Chapter Text
He knew there was something odd about the house.
The ridiculously cheap price. The obvious traces of photoshop in every photo listing. The bizarre stories that followed from past residents. When House called to inquire about buying the home… the strange relief from the owner… well, safe to say, it was more than enough to pique his interest. It was as if the man had been waiting by his phone each waking second, desperate for someone to take it off his hands.
Under normal circumstances, those would have been blaring red flags.
To House, however, they were an invitation.
He had recently hit a slump. the recent hospital cases presented were dull and the lack of interesting people to bother - he has settled for grabbing at any loose strands that could potentially alleviate his boredom. And for now… House settled for this.
It was close to the hospital, cheap, and it could lead to something interesting - that was more than enough reason for House to give it a try. Worst case, he has enough money to move and find a new suitable home.
From the outside, the house was sleek and modern with clean white sidings, broad windows, and a neat front walk. It looked as if it belonged in the background of those soulless suburban catalogues.
The house almost failed to meet his expectations…
Until he went inside.
The inside told an entirely different story.
It was clear lots of renovation was put into keeping the exterior clean, even the grass around the porch is freshly clipped. He was starting to understand how many suckers got caught in this scam. The outside promised normality, a stable home. It was a finely crafted illusion to draw the mice in before the trap snapped down against its leg.
The illusion cracks.
House grinned. He dropped his duffel bag by the staircase and began his slow survey of the house, cane tapping against the warped floorboards as he moved from room to room.
Every door opened with a high-pitched creak, the paint on the walls were peeling off, and there was dust on every surface - almost as if no resident stayed long enough to brush it off.
The kitchen, thankfully, was still functional - albeit offensively beige. Rather, whoever previously owned the house had unique taste. It seemed almost painfully normally, so much wear left around and yet nothing of personal history left behind.
The upstairs was worse. Walking upstairs was a struggle for House, with the railings wobbling even with barely any weight on it, along with the staircase that groaned as if it would collapse in on itself any second now.
House swung the door open to reveal an even more disappointing bedroom, the only thing he could be thankful for was that this was the only door that wasn't rusted to the point of creaking at every push and shove like the rest. There was a strange odour in the room and he could see the water stains spreading across the ceiling in branching brown veins. What was worse was the bathroom sink that coughed up rust when he turned the tap.
Perfect.
He had to make a mental list of tasks he would have to do. He'd need to call the plumber, deep-clean the entire house twice, take out the cobwebs and bugs, and replace half the furniture. Fully furnished, vintage, cozy one bedroom one bathroom home - my ass.
Vintage was downplaying how decrepit the house was. It is true that the ceilings were tall and the windows were large but considering there isn't much else to write home about this place - it makes sense why that was one of the selling points the homeowner kept repeating like a broken record. House wouldn't even think its out of the realm of possibilities to find human remains underneath one of the floorboards, he could probably find buried treasure if he tried enough.
House flicked the bedroom lights on - and of course - the lights began to flicker because of course it had to. He walked and sat on the dirty mattress, grinning. "I can work with this."
He didn't know who he was saying this too, or if the Vicodin was finally getting to his head - but it was as if he was hitting flint against steel. It was a small spark - but it was a spark nonetheless - and it was more than enough for House to latch onto this. He was finally interested.
Then-
A soft screech.
He recognized this sound. Ever since he took a step into this god forbidden house, he's been having it scream in his ear - it was the sound of the floorboards creaking- but the sound wasn't being made in the bedroom.
House left the room to try and find the source of it. He moved slowly, taking each step with caution. His cane lightly tapped against the warped wood as he crossed the hallway. He listened, waited, and there was nothing.
creak
House stilled. Slowly retracing his step until he stepped on just the right floorboard. And there it was - he found the culprit, but there was still something off about it.
House lifted his foot.
Silence.
He set his foot back down on the floorboard.
creak
House hummed. It was interesting. Not because of the creaking - old house's always creak, it was written in their code - but, what was really odd was… It only creaked when he directly placed weight on the board. Not when he shifted nearby, not when he moved through the hallway. No.
