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The livestream began.
The screen was black.
A string of red lights turned on, looped in front of the screen, lighting up a notecard with "A Spooky Stream" in shaky cursive. An old plastic watch was nudged beside the card, tipping slightly with its weight, so that it stood slant as the minutes counted down, ticking one second at a time.
A wave of the usual emojis flashed by in the chat, hearts and smiles, turtles and fireworks. Then there was a flurry of question marks and exclamation emojis. Nothing could be typed out.
Without the usual questions and injokes to distract themselves, the chat grew aware of the sounds from offscreen—glass cracking. The sound of doors being opened. Thunder, but at a distance, as if hearing it a mile off.
Someone was chanting.
kyo dai yo ka e ri ku re
The red string lights flickered. The chant continued.
ra ha e ru yo
The chat, with nothing else to do and used to Michelangelo's shenanigans, posted music and dancing emojis in time to the chant.
Finally the hand ticked nine pm.
The screen shuddered. The lights and the notecard disappeared into gloom, and then the screen focused on Michelangelo, holding his tablet at arm's length just a little above his head. From this angle, they saw the small cuts above his eye, the bruising over his mouth and jaw, the bandages over his whole right arm and hand, cuts left untreated over his front and—
"Um, hi there, everyone," he said, pushing a smile an angling the tablet so they only saw his face. "Tonight's gonna be a bit different than usual."
Emojis—hearts, smiles, questions, worried faces.
"Sorry, no chat tonight," he said. "Don't think I can handle questions. If, um, if you saw the smoke by the bridge, that was us—"
He choked, masking it with a cough.
Car emojis followed, and cursing emojis.
"We just got back. Had to rush to set up for the stream."
Eye emojis came, lingering on the screen, with water drops following.
Michelangelo took a deep breath, steadying himself. He'd been blinking too fast. With a deliberate steadying of his shoulders, he visibly forced himself to calm down.
"So tonight's a tour of the lair," he said, switching the tablet's camera to face the wall and the red string lights. "We're gonna go slow. And if we're…if we're lucky, there's gonna be some, uh, some spooky stuff. Just stay with me, huh? And, uh, if you can get any friends…bring 'em in, huh? We're need as many people as we can get. Tonight…"
Michelangelo pressed his hand to his mouth, forcing a cough. He took another breath.
"Tonight we see a ghost."
He turned, careful to keep the tablet aimed at the wall, the corner, the red string lights along the ceiling. In the lurid glow, the bricks looked more like ancient stones slick with damp.
"The lair's usually dry," Michelangelo said. "But the storm's got it kinda flooded above us. Donny keeps everything sealed, but even he can't keep out everything. S'okay, though, he said the rain's good for…for what we're doing."
He tilted the tablet, giving them a good view of the red lights.
"Red for harmony and health," he said. "It's so red in here. Just for tonight."
He straightened the tablet, showing them the first door—a sliding lattice of wood and paper that was trying to look Japanese but now looked crooked and peeled in spots.
"That's Splinter's room," Michelangelo said. "It's locked now. We made the door for him ages ago. It's kinda messy, but he never let us fix it up. I think he missed us being kids."
He walked slowly one way, keeping focused on the wall. They focused on a mirror with a crack along the middle and a dark smear down the glass. Red and orange spots of light glowed in the distance, impossible to make out clearly. Around the mirror, the string lights gave the hint of Michelangelo's outline in the reflection.
"There's gonna be a few mirrors like this," Michelangelo said. "Darkish. Don said they're important."
The wall gave way with jagged edges of bricks and an open space behind them. The red lights didn't extend into the space. Only the tablet's dim glow highlighted the edges of a mat, a weapons rack holding staffs, sais, nunchucks. Two swords lay on the floor, unsheathed.
"That's the dojo," Michelangelo said. "It's not usually dark. Donny wired it up. But not tonight. Um. The storm. Don't wanna fry the wires, right? And Leo left his swords out. He usually doesn't. Tonight's…well. Tonight's weird."
Michelangelo walked by a clay pot holding sand, the sticks inside half-burned and cold.
"That's supposed to be lit."
They came out of the dojo, and Michelangelo kept the tablet aimed at the wall. The red lights made it easier to see inside the kitchen as he lingered at the doorway. The teapot stood on the stove, cold, and the cups on the counter were upside down. In the sink, the faucet dripped steadily.
