Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You’d been hired to essentially inhabit a house until you either had lived there a year, or gathered enough proof of it being uninhabitable despite its immaculate condition that it could be torn down.

The Evers Group, your employer, had asked for levelheaded, college educated, non-religious folks to apply, and even though you were technically religious, you weren’t affiliated with any church, temple, or mosque of any kind. Disillusionment with the community around your childhood religion had made you pretty neutral on the subject in general.

That had been enough for the company, and you just barely beat out a retired astrophysicist for the position purely on better availability.

So here you are, stepping into an old Hudson River Valley kinda mansion. Weird that it’s in the middle of Kansas, but whatever.

You hadn’t needed to buy any furniture, seeing as it came furnished, so only had suitcases and a few boxes of kitchen utensils and other modern day things that this old place had never seen before. Or you guessed not, seeing as the place was built in 1874 and then promptly abandoned when a whole family was killed in a bizarre chain of accidents that ended with a fire gutting the top floor. It was rebuilt, but never reinhabited for long enough to establish residency by anybody as the deed stated it could only be passed on outside its original family if the other party stayed for a year or more. Your employer had therefore owned the property technically but never legally and thus couldn’t sell it on. That’s where you come in. They give you money in exchange for gathering evidence of rot or decay making the place condemnable or remaining for a year to get the deed legally. Then you have the choice of selling the house to the company or paying back the amount paid to you in the event you want to keep the house.

But you’re a small city kind of person, not a “middle of nowhere farmland” person, and this mansion is in the boonies of the sticks with nothing but woods around it that had grown up in the near century and a half it had been empty. So nah, you’d move back as soon as the deed was dealt with.

--

On driving up to the house, you notice something you did not want to see. Graves, many, peeking over the grass behind the heavy wrought iron fence that cut off the back of the mansion from the front. But even the front was not grave free, as a ‘family plot’ with a white picket fence and brick entryway was positioned down a gravel path beside the culdesac drive around a mossy and decrepit fountain.

You parked on the side farthest from the plot and uneasily take your main suitcase and carryon bag out of the back seat of your car. No, you hadn’t flown, but that’s how you address that piece of your luggage since it’s the main purpose for it.

Through the plot archway, you see a particularly ornate and clean grave. “Gracey” it says on it. There are more words, but that’s what you can read from this distance. Oh, that’s the family who all died in the accidents.

“up the front steps, and into the house, then we can get to unpacking once it’s all in,” you mutter to yourself. “And then, oof, then we do research to see why I got dead people on the lawn.”

Down went the suitcases in the front hall, which was an octagonal room with a fireplace and a picture of a skeleton monster in a warm light-brown suit and a black stain on the cheek facing away from you. His eye lights were a blue triangle and a yellow swirl. Neat.

Going back outside, you saw that your tires had been detached from the car. All four lay on the ground, with the hubcaps, all the nuts and bolts inside the caps, but a good 3 inches away from the body of the car itself, sitting on the ground.

That made you shiver, and you said at a normal volume, “Okay, nice prank. Thank you for not slashing the tires or stealing them or any of the hardware. I’m going to finish getting my stuff inside, then replace them on the axels. I just want to be left alone and I’d be more than happy to leave you alone, too, whoever did this. If you’re even still around and not just some local kids doing a funny on the way home from school or something…”

Hopefully it HAD just been kids, and not a malicious squatter or something.

--

The next set of bags were placed next to the first, and you looked up at the portrait.

Wait…it was facing you now. It’d been ¾ view before, hadn’t it? And the eye lights, a red star and green square. That wasn’t right either.

You rub your eyes, but nothing about the painting changes and you groan, “I must be real tired to think a painting can change. This isn’t a theme park or a Halloween store.”

Still you continue to look at the painting, realizing there’s a name on the oval frame, “Master Gracey? I wonder if it’s his name outside on that nice tomb….welp, nice to meet you, sir. I’m just here for the year, then I’ll be out and you can see who moves in next.”

Then you go out, not noticing the head of the portrait follow your movement.

--

Now the tires were back on your car, which was covered in a fine layer of dust and had “leave” written in the powder on the window.

“Haha, very funny,” You mutter as you go back to get two more boxes out of the trunk, “Locals do not like non-local person. I understand. Believe me, if the Evers group wasn’t paying me to do this, I wouldn’t be here. But a person needs to eat and they said I could on their dime till I can either get the house or get proof it’s borked. Sorry. Have no choice in this economy. It’s like 1933 in here but worse cause FDR’s dead.”

You almost trip going up the stairs, and hiss a little, but make it. “Make the best of it, self, we just have to be here a year.”

The entry hall feels colder than it had before, and you huff, “Air conditioning works, that’s good. Didn’t realize they’d managed to get that installed before.”

You want to look at the portrait, but don’t. “Paranoia is exactly why they wanted non-religious folks. I am not falling for my tired post-drive brain freaking out. It’s a real house, not the Munsters. Real.”

You continue your rant in your head as you bring in box after box, and it turns into the lyrics of Zippadee doo dah at some point.

The final box is placed, and you smile, turning to face the fireplace, “Well, Master Gracey, we certainly AAAH!”

The portrait is facing you still, but full body this time, and there are NO EYE LIGHTS. His smile is like a jack’o lantern grin of blackness to the point he doesn’t even look like a real monster. He’s something unhinged, otherworldly….and without limits like morals or ethics.

“Th-that’s not cool, bruh,” you stammer in fear, and back up toward a door, any door. “Just cause I ignored you d-doesn’t mean,” you had to swallow to wet your throat, but it doesn’t work from your dry mouth, “doesn’t mean you can freak me out that way. I’m busy.”

Feeling a doorknob, you turn it and yelp, “Kthanksbye!” and rush into the house proper.

--

It takes you a few minutes of panicked running to find a bedroom, and a few more to finally cry out your fears enough to go back.

When you reach the entry hall, the portrait is how you saw it the first time. ¾ view, blue and yellow eyes, normal smile. He’s also farther back than he was when he scared you, you think.

Looking at your things, you find them alarmingly stacked in a single pile far too high for you to reach the top of. There’s nothing you can do, though, so you just groan and keep unloading.

Nothing else happens to you the rest of the day, even if you’re jumpier than a jackrabbit every time a noise occurs. Creaky floor? Jump. Squeaky hinge? Jump. Crow outside? Jump.

Still, you’re glad when you snuggle into your sleeping bag in the bedroom you’d found on your run.

