Chapter Text
There is a ghost in the Westchester Manor. And it's hunting Charles.
But only Erik can see it.
The first time it happened was in the dead of night. Erik was sleeping on the bed with Charles on his side.
It wasn’t his bed. It was Charles’.
Erik wasn’t sure if he could call it his bed. It was his first night in the Manor. Earlier, Charles was someone who wanted to fight for the mutants. Who wanted to help him. For something bigger than him, bigger than them all.
He was also someone who would sit with him during the sleepless nights. Who would bore him with lectures about evolution and genetics. With whom he had shared a bed countless nights and mornings when they were reluctant to leave.
For Erik, Charles was a traveller in his train of life.
Until now.
Now Charles was someone who had a house. And a place for Erik in there.
The Westchester Manor was a big place. In his thirty years of life, he had been to many places. But never once had they been home.
So when Charles dragged him and the kids to the Manor, Erik had mocked Charles.
How did you survive in such hardship?
For Charles, it was a harmless joke. He laughed at it once they were inside. Erik laughed with him. He doesn’t know if the Manor will become his home one day, but if it does, he is sure they will laugh at the joke that day as well.
The inside of the Manor was as big as it looked from outside. Maybe bigger.
Charles’ room was downstairs, on the left side of the staircase. Now Erik’s as well. Raven’s was beside it. The others got their adjacent rooms too.
It was their first night in the house. And it was also the first time Erik saw it.
That night, Erik lay on the bed, in and out of sleep. His brain was tired. So were his eyes. He was in between his dream world and reality. The time when it all blurs together, not knowing what’s real and what’s not.
That was when the blurry patches around him formed a shape. It was a shadow, he thought at first. Soon, the shadow walked over, standing on the other side of the bed. Where Charles was sleeping.
The shadow became a man. Its hair was long, down his face. He was naked. He stood silently on Charles’ side of the bed, watching the younger man.
Charles was still sleeping. He was facing Erik, one hand over the older man. His mouth slightly opened, snoring lightly. While it stood there, staring. Heavy breathing filled the room.
There was a smell in the room.
Erik lay there, watching, not sure if he was still in his dream or reality. His limbs were heavy, so were his eyelids. A stone, he felt, was there on his chest. He couldn’t breathe.
The naked figure stood there, watching Charles silently.
For a moment, Erik considered waking Charles up. But his voice wouldn’t come out. So he just lay there. Minutes, hours, not sure how long it was there. To his right, the grandfather’s clock swung loudly. That’s when the figure budged.
It didn’t look at Erik. Not once while it stood there. Slowly, it moved away from Charles, away from them. And then, again, it was all a blend of darkness.
Erik exhaled loudly. Suddenly, he could breathe again. Removing Charles’ hand from him, he sat up.
The clock on his right clicked once more.
Three-ten.
They say three is the devil’s hour.
***
He saw it again the next night.
Erik snapped open his eyes that night. His breathing was labored, nausea seeping through his windpipe. The room was silent except for Charles snoring. The darkness around him changed shapes every time he blinked. Then they formed a man.
It stood there, where it had stood last night. Beside Charles.
Erik’s limbs whipped out, trying to wake up, to catch it. But they remained frozen, a stone on his chest, and a smell that he had smelled before.
Something sickly.
Something rotten.
But that night, it didn’t just stand there.
It, the figure, raised its hands and placed them on Charles’ bare back. Its fingers roamed down the younger man’s spine. They were long, nails curled and dark. Charles shivered and moaned at the touch.
Its hand slid up and down. The movement was familiar, like Erik would do during their trip. In those cheap motel rooms and cold, dark nights.
Erik tried to summon the metal knife he had placed on the side of the bed. Charles had laughed at him for it, ridiculing him for his paranoia. But it didn’t follow his command.
He tried to move it once more. Anything that felt like metal. But nothing budged.
Then it stopped.
Erik stopped struggling too. Fingers still on Charles, it looked up. Staring directly at Erik. Erik’s heart stopped for a moment. Its eyes were void. They were white and glowing. And when it smiled, its teeth were dark.
Erik tried to move his hands again. They were bound. His chest hurt. The stone was getting heavier and heavier while it trailed down the spine of the younger man, until its hands were on Charles’ neck. That’s when Erik broke off the shackles, his hands flying, the knife on the nightstand swept right into his clutch…
And then there was nothing.
He woke up in bed. His breath was heavy, pyjamas wet with sweat. The knife remained tight in his grip.
The room was empty.
Surely it was a dream.
Surely.
But the pit of his stomach still hurt. It had been so long since he had a nightmare. Longer since it wasn’t about his mother or about… Shaw.
Now he had been in this house for two nights. And both of them had ended with him waking up drenched in sweat.
“Erik? What?”
He looked down to his side. Charles was peeking through his eyelids. A frown between them, his voice heavy.
Erik took a deep breath. “Nothing! Go back to sleep.”
Charles didn’t close his eyes. He reached his hand towards Erik. The older man sighed. Taking the small hand in his, he lay back down. The knife remained hidden in his palm.
With a yawn, Charles was back to his little snoring. His hand still clutching Erik’s.
Erik looked at the giant clock swinging its tail.
Three-ten.