It was only when he made contact in a very specific point.
Even when House shifted his stance slightly, testing the adjacent boards. No sounds. But when he moved back to the same board - he heard it again - that same creak.
House exhaled through his nose.
Load-bearing stress point. Localized structural weakness.
Simple enough reasoning. Yet something creeped down his spine, a twisted breath stuck in his lungs despite offering a correct explanation to his situation. House was always confident about his answers, logic will always shine a light into what people write off as the unknown. Yet, there was something behind it that made his eyes narrow and hand clench - as if the explanation he made felt too neat.
---
He knew there was going to be something odd about the house. That was the entire reason he moved into this terrible abode, which managed to be even less accessible than his last home. The handrails weren't sturdy, there was no walk-in shower (resulting in House having to attempt to maneuver himself in without breaking a bone), and he kept bumping into the sharp corners with his leg. It was even worse considering whatever failure of an architect designed the house, they chose to make the step heights stupidly uneven. On many occasions, House struggled to comfortably to climb the stairs.
Sometimes he wondered if the effort he was putting into finding a mystery was outweighing the mystery in itself. But then again, he was in too deep to ever want to back out - that wasn't how he did things. House wanted a mystery, usually it would be served to him on a silver platter at work but this time he had to go searching for one himself - even if it means having to practically crawl up the stairs just to get to the goddamn bedroom.
Over the last few days, House has been able to move the last remaining items into what will be his new home. He was finally able to replace the traces of dilapidation with hints of him instead. His record player muffled the creaks of the floorboards, his bright coloured guitars created a nice contrast with the beige walls, and the previously empty closet was now filled with all his clothes. All he had left was a few remaining boxes and the duffel bag he left at the main entrance that he has yet to open and sort.
While there was still improvements to be made… one of them being the old mattress with leftover stains. When House sat down, he could hear the sound of one rusted spring barely holding on. It was a miracle no previous resident died with how much a safety hazard this home was.
But in the end, House was satisfied with the living conditions - or, at least, as satisfied as one could be when they purposely chose to buy a house that was set up as a scam.
Then.
He hears it again.
creak
It was simply because of the poor infrastructure, he had to remind himself. He knows why its happening, he's already reached his conclusion days ago - House should just ignore it. But something made him uneasy - it made his palms sweat and knees bounce as if his legs were desperate to stand up. Something deep in his gut told him to investigate the sound again, even if that simple action would mean that he, himself, was not confident in his previously conclusion to the strange sound.
In most cases, House's stubbornness should have overruled. He would sit in place on the disgusting mattress because he sees things with logic and intelligence, the floor creaked because of localized structural weakness, and nothing more…
But, just like with a new patient case, curiosity spurred. It twisted and spun, curling itself into House's eyes - guiding him to stare straight at the bedroom door. Maybe I could just check for a second.
He slowly pushes himself off the mattress and limps towards the door.
When House walks out the door to further inspect, he suddenly lost balance.
His foot caught on something heavy and he lurched forward with a curse. He uses his hands to break his fall as his left knee scraped against the floorboards. House groaned at the ache of his right leg, even when it managed to come out scratch-free - it still spasmed enough for House to disregard the pain in his knee and scrounge in his pocket for his bottle of Vicodin.
"Fuck-"
He looked behind himself and sees his duffel bag sitting in the middle of the upstairs hallway.
House stared at it.
Very rarely did House ever doubt himself and his intelligence. He had always looked at the world logically and focused on fact rather than fiction. But this was the first time he had to truly ponder.
House crawled towards the bag, grabbing the handle. It was still approximately the same weight. He unzipped the bag and everything was just as he placed it.
And yet it managed to travel from the main entrance to the upstairs hallway without so much as a footstep.
---
"You look like hell."
House shifted his head to stare Cameron straight in the eyes, "And you used to have the hots for me, so I think we should focus more on you rather than me."