It’s surprisingly cozy and warm here, especially after the chill you’d felt in every other room in the house. The room is mostly decorated in yellows and creams, with a dried bouquet in a vase by the window. Out of everywhere, this room feels safest of all the ones you’d seen. No portraits, no odd stains, no vines from outside scraping the glass of the window. The mirror on the vanity was covered in a sheet, and an air of innocence and welcome seemed to radiate from every corner.

“Whoever lived in this room…I’m so happy I found your room first. If you’re here like portrait guy is, I’m so grateful if you’d watch over me while I’m here. Or at least while I sleep.”

You turn down your tiny lantern and place it on the bedside table beside a candle holder, “Night roomie. You make me feel safer.”

By the time you’ve closed your eyes, it’s like someone is resting their hand on your head softly, a gentle presence keeping you company in the dark hours.

--

A good night’s sleep was the last thing you expected, but you’re happy to wake up refreshed.

“Good morning, roomie,” you say sleepily, “thanks for the night’s peace. I’ll be cleaning out the dust in here, but I’ll try to put it back like you had it. I like it this way.”

Your room feels happy, you can’t put it any other way, and you feel energized. “Okay. Let’s get downstairs for breakfast and then to work.”

The happy, light feeling follows you around, at least until you reach the bottom of the stairs to the first floor, and then it vanishes into a cold chill.

“ah,” you’re nervous as you head down the hall to where you think the kitchen was when you finally found it after jumping six times putting your food away last night.

Everything is still but you aren’t going to count on that after the spooky painting. Especially not with the knives hanging on the wall hooks and pans dangling from the ceiling ones.

“Okay, I just want breakfast. Not even gonna cook, just a bowl of cereal with milk in it. I don’t wanna get in your way, whoever’s here.” You were just going to assume everywhere was haunted in here until proven otherwise.

Opening your little mini fridge that you’d brought, you get your bottle of milk out and get the little bowl and mini-boxes of cereal from the grocery store sack next to it.

“okay.”

Your meal is undisturbed as you eat at the little kitchen table, your food is left where it is, and you clean the bowl out in the old sink after letting the water run clear.

“Thanks for the quiet, everybody.”

“welcome, cupcake~”

You let your spoon clatter into the sink and bolt back upstairs at the dark, scratchy voice now laughing behind you.

--

The window creaked when you opened it, but at least it did move. You beat the pillows, the curtains, the bed spread, everything fabric to get the dust out, all hanging out the window while you wore a mask.

“We’ll get a nice mattress in here next paycheck, roomie,” you say as you sit on the old one and it creaks like it’s going to bust any second. “I’m happy to see the floors and fixtures in this room are checking out okay, though. No electrical fires here. That’s the last thing we need, me joining painting man and the voice in the kitchen. You’re good, roomie, but those two scared me and I’m still mad about it.”

After your rest, you started wiping down the bed frame and polishing it while the fabrics aired on the porch. It felt good to see the progress and feel the good vibes of the room get brighter. But lunch was soon and you did not want to go back to the kitchen.

“I’m going to get a water and a granola bar. Here’s hoping I come back without having a coronary,” you mumble mostly to yourself.

But to your awe, the kitchen is silent and a full grilled cheese and tomato soup cup were sitting next to your fridge on a silver tray with a little note card.

“DEAR HUMAN, TAKE OUR APOLOGY FOR MR. HUET SCARING YOU. HOPEFULLY YOUR NEW FRIENDS, CHEF AND COOKIE.”

Your supplies had been used (canned soup, bread bag, pre-sliced cheese) but it smelled amazing and you took hold of the tray carefully. “Uh…I can’t…wow, this is really kind of you two. Thank you. And Mr. Huet is rude but I’ll overlook it since we just met and maybe it was meant in fun.”

The atmosphere of the kitchen lifted to a more neutral place from the cold dread it had exuded before, and you smile, “I’ll be able to go for a while on this. I’ll try to get this room clean tomorrow, just for you guys.”

It was with happiness and gratitude you sat on your little clean spot in the bedroom and munched on your unexpected lunch.

--

The vanity mirror worried you, too many horror movie tropes with that, but once you removed the dust on everything, it gleamed. Golden trim, the silver bone grooming set on the table sparkling with each piece you put down, and the warm cherry wood of the top and drawers fitting with the bed frame and armoire.

“Roomie, you had some very nice things,” you whisper, feeling the breeze from the window. “I’m glad animals aren’t coming in here to ruin it. Maybe that Mr. Huet or Mr. Gracey are keeping them out.”

As you empty the drawers one at a time before replacing the objects, you don’t see the golden, humanoid light in the mirror standing beside you.

--

You can’t see them, but you can see the things they’re carrying when you head down to the kitchen for dinner. They’d been cleaning themselves, the water running, brushes being used to get the deep dirt off. The floating pans were unnerving at first, but you asked quietly, “Cookie? Chef?”

Everything froze, then the pans were all placed on the counter and a little whirlwind started around you. “Okay! Okay, hi!”

You had brought down a note pad from your supplies, setting the pencil down next to it on the small table, “I was coming down to make dinner, and let you have this so maybe we can communicate?”

The little red pencil slid across the page in a quick messy scrawl, “don’t worry about it, kiddo. This is what we did in life, we’re happy to help you out. Cookie”

“I can cook fine with what I bought, though. You don’t have to.” You don’t want to be in debt to the dead after all.

“NONSENSE!” a neat and quick script goes across the page. “WE HAVEN’T HAD A MORTAL TO COOK FOR IN OVER A CENTURY. WE MISS IT. PLEASE LET US! CHEF”

“Okay, if that’s the case. I…I do appreciate it. After everything else I’ve seen in here, I’m not surprised nobody else stayed long but I’m glad there are some friendly spirits here.” The ghosts must be the reason they wanted ‘grounded’ people to come here. Like not believing in them would make them go away. Hah.

You watch the ingredients fly around and get a very nice meal that’s warm instead of the cold lunch meat sandwich you had been planning on. More canned soup, but it’s livened up with a few fresh veggies you see fly in from outside.

“Where did those come from?” you ask, and the pencil moves again

“THE GROUNDSKEEPERS. THEY’RE STILL ALIVE, BUT THEIR FAMILY HAS KEPT THE OUTSIDE OF THE HOUSE SPOTLESS FOR GENERATIONS. THANK GOODNESS MASTER GRACEY’S ART PROJECTS ARE PART OF THE ESTATE SO WE CAN PAY THEM. CHEF”

“There are LIVING PEOPLE here?” you’re utterly shocked, and you see the door to the backyard open wide and stay there for a while.

