Chapter Text
Oh, this was bad. This was really, really bad.
Ta’Laysia had given you some clue as to the renovations that this house needed. The wallpaper needed replacing, the pipes were leaking, the wooden floors needed new planks. Most houses that you fixed up needed those things - and usually much more than that, certainly. But never in your wildest dreams could he have imagined the filth, disrepair, and decay that lay behind that graffiti-covered door.
A wave of stale, humid air wafted out from the house, carrying with it the distinct smell of bodily fluids, both human and animal. You gingerly step inside, covering his nose with the collar of your shirt. Your foot did not meet wood, however, but the top-most layer of a vast wasteland of clothing, plaster chipped away from the walls, trash, and whatever else the squatters that frequented this house managed to drag in.
Though you were not necessarily the most experienced in home renovation, you had seen enough dilapidated domiciles to know that this was not your average abandoned house. This was one strong gust of wind away from being a garbage heap on the corner of Warner and Cherrywood.
You stepped into one of the clearest corners of the foyer and began typing furiously on your phone, one hand still keeping your shirt over your nose.
A fixer-upper, huh? Really?
After a few moments, there was a response: a crying-laughing emoji.
My PPEs at the office, Ta’Laysia!
An arm flexing emoji, followed by: Eh, you’ll be fine...asbestos will put hair on your chest lol.
I can’t even see the floor! It’s covered in trash!
Yeah it’s pretty nasty in there...a whole overhaul.
I can’t do this all by myself! We’ll need a fumigator, a trash collector, an electrician – at least!
Hey hey you’re not doing it by yourself. I mean a lot of it yeah, but I’ve got some friends you can call for really complicated stuff. And me, duh.
I can barely screw in a lightbulb without your help!
Just look it up on CrewsTube! They’ve got all kinds of tutorials...you can do pretty much anything yourself now. Think of it like a big personal project. You always said you wanted to get out of the house anyway...this is it!
Yeah, to go bowling! Or walking in the park! Not getting lung damage!
It’s for the good of the neighborhood! And who knows, maybe once you fix it up you can live there instead of that gross apartment.
It’s not gross! It’s practical!
Two words...shower mold.
It’s not mold! It’s just condensation!
That’s what the mold wants you to think. It’s controlling your brain!
Well, my brain mold is telling me to get back in my truck and drive back home.
Okay okay fine...how about I get you some takeout. On me.
Double order of spring rolls?
And a two liter of dr peak.
Damn. Okay, I’ll take a look.
Call me when you have a general layout.
You sigh, putting the phone back in your pocket. Ta’Laysia could convince you to commit murder if it meant not eating instant ramen for the second week in a row.
You do your best to maneuver around the piles of junk, trying to wrap your head around where to begin first. In a moment of dazed indecision, you try to open the door nearest to you. Unfortunately, there is some resistance behind it. You guess that, like the rest of the house, the floor in front of the door is also piled high with garbage. You put your shoulder into it, bumping against the door to make some path for entry.
Finally, with a sudden jerk, the door swings in, making you stumble in. You managed to not lose your balance – that bruise to your ego and your knees may have caused you to quit all together – but you did fall against something, hard. Though the lights didn’t work, the sunlight streaming through the broken windows let you see what looked like a long-underworked office. Reams upon reams of paper littered the ground, bookshelves were full of trash and ripped up books, and an empty desk stood in the middle of it all, anything valuable taken from it long ago.
It was the desk that had saved your fall. Even in its broken state, the piece of furniture supported you as you stood straight again, surveying what work needed to be done. Cleaning the floor, replacing the windows, a completely new floor, plaster for the walls...it was all making your head spin. The undertaking that you had promised to take started to sink in.
A flare of panic rose in your chest. This was impossible! One room like this would take a team of people to fix up – much less an entire house!
You took out your phone. You had to call Ta’laysia, tell her that you couldn’t do this. Not even for all the spring rolls and soda in the world.
However, before you could press the dial button, a sudden scratching noise startled you. You looked around, searching for the source – yes! There it was again!
It was coming from the desk, from inside a small drawer on the left side. Your skin began to crawl – it sounded like a mouse, or worse, a rat! Part of you wanted to leave the drawer closed until the noise stopped. However, you also couldn’t stand the thought of an animal slowly suffocating to death while you listened. With your heart in your throat, you put a hand on the knob, took a deep, shaking breath, and jerked open the drawer, already jumping back to prepare for a flurry of angry claws and teeth.
