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Tubbo hated ghost shows. Some of them were fine, he could tolerate watching them. Usually the best ones were filled with skeptics and rationalists, who like Tubbo, didn’t believe in the supernatural. But the others were so annoying. He’d sit there, feeling like a prisoner to the room as the spiritbox on TV choked out the words “lo ng de.ad” and “ wh. o’s the-re.” And then the hosts would hoot and holler and shake the camera as if the dead woman from 1957 just shook their hand. Fucking morons.
There were so many fake experiences and tools you may as well be playing “Charlie, Charlie” but that spiritbox was the worst offender. Mixing technology with your paranormal bullshit? Fuck you. You spit on science, and Tubbo hates you.
So when Quackity, his ‘cool’ neighbor, knocked on his door, Tubbo thought he was joking.
“You cannot be serious. I’m not building you a spirit box.”
Quackity waved his hand. “You’re not.”
“I’m not?”
Quackity smiled. “You’re building me a fake one.”
That got Tubbo’s attention. Quackity handed him $40 and laid out the ideals: Tubbo would build Quackity a spirit box replica that played pre-recorded audio when you’d turn the dial to certain ‘frequencies’ and play radio static for the rest of the time. Essentially it was nothing more than a toy. A scam.
That won Tubbo over.
“Nice work,” Quackity surmised when, as requested, Tubbo showed up at Quackity’s that morning with the aforementioned spirit box. He twirled it in his hands as if he were inspecting a fine piece of machinery (it was a hunk of junk by Tubbo standards,) and told him to come back later that day. “Meet the crew,” he said.
What Tubbo should’ve known: do not trust Scammers to give you Benefits. They would Never.
What Tubbo did instead: followed Quackity into the Woods like a Little Stupid Lamb and asked Quackity, “So where’s your crew?”
“What?”
“Your team? Your actors?”
“Well, one guy’s out sick... The other guy just didn’t wanna film...”
Tubbo narrowed his eyes. “What are you saying?”
Quackity slapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome to the team!”
Ohhh, the floor opened under Tubbo and swallowed him whole.
Metaphorically. Realistically he stood there outraged until Quackity noticed Tubbo. “Look, I know—“
“I DON’T KNOW THE FIRST THING ABOUT FILMMAKING—“
“It’s not really filmmaking—“
“OR VIDEO MAKING OR WHATEVER—“
“Tubbo.” Quackity locked his arms on Tubbo’s shoulders and turned Tubbo to face him fully. “You are the only person I know who can film this.”
“...No, I’m fucking not!!” Tubbo squawked.
Quackity sighed. “No, you’re not. But I need someone, and you’re the only person here.”
Tubbo wasn’t convinced.
“There’s another $40 on top of this,” Quackity said with a grimace. When Tubbo looked at least a little swayed by the extra money, Quackity slapped him on the shoulder as if the conversation were already over. “Attaboy, alright we’re only gonna need fifteen minutes of footage.” He stepped back and held out his hands to frame the shot. “Turn the camera on.”
With no direct say in this matter and already holding the camera, Tubbo obliged.
“Is it in night mode?”
“Night mode?”
“Is the video green?”
He finally looked through the viewfinder, finding a fully green Quackity, like all those stupid videos he hated. “Wow! This sucks!”
He spun the camera around, looking at every tree and rock with this newfound power of hardcore sucking, and Quackity chuckled. “You’ve never used night mode before?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s called night vision but no! I guess I haven’t!” He spun it around a few more times.
“How’s the picture? Is it clear?”
“I don’t know, I think so. I’m just the cameraman. Speaking of which, bossman—“ Tubbo, now having fiddled with the camera and gotten into his role, pointed the camera at Quackity shoes. “We’re headed into the forest right?”
“Are you filming already—?” Quackity turned to his shoes. “I—Yeah?”
“You wanna tuck those pants into your socks? Don’t want ticks and fleas biting at you, do you?”
Quackity rolled his eyes and knelt down to tuck his pants in. Tubbo snickered and zoomed in on Quackity’s scuffed up shoes. Quackity huffed. “I can see the red light, Tubbo.”
Tubbo turned off the camera with a frown.
After Quackity’s pants were officially tucked in, they moved deeper and deeper into the forest. Fortunately for Quackity’s footage, Tubbo scared easily. And while he was a man of fact and didn’t believe in ghosts, he wasn’t great with the dark. Well, the dark of your house is fine—Maybe not Tubbo’s house but most other people’s houses. The dark of the forest was not fine, even when having accounted for ticks.
“How well can you see? Scale of one to ten?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Tubbo answered. “Maybe a six I think.”
“Turn that knob on the right.” Quackity directed. “You need to be able to see the box.”
“Now that I think of it,” Tubbo mused. “Couldn’t you have just faked it with a prop?”
“Tubbo,” Quackity announced with confidence. “This is far, far more believable video with your freaky little contraption.”
Tubbo was quite pleased to hear that. “It is quite freaky.”
As Tubbo fiddled with the knob, Quackity stopped smiling and spun the flashlight behind him. Tubbo turned around, but there was no one there. “What?”
After a moment of scrutiny, Quackity shook his head. “I thought I saw someone.”
Tubbo forcibly laughed. “Don’t say that, man.”
“What?” Quackity said with an air of amused disbelief. “I thought you were a skeptic.”