Two skeleton monsters, a short one and a tall one, peek in.

The taller one has a longer skull and is wearing a straw had with a wide brim, “Hey there. You the human the Evers Group hired to try to claim the estate? Cookie says you’re a good egg. My name’s Martin Myall, but everybody around here calls me Ranch.”

“Hi Ranch,” you rush up and shake his hand, not minding the bones in the least, “I’ve been feeling real alone being the only one alive in here. No offence, guys,” you say, and a pair of pans make a shrug motion.

“heh,” the other skeleton has a round face, resembling the portrait man a bit but with green round eye lights and no black spot on his cheek, “Claude Myall, but I prefer Farm. Lots of us in my family ended up with names off the tombstones in the yard, so we all go by nicknames. Cookie and Chef in here were some of the first to do so. They’re Marc and Dave Sewell by legal name, respectively. buried in the yard like the rest.”

“Oooh, I wondered.” You turn and ask, “Cookie, you and Chef have really cool names. I like this tradition.”

A laugh, little higher pitched than Farm’s, came from the sink, and you smile.

“Well, how do you deal with that portrait guy and Mr. Huet who scared the bejeepers out of me earlier?” You look between Farm and Ranch.

Farm sighs, “That’s where it gets complicated. Most of the spirits here are friendly, but just have been dead so long they kind of lost touch with how mortals take things. We aren’t even sure why they’re still here, either. Monsters don’t stick around like humans. Even our bodies usually turn to dust, but not on this land. We get buried like humans here.”

He’s scratching his skull, thumb in the pocket of his overalls, so his brother takes over, “Mr. Huet’s one of the ones who’s more unpredictable, but Master Gracey is actually a good guy who likes pranks. He’s an artist, and will probably find a way to apologize later when he realizes you didn’t like the prank.”

“Where’ve you been stayin’, if you don’t mind us asking?” Farm looks around, “Most either leave the first sign of haunting or find a friendly spot, like in here.”

“I found this yellow bedroom? It just felt happy to be there, so I stayed,” you don’t like the way their eye lights dim.

“You’re in for trouble, human,” is all Farm says before tipping his own hat, a blue ballcap, and heading out.

Ranch sighs, “You found simultaneously the safest room and the most controversial room in the whole house besides the attic. I’d suggest you don’t ever go up there if you’re staying in the yellow room or you will most definitely die.”

“Die?!”

“Yep.” Ranch takes his hat off and offers you his hand. “Once you finish eating, come outside. I’ll get the dog and take you on a little tour while I tell you what we do know about this house so you can care for yourself.”

You shake, and he smiles, “Don’t look so scared. Like we said, the ghosts are mostly friendly sorts and don’t want to hurt you. Just the attic is the issue. See you in a few minutes, neighbor.”

“Yeah…bye, Ranch.”

Chapter Text

You feel ghostly hands patting your shoulder comfortingly through dinner, and Chef writes, “WE AGREE WITH RANCH; MOST OF US ARE HAPPY AS WE ARE AND HAVING A GOOD TIME SO WE DON’T WANT TO HURT YOU. JUST STAY ON THE FIRST AND SECOND FLOORS AND YOU’LL BE OKAY.”

That was a little reassuring when the actual ghost was comforting you, so you manage to get out of the kitchen and into the back yard (or side yard?) where a little cabin was set in the corner of the fence. A lovely vegetable garden and flowers around the cabin made a green oasis in the otherwise clean cut grass.

Ranch was on the cabin’s porch and waved, “HEY, NEIGHBOR. I CAN SPEAK PLAINLY OUT HERE. THANKS FOR COMING.”

Wow, all caps must be a skeleton thing cause that was a loud voice that went along with how Chef wrote. “Hey, Ranch. It feels good to have some fresh air, too, so yeah.”

“OKAY. FOLLOW ME,” Ranch headed around to the front and you saw your car was now covered in crow feathers. “AH. YOU ATTRACTED THE ATTENTION OF THE NASTY SET TOO, IT SEEMS. MAYBE MR. HUET TOLD THEM…”

“It doesn’t matter…I literally can’t afford to go anywhere else,” you are honest to a fault.

“OH, I DON’T DOUBT IT. EVERY TIME THE COMPANY SENDS IN A HUMAN, THEY FIND THE MOST DESPERATE AND GULLIBLE THEY CAN MANAGE. I’M THINKING THEY MOSTLY WENT FOR DESPERATE ON YOUR TURN.” Ranch used his magic to float the feathers off the car and pile them in the grass. “THERE. ANYWAY, TO THE FAMILY PLOT, WHERE IT ALL STARTED.”

You get closer to the graves and see that yes, the big clean tomb in front is Master Gracey’s.

Ranch gestures, “HERE IS THE FOUNDER OF THIS GHOSTLY TRADITION. HE WAS THE FIRST ONE TO DIE UNNATURALLY ON THE PROPERTY AND TO LEAVE A BODY DESPITE BEING A MONSTER. WEIRD! MASTER WILLIAM GRACEY, KNOWN TO ALL HIS FRIENDS AS INK FOR HIS MAGICAL BENT AND THE BLOTCH ON HIS CHEEK.”

“Hi. I am looking forward to your apology, Ink,” you state at the grave. You’re surprised when you feel something in your hair and find a flower made of paper. “Oh…well, apology accepted. I used your nickname because I’d like to be friends. The portrait gag was pretty impressive, but maybe a bit much.”

The flower turns from white to rainbow colors, and you smile, “Cool. Maybe you and my roomie can help me decorate. Roomie has good taste.”

Ranch is beaming, and he motions, “ALRIGHT, SO YOU’VE MADE UP WITH THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE, NOW TO THE ROOMMATE.”

Placing the flower behind your ear (as you have no secure pockets), you follow him to another plot.

This one is actually two, separated by a fence.