Cameron rolled her eyes, flipping through the patient charts, "At least I was only temporarily embarrassing myself. You're walking with a heavier limp today. Are you alright?"
House knew that it would come up in conversation. He didn't have the means to comfortably walk as if he didn't fall on the floor and eat shit last night. But it was also what he signed up for. He hired Cameron because she amused him, she was beautiful and despite it all decided to chose the harder route and became a doctor. He wanted to see the ways she was damaged, and in the end, got a somewhat competent doctor who was empathetic enough to counter House's apathy.
"I'll tell you if you happen to know how an easy way to buy and install multiple security cameras."
Chase perked up at House's statement, "You got robbed or something?"
"Not robbed," House muttered. "Unless my burglar had a heart of gold and decided to break in but not steal anything."
Foreman looked up from his chart, "Then what happened?"
House leaned back in his chair, twirling his cane once between his fingers. "I left a duffel bag by the front door. Came upstairs later. Found it in the hallway outside my bedroom."
"How?" Chase asked.
"If I knew how, I wouldn't be asking where to buy cameras, would I?"
Cameron frowned, "Are you sure you moved it and just… forgot?"
House gave her a flat look. "Yes, Cameron. I somehow forgot hauling thirty pounds of crap up a staircase I hate with every fiber of my being."
Foreman crossed his arms. "So what, you think someone's in the house?"
House nodded, "That or I'm hallucinating." House popped a Vicodin into his mouth. "Both are concerning for different reasons."
"Not concerning enough if you haven't stopped popping pills every day," Foreman coldly responded. House knew that the comment was meant to get under his skin but all he did was make a little kissy face in return, taking one more pill just to spite the man.
He did consider the two most likely reasons being a squatter or his own hallucinations. Because they were more plausible than any other reasoning. If it was a squatter, House hoped the cameras would be able to spot him - and it might end up being the nail in the coffin for the unexplained happenings that previous tenants have mentioned. Or this house will end up allowing House to look deeper into his psyche and confront the possibility that he's been taking too much Vicodin and is starting to go crazy.
House shifted his head to stare at Chase, noticing the quick shift from concern to poorly concealed amusement.
"Oh my god," he said. "Your house is haunted."
House stared at him.
Cameron snorted.
Foreman rubbed his temple. "Ignore him."
"No, no," Chase continued, grinning now. "Think of it logically - cheap house, weird noises, things moving on their own? Classic haunting." The man turned to House, clearly having a fun time running with the story. "You're gonna die in a bathtub… or you might end up in a ghost extermination team. Either or."
"Great. I'll write you in my will when I die tonight."
Chase smirked. "Give me your car when you do."
"I'll keep that noted." House snatched the patient charts from Foreman, ignoring the glare he received and opting to focus on skimming past the details. His eyes were shinning bright, hoping to find an interesting case - but quickly dimmed when it became obvious. Hemochromatosis.
Instead, to make the day go by faster. He tossed the chart back. "Alright ducklings, what's the differential?"
---
The day was long and tiring. It didn't help that his leg still ached from the morning and continued to get more sore throughout the day. He had tried to counteract the pain by taking more Vicodin and spending more time sitting down - content to just watch the ducklings run around and try to solve the case - but it wasn't enough. His body ached and he was clearly irritable.
All House could do right now was hold on to the hopes that something will come out of the cameras he had installed. Coincidentally, Chase knew a guy for it - and with enough money, they could get it done within a few hours. And low and behold, when he arrives at the door, he sees the cameras standing tall and proud.
But for now. That didn't matter.
What did matter was what House did with his leg.
He ate like a slob but it was not like there was anyone here to stop him. He was a big boy now after all. And for him, what that meant was a cold beer and leftover take out from the night before. He could almost imagine the way Cuddy would have scolded him for the way he lived, a twisted frown and the only person in the hospital that has consistently intrigued him.
