxime was here’, ‘Sally I love you’, and abstract penis drawings. It was to notice that most of the furniture was intact, though, some vases still had withered roses in them, and the beds were still made, though dusty.
At the end of the corridor, she pushed a door, snickering at the low creeaaak. This sort of bullshit would be enough to give Hunk nightmares for a full week. She entered a vast living room, judging from the echo accompanying her admirative whistle. With her flashlight, she materialized battered velvet curtains, wood panels still shining, a few sofas and chairs, and a pale face.
She walked closer to the face to film it. She immediately recognized the so-called ghost and his snob ass grin.
“Hiya Lotor, my dude, how ya doin’?”
Pidge moved her camera in wavy motions, trying to dramatize the situation. Why was she doing this again? She destined herself to science, for crying out loud!
“What do you think?” She asked the portrait hanging on the wall in front of her. “Are ghosts real? I’ll give you a cookie if you answer me.”
Out of her big green sweater, she took a half-eaten cookie, and waved it in front of the painted eyes. “Yum yum, good capitalistic cookie straight from McDonald’s, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Now, tell me, ghosts or science?”
A window must have been left open, for a gust of wind hit her back, sending shivers all the way to her feet. She quirked an eyebrow at Lotor’s face. Well, at least that one wasn’t moving anytime soon.
She shrugged and took a bite off the cookie. It was Lance’s, anyway.
Third floor, 10.13 pm.
Lance palmed his jeans pocket for the hundredth time. He would have sworn he had left some of his cookie earlier.
He followed the main stairs’ steps all the way up to the third and last floor. According to the plan of the house Allura had drawn them, this floor was a lot smaller than the others, but it gave access to some of the turrets, one housing Lotor’s personal office. Maybe some of his occultist researches or spooky grimoires could still be found there? That’d be pretty wicked.
He held his flashlight closer to the walls, having noticed the peculiar wallpaper. Back in the days, it must have been pearly-white, but now it was mostly grayish and moldy. That’s why it took some time before he could identify the pattern. Lions, tiny lion heads. Lance put momentarily the flashlight in his mouth, to take a photo with his phone, whispering to himself:
“That’s so cute.”
At this exact moment, someone dropped something. In a room. On this floor. Where he was alone. The flashlight fell from his mouth and crashed at his feet.
“Fuck.”
Lance stood perfectly still in the darkness, all senses aflame. For a while, all he could hear was his blood rushing furiously in his ears. Then, unmistakably, a door opened. Somewhere in the corridor. A few steps ahead of him. With a long creeeeaaak.
Oh my god oh my god oh my god…
Panic froze his spine as he tried to slowly, very, very slowly kneel to retrieve his flashlight and oh my god someone’s walking towards me. That’s when it hit him. His camera! Hands shaking like crazy, he instinctively found the right buttons to push, going into night mode. He raised it in front of his eyes.
There was a man standing in front of him. In the greenish light, his eyes drilled into the air.
Before he could think, Lance yelled at the top of his lungs and darted. He knocked himself several times on the corridor’s walls, still shouting, until he found a door. He tore it open, threw himself into the room, and slammed the door behind him, resting all his weight against it. His breaths came out in erratic puffs as he fumbled in the darkness for a key, a bolt, anything. He forced his breathing into a more regular pattern, and tried to think as clearly as he could while his mind was spinning out of control.
Think, for fuck’s sake, think. And listen.
Lance listened. Left ear pressed against the wooden door, he focused all his attention. Silence came crashing over him in deafening waves. Is it… gone? What if… oh my god, the mere thought… what if it’s in the room right now?
He knew he should check the room with his camera, just to be sure, but he was way too scared. Ghosts can pass through walls, right? If I turn around, will I see his face, just inches away from mine? Looking at me? Oh my god… His heart started hammering in his chest again.
His bravest braincell (he immediately named it Pidge), advised him to flee. Right now, open the door and run down the stairs. It was the only way and he knew it and he hated it. Okay. Big breath in. Let’s do this.
He creaked the door open, camera peeking on the right, nothing. On the left, oh my god. Here he was. The black-clad man, and thank any god out there, he had his back turned to him. A lot of hair, too. Something about him nagged at Lance’s brain, for some reason, he suddenly thought of his high school. Was it a preview of the hell waiting for him?