“THE ETCHINGS’ ARE WORN OFF BECAUSE OF ALL THE ACTIVITY, BUT THESE ARE THE TWINS. MORPHEUS LE ARBOUR AND HYPNOS GRACEY. WE DON’T KNOW WHAT EXACTLY WENT DOWN, AT LEAST FARM AND I DON’T, BUT HYPNOS MARRIED MASTER GRACEY’S WIDOWER AND MOVED IN HERE. THEN THE ACCIDENTS STARTED. LOTS AND LOTS OF THEM, ALWAYS VERY STRANGE. WHEN ERAMUS, THE WIDOWER OF MASTER GRACEY, DIED, HYPNOS REMARRIED. EVERY ONE OF THOSE HUSBANDS DIED ALONG WITH LOTS OF OTHER FOLKS. FINALLY, HYPNOS AND MORPHEUS FELL FOR THE SAME MAN, CHRISTIAN XAVIER, AND ON THEIR WEDDING DAY, HE WAS KILLED BEFORE THE CEREMONY.”

Listening to this, you were horrified as you realized what this means, “all the accidents…one of the twins was killing people.”

“OH WE KNOW WHICH ONE IT WAS,” Ranch gestured at the black tomb on the right hand side, surrounded by iron spikes, “IT WAS HYPNOS, BECAUSE HE HATED ANYONE SHOWING KINDNESS TO HIS BROTHER. IT’S DOCUMENTED IN OUR FAMILY BECAUSE OUR GREAT GRANDMOTHER FIGURED IT OUT. SHE WAS AN OPERA SINGER BEFORE SHE MARRIED INTO OUR FAMILY, SO SHE WAS A GREAT ACTRESS AND MANAGED TO KEEP HER LIFE THAT WAY.”

That left the marble tomb with a white picket fence around it, “YOUR ROOM IS MORPHEUS’ ROOM. EVERYONE WHO KNEW ANYTHING ABOUT HIM LOVED HIM VERY MUCH, EXCEPT HIS OWN TWIN. HE WENT INTO DEPRESSION AFTER CHRISTIAN DIED, BUT WHEN HIS ONLY REMAINING FRIEND, FREDERICK BLUEBEARD, YEAH DECENDED FROM THAT GUY BUT A TOTAL SWEETHEART, WAS VERY OBVIOUSLY MURDERED AS WELL, HE SNAPPED. THE TWINS HAD A DUEL, AND BOTH HIT THEIR MARKS AT THE SAME TIME.”

There were a few paper flowers on Morpheus’ tomb, and you asked, “Did they know Master Gracey before coming here?”

“OH YES, WE’VE GATHERED THAT MORPHEUS AND INK WERE FRIENDS FROM HOW OFTEN THE FLOWERS APPEAR.”

“That’s so sad….and awful. What kind of person hates their own twin so much that any shred of kindness is met with murder? How messed up in the head was Hypnos?”

“VERY.” Ranch shrugs, “MOST OF THE VICTIMS ARE BURIED IN THE BACK BECAUSE NOBODY ELSE KNEW WHAT TO DO WITH THE BODIES. MONSTERS DON’T HAVE CEMETARIES. THIS ONE’S JUST FOR THE GRACEY FAMILY. SO COUSINS, AUNTS, UNCLES, ETC. FARM AND I GO OUT BACK WITH THIS FELLA,” a little white dog peeks out of the backpack Ranch was wearing, “TO MAKE SURE OUR FAMILY AND THE OTHERS DON’T PARTY TOO HARD. CAN’T DISTURB THE NEIGHBORS.”

You stare at the graves, then kneel and place your hand on Morpheus’ tomb stone, “Hey, Roomie. Thank you for keeping me safe. I’m not going to sell your house. I don’t care what they’re paying me, I’ll live very modestly and pay it back to them when the year’s up. I won’t let them disturb your grave. I won’t let them evict all the fun ghosts like Cookie and Ink here. We’re keeping this as a historic site or something. I’m keeping it. And I’m going to figure out what happened to keep you all trapped here. And I’m going to fix it. You shouldn’t be stuck here. None of you should unless you want to be.”

A sniffle made you look up, and Ranch was wiping his sockets, “SORRY, FRIEND, BUT NOBODY’S EVER MEANT IT WHEN THEY SAID THEY’D STAY. I CAN FEEL HOW MUCH YOU MEAN THAT; YOUR DETERMINATION’S GLOWING STRONG. IF YOU DO STAY, FARM AND I WILL HELP AS MUCH AS WE CAN.”

More paper flowers sprouted up out of nowhere, all yellow or blue, at the grave, and you smiled, “I think Ink’s saying he’ll help, too. Good. First order of business is getting this place restored properly. We’ll avoid the attic at all costs, but everywhere else is getting a deep clean and a bit of a makeover.”

Knowing such a terrible wrong had happened to the spirit who’d been keeping you safe was too much to bear. He hadn’t been happy in life; you were making SURE his death was a good one.

--

While you couldn’t see any of the ghosts, you began to hear them more and more.

You did get spooked a few more times, but it was always followed by some kind of apology and introduction to a new spectre.

The one thing you were most grateful for was the first time you spoke with Morpheus.

You’d just finished clean up of the kitchens and pantries with Cookie and Chef, and were very tired. Still, you had found a volunteer daffodil next to the main house and brought it in in a bud vase to the room. “Roomie! I found this flower and I figure your favorite color was yellow. I thought you’d like it.”

The room seemed to sparkle as you sat the vase by the window, and as you were admiring it, you heard a very soft, warm voice, “Call me Dream, please.”

“Dream?” you turned and looked around, feeling phantom hands squeezing yours. “Dream then. Are you happier since we cleaned up? I want to make your afterlife worth having.”

The voice giggled, and you felt a warm embrace from cold arms, “You already have.”

Knowing the name and voice to put with the touches and feelings you get makes you even more assured that you’re doing the right thing…even if your paycheck makes you wince. Every penny of that is going to have to be returned.

Ranch and Farm aren’t worried about it though as you discuss it with them.

“oh. We’ve been selling the produce from the gardens for extra cash for generations. We’re more than happy to split it with you till you can find a job on the side,” Farm drawled one evening as the three of you cleaned some curtains in a big wash tub they had.

“I don’t want to take your money, guys…”

Ranch gave a single “NYEH HEH!” of laughter before booping your nose with his wet finger, “NONSENSE. OUR FAMILY HAS SURVIVED AND THRIVED IN THIS LITERAL GHOST TOWN BY HELPING EACH OTHER AND STICKING TOGETHER. BESIDES, MASTER GRACEY AND DREAM LOVE WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND SO DO WE. THE MANSION WILL LOOK SPOTLESS WHILE STILL BEING THE HAPPY HAUNTING GROUND IT IS. OUR VACATION FUND CAN WAIT; THIS IS IMPORTANT.”

These two were really driving home what you’d always thought about the monster community. They were kind, generous, and loyal, everything humans always said they weren’t. These two were your people, just like the ghosts were.