"The kitchen's always a mess," Michelangelo said, a little apologetically. "Four teenage boys, right?"
He turned away. The chat had the brief view of a dining table, one table leg too short and resting on a stack of books, and five mismatched chairs—wicker, plastic, wood. Michelangelo kept walking, passing another cracked mirror framing red lights in its darkened reflection. He passed a metal door with rusted edges.
"That's Raph's room," Michelangelo said. "It's locked. It's…we're hoping...uh."
Emojis streamed by in the chat—red drops, red squares, turtles and ninjas, question marks. He ignored them and kept going.
The next door was wide open, but he stayed at the doorway, leaning in, holding the tablet in as far as he could. Rows of metal shelves held tools, looped wires, and canisters with white labels and neat writing—nails, screws, washers. The edge of the van with its tail light exposed at an odd angle flashed into view and back into darkness.
"This is the garage," Michelangelo said. "The van's kinda busted right now. That was part of what happened tonight."
He kept going, passing another mirror and lights.
"It's so red in here."
wa re mi chi o to mo su
The chanting sounded like it was in another room, fading further as they came to the next door. Michelangelo leaned in, and the tablet's glow barely lit up a concrete floor.
"This one's Donny's room. He keeps everything in the lab farther back so me and Raph…so me and Raph don't bust anything when we come in. Sorry it's kinda all dark, but I don't think we're gonna get anything weird in here. It's just all the doors have to be open."
The next door was also wide open, and the tablet's glow reflected off the mirror, blinding them briefly with the glare until Michelangelo tilted it so that they could see several shower stalls and several sinks. The tiles were old, several were cracked, but the grout was clean and shimmered with a trickle of moisture from the shower heads.
"Yeah, the bathroom," Michelangelo said, chuckling weakly, without any humor. "The toilets're hard to see. The storm's got the showers kinda leaking, but it's done that before."
Past the corner, he aimed the tablet to follow the string lights before stopping at another door. He leaned in, slowly turning the tablet so they could see the bookshelves, the mat in the middle of the floor, the red lantern hanging in the corner glowing a deep crimson.
"Leo's room," Michelangelo said. "Kinda boring. I got him the lantern so he didn't have to use candles, but then he barely uses it. Except tonight. And finally…"
He came back out, careful again to keep the tablet facing the wall, and showed them the last door, walking in a few steps. There were empty pizza boxes in the middle of the floor, spare nunchucks, several comic books, two dumbbell weights, and a game console hooked to a tv at the foot of the bed.
"Yeah, it's a mess. Donny said not to clean it up tonight, though. That the mess helps. I dunno what it means, but you don't argue with him and Leo when they get an idea in their heads."
He came out, glancing at the chat. Emojis—turtles, ninjas, hearts, and question marks—flew by as the viewcount rose, and he smiled despite himself.
"Wow, that's…a lot more viewers than we usually get. Thanks for helping us get those. We need everyone we can get. Uh…lemme ask them if we keep this going."
He glanced toward the middle of the room. His expression went from questioning to resolve, and he nodded once.
"Yeah, Don says keep going. So…okay. Let's go again. I'll try to keep it fresh. Hopefully…"
He choked again, then coughed. "Hopefully we see a ghost."
Ghost emojis tumbled through the chat. Then, as the chanting grew louder, the chat produced music notes and question marks.
fu ru sa to e ka e re
Michelangelo turned the screen to better face the red string lights along the wall as he started again.
"So this is Splinter's room," he said, facing the paper door. "We don't go in there. I mean, we didn't usually go in, anyway. But definitely not now anymore."
He passed the mirror, walking into the dojo. "Gotta make sure I don't trip. It's weird to see it like this. Hell, Leo goes nuts if we leave his swords out."
Sweeping the tablet's light along the floor, the shadows scattered and revealed old blood stains, scattered throwing stars lying flat, and a spilled box of incense sticks. Several small puddles dotted the floor.
"That must've been Leo," Michelangelo said. "He hates messes, but he went through the lair like a whirlwind."
Where the cushion lay for their master to sit, two sticks stood straight up in a clay vase of sand.
"That's supposed to be lit," he said.
As he walked out, the chat added several waterdrop emojis.
"Huh?" He glanced back at the floor. "Oh. It's rainwater. I mean, the ceiling isn't leaking…" He held the tablet up, shining light on the pipes overhead. "Nope. Must've been Leo. We, uh, we weren't thinking of drying off when we got home."
