Work Text:
When the wind stops, you should probably find a place to hide.
Bob Andrews swallowed hard, remembering that warning from the innkeeper. Why did they even agree to stay here in the first place? Oh, of course. The leader of their detective firm, Jupiter Jones, was always too eager to uncover any mystery. The more unexplainable it was, the better! And no matter how many times he and Pete Crenshaw tried to override his decisions, Jupiter was always able to outvote them, one to two.
"Jupe," the bespectacled boy whispered. "The wind stopped."
Jupiter Jones didn't like the idea that something supernatural might be behind the weird happenings at Now Live Inn & Rehabilitation Center.
A few days ago, The Three Investigators had received an anonymous letter, explaining how people who went for its recovery programs seemed healed at first, but afterward they would slowly waste away and die gruesome deaths. The letter was complete with a booking for a few nights in the inn for all three of them, completely paid.
Jupiter said yes, of course, much to the chagrin of his best friends. Even when the innkeeper had given them that eerie warning, albeit with a friendly smile (which made it even more unsettling), Jupe was determined to uncover the mystery. After all, he was confident that there must be a logical explanation.
But this time, even the confident First Investigator looked uneasy. He wished Pete was here—the athlete of the group, who could only come one day later due to an important joint practice with another school.
"Probably because the ventilation here is not adequate, Bob," Jupiter whispered back, knowing that what he said was unlikely as the centre was luxurious and equipped with the best facilities.
Bob could sense the wavering confidence in Jupiter's voice. "Let's go back to our room," he said quietly. "I have a bad feeling about this, Jupe."
Jupiter agreed. "I think we can make better progress in the daylight," he said, not wanting to admit that even he was deterred by the sudden change of atmosphere.
From where they were in the corridor, they could see the full moon outside. Tall French windows adorned the hallway, slightly open to let the cool air in. Throughout their stakeout, they could hear the sound of a gentle breeze rustling through the tree branches, and the night animals—crickets, owls, even squirrels jumping from one tree to another.
Until the sudden stop. Clouds covered the moon, and an abrupt quiet overcame the place, that the two boys could hear their own breaths and the sound of their heartbeats thundering in their ears.
It was as if the whole place was holding its breath.
But… for what?
Bob grabbed Jupiter's arm, urging him to go faster. Not that Jupiter needed to be dragged, for he was also determined to leave that place as soon as he could.
The corridor narrowed slightly, carpet muffling their hurried steps. Neither of them dared to run. Both of them breathed heavily, eyes scanning for something—anything—even though they didn't understand what they were looking for.
And then they stopped short.
At the far end of the hall, where moonlight should have spilled in through another set of windows, something stood.
A woman—or a silhouette who looked like one.
Her feet didn't quite touch the floor. Long hair covered her face, and she was dressed in an outdated dress, as if she didn't belong in the century.
Bob and Jupiter noticed something else.
Bloodstains on the hem and bodice.
The figure tilted her head.
The two boys backed away, as swiftly and quietly as they could—frantically looking for a place to hide.
Bob spotted a door to their right. Probably an unused therapy room. He grabbed the handle, praying that it wouldn't creak.
They slipped inside and shut the door.
After they made sure that it was locked and put an ottoman as a measly barrier—as quietly as they could—they stopped and listened.
The air was unusually cold, nothing like what it would be in California. Bob felt it on his skin, a bite that made his arms prickle.
Then, softly, there was a sound.
Not footsteps—a dragging fabric brushing against the marble floor.
Bob and Jupiter stared at each other, each boy curling against the wall—hands clapped over their mouths as if it would prevent her from hearing their jagged breaths.
A shadow passed beneath the door. The handle rattled once. The surface of the door frosted over. Jupiter worried that the handle would crack under the frost. His eyes frantically searched for a weapon, but there was none.
And then the rattling stopped.
There was silence.
After a few seconds that felt like hours, the frost left the door, returning it to normal. The shadow left the door.
They stayed that way for a few more seconds before letting out a deep sigh. Bob sagged against the wall, knees trembling. Jupiter sat frozen, eyes fixed on the door. His mind trying to make sense of what just happened.
Bob decided to observe the room they were in.
It took him a while to realize that they were in a study, its interior decorated very differently from the rest of the place. The room looked older than the rest of the inn. Dark wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with leatherbound volumes. A thick rug covered the floor. A large mahogany desk stood on one end of the room.
Bob took a few careful steps—and gasped.
Jupiter, alarmed, was by his side in a second, nudging him to ask him what was wrong. Somehow neither of them wanted to break the silence, fearing that the apparition might still be near.
With a shaky hand, Bob pointed to a painting in front of them.
Framed in an ornate, dark wood was an oil painting of a woman, wearing the exact same dress as the figure they had just seen. Her hair was neatly pinned up, revealing a pale, unsmiling face. Eyes that looked like they had cried themselves to sleep every night. It was elegant, yet painful.
Jupiter stepped closer, squinting. In the lower corner, barely visible, was a date.
1846.
"The outbreak of the Mexican-American War…" Jupe whispered as low as he could.
"Could it be that," Bob gulped, "she was a victim…?"
Jupiter caught something else. Carved into the wall right next to the painting was:
Beware of the anagram.
Bob frowned. "The anagram of what?"
Jupiter opened his mouth to answer when—
CRASH!
The door had exploded inward!
The ottoman skidded uselessly across the floor, frost racing over the broken edges. The temperature dropped so extremely that the boys' breaths were puffing white in the air.