--

It made you wonder, as you sat preparing another dinner with Cookie and Chef, what their story was.

“How did you two get involved with this house?” you ask, and your note pad gets some more use.

“we were part of the family of groundskeepers, but distant cousins so we’d been raised elsewhere and went to culinary school together. First brothers in the family to graduate a big school, btw.” Cookie’s distinct writing kept going, “we were hired to be the head chefs here in order to cater the wedding for the twins and mr. xavier, but I guess someone decided they didn’t like us or something.”

The pen switched in mid air, then Chef began to write, “WE WERE TWEAKING THE RECIPE FOR THE WEDDING CAKE ONE DAY AND THE LIGHT WENT OUT IN THE PANTRY. I STEADIED A BARREL WHILE COOKIE CHANGED THE BULB, BUT WE COULDN’T SEE ANYTHING SO I LIT A MATCH…THE BARREL IN THE PANTRY WAS DYNAMITE. WE WERE IN SO MANY PIECES I’M PRETTY SURE SOME OF THEM GOT MIXED UP WHEN WE WERE FIRST BURRIED, BUT OUR SOULS HAVE MANAGED TO DRAW THEM BACK TO THEIR PROPER PLACES AFTER ALL THIS TIME WITH NOTHING BETTER TO DO.”

“Oh my god…” you felt a flash of warmth over your body, then instant ice from the shock of these two lovely brothers dying so violently for seemingly no reason.

The same voice that had laughed at your compliment came along with a ghostly embrace around the shoulders, “we’re fine, friend. No worries.”

You can only nod and let the little tears that had gathered in your eyes fall.

--

You’d gotten your check and purchased a mattress, but while you were at the store, you applied for a job. It would be the late shift, letting you spend the daylight hours you were awake working on the house, but it would be quiet and hopefully restful while paying your food and necessities to let you save as much as you can while still fixing up the place. That WAS part of what you’d been paid to do in the mansion after all, if you couldn’t find a condemnable flaw in the structure you were supposed to fix it up nice for ‘the market’.

What kind of market, you ask as you check out with some groceries and more cleaning supplies. Who’s buying Northeastern style mansions in the middle of KANSAS of all places? Nobody, as far as you know. No, your petition to the national registry of historic places that you’re going to file tomorrow is much more likely to go through than a sale of any kind.

You return to the mansion and get a cheery wave from Ink’s painting, which you return, “Hey, Ink. I’m going to start on the other side of the house tomorrow just for exploring’s sake. That a good idea?”

He nods, eye lights switching to a yellow astrix and a pink heart as he smiles happily.

“Okay. I’m turning in for the night once the bros outside and I get this mattress up to dream’s room.”

The painting returned to its original state, and you felt a little warm breeze flutter around you as your lighter bags were taken through the other door in the room (which you had yet to go to).

“Thanks, Ink!” you giggle as you head through the door to the ‘servants quarters’ part of the house where you’d been holed up since the first fright.

--

You woke up at 3 am to a hideous rattling and banging on the door of your bedroom.

“Dream?” you asked, and were amazed to see a figure made of faint yellow light in front of the door, blocking it. The noise continued, the door almost BREATHING with the intensity of whatever was trying to get in, but nothing was budging your stalwart roommate and at 3:20, it all stopped. The light faded, and you shuddered in your bed.

“Dream, that was your brother, wasn’t it?” you ask, but don’t expect a response. The edge of your bed dips as someone unseen sits on it, and a warm hand takes yours. “It’s scary, but I’m not going anywhere. Don’t worry. We’re in this together.”

The hand squeezes, then is gone, as is the dip. Sighing, you try to get back to sleep.

--

A deep breath, that’s all you need.

“Did you warn the others up ahead I’m coming?” you ask Ink’s portrait. It facepalms. “Ah, that’s a no then. I’m a lot braver now, so it’s fine. Besides, after what you and the others have shown me, I kind of want to see what ghosts can do?”

Ink gets his ‘creepy smile’ then laughs silently, “Yeah, prank time. Just make sure somebody’s watching so I don’t actually get hurt?”

A thumbs up, and you nod, “Okay then. Into the next room!”

Opening the door, you find yourself in another octagonal room, but this one with four paintings on the wall. The one in front of you to the left is a skeleton with soft purple eye lights, reaching up to a lightbulb. You get a very bad feeling you know who that is.

On the right, you see a skeleton with darker purple lights and softer socket edges, with a black lace parasol and a witch’s hat. “Huh. Is that a lady skeleton monster? I’ve never met one before. Haven’t met a lot of folks before, though, so…”

The door slams shut and you turn in time to see it be rolled over with the wallpaper. “UH?! Ink?!”

Whispers and giggles surround you and you look at the other two paintings just to have a focus that isn’t fear at being locked in.

Left of the exit door you’re facing, you see a smug looking skeleton with dark pink (magenta? Is that the color?) lights in star shapes and a two lined scar over his right socket. The last portrait holds a disturbing black boned skeleton with ooze over his right socket and turquoise light burning in the center of the other. The knowing smile of his extremely white teeth in all the darkness made you cringe away. You just KNOW this is Dream’s twin.

A voice curls around the room, “as you can see, there are no doors and no windows…and is this room actually stretching? Or is it your imagination?”

Alarm settles in as you see the portraits begin to lengthen, showing more of the scene inside.

The witch is revealed to be on a tightrope that’s fraying, the smug skeleton is on the shoulders of another who’s got brown-orange lights, a longer skull, and is looking decidedly more concerned, the evil twin is sitting on a tombstone you think you recognize from outside. “here lies beloved George”

Turning to the lightbulb portrait, you see it sliding down to reveal another skeleton in a nicer suit, and a chef’s hat, holding a match. “Oh god…it’s Chef and Cookie…”

“pretty observant,” says the voice, “all these are members of our group in their corruptible, mortal states. Now I wonder, can you find a way out?”

It laughs, low but not quite menacing, so you realize it’s a prank. Still, you’re horrified when the portraits finish their decent.

Cookie and Chef are indeed standing on and around a keg of dynamite, the witch is over a crocodile with its jaws open, the smug skeleton and his companion have a THIRD member (dark slitted red eye lights and a three pronged scar on his left socket) who’s waist deep in QUICKSAND, and the headstone the twin is sitting on has a bust on the base of another skeleton with strangely drippy sockets, and A MASSIVE AXE LODGED IN HIS HEAD.