Before giving himself a chance of backing down, Lance ran. Too slow. The man spotted him, and all but flew to him. The camera escaped from Lance’s hands, and he distinctively heard it roll on the floor, before a warm weight pinned him down, knocking his breath. He shrieked, kicked around with all he had, wringing and whacking with such desperate strength that he somehow overpowered the ghost. He heard him collide into a wall with a grunt. Do ghosts grunt? No time! Lance turned in the general direction of the stairs, but a iron hand close around his arm, yanking him back. He crashed into a firm body, and started blindingly hitting him.
Screaming the whole time.
“Can’t you just shut up…” grumbled a voice in the darkness.
Lance took a step back in surprise, tripped and fell, dragging the ghost with him. He expected the corridor wall to cut his fall. It did not. Behind him, nothing but a void. They landed in a tumble.
Then a door slammed. Real close. Not as close as the ghost, full body pressed on Lance’s, panting in his neck. Wait. A ghost panting? Panting and saying:
“What the fresh fuck…”
This voice. And… FUCK! The hair. All trace of fear exited Lance’s body, only to be replaced by the most acute embarrassment.
First floor, 10.26 pm.
Hunk crouched in a corner. Distant screams echoed in his ears, what the hell was that? Had Lance mentioned banshees? Or screaming specters? It sounded like it was coming from the top floor of the mansion. Arms tightening around his shoulders, he hoped that Lance was alright.
Second floor, 10.28 pm
Pidge hoped that whatever Lance was yelling about was freaking worth it.
Third floor, 10.31 pm
It was good day, considering.
Keith had never liked Halloween much, he wasn’t all too keen on sweets and he just had this thing with children… Frankly, he would have been content with just a nice trespassing walk around the mansion. He had brought a snack, his lighter, a Shirley Jackson novel and everything, it was supposed to be a chill, slightly illegal, Halloween evening.
Until some jackass ran into him, hitting and screaming like a madman.
The jackass in question had gone silent, still pinned under him. From what he could guess by touch alone (and it was actually a lot), the guy was taller than him, kinda lanky, and surprisingly strong. He tried to move away, but he couldn't see a thing, and he was still somehow interwoven in the other man’s limbs.
“What the fuck, Kogane?”
When he spoke, the resonance of his voice revealed the tightness of the room. A familiar voice.
No one ever called him Kogane. Well, except… Oh you gotta be kidding me.
“Jesus Christ. Lance, is that you?”
“So you do know my name…”
Keith scoffed. The nerve… Of course, he knew Lance McClain’s name. They had only been stuck in the same classroom for the last three years. Not that they had ever really spoken to each other, there had been stares (hateful, mind you), and a couple of heated interactions (still hateful, mind you). Everyone in their year just thought that they couldn’t get along for shit, reasons unknown. Which was stupid, in Keith’s opinion. He had reasons, plenty even. For starters, the guy was a menace, always so cheery and way too enthusiastic about everything, flashing his obnoxiously bright smile all around. Also, there was the matter of his mocking chatter. Why did he have to go out of his way just to piss him off? And, last but certainly not least, he was exactly Keith’s type. That bastard.
Right now, he added another reason to his already bursting mental file (titled: Reasons why Lance is insufferable): Lance was a paranormal investigator, and a shitty one at that.
“Can you get up?”
“Well I might, if you weren’t pinning me down on the floor.”
Did he really have to say it like that? Keith tried to push himself to his feet, detangling his limbs from Lance’s, and realized that the room grew colder then. He managed to stand up, still feeling Lance’s presence somewhere in front of him. The warm imprint took some time to fade. As Lance stood up too, Keith felt around, assessing his bearings. It was no good. In the pitch darkness, he followed the curve of the walls, and calculated that the room was even smaller than what he had originally thought. No more than a cupboard really, or a closet even. Life’s funny like that.
Keith felt under his fingers the tired wallpaper, some dusty shelves, a lot of cobwebs, a nose.
“Dude, watch it!”
“Sorry…”
He felt Lance shuffling in front of him, probably trying to put as much space as possible between them. Keith mirrored him, back pressed against the door. The door!
Wrenching his left arm behind him, he shook the doorknob, more and more forcefully when it refused to open.
“Stop that noise!”
