Chapter Text
Mason has never used a spirit box before--the weird microphone-thing that can pick up on ghosts talking, or whatever other noises ghosts make. He knows it has a proper name and that Ze would probably kill him if he knew Mason knew this little about spirit boxes after trusting him with his only one, his first ever piece of gear, his baby, but Mason doesn't really care enough. It's not like Ze has been using it lately with how much dust was in the cracks of all the little buttons and the mesh-circle-speaker-part on the front when he gave it to him. Ze probably hasn't even used it since he got trapped in that creepy abandoned hospital overnight, actually. He hasn't posted any more ghost hunting videos ("paranormal investigations" Mason's ass) to YouTube since then, and Mason can't really blame him. He'd probably never come back here if he got trapped, in the dark, with no warning. He just hopes Ze's spirit box isn't cursed and that's what caused him to get stuck, otherwise Mason really is never coming back.
The parking lot opens at the end of the road ahead of him, old gray asphalt that hasn't been touched up in years, not even a single car in any of the spaces. The grassy little medians at the ends of parking rows are overgrown and startingly green against the broken concrete, chipped and cracked by tree roots and storms and stupid guys like Mason breaking in and kicking already-loose chunks off to take home as trophies. Almost all of the signs are gone or graffitied to shit, also because of stupid guys like Mason.
As far as he knows, nobody has officially been here since 'the company' shut down, not even to do building maintenance while waiting for someone else to buy the office and start some new, forgettable business that'll probably shut down with no warning just like the last guys did. Nobody has really set foot here since, except for Mason. Other than the birds in the lot outside the main building, Mason is completely alone. At least until he goes inside.
'VIA'--it looms over Mason as he approaches the broken glass doors. He has no idea what the full sign said before this place was abandoned. He doesn't even know if there used to be more to it, but he can assume so since the placement on the far left above the front entrance would be really weird otherwise. The alignment of the letters is his only hint though; whatever wall space the old letters protected from the sun wasn't protected anymore, faded and weathered by the passage of time.
"Heh, Viagra," Mason snorts as he carefully pushes the door open with the toe of his shoe. The doorframe scrapes against a pile of broken glass on the floor; Mason winces at the sound, and suddenly he regrets throwing that brick the first time he came here.
The Viagra lobby is well-lit, at least for now. The open (broken) windows let in enough of the fading sunlight for Mason to make out the trashed furniture decorating the room. A row of dirty, dusty chairs with sun-damaged pleather cushions peeling away to reveal their spongey yellow insides sit along the far right wall. Two small holes in the plaster above the decomposing seating hints at a time when a painting might have hung there, hopefully having brightened the room a bit. Mason has never seen the lobby brighter than the sun can make it, so somebody probably looted the painting, nails and all, before he ever set foot in this place.
Mason sidles up the front desk all casual, sweeping his hair back and shouldering his bag and then getting poked in the side by the corner of his Ouija board sticking out because his very messenger bag-shaped object apparently does not want to sit nicely in his messenger bag. Mason rubs his wounded side and rests his other arm on the desk, looking down over it like someone is actually sitting there instead of empty space without even a chair.
"I'm here for an appointment," Mason says as he points over the desk at a computer that isn't there. "Mason, here for the," he goes to fish his phone out of his pocket, but comes up empty. He panics, and then finds it in his bag. "Here for the 7PM with the ghost. 'The ghost'--that's probably rude." Mason turns away from the desk and calls into the lobby. "Sorry if that's rude! I don't know your name!"
After getting no answer, Mason nods. "Up the stairs, first cubicle to my right? Got it." He pats the desk and goes to turn, but then he notices a leaf on the floor. Mason stoops down, picks it up, and sets it on the desk. "For your time, sir. Ma'am?" He shrugs and after a moment he walks off through the doorway on the left wall.
As soon as he crosses the threshold into the greater building, Mason is in the dark. Like yeah, he obviously has his phone, but he doesn't want to use the light from that because what if something happens and it dies and he can't call Ze to be his getaway driver? He also doesn't want to use his flashlight yet because what if it dies before it even gets really dark, the kind of dark that makes it feel like you're underwater and every step slams you into a wall you don't remember being there before. If worst comes to worst, at least the spirit box display glows.
But besides all that, Mason knows the layout of the first floor hallway well enough to not need his light just yet, which is where the not wanting to waste it comes from. Also, he literally only has to walk straight ahead before he hits the stairs to the second floor. That lingering floral scent from the elevator burns his nose like something rotting as Mason takes the first step up. He hits the wall-part of each step and taps the floor-part twice with his shoe to make sure he doesn't trip and fall up the stairs in the dark. Still not using his flashlight, though.
The second floor is lit up a little better than the first floor hallway, probably because the wall with all the tall windows faces the south, where the sun hasn't fully set just yet. In the graying not-quite-darkness Mason can make out the blank wall in front of him, and the elevator directly to his left, still stinking up the whole hall. Further left are those empty offices that Mason refuses to go inside of because they creep him out, especially after the last time, and especially the one with the nameplate. Mason has no idea who Donny is, or was. This place is abandoned after all. Maybe it was a family-owned kind of deal and then the father, or grandfather, or uncle who was in charged passed away. Or maybe it wasn't and they just broke apart whenever he died. (Oh my god, what if that Donny guy is the ghost?) Or maybe he's still alive and Mason is overthinking things way too much based on a single nameplate hanging up by a door. Either way, he does not want to piss off this mysterious 'Donny' by going into his office.