She drifted into the room, screeching an inhumane scream.
Jupiter saw another exit and propelled Bob that way.
"RUN!"
They scrambled out into the corridor.
"HELP!" Bob shouted, the word tearing out before he could think. His voice echoed wildly—someone should have heard that. But the night was still, save for their frantic sounds and the inhumane screams that were following them.
The corridor stretched endlessly, lights flickering as if they too, were trembling in fear.
Jupiter glanced back once, and wished he hadn't.
She was gliding after them, faster now. Her hair streamed behind her, revealing a pale, ghastly face, and blood-red eyes. The bloodstains on her dress were seeping, as if she was freshly wounded.
Bob and Jupiter felt like their legs were very heavy—but they forced themselves to run. Bob's leg hadn't healed properly since the last injury, and it felt like it was burning with every step. He could feel himself lagging, his stride shortening no matter how hard he forced it.
Then, Bob felt icy fingers close around his ankle.
He hit the carpet hard, breath knocked out of him.
Bob screamed—from the pain and from the cold that shot through him. It felt like something was pulling him apart from the inside.
"BOB!" Jupiter spun, panic roaring in his ears, before he saw it.
A decorative spear, hanging on the wall beside another painting of a knight. Jupiter yanked it free, the mount tearing loose with a crack.
"LET HIM GO!"
Jupiter drove the spear forward with everything he had.
The spear pierced through her chest. The scream that followed was a sound of rage and agony and grief, all at once.
The grip on Bob's ankle loosened. He kicked free, scrambling backward as Jupiter grabbed him and dragged him upright.
They ran again. In the scuffle, Bob's glasses had fallen, but he didn't bother. He briefly saw that it had shattered when Jupiter dragged him anyway.
The world looked like a blurry landscape, with Jupiter's shape being his only anchor right now.
Jupiter suddenly stopped, and Bob ran right into him.
"Oooff!" Bob exclaimed. "Jupe, what—"
He saw it. A tall figure, approaching them.
And with it, darkness enclosed.
.
.
.
—
"HEY!"
Bob snapped awake, immediately shoving the figure in front of him.
"Get off me, you monster!!" Bob threw a few punches that were somehow blocked by the creature really well.
"Ow! Ow! Bob, it's me! Pete!!"
Bob paused, taking a good look. It was still blurry, but he could make out that familiar shape—dark brown hair, amber eyes, a concerned look, and a mouth that sometimes would blurt out words without thinking.
It was Pete, alright.
Bob sighed. "…I should have punched harder."
"Hey, now!" the Second Investigator protested. "Is that the thanks I get for waking you up? You looked like you were in pain! Jupe too! He sat up so suddenly that he bumped into my head!"
Jupiter was sitting upright on his bed, pale, and rubbing his forehead from the collision. "Why were you hovering over me, Pete?"
"I was trying to wake you up, of course," Pete muttered, though a pinkish tint crept up his cheeks.
Bob sighed. Now he remembered. The first night in the inn had been uneventful, and after talking to the innkeeper about the history of the place, they had decided to sleep early. Pete had joined them that night, earlier than expected. And now, morning came after a dreadful nightmare.
The windows were opened, no doubt by Pete, letting a gentle breeze in. Birds were singing gleefully, welcoming the morning.
"That was the worst nightmare I've ever had," Bob sat back, tired.
"Wait," Jupiter frowned, "you had a nightmare too, Bob?"
"I—yes. And you were in it, Jupe. We were escaping from—"
"A ghost wearing a dress stained with blood?"
Bob gulped and nodded. For a moment, the room was silent. How could two people have the exact same nightmare?
Pete laughed nervously. "Wow. You both had a nightmare and didn't invite me?"
Bob groaned. "Why would you want to be included in a nightmare??"
"Not that it's possible," Jupiter sighed. "Dreams occur during a stage of sleep where rapid eye movements are at their highest, and the brain is paradoxically awake while the body is paralyzed—"
"Okay, okay," Pete raised his hands in surrender. "It's as possible as a fish climbing Mount Everest. Golly."
Bob chuckled despite himself. Maybe if Pete had been in the dream, they could defeat the ghost faster. Still, it didn't explain why he and Jupiter experienced the same dream.
He reached out to the nightstand for his glasses—and froze.
His glasses had shattered, exactly like how they had looked in the nightmare.
"…Fellows. Did any of you drop my glasses?" Bob asked reluctantly. He knew that any of them would have told him immediately if they had.
Pete and Jupiter shook their heads. Jupiter stared at the broken glasses, thinking hard.
Bob uncovered his blanket, and—
The skin around his ankle was darkened, discolored. A distinct mark stood out against the pale flesh.
A handprint.
As if something had burned him.
"How…" Pete gasped. "How did that happen?"
None of them spoke.
The room felt different now. It felt colder—unnaturally so. The air was heavy, as if anticipating something.
And suddenly they heard it.
The sound of fabric, brushed against the marble floor.
Jupiter's eyes flicked to the window.
The wind had stopped again.
The birds were gone. Clouds had covered the sun, darkening the sky.
Bob's breath fogged in front of him. He looked at Jupiter, frantic.
Jupiter whispered. "Beware of the anagram, Bob… the inn's name. It's—"
A sound came from the door. A rattle at the doorknob.
"I figured it out. The anagram for Now Live is—"
Frost spread into the room.
"—Evil Won."