“We’re trapped.”
“We’re WHAT?”
“Trapped.”
“HOW???”
“God, stop screaming.”
Suddenly, Lance’s body pressed against his, and Keith’s whole front caught fire as he had his go at the doorknob.
“Fuck, we’re trapped.”
Keith let out a long sigh. “It’s pretty much what I said already.”
“Wouldn’t be your first mistake. Take that mullet, for example.”
“What does it have to do wi – ”
“What are you even doing here, Keith?”
Third floor, 10.43 pm.
“What are you even doing here, Keith?”
Shit. Lance hadn’t meant to call him by his name. He didn’t know why, it felt… weird. Warm, too warm. At that moment, he realized that the warmth came from the body he was currently smashing into the door. He took a big step back, almost immediately colliding with the wall behind him. Trapped, in a close space, he had read enough fanfiction (don’t ask) to wonder from time to time what it would be like to find himself into this sort of scenario with a cute person.
Why, out of all the cute persons, did it have to be him? Not that Keith was cute, though. I mean, objectively, guy’s alright. I guess. From an external point of view. The dark hair, the cheekbones, the indigo eyes, so deep, and all the mysterious lone wolf aura. Dude looked like he had walked from a young adult romance novel, anyone would find him fairly attractive. Anyone but Lance, of course. Nuh-huh.
He felt Keith shrug. “Halloween stuff.”
“Like scaring the shit out of people?”
“Huh, no… I have a book, actually?”
Lance blinked in the darkness. “A book? What, a spell book? A Bible? Exorcisms in Latin?”
“Shirley Jackson.”
“What?”
“Shirley Jac – oh, nevermind.”
Lance could not believe the guy. What kind of freak sneaks up in a reportedly haunted mansion by himself just to hang out? Before you say anything, it was not at all what Lance was doing too, he was an investigator. It was noble pursuit, contrary to whatever that goth wannabe, fingerless-gloves-wearing, hot-head-trespasser had going on. Guys like that were hopeless, gotta love’em.
Thank God Lance did not.
“Okay, mullet. Let’s just think. How do we get out of here before we kill each other?”
“Wow, we go directly for the kill?”
“I mean… yeah. You hate me, I hate you, we’re rocking that whole rivalry thing.”
“We what?”
“What, you didn’t know? But I – ”
But I spent three goddamned years trying to grab your attention, I tried my hardest just to be a little better than you, to impress you and fuck, I tried so hard to get some reaction from you, admiration or affection or anything and…
“… You know what?” said Lance as calmly as he could, “Forget it.”
Second floor, 11.04 pm.
Pidge was chilling on the living room couch when her phone went ping in her pocket. Ten bucks it’s Hunk begging for me to come and get him.
Hunk: please come get me
Hunk: im scared
Hunk: Pidge?
Pidge rolled her eyes with a fond smile, and reluctantly got up from the couch. It was pretty comfortable and she was starting to feel a nice numbness invade her muscles. Maybe she could convince Hunk to come back for a quick nap? Lance too, if they found him alive. She snorted. She still did not know what had made him scream so loud a while ago, but whatever it was, a bat, the wind, his own shadow, she would never let him live it down.
First floor, 11.09 pm.
“It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay… Just focus on your breath, that’s it.”
Hunk followed his own advice and focused on his shaky breath. He was slowly walking down the first floor corridor, and he swore something was watching him. And of course, Pidge was taking her sweet time. He wondered for the zillionth time how could she not be even a little scared. Lance was brave, but at least he got the chills too, but Pidge was unshakable, in a way, it was scarier than any kind of creature they could encounter.
Speaking of Pidge, Hunk was starting to hear her singing the Pokemon theme song as she walked in his direction. He had made her swear to loudly sing something since that one time when she had seemed to find very amusing to just sneak on him, say “BOO” and make him lose ten years of his life in the process.
“… Searching far and wide … teach Pokemon to understand…the power that's inside, Poke – oh, hey Hunk.”
“Of all the songs on God’s green Earth…”
Pidge crossed her arms over her chest, “Your point?”
They made their way back to the vestibule. Hunk’s gaze traveled up the main staircase, engulfed by the thick darkness hovering over them. “Do you think Lance is okay?”