“Who would paint these morbid things?” you mutter, and the voice from before returns.

“No way out yet, huh? Well, there’s always MY way.”

The lights, held by gargoyles on the corners of the room, go out, and lightning flashes outside. The ceiling high above you is illuminated since it seems to be in a small cupola, and to your terror you see a skeleton in tattered clothes hanging from a noose above.

You can’t help it, you scream, and jump away when the sound of clattering bones hitting the floor clamors around you. It’s too much, you’re crying again, begging for Ink or Dream or somebody to come get you out.

“oh man…” the voice sounds sad and the lights come back on, “sorry…we’ve been alone for so long and…sorry. I’ll open the doors.”

You dare to look around and there are no bones, the ceiling above you is empty save for a cut rope, and the portraits are back where they originally were. There are now two doors, one further into the mansion, and the other the one you came from. You take the door you know leads back to relative safety and no more surprises.

--

Farm and Ranch console you as soon as you make it outside.

“We heard your scream from out here,” Ranch says softly as he holds you tight. “What happened?”

When you tell the story, Farm sighs, “That sounds like Francis. He was another Bluebeard, the older one, and he disappeared three days before the wedding. Found him hanging in the cupola space a week later. Nobody knows how or why he got up there in the first place.”

“and the portraits?”

Ranch rubs your shoulder, “I’m afraid all those portraits are true events from the past of this mansion. Tightrope stunt gone wrong, quicksand nobody knew even existed in this state, and you said you knew about Cookie and Chef’s accident so…”

“and that WAS dream’s brother in the portrait. Now you know why he got called Nightmare by most,” Farm ended.

“he tried to get into my room last night but dream wouldn’t let him,” you confess, and they both stiffen.

“Then you’re making a difference,” Ranch squeezes a little tighter, “He doesn’t like positive energy, and you’ve been generating it by cleaning up. Nobody likes a house that doesn’t feel lived in, even ghosts. Making stuff look nice for ‘em is making them happy and Nightmare hates that. As much as it’s scary , it’s a good sign for everyone here.”

It disturbed you that someone could still be so angry after death, but knowing the rest of the house was happier? That made it bearable.

--

Ranch went with you into the next room this time, “Francis? That you who scared our friend?”

“yeah,” the voice came down from the ceiling and on level, “I forget how scary that stuff can be to mortals. I’m so sorry, human, I did not at all want to upset you that badly. Ink and my brother chewed me out for it and I’ve been guilty all night.”

“Thought so.” Ranch sighed, arm around their shoulder, “Good that you’re sorry about it, but what was with the paintings?”

“They’re like that anyway!” Francis’ voice goes to the portrait of the witch and there’s a tearing noise as the wallpaper is ripped away to show the rest. “I found it out while I was waiting for my body to get found. Who the hell thought memorializing these moments was a good idea?”

Sighing, Ranch did the same to the other three portraits and growled, “If we’d know these were here, we could have explained them a long time ago. I’m guessing one of Nightmare’s boys had a flare for painting.”

“Boys?”

“The husbands who died,” Ranch explains, “they might be gone, but they’re still loyal to their husband. Mr. Huet’s one of them, actually, but he’s one of the reasonable ones. The other three aren’t. And nobody’s heard of Christian saying anything to anyone.”

Francis sighs loudly, “I think I remember something like that. Not sure which one it was though. Anyway, human,” the air in front of you suddenly feels cold, “I’m incredibly sorry for overloading you with everything. If it helps, I’ll guide you through the rest of the house whenever you’re ready. And I prefer Honey to my actual name.”

“Honey? Okay…heheh, that’s a sweet name for someone who’s so good at being scary,” you can’t help the pun.

Honey is laughing now and Ranch is groaning, “NO. JUST NO. PUNS ARE NOT ALLOWED IN MY VICINITY.”

--

The wallpaper no longer covered the portraits’ true natures, but Honey and Ranch both thought it would be best to leave them alone since they didn’t want to further upset Nightmare. So even if the grim subjects were unnerving, you powered through and got the gargoyles cleaned off, the wood paneling cleaned and polished, and some bulbs in the burned out lights.

“Do we need to go up there?” you ask, pointing to the cupola.

“nah,” Honey snorted, “people don’t generally look up, hence why I was hanging there for so long without anybody having a clue. You can only get up there if you either enter from the roof or use gravity magic.”

“SO WE SAVE TIDYING THAT UP TILL WE’RE FIXING THE ROOF TILES,” Ranch nodded, and you agreed.

“I’m going to do a few bedrooms in the servant’s quarters before I try to go any deeper. It’ll feel more secure,” you hated that you were honestly scared of the rest of the house. It was only a little fear though, you’d get over it.

“remember, friend, I’ll guide you through. The minute they hear my voice, they’ll behave a bit since you’re deemed friendly,” Honey’s cool presence swirled around you, “til then, I’m going to hang out with my brother. Later.”

The room became instantly dull as soon as he left.

--

Cookie and Chef volunteered their own room for renovation, and helped you find it at the end of the servants’ quarters hallway on the second floor.

The room was a little barren, but then Chef wrote on your notepad, “THIS ROOM IS RIGHT ABOVE THE PANTRY THAT BLEW UP, SO A LOT OF THE THINGS IN HERE GOT DAMAGED FROM THAT.”

Ah, so it had been fixed at some point after their demise.

“i think what remained of our things were stored away somewhere. Hopefully not the attic,” wrote Cookie.

“We’ll look when I get this place up to snuff,” you rolled up your sleeves and gripped your broom tight, “Let’s get down to business.”

--

Cleaning a nearly empty room was a lot easier than a full one like Dream’s.

With help, you got the old mattresses out, cleaned all the fabrics, and had the place dust free in the matter of the day. That meant, as soon as breakfast was over the next morning, you started looking for its occupants’ belongings.

The other servants’ rooms were filled with other people’s things, and you weren’t about to look through them without their permission (if they were here, that is) so you went to look around the first floor instead.

Broom cupboard had lots of rotten brooms and mops, rusty buckets, and cobwebs but no personal effects. Then came a room with just a small sink inside for filling those mop buckets, a new but unstocked pantry (‘this is the spot’ wrote cookie, and you could indeed see a crack in the floor with singe marks around it), and an old fashioned laundry room.

“Well, the laundry is good, since now we have a place to continue cleaning the fabrics, but there has to be some kind of storage area…” you only had one door left, and it made you doubtful you’d find what you needed.