Much to your relief, there wasn’t the furious animal that you were expecting inside the desk. But, much to your confusion, there was something else nestled between pieces of crumbled paper and pencil shavings.
It was a pair of sunglasses – and by the looks of it, a pretty nice pair. The rims were a dull gray, but the lenses were a beautiful orangey pink, like a sunset on the sea. The item evoked an image of some 90’s crime show, with a pair of steely blue eyes staring over them. Anyone would buy these at some gift shop or dollar store. In fact, its only flaw was a large crack running down one of these lenses.
For some reason, you felt a strange affinity for the object, as if you had found a shivering kitten instead of a pair of sunglasses. You gently cleaned the dust of the lenses with the corner of your shirt and blew off the cobwebs that had collected between the temples. With a small amount of hesitation, you laid the sunglasses on your nose and past your ears. You almost wished you had a mirror to look at yourself in. You were sure you looked like a dork, but you chose to believe you looked like a cold detective or a charming motorcyclist.
The color from the lenses had almost seeped into the world around you. Everything was so...bright. The mess around you almost seemed to sparkle. A sudden feeling of optimism washed over you. Maybe this could all work out after all! It would be you and these sunglasses against the world!
You strutted out of the office with a new sense of vigor, looking at the dilapidated house with this sparkling splash of color. You walked into the dining room, making a mental note of the things you needed to pick up at the office before the next day. As you turned to leave, you saw a shiny blue glint from the dining room table.
As you drew closer, you recognized the shape almost immediately: a toolbox! You brushed off the old newspapers and clothes covering it. It certainly wasn’t new. The metal was scraped and dented, with the rubbed off parts speckled with rust. The plastic handle was cracked down the middle, the two pieces twisted in different directions.
You started to unlatch the toolbox, trying not to damage more than it already had been. If there were any tools left in it, you could start fixing things right away. If not, it would still be great to carry the tools you already had. There were only so many hammers and screwdrivers you could carry in your pockets.
Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light that almost brought you to your knees. You tried to squint through stinging eyes, but all you could see was an imprint on the back of your eyelids. You stumbled blindly forward, trying to grasp at anything to guide you. Much to your surprise, what your fingers touched was warm. Warm and sweaty.
Your eyes were finally able to flutter open.
A tan muscular man in torn overalls was suddenly standing before you, his tattooed arms on his hips.
“Hey, hey, hey, hands of the merchandise, fucko!”
The man slapped your hand off his stomach – you were thankful you hadn't gone lower. He glared at you through the greasy black hair hanging in front of his eyes.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doin’ here, but you’d better vamoose, or I’m callin’ Dorian!”
You stammered and spluttered, apologizing profusely. You had no idea who this man was or where he came from, but whatever the case, he was spitting mad. However, the man’s expression had changed now. Instead of red-hot anger, it had shifted into a mixture of disbelief and apprehension.
“Wait, hold on. Time out.”
The man put his hands on your shoulders, gripping them tight.
“You can...see me?”
He waved a calloused hand in front of your face, and when you winced, his eyes widened.
“You...you can really see us.”
Your thoughts were racing. Did Ta’Laysia send someone, and if she did, why were they acting so strange? Maybe to mess with you? I mean, she was all for pulling pranks, but this seemed too much, even for her.
You tentatively asked the man if Ta’Laysia sent him. He furrowed his eyebrows.
“Who the hell-? No! I live here!”
A wave of realization hit you. No one had checked the house before you had arrived...this must be one of the few squatters who still stuck around. And now he had you by the shoulders. You tried your best to keep calm, dusting off your customer service voice from your real estate days. You explained you were here to fix the house, and that you hadn’t meant to scare him.
The man scoffed.
“Yeah, yeah, ‘fix’. I’ve heard that before. Listen, I’ve just got everybody in okay shape. I don’t need some bozo who needs to make a few bucks smashing everything up again. There ain’t nothing left to steal, so scram!”
The man let go of you with some force, almost throwing you away from him. After brushing yourself off, you gently continue, saying that you work for a small company that renovates neighborhood houses. You weren’t here to steal anything, least of all anything that belonged to him, and that today’s visit was mostly to scope out the place.