“Yeah.” Pidge patted his shoulder with a little laugh, “whatever’s holding him must be even more upset by it than him.”
Third floor, 11.15 pm.
Keith was extremely upset.
He had to be. There was a knot in his throat, his skin was tingling, his insides were fluttering (no butterflies, bats, thank you very much) and he couldn’t form a coherent thought for the life of him.
Beside him, Lance had spent some time thinking hard, and had come up with the astonishing number of one solution: banging on the door until somebody hear them and rescue them.
It was a bad plan, but when Keith had pointed it, he had been received with a sharp “Got a better idea?”. He had said “no”. Like a liar. Keith had a much better idea, consisting in a hairpin concealed in his sleeve and his lockpick’s skills.
Any minute now, he’s gonna tell Lance, work a little of his magic, and get them out.
Lance was still banging on the door, and he had to stand close to Keith to do so, his jacket kept on brushing Keith’s red leather one.
Any minute now, really.
He did not care much about the heat, anyway, the heat sizzling between them, the way he could feel Lance’s breath curl around the shell of his ear, no, he did not care for that at all.
Any minute, I’m telling him and it’s over. And I’ll be glad.
And if in his effort Lance’s body came softly crashing into his, and if it is not the absolute most unpleasant thing in the world, well, that’s no one’s business, is it?
I’ll be fucking elated.
It had been a really good idea to hate Lance from the beginning. Because the alternative, the closeness, the wanting more closeness, god, that was unbearable. It was always here, in the corner of his mind, the possibility. It had bugged him for years, and right now, it was driving him insane. The hate is good. Anything else is out of the question. Whatever it is, into the grave it goes, with me.
“Fuck…”
Lance stopped his banging, catching his breath. Keith heard a small knock when his forehead went to rest on the wooden door. His cheek almost resting on Keith’s hair. Okay, say something. Anything.
“It’s huh… it’s okay. We’ll be okay.”
As soon as he said that, three things happened simultaneously. First, the room grew impossibly cold. Second, the floorboards of the corridor started creaking, just like… Well, that was also the third thing: someone was heavily breathing on the other side of the door.
“Maybe it’s my friends…”, said Lance in an extremely low voice.
“Then why are we whispering?”
“Because I’m scared out of my wits, aren’t you?”
Keith was going to answer with a genuine “no”, when something moved close to his left hand. A small yeeeek invaded their tiny room, and he felt Lance freeze against him. Without thinking, Keith wrapped an arm around the other boy and pulled him tight.
It was the doorknob. It was turning. Slowly. Very slowly.
And just like that, the door was open. Keith pushed it with his shoulder, maneuvering his armful of scared pretty boy. There was no one in the hallway, of that he was sure. Pretty sure. His boot kicked something, sending it rolling on the floor.
“My flashlight!”
Lance tore himself from his arms and Keith almost resisted it. He caught himself in time, and when a circle of light erupted in the corridor, he had schooled his features into a decent cold interest.
“Fiouu…” Lance seemed to have regained his cool. Now that he could see, Keith bitterly regretted the darkness. Lance’s eyes were glimmering with both terror and excitement, hair tousled and his stupidly up-turned nose and NO! I survived three years of this, I’ll survive one more night.
“Anything amiss?” Lance flashed his light in every corner, speaking to himself, “Cute lions on the wallpaper, the cobwebs on the ceilings, with their spiders, hello ladies… and… huh, Keith?”
“What?” he said more harshly than he intended it.
“That door in the corner, was it open when you came? Was it you that opened it? Because I could have sworn that – ”
The door closed itself.
Keith exchanged a glance with Lance. They instantly ran away.
“HOLLYYYYYY SHIIIT” Lance hollered as they bolted down the stairs. Keith was too occupied with running as fast as he could, which seemed to be faster than Lance.
“KEITH WAIT FOR MEEE!”
Keith blindly extended a hand behind him. To his surprise, Lance took it without hesitating. They arrived on the second floor’s landing, the flashlight in Lance’s hand was going bonkers, white lighting cutting every space in a black and white frenzy. Keith directed them to the nearest room.
They slammed the door shut and immediately looked for a piece of furniture, there! a heavy looking ebony table. Without a word, they both pushed it against the door. They only stopped to catch their breath when they had added a few chairs to their homemade barricade.