The door opened up to another nicely sized cupboard/storage area, with boxes of plates, glasses, and silverware. Using your flashlight as the bulb overhead shorted the moment you tried turning it on, you carefully scanned the labels.

“Gyftmas china, grape etched glasses, electrical supplies, special copper dining set, sewell…wait.”

The box you’d just read from was taken down and you opened it up, finding various shrapnel pitted knickknacks padded among singed shirts and pants.

“OUR THINGS!” Chef’s voice rang out in his excitement, and you smiled.

“Bingo! Let’s put these back in your room,” Excited at your victory, the two ghosts whooped in vocal celebration as you marched triumphantly back up the stairs.

--

Cookie and Chef put things back the way they liked them, and you were happy to let them. Bedside tables were soon full of things, damaged but usable picture frames were on the wall holding old photos, and their clothes were placed back into the new armoire.

The more they unpacked, the more you felt the room became alive again, and the happier it made you.

“I’m so glad we found where they stored things. There are probably more boxes if we look,” you mention, but get no response as the spirits are too busy arranging things.

You just hope, as a half blown apart rug was laid down, that most of the house goes smoothly like this had.

Chapter Text

You managed to receive a call back to the job you applied for, as the store was in desperate need of restocking workers. It was very good for you, knowing you were one to be awake well into the night and get up in the morning fine.

It wasn’t a stimulating job, and it wasn’t one you’d share with any coworkers just yet, but it paid well, offered insurance, and you got weekends off (since that’s when teenagers were available to do things). Even so, you were happy to do it, finding sorting a satisfying task and a well-faced shelf reward enough for the work as you did it.

And every penny you earned here was that much you could save of what the Evers Group gave you, so you didn’t have to pay as much back at the end. The fresh produce at home reduced your food costs significantly, and that meant only bills and house renovation costs would make any major dents in your pay. Thank goodness you’d gone to school for historic preservation, or you’d be lost on how to best handle all the materials you were finding in a safe and relatively cheap manner.

It might take you a few days to get used to the new routine, though, and you need to get up your courage before finding any other ghosts in the rest of the house. You wanted to ask permission of the servants and occupants if you could.

Francis became your shadow no matter where you went during the days at the house. Oh, right, he hates his given name, Honey then.

“You’re doing a great job at sprucing the place up. We all like this place, but with the whole being dead thing…” you could just feel the shrug in his words, “cleaning kind of goes out the window.”

He liked telling you about the people who lived in the rooms, so you knew a lot of names to ask for in the other spaces. The servants’ quarters are mostly empty because the staff wanted to enjoy the house as much as the richer folk did now that there’s no real decorum necessary.

After a few evenings of your job, you finally find something genuinely bothering you and ask him, “Honey, why can you talk all the time, and I can see Ink in his portrait, but I can never seen anybody else and it takes a lot for Cookie or Chef to say something out loud?”

“oh.” He flutters the leaves on a porch plant as he moves closer to the old rocking chair you’re sitting in, looking out on the yard. “As for me, I’m pretty sure you can hear me because of the fact got to kind of settle into being a ghost more than the others. They died, woke as ghosts the next day, but didn’t have to stare at their own bodies like I did. It was weird grieving myself but it gave me a lot more power, I think.”

The matching rocker beside you starts gently swaying on its arches, Honey matching your rhythm, “But it would take anybody else a lot of energy to project something into the physical world. We can touch and move things we were familiar with in life, but a voice or vision, that takes big power.”

“Is there any way I could make it easier on you guys to let me see you?” you are looking at the chair as if you could make it fill in with just your gaze.

“No…but I think I know someone who could make it easy for YOU to see us. It’d take me a little time to find out where she is, but when I do, I’ll lead you there. We’ll have a ball with it.” He laughed at a secret joke you didn’t understand, but you smile.

“Good. I guess I really have an advantage with you a-round.”

The two of you start sharing puns and it goes on until you have to get ready for work.

--

Stocking the store, you feel a familiar chill and look around. Nobody…nobody living anyway.

“Hello?” you ask, and you hear footsteps. Bone on tile footsteps like when Honey is making messages in the steam in the bathroom while you wash your face in the mornings.

Whispering, you go back to placing cans of tomato sauce, “Whoever you are, please don’t do anything drastic. This job is letting me function without going into debt once the year is up. I don’t mind you coming out with me and getting a little air, or anybody else nice from the house, just try to be subtle.”

The bone steps settle beside you, along with the big temperature drop.

“Thanks. The cold is helping; I was getting really warm lifting all these big cans.”

A boney hand pats your calf unseen; they must be sitting on the floor.

“It’s nice to meet you, and I’m really glad for the company since I’m here alone besides the security lady. Just tug on my shirt or pants if you need my attention.”

Another pat by your shoe, and you happily return to concentrating on properly rotating the cans once they’re in place. You’re still on the ‘new job’ high and trying to be a model employee.

--

No luck finding your mysterious “her” that can let you see the ghosts, but Honey is happy to follow along as you enter the next room. It’s a long hallway with paintings on the walls that seem to follow your every move with their eyes.

“These paintings aren’t haunted, don’t worry,” Honey assures you, “They’re some of Ink’s gag paintings that have recessed eyes to make it LOOK like they’re looking at you everywhere. He found it funny and collected them in this hall.”

That was a relief, at least until you got to the end. Honey hadn’t pointed out any of the various doors on the hall as “of interest” but you didn’t doubt there was more cleaning and sorting and restoration to be done behind them. At the end, Honey grabbed your shoulders in front of a painting.

“That’s me…but so sinister. Weird.”

The portrait is of a long jawed skeleton with tired droopy sockets, narrowed in a menacing grin and holding an axe, with a noose around his neck.

“Do you remember posing for this portrait?” you ask, and the hands squeeze.

“No. I only sat for Ink, and then just to sketch in the basics of how I look so he could add me to a crowd scene in one of his party paintings. He was famous for depicting monsters having a good time and hiding a lot of fun secrets in his paintings. Individual portraits of real people were not his style at all.”

“So he didn’t paint his own picture in the entryway?”

“No. It was done posthumously by an anonymous fan of his.”

So someone unknown was painting pictures of the ghosts of the manor, as they were before they died, and making them sinister. You don’t like this at all.

Looking ahead, you see more portraits. Honey’s chill moves away from you and he groans, “More paintings, but these ARE haunted. Guys, this human with me is fixing and cleaning the house for us. You can do cool stuff, but just don’t go overboard.”