All the way on the far wall that shares a corner with Donny's office is another door that leads to what was probably a break room at one point. There's counters in there, and outlets just above those counters where you could plug in a microwave, and a space where a mini-fridge was probably installed at one point and then was looted or was part of the precious nothing the company took with them when they abandoned ship. It seems kind of weird to take your mini-fridge and leave what seems like important papers behind, but Mason is getting distracted. He's not here to overanalyze the office layout in the fading light, he's here to talk to ghosts.
Mason walks up to the closest cubicle--first one on his right--and this is what he cares about. It doesn't have a computer (obviously. They might've been stupid but leaving a whole computer?), or even a chair, but the desk still has a surprising amount of stuff on it, like a house somebody just moved into but never got the chance to empty out. Post-it notes on the fake wooden tabletop and the cubicle walls, mostly just little doodles which Mason may or may not have added onto or left his own of at some points. He figured they were just left by some artist who also frequented this place and left sticky notes instead of permanent graffiti, and he was having a weird kind of conversation with them, but now realizing that, considering just how weird this desk is and after having talked to an uncertified paranormal expert, that he could've been talking to a ghost this whole time?
Mason's heart pounds as he takes off his bag and sits down on the floor. He takes a moment to get comfortable, before realizing yeah, it would probably be polite to take his hat off, too. He is kind of in someone's house, after all. It's final resting place, maybe? What would a ghost even consider 'home'?
The snap of his bag's metal clasp opening is startling in the dark, dead silence, and Mason finds himself apologizing as he lifts the flap. He decides not to close it back up right away as he gets out his planchette, his Ouija board, the spirit box, and his flashlight, finally willing to use it now that he actually has to see what he's doing. He doesn't turn it on right away though.
First, Mason tries the spirit box, still hoping to put off using his only real light source. He barely remembers how it works, and he never actually looked into them, but he turns it on and presses the basic few buttons Ze told him to when it first got handed off to him. The little red display lights up just enough to tint Mason's fingers as he adjusts it, and then just as Mason gets it right the speaker crackles and fuzzes, and then through the static he can hear-- breathing?
It's definitely not Mason somehow mistaking himself over the crunchy audio; it's coming from the speaker, and it is not normal breathing. It sounds grumbled and heaving, probably even without the spirit box distorting whatever poor soul Mason is trying to come in contact with. Maybe communicating like this is painful? Or maybe any form of communication as a whole is and Ze just neglected to mention that for some reason?
"Hello?" Mason calls out into the dark. He looks down at the spirit box when he talks, either hoping that it will magically gain the ability to create ghost subtitles, or because he suddenly feels something breathing down his neck and he does not want to look up to see what it might be.
Making jokes about fucking ghosts and ha-ha ectoplasm is one thing, but actually being faced with a ghost, once you know it's a ghost, hearing that ghost breathing, and then feeling it breathing down your neck? Completely different ballpark-- Hell, this is a completely different sport. Mason is not playing ball anymore, he's just trying to survive the game.
The rumbling growl picks up. "Can you- can you speak?" Mason asks timidly.
No response except for more breathing. "I'll take that as a no, then. Um." He looks just ahead of his trembling hands clutching Ze's spirit box, and remembers his Ouija board, all laid out in front of him with planchette and flashlight ready. "Do you wanna use the Ouija board?"
More of that deep, heavy gasping for air is all Mason gets. "Right. You- you can't talk, uh." He taps the side of the spirit box a couple times as he thinks, and then it comes to him. "Can you do a- like a tap system? Or with... with breathing if you can't tap. One means yes, two means no?"
One surprisingly loud knock cracks from the direction of the desk, right next to Mason's head. Despite his better judgement he turns around to look, but there's nothing there. Just a vague cold feeling on his face, like he's looking somewhere he's not supposed to and the blood is quickly draining from his face.
"Okay!" Mason laughs, and it is so very, very panicked. He's talking to a ghost. A fucking ghost, and it wants to talk back? Have an active conversation with him? The guy who has been breaking in for months? Him? "I'm assuming that was also a yes to using the board?"
Another knock on the desk, but this time it's much softer, like it's adjusting to Mason's scared-shitless reaction to the first one.
"Let me just- uh-" Mason leans forward, fumbling for his flashlight. He knocks it over at first and has to clamber under the desk to pick it back up after it starts rolling, and ends up banging his head on the underside of the desk once he grabs it, but he gets there in the end. He turns the light on, flashbangs himself with how bright it is after sitting on the floor, (not quite) alone in a dark room for- it can't have been that long, right?
Eventually he manages to get the flashlight propped up on the desk using his bag as a stand so that he can see the Ouija board while also having both hands free for dealing with the Ouija board itself. Mason takes a deep breath, and it sounds like the ghost using the spirit box does too, as he places the planchette on the board and rests a hand on it.
"So, ghost," Mason cringes, "good first question so I can stop just calling you 'ghost': What is your name?"
The planchette immediately moves from the center of the board.
P--