Your customer service experience worked its magic, and you saw the man’s shoulders relax.
“Huh. You’re really here to fix the place?”
He fidgeted with the one fastened trap on his torn overalls.
“Well, I’m still gonna keep a close eye on you. You start tearing anyone up, I’ll pound you.”
You nod, ignoring the odd phrasing of his statement. Something told you it was best not to question the stranger right now. Instead, you ask a simpler question: what his name was.
“Tony. Not that it’s any of your business.”
You tell him yours, and that he is more than welcome to stay in the house for a while until the more unsafe renovation was underway, and that Ta’Laysia could find him somehwere to stay after that. The neighborhood had a great housing program.
To your surprise, Tony laughed and gave you a wry smile.
“You still don’t get it, do you? You seriously don’t know who I am?”
You squinted your eyes, trying to remember anyone you knew named Tony. You surely would have remembered him if you’d met before. If not for his personality, then his stunning figure would have done the trick. After a while, you gave up, shaking your head.
Tony rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighing.
“Shit, Skylar’s usually here to explain this stuff...”
Tony bit his lip and moved his head back and forth, as if trying to roll up his thoughts into one cohesive ball.
“Alright, this is gonna sound real crazy. But here goes...”
He sighed.
“I am, uh...this house’s toolbox.”
You blinked. Was this some sort of slang you weren’t used to? You asked if that meant he was a handyman, or...?
Tony blew a few hairs out of his eyes.
“No, kid. I meant I am literally the toolbox. I’m if...a person was a toolbox...? Damn, Skylar had a fancy word for this...”
He rolled his eyes and pointed at your face.
“Those sunglasses? They let you see the soul of an object. So when they’re off? Regular, shitty toolbox. But you put ‘em on..”
He made a sweeping motion towards himself.
“You get somethin' a little less shitty. Get it?”
No. No, you didn’t get it. What was this guy talking about? Was this some kind of trend? A prank? Maybe he was one of those people that believed everything had a soul? Or perhaps he was just on drugs and talking nonsense. But, during the entire time you were talking to him, Tony seemed very lucid.
A horrible thought crossed your mind. What if Tony was just insane? As much as you respected people with mental illness, you were in no way equipped to help someone with psychosis. All the medical knowledge you had was the suicide prevention training you had taken years ago and the song “Keepin’ Alive” stuck in your head from CPR class.
Tony seemed to notice your disbelief, and folded his lips.
“Alright, alright, I get it. You need a demonstration.”
Tony sighed.
“I hate his fuckin’ guts, but if you’re really going to fix this house, you need to know everything about everybody. And unfortunately, there’s only one guy who’s nose is far enough up everybody’s ass to get you that info.”
He pointed at the table. Sitting above the trash and filth was a rusty candelabra, with only one almost completely melted candlestick overflowing out of the capital.
“I need you to focus on that candlestick really hard, alright? He should make his grand entrance.”
You turned your attention to the candelabra. You noticed the flecks of silver peeling off, the empty sconces, and what looked to be burn marks tarnishing what little untouched metal was left...
WHOOOSH!
Another bright light filled the room, and the smell of burnt wax filled your nose. Before your senses could even adjust, however, you heard a shrill voice echo through the room.
“Candlestick?! CANDLESTICK?!”
You heard Tony’s voice reply.
“Oh, god, Scandalabra, don’t get your precious panties in a wad...”
You finally squinted your eyes open.
Yet another person had appeared in front of you. This time, it was a rather tall, gaunt man wearing what looked like old nobleman’s clothes, with a tattered silver coat, wrinkled chest ruffles, stained leggings, and patterned breeches. He was even wearing a white wig – though it looked almost deflated. The man’s waxy face was bright red as he stomped on the ground with a black pointed shoe.
“I am a CANDELABRA!” he screeched. “Not a candlestick! Not a chandelier! Not a lantern! CAN-DEL-A-BRA!”
With each syllable, the smell of wax became stronger and stronger, until, much to your surprise, a large, hot flame ignited on top of the man’s head, flaring up in his fury. Tony, though, seemed unbothered by Scandalabra’s outburst...or the giant fire now inches from his face.
“What’s the difference? They both have candles in ‘em.”
Scandalabra ground his teeth, practically shaking.