“Doesn’t mean there can’t be people in the woods!”
“What, like hunting us?”
“Shut up, man!” Tubbo barked, half-joking. He was laughing, but he was ready to run out on this shoot if so provoked.
Quackity laughed a little and stepped back to look at the sky. It had gotten solidly dark outside, and if not for Quackity’s flashlight, Tubbo couldn’t see much of anything. He surmised it to be dark enough and nodded at Tubbo. Tubbo turned the camera back on.
Quackity was an alright actor. Alright. The spirit box was doing most of the lifting.
“..L os .tt...” The spirit box choked out. “Whe .re are y ou?”
Quackity held a hand to his mouth. “Dudeee... Did you hear that?”
“Maybe it said something else.” Tubbo wondered what time it was. “After all, it’s just a dumb old spirit box.”
“No, I’m sure it...” Quackity flicked the dial a little more. The spirit box repeated itself. “Whe .re are you?”
Quackity screamed and jumped as if he were genuinely scared. They’d gotten through five, and there were seven altogether on the track. So, thankfully they were almost done.
Quackity leaned into the spirit box and cleared his throat. “Can you hear us?”
“I ca.n hear you.” Quackity stilled. Tubbo lowered the camera. The planned line was just another spook instigator, “Buried somewhere” Albeit in a broken spirit box voice. Quackity looked at Tubbo. Tubbo had no idea what was going on.
Quackity turned back to the box. “Sorry, what?”
“Yo u.. are her e. Alone.”
It was the same gruff voice. Tubbo laughed, almost in disbelief. “What the fuck?”
Quackity hit it a few times, and it ran one of their lines from earlier in the video, but it cut off halfway through. Again, that voice choked out, “I ca.n hear you.”
“Okay!” Quackity hollered, dropping the spirit box as if it were burning him. “That’s not a fucking fake!”
“How?! It’s not even a radio!”
“Bro. ken bodies,” the spirit box croaked. “Alone.”
“Bodies?!” Tubbo sputtered.
Quackity was pale, unmoving. They had no trail, no compass, Tubbo wasn’t sure how they planned to make it out of the woods at all.
“Quackity...” Tubbo whispered. He grabbed the blue sports jacket.
The spirit box murmured. “Qua ck...”
They needed to get out of this forest right fucking now.
“Al l. Alone.”
Someone grabbed Tubbo. And Tubbo screamed.
From the opposite side of the woods, a light flashed in Quackity’s eyes. “What the fuck?”
“You fucking idiots,” Schlatt said and let go of Tubbo’s shoulder. Tubbo dropped the camera.
“Schlatt, what the fuck?!” Quackity screamed. Tubbo raised a hand to either his neck or his heart and tried to calm his breathing.
“I really had you going, holy shit!” Schlatt moved to pick up the spirit box and dusted it off. “I can’t believe it!”
A red-headed figure with a fox mask put the flashlight back in their pocket and moved past Quackity. They picked up the camera in front of Tubbo and stepped away.
After a few moments of breathlessness, Tubbo rasped, “Are you—are you serious?!”
No one paid much attention. Schlatt roped an arm around Quackity, while Schlatt’s friend turned the camera on the both of them. “Ahh, finally got a real scare, Quackity! None of that fake shit!”
Quackity opened his mouth. And closed it.
Tubbo took a couple more deep breaths. “All of that was for your channel?”
I mean, of course it was. Quackity paid Tubbo $40 just to give him a little fun house trip and get a few minutes of footage. Right, who gives a fuck?
Quackity tried to move out of Schlatt’s grip. “Tubbo, man, I swear—”
“Fuck this!” Tubbo turned and marched whatever direction he could. Quackity shouted from behind him, Tubbo walked farther. His chest shook and his breath was skipping uncontrollably. When he got too far, a hand came for his shoulder. Tubbo swung into the open air.
“Oh shit!” Schlatt yelled, almost too happily, as Quackity hit the ground. Tubbo could still see the red light in the dark. Tubbo’s body was still shaking, his breath uneven, and he couldn’t think. Well, maybe he could think, and he thought his neighbor Quackity was a piece of shit.
His supposedly cool neighbor Quackity that he’d known since sixth grade. His neighbor who dragged him out here at fucking god knows whatever time. And Tubbo wasn’t very good with words.
“Fu—Fuck—” His breath was catching on itself. His face was feeling warm.
“Are you okay, kid?”
Tubbo tried not to think about the red blinking light in front of him and walked away. He assumed they weren’t going to stop him this time.
Schlatt patted Quackity on the shoulder as Fundy turned off the camera. “How much does it hurt? Scale of one to ten?”
“Fuck you,” Quackity finally had the mind to say. “What the hell was that?”
Schlatt held out a hand, helping Quackity up and handing him the fake spirit box. “Fundy jail-broke your box, and we just... Routed new lines your way. It was his idea.”
Fundy furrowed his brow. “No, it wasn’t!”
“Ahhh, no it wasn’t,” Schlatt said without much argument. “But it was funny! You were scared shitless!”
“I...” Quackity held his jaw. His head was spinning. “Yeah, I guess.”
Schlatt shoved him a little. “There we go!” He said, dragging out the words. “I think we did you a favor.”
Schlatt looped an arm around Quackity’s shoulder again. Quackity didn’t fight it.