This room had windows, a fleeting but very welcome moonlight poured from them. One hand pressed to his hectic chest, Keith tried to calm himself. It was just a door. It’s going to be okay. He stole a glance at Lance. It’s not going to be okay.
Lance was on the verge of a full-on panic attack. His irises exploded in his eyes, his face blanched, his whole body shaking out of his control. Keith took a tentative step towards him, and Lance leapt into his arms. He was trembling so hard that Keith started trembling too. He was completely clueless. What do people do in the movies? He started patting Lance’s shoulders. It seemed to work, Lance progressively stopped whimpering in the crook of his neck. The pats evolved into long, deep strokes up and down the taller boy’s back.
“Try to breathe with me, okay?”
He felt Lance’s head nodding against his neck. Carrying on with his strokes, Keith started to forcefully slow his breathing rhythm, puffing and unpuffing his chest, and a sweet wave of relief enveloped him when he felt Lance imitating him little by little.
Then he noticed Lance’s hand. It was at the back of his neck, buried in his hair, softly tugging.
Oh. Keith pulled away a little, dislodging Lance’s head from the crook of his neck. That was dangerous, that was too dangerous. If Lance carried on with stuff like that, Keith would end up kissing him and surely Lance wouldn’t want that at all and it would be a disaster from start to finish, heck, it already was!
Lance looked at him in surprise, mixed with annoyance and something else that Keith did not have time to identify, for Lance closed his eyes, leaned towards him and kissed him.
Second floor, 11.43 pm.
I’m kissing Keith. Why am I kissing Keith? Leave me alone, me! I had a couple of stressful days and he’s right here and god it’s niiiicce…
Lance’s hand, the one that wasn’t currently holding on to Keith’s hair for dear life, snaked beneath his leather jacket to rest on the small of his back.
I’m not stopping, as long as he doesn't pull back I’m not stopping.
Second floor, 11.47 pm.
I’m not stopping like ever.
Keith kissed back with everything he had. Blood rushing in his ears, head reeling, he griped Lance and kissed with a vengeance.
Second floor, 11.58 pm.
Why didn’t I do this before? If I knew that all I had to do to wrap Kogane around my finger was a few smooches… Lance suddenly remembered the first day of high school, and that boy, sitting at the back of the classroom like some cliché anime protagonist, scowl on and messy hair. The things I wanted to do to you, I wanted it so much it was making me so mean.
Which makes me think…
Lance slipped his tongue into the other boy’s mouth, and could not help a triumphant smile when he felt him positively melt.
Second floor, 00.19 pm.
For how long have we been kissing?
But Keith overheated brain suppressed the coherent thought as fast as it came, replacing it with a vehement: Who cares?
Lance’s lips were so unbelievably soft, and the way he kissed, with a barely controlled fury, and his fucking tongue brushing against his… It was all so hot, almost burning. It all sent Keith’s mind down demented paths, he heard himself think: you are fire.
You’re fire made kissable.
Second floor, 00.27 pm.
“I swear I heard some noises.”
“Hunk, it’s an old house. Of course there are noises.”
It had taken considerable time, but Pidge had eventually convinced Hunk to accompany her back to the second’s floor living room for a snack break and possibly a nap.
But now Hunk was frozen in front of a door, voice quivering.
“It’s coming from here, Pidge… I swear, stuff is moving and there’s breathing too oh my god…”
“Hey…” Pidge scrambled her memory. If she was not mistaken… “Isn’t it the séance room?”
Which was apparently the worst thing to say. Hunk shrieked and jumped from the door to hide behind Pidge’s back, as ineffective as it was.
“Should we join in for some late-night séance?”
“Pidge, don’t!”
Pidge did. She knocked on the door, three times.
All hell broke loose behind that door, chairs scraping, loud talking, and was that a table being dragged on the floor? When the door opened, Hunk was expecting a raging poltergeist. Pidge on the other hand, was expecting Lance. What she did not expect, however, was to see beside him another boy, shorter, dark-haired, stepping into the light. They were both panting, disheveled, and passably pissed.
She opened her mouth but Lance said it first: “Okay, what the fuck?”
The Oriande mansion, 00.30 pm.
None of them got any explanation, for the second the words were uttered, a chilling gust of wind hurled down the corridor, howling like a pack of wolves, freezing them like a thousand winters.