“Candlesticks have ONE! ONE LABRA! Candelabras...”
He jerked his hands in front of Tony’s face.
“HAVE THREE! FOR THREEEE CANDLES!”
Tony smirked. He seemed to take pleasure in riling Scandalabra up.
“But you’ve only got one candle.”
He shrugged.
“I guess you’re a candlestick until you get two more, huh?”
Scandalabra’s already red face darkened into a maroon, his flame reaching higher and higher above his head. He tried to speak, but all that came out were enraged squeaks between gritted teeth. Suddenly, you watched all the color drain out of the candelabra’s face, and his eyes grow glassy.
“I...oooh...”
Scandalbra’s voice trailed off, and he began to sway. Tony grabbed one his arms to keep him from falling.
“Aw, shit...”
Tony led Scandalabra to a nearby chair, helping him sit. You asked Tony what happened, and if there was anything you could do.
“God, I just...he’s just gotta cool off. He gets this way when he’s low on wax. Which I guess is all the time. At least now.”
Tony fanned Scandalabra’s face with his hand, and soon, the candelabra seemed to recover somewhat.
“C-Candelabra, I tell you...”
Tony patted his shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it, Scandy. Jesus.”
Scandalabra straightened, rubbing his head. Nothing was left of his flame but a whisp of smoke. Tony blew on the smoke until it disappeared.
“Listen...”
Scandalabra held up a hand. His voice crackled as he spoke.
“I have no words to exchange with you, layman. If you burn me out...”
Tony gestured to you.
“Me and this human are gonna fix this house. And we need your help.”
Scandalabra suddenly looked at you, finally noticing your presence. He lifted his chin, examining you.
“Are they...? Or rather, can they...?”
Tony nodded, grinning.
“And all we need is all the dirt you’ve got.”
Scandalabra, despite his exhaustion still managed to arch his brow with a very offended look.
“It is not dirt. I’ll have you know that it’s all highly sought after information. Any object can shovel dirt.”
He put a hand on his chest.
“Only the truly skilled among us can shine light on the truth.”
Tony rolled his eyes.
“Dirt, gossip, information, whatever. Look, I’ve only fixed up some of the objects in the house, and a lot of ‘em have gotten lost since then. We just need to know where to find them.”
Scandalabra searched both of your faces for a long while, then turned away, giving a sideways, coy glance.
“I shall. However, I require something first.”
Tony scoffed, but you are more patient. You ask what Scandalabra wants.
“I would like one...no, three candles. One for each sconce.”
He gestured to his wig, which, upon closer inspection, you realize is made of wax.
“I cannot illuminate the truth if I have no light. Provide me that – and perhaps a few other things in the coming days – and I’ll give you whatever information you wish.”
You agree, though hesitantly. Candles aren’t too difficult to find...it was the other favors you were worried about. But based on Tony’s desperate look, you didn’t have any other choice.
Scandalabra, satisfied, waved his hand to dismiss you.
“That will be all.”
Tony started to open his mouth to argue, but thought better of it. With another flash of light, Scandalabra was gone, leaving only a disgusted Tony behind. He muttered to himself, making furtive glances towards the candelabra.
“...fuckin’ hate him...not even real silver...piece of shit...”
Your head was buzzing. Before, you thought that maybe Scandalabra was another squatter living in the house. But there was no explanation for the flame on his head, no explanation for the light, no explanation for him disappearing in seconds flat.
Maybe Ta’Laysia was right. Maybe the mold was messing with your head.
But for now, you had the livid personification of a toolbox to deal with, whether a mold-induced hallucination or not.
You ask Tony the next step is, since you don’t have any tools. Tony rubbed his neck and exhaled slowly through his nose.
“Usually Skylar makes you talk to at least a few other people before she lets you take the glasses off...”
Tony shrugged.
“But Abel’s leg is real bad today, and he needs me to look at it. We can pick this up tomorrow, yeah?”
You begin to take the glasses off, but Tony stops you.
“And, for the love of god, bring the fuckin’ candles.”
You agree, finally taking the glasses off. Tony disappears, replaced by the old toolbox again. Darkness and dust fills your vision again, but that airy feeling sticks with you until you left the house to pick up Ta’Laysia’s promised Chinese food.
If there was a night you needed take-out, it was tonight.