Out of the dojo, into the kitchen. The faucet dripped into the sink with a deeper note, and Michelangelo looked in. The drain had backed up, and the drip was slowly accumulating.
"Ugh, something else to fix," he sighed. "Donny's job, but he gets so pissed when he has to fix stuff like this. We're gonna have an inch of water on the floor, probably."
He came out to the table and chairs, careful to angle the screen away from the center of the lair. The red lights strung along the ceiling hung low, haphazardly danging on pipes and nails in the wall.
"There's Raph's room. It's locked," he said. "And there's the garage. The van's still dripping."
He leaned in, angling the light so that the beam caught the van's bumper. The chrome was heavily bent in, the rear doors wide open with one hanging by a single hinge. Shadows lay inside the van, sparkling with rainwater.
"We crashed," Michelangelo murmured, as if he didn't want his brothers to hear. "It was bad. We were lucky we got back at all."
He ignored the emojis, the creative rows of pictographs trying to form questions. He gave Donatello's room a quick look, unable to spot anything with the tablet's light, not willing to go in farther.
"Leo's room," he said, focusing on the lantern again. "It's not that bright. I think he likes it dark. Dunno how he sees anything in there…and back to the bathroom. Gotta admit, it kinda sucks being next to the showers." He held the tablet up for a good look at the water trickling from the shower heads. "I mean, it's nice I can get to them before anyone else, but sometimes it leaks right though my wall. Sometimes we get an inch of water. I wonder…"
He craned to one side, getting a look at the drains. "Yup, they're backed up. Storm must be going crazy up there, huh? It's hard to hear underground, but you can hear the thunder in spots. The rain hitting the gutters and street drains."
This time, when he reached his room, he stepped inside and examined the wall shared with the bathroom. He sighed and ran his hand along the floor.
"Yuuup, there it is. Gonna flood. Man, I hate living under the rain gutters…beats living under a sewer main, though."
kyo dai yo ka e ri ku re
Michelangelo sighed again, adjusting the red string light over his room. "Don says keep going. Okay. Okay. So. There's Splinter's room. It's locked."
He gave them a steady view of the door, the paper damp as water trickled down from the frame. Sections of the paper turned see-through with shapes inside the room, a low table, something on the floor—
"And the mirror again," Michelangelo said, pausing to look at himself. His edges were clear, but his face and the screen were a blur in the dark glass. "Splinter's old ones are dark. Something about all the candles he burned under them."
Emojis of doors and arrows followed, begging him to go back to the door. He didn't seem to notice.
"The dojo…" Michelangelo walked in, giving the room a turn. "I dunno. I can't feel like this place is spooky, even with the lights off. I spend too much time in here. Hell, Leo can walk it blindfolded." He turned, pausing on the incense burning in the sand in the corner. "At least it's not wet in here. Yet."
wa re mi chi o to mo su
"At least we got the string lights," he said, following the line of red dots along the ceiling. "Don said everything else should be off, 'cause of the storm and all, but that the lair should be red for this."
He spotted several question marks in the chat, some red drops and turtle emojis. He shook his head once. "Nah, it's not for Raph. I mean, I think it'd be red no matter what."
A flood of question marks followed. He frowned and shook his head emphatically.
"No, no. I can't…I'm not supposed to say. Not yet."
The kitchen faucet dripped more audibly into the sink, now sounding like a small trickle into a pond. The upside down cups lay cracked down the middle.
"Gonna flood down here," he sighed. "I hate when the kitchen floods."
He kept walking.
"That's Raph's room. It's locked…and there's the van. It's still dripping."
The light from the tablet played over the van, the destroyed bumper, the dangling rear doors, the rainwater dripping down the outside, trickling out from inside. At the front of the cab, the numbers glowed dimly, dark red, the numbers distorted behind cracked glass.
Michelangelo stared at it for a moment.
"We crashed. It was bad."
kyo dai yo ka e ri ku re
He turned, glancing into the darkness of Donatello's room. The floor gleamed before he realized that the light was sparkling on a thin sheen of water.
"Everything is flooding," he said. "We're probably gonna have an inch of water."
He continued, his steps rhythmic. "Leo's room is getting wet, too. He rarely uses the lantern."
He showed them the water dripping down the ceiling mount, soaking the paper lantern that dripped in dark red chunks to splash on the floor.