They ran. In the blink of an eye, Lance found his hand clasped again in Keith’s, not that he was complaining. To be fair, in that moment, he had all but forgotten about the ghosts. All he could think about was someplace nice, secluded, and Keith, Keith, Keith.
“Keith!” he screamed as they were all madly running down the stairs, “These are my good two pals! The small girl is Pidge…”
“Enchanted!” Pidge cheered.
“… and the big guy is Hunk.”
“WE’RE GONNA DIE!!” yelled Hunk.
When they reached the vestibule, Lance turned around, just in time to catch a bright, purplish glow emanating from the second floor. Before he could say anything, Keith was pulling him out the front door, just after Pidge and Hunk. They left the door open and kept on running as fast as they could down the hill, until they reached the gate managed in the metal fence.
No time to catch their breaths. The sound of a siren tore the air, and bright colors assaulted their retinas.
“IT’S THE GHOSTS! THEY FOLLOWED US”, screamed Hunk.
“Fuck”, muttered Pidge. “It’s the police.”
It was the police.
Lance turned to Keith, who was still holding his hand, just in time to see him articulating: “Oh shit.”
On the way to the Police Station, 00.39 am.
Shiro had to admit, he was actually proud of his little brother. Which did not prevent him from arresting him and his friends and taking all of them to the police station. But at least Keith seemed to have made some friends.
The young police officer had awkwardly pushed all four of them in the backseat, and was now surveilling them on the drive back to the police station.
It had taken everything he had in him not to burst out laughing while eavesdropping their conservation.
“It’s like I said!”, the lanky one was agitated. And, Shiro could not help but notice, half sitting on his brother’s lap. “A purple glow, And I bet it was coming from the second floor!”
“Oh my god, do you think it was from the séance room? Maybe it’s what killed Lotor back then!”
The tiny girl rolled her eyes. “Or maybe it was just the police lights reflecting oddly, chill, Hunk.”
“Okay, then what about the cold spots?”
“We’re in the middle of fall and it’s cold?”
“Okay, then what about the doors closing? The footsteps? The sound of breathing?”
“Oh for fuck’s sake it was just the fucking wind!”
“Language!” Shiro felt forced to chime in. In the rearview mirror, his little shit of a brother had the audacity to glare at him. Shiro took advantage of a red traffic light to look closer and yes, Keith and the lanky latino boy were definitely holding hands. He raised his eyebrows at his brother, try me, bitch.
“Who are you, by the way?” the small girl said eventually.
Keith blinked, “Who, me?”
“No, the ghost chasing our car. Yes, you, emo boy.”
“I’m Keith, I’m…huh, Lance’s boyfriend? I think?”
No one would ever know the amount of strength it took Shiro to keep his cool.
Deep breaths, Officer Shirogane, deep breaths oh fuck I can’t wait to be home and bug the daylights out of him.
The lanky latino boy gulped audibly, but said, “Yeah. That.” Even from the front seat, Shiro could see a deep, crimson flush creeping up the boy’s neck. Aw, fuck it, it was Halloween anyway. Shiro pulled over, unbolted the car door and declared:
“Okay, I’m giving you five minutes to get the hell out of my way, I won’t repeat it.”
The four teenagers looked at each other, bewildered, before jumping out of the car and disappearing into the darkness, but not before Shiro had made sure Keith was still holding his boyfriend’s hand. He shook his head, chuckling to himself. I’m never letting him hear the end of it.
On the way to Lance’s house, 00.43 am.
They had stopped running, and were all now leisurely walking towards Lance’s house.
As the adrenaline retreated, Keith’s panic rose. What was he doing? He did not even know these people, apart from Lance and oh god, Lance, did he really mean it?
At that moment, Lance squeezed his hand.
“You’re okay?”
“Yes. I think, huh… maybe I should go home?”
“Oh.”
Lance’s eyebrows furrowed, and he pouted, which was just unfair.
“Well, I was just thinking…” He scratched his head before gesturing to his friends walking just ahead of them. “We’re having our usual post-shooting party at my house, with guacamole and my mom’s waffles and maybe a scary movie or something? What I’m trying to say is: wanna tag along?”
His eyes were so pleading, and Keith found that he was already smiling.
“Yeah, I’d like that.”