After finishing the meal and lazily tossing both the beer can and the takeout into the same garbage bin - he limped to the bathroom. The tub was narrow and too high off the ground; the tile was cracked in spiderweb patterns beneath his feet, and the rusted showerhead dribbled water with all the confidence of a dying man.
He would have to gut the whole room eventually.
Rip out the tub. Install a walk-in shower. Add proper support bars. Replace the sink that looked like it contracted tetanus.
If he survived living here long enough to renovate it that is.
When he turned on the shower, he shifted the control to 3/4ths the way. House eventually gave up and twisted it to the hottest setting - and even then it was lukewarm at best.
Getting into the tub was a nightmare, having to use all his strength to gently lower himself without accidentally giving himself brain damage. The water wasn’t even as soothing as his old house. He spent the next 40 minutes submerging himself, hoping the water would magically get hotter even if he knew that wouldn't be the case. House gently massaged his leg, kneading hard at the ruined muscle until the ache dulled to something manageable. He worked slow circles into the knot of pain, knowing it would never truly rid it but it was the only option he had.
Eventually, with enough time, his hands became pruney and the steam began to cling to its surroundings. It fogged up the roomed and created a hazy blur that made House want to stay in the bath and not leave.
House shifted in the tub, moving so he could cling to the edge of the tub and, slowly but surely, lift himself out. He braced against the wall and cursed when he almost slipped once his foot touched the floor. He slung a towel around his waist and grabbed his cane, walking towards the sink.
Then he looked up at the mirror.
.
.
.
Despite coming out of a hot shower, it was as if his entire body forgot where it was - because it instantly froze. The hairs on his arm stood up, eyes widening. Looking around as if the universe would throw an answer out at him that easier.
There were two words carved in the mirror through the condensation.
GET OUT
House stared.
For one long moment, the room was utterly silent. There was no noise to cut through the static.
No creaking floorboards.
No rattling pipes.
No movement.
Nothing to ground him. Just the two words dripping slowly down the glass.
House stepped closer.
The letters were uneven. House leaned closer to inspect the mirror, trying to see if it was some trick of leftover old cleaner residue on the mirror. Like maybe it was a neighbourhood kid who thought it would be a treat to scare the old man next door.
But it was too… human. It was finger-drawn, recent, and fresh through the steam… As if someone had written it while he was in the shower.
Inside the bathroom.
Behind him.
Even though he locked the bathroom.
.
.
.
He touched the glass, almost feeling a faint trace of warmth. It left a shiver down his spine. Someone… Or something did this. And in the craziest way imaginable, the universe unfolded in such an unpredictable way that House could almost laugh - Chase's theory is becoming more and more tangible by the second.
He finally understood the previous comments made by tenants. He had written them off as idiots; they were buffoons that believed in whatever was placed in front of them, running with their tails behind their legs at the slightest scare. House believed whoever made this scam of a property simply capitalized on other's stupidity and profited on their fear - he had hoped that buying the house would give him the chance to solve the mystery but no- it was much much deeper than he could possibly believe.
House simply wanted a light mystery, but he managed to stumble on something bigger than he could imagine.
While House was purely vulnerable, something has managed to slip past the locked doors and House's field of view - leaving this charming message.
It lit his skin on fire. Every muscle in his body locked at once, a primal jolt of terror shooting straight through him before his mind could catch up - before logic could catch up… if logic was even applicable in this moment.
His pulse hammered against his throat. His grip tightened painfully around the sink, his breath grew ragged and chest sparked hot. The pain in his leg dulled.
This was it.
His fear was thick and visceral, it twisted and curled like a snake constricting its prey. It felt like striking a lighter over and over - thumb dragging uselessly against the wheel, sparks dying before they could take…
Only for one to finally catch.
The flame grew with each second, burning his surroundings and alighting something deep within. It was untamed, unadulterated, and free. It was something not even water could put out.
A slow grin pulled at House's mouth.
His voice came out low, almost delighted.
"…Huh."
.
.
.
Now this was interesting.