"I don't know how he sees anything in here."
Moving on, he came again to the bathroom. The room shimmered where the light hit it, the showerheads leaking a steady stream, the sinks overflowing, the floor swirling in the center of the room where nothing touched it.
"Storm must be going crazy up there," Michelangelo said, his voice flat. "It's so red in here."
ra ha e ru yo
"That's Splinter's room," Michelangelo said. "It's locked right now. We made the door for him ages ago."
The paper door had completely soaked through, dripping messily under the red lights. Between the wooden slats, the tablet light fell on a low table, a pot holding the dead stem of a plant, the lump of sodden blankets against the wall.
"Leo must've done that," Michelangelo said swiftly. "He hates messes, but tonight…when we got back…he went through the place like a whirlwind."
wa re mi chi o to mo su
As with everything else, water leaked from the mirror as well, flowing down the glass. Michelangelo watched it for a moment, ignoring the emojis flowing down the screen.
The dojo was much the same, wet, with footprints along the dry spots of the floor. The incense was ash in the sand. Michelangelo turned to better see the sais on the floor.
"Don said it had to be messy," Michelangelo said. "And red. The lair's so red."
He stopped at the kitchen. The cups lay cracked. The cabinet doors lay partly opened with broken plates and cups inside. Water streamed along the walls. The drone of sound was no longer just the chanting but the rain outside.
"You can really hear the storm. Like a whirlwind," Michelangelo said. "Everything is flooding."
Following the red lights, he passed the table and chairs.
Then stopped.
The metal door now lay wide open.
Michelangelo visibly froze, swallowing once.
"That's Raph's room. It's locked."
He looked over his shoulder toward the center of the lair. He nodded at whatever was said, then faced the door.
"Don says look inside," he whispered.
Raphael's room was a mess of beer cans and magazines nudged by the pooling rain. The tablet only cast a small circle of light along the walls where the rain flowed down dark bricks, posters turned into dripping black and red tissue sliding to the floor.
Against the far wall, the light landed on a mass of shadow that did not scatter.
fu ru sa to e ka e re
"That's enough," Donatello said. "Come this way."
Michelangelo obediently moved backward, stepping carefully through the water that rippled out over the large circle drawn on the floor in thick black lines.
No, not a circle. As Michelangelo drew far back enough, the circle was now obviously a hexagon of multiple lines. A mirror lay at one end, across from Leonardo, who sat on the floor with his head low as if he was half-asleep.
"Kyo dai yo ka e ri ku re," he repeated, dragging in a shuddery breath. "Ra ha e ru yo…"
Donatello came into view, a bandage around his head, blotched and visibly trailing a single dark line down his temple. He moved beside Leonardo to let him lean against him, stitching a wound on his brother's shoulder. There were other wounds on them, bleeding fluently, but neither stopped.
"Does the chanting help?" Michelangelo whispered.
Donatello shrugged. "It didn't have to be in Japanese. But it was easier for him."
Glancing at the tablet, Donatello saw the emojis of question marks, exclamation marks, ghosts, scared faces. A few posted taos and hexagons. And he saw that the number of viewers was only climbing. No one had logged out.
"Thanks," Donatello said. "For…listening to the chant. Walking the circle with Mikey."
Michelangelo didn't move.
The light didn't reach Raphael's room, but it did light the ripples of water flowing out from the door. Little waves rushed out, then larger waves, as if the storm was itself flowing from his room.
"I'm sorry, guys," Michelangelo said suddenly. "I'm so sorry. You don't argue with him and Leo when they get an idea in their heads. I'm so sorry."
Donatello's look turned into a wan smile as the chat exploded with question marks. "I'd explain, but…the curse should be spread out enough. You should be fine."
The water flowing from Raphael's room grew in strength. It lapped at their ankles, washing over the thing in the center of the hexagon, a long shape under a white cloth blotched with dark stains. The level of the flooding set the cloth floating at the edges, soaking through, so that the outline would have been obvious even without the shell giving it shape.
Leonardo looked up at the door, at the shadows that the viewers couldn't see.
"We lit the path," he said, his voice raw. "Raphael."
The red lights flickered and went out.
Only the tablet lit up the small scene as the cloth floated on the surface, then creased as it was pushed up from underneath. Then the screen went black because what the light fell on stubbornly remained dark.
"Raph's home."
Livestream end.