The atmosphere’s less oppressive now, and you notice the paintings change in the flickering light of the dying bulbs here.

A full masted ship becomes a hulking wreck, a human on a horse switches to them both being skeletal, a greecian woman transforms into Medusa herself, another woman rapidly ages from youth into a hag, and another who morphed into a cat creature!

“That’s…pretty spooky,” you stay well back from the frames.

“Okay, well, the guys behind this are Wathel, Rolo, Gordon, Cam, and Bradford. They were the manservants around here.” You nod at each name, and wave when they’re all said.

“I’m glad to meet you, and thank you for keeping it low key. I’ve had enough jumpscares these last two months to last a lifetime.” You get lots of pats on the shoulder and back for your greeting.

“If you guys wouldn’t mind, they’d like to clean and restore your rooms, so helping them out in the quarters would be great,” Honey gets to the point, and you feel a rush of air past you. “There we go. Those five will be the whole of the staff, since the only other spot left was the butler and nobody went in his room except his own brother, then only when called for.”

“Were none of them the brother?” you should start making a chart.

“Cam, the guy in the ship painting. His room is at the end of the hall across from the kitchen guys, and the butler’s is next door to you and dream. They’re the only actual servants with their own rooms, everybody else shared.”

Sighing, you nod and go get your cleaning supplies. At least you didn’t end up running and crying this time.

--

The ghost who came with you to work was being a little helpful, aiding you in lifting bigger items up to higher shelves, steadying your step stools, and keeping your dolly of pallets from rolling away.

But you aren’t sure it’s always the same ghost. Sometimes they sit by your feet, other times you feel them fluttering around the aisle in interest, and other times you hear their footsteps dashing the length of the aisle.

Today you had the runner, and when they came close you asked, “Hey, friend?”

The bone on tile sounds came back to you and as you were gently placing bread loaves, you asked, “How many of you guys come out to work with me?”

You get three soft pats on the head, and you nod, “Okay. I thought there was more than one. Has Honey introduced us yet?”

An X is drawn on your back, “No. Okay. Well, when he finds that lady he’s looking for, I can’t wait to be able to see you and your two friends. Having you guys with me makes the long hours more bearable. And less scary. I’m afraid of heights, y’know.”

A hug, cold but affectionate, and from a very tall person, meets your admission. “Oh, well, you’d know all about heights then, haha. You can go back to running around if you want, I just had to ask.”

They do not, instead nudging around the bread on the upper shelves to be straighter for you.

--

“human. Wake up.”

“huh?” you were dead asleep (hah) when you hear a voice you vaguely recognize.

“it’s huet.”

Oh. “How’d you get in the room?”

“dream and I are on good terms. I need to show you something.”

Rubbing your eyes, you sit up and see the door open. Dream’s aura is at your side, and doesn’t leave you as you follow a red glow down the hall and downstairs to the kitchens.

“I have more power here. I just don’t want you to be super shocked when you eventually find Leota.”

A flickering image, like light on smoke, shows you a skeleton with one large red eye light in his left socket and a massive hole in his skull for a second or two, and then it’s out. You gasped in alarm, but hear him laugh.

“I had the hole before I died, cupcake. Old wound from the war. Just wanted to give you a ‘heads up’ as it were, hehe…’s why they called me the horror of st. louis back in the day. I go by Clove though.”

“Clove…I appreciate the warning. That was kind of you.”

You feel a cold breeze, “do what I can. See ya later.”

Then it’s just you and the warm aura of your roommate in the dark.

--

“So who’s in here?” you ask Honey as you go to the open door on the servants’ landing.

“Rolo and Gordon, younger and older brother respectively. Mostly did work on the fences and keeping the pets in line.”

“And can I have a basic description?”

“You’ve seen them already. They’re the top two guys on the quicksand portrait.”

Oh. “Who has the magenta stars in his eyes?”

“That’d be Gordon.”

“RAZZY”

The voice startles you, but you smile, “That’s your preferred name, I take it. Nice to make your acquaintance, Razzy.” The satisfied aura from the frayed bed on the left makes your heart lift a bit.

“Wow, okay. Sorry, I was just trying to go by what they can find in the records, razz.” Honey’s put out tone made you giggle, and he sighs, “Everybody’s buried in the yard, anyway. You’ll find them.”

“How’d they get them out of the quicksand though?” if it was deep enough for three people on each other’s shoulders to drown in, it had to be difficult.

“magic, ropes, and pulleys,” Honey let his head rest on yours, his jaw feeling rounded around the chin and a little recessed, “and that’s note half of what we’ve had to do to retrieve folks in THIS house.”

“Well, we can get the whole story as we go, Hon,” you’re using bathroom wipes to clean the dust off the furniture, “Today we’re helping Razzy and his brother with their room.”

Usually your notepad gets ignored by the ghosts other than Chef and Cookie, but suddenly someone is writing. Looking at it, you see small, slightly sloppy writing, “call me syrup. I also tapped the maples in the back of the graveyard and made the stuff.”

“That’s so cool!” You had sugar maples on the property?! “People will pay money for local artisan stuff like that. Not that I’m sharing the first few batches once we get things up to standard.”

“What? Then we should get my hives set up again.”

“You were a beekeeper?” this is news to you.

“Yes indeed. My brother and I had a good time keeping our little swarms. It really helped our reputations get away from our ancestor once people realized our honey and candles were good…”

You imagined little white boxes and flowers with bees and butterflies around, and the skeleton you’d seen in the portrait with kinder expressions in a bee suit wandering around looking humming (as he’d done while following you around a lot).

“I just felt nostalgia for a time I never saw.”

“hehe, you’ve got good empathy and a strong imagination. Bound to happen,” Honey gave you a pat on the shoulder, “but I appreciate it. You’ve been giving us all more energy with how open you’re being to us existing. It feels good to connect to someone again.”

“SOFT AS EVER,” was Razzy’s smug addition, and you laugh.

--

Razzy and Syrup’s room turned out to be very homey. Old fashioned pajamas, a sketch of Syrup in a long coat with dogs around his feet from Ink, medals from the union army for bravery for Razzy…

“It never occurred to me you guys might have fought in the Civil War.”

Honey sighed, “Many of us did, but few of us actually saw action. With healing magic being so effective, we stayed behind at the field hospitals. I don’t want to know what kind of awful things might have happened if we weren’t there…”

“But the medals?” you gesture, and there’s silence.

“razz says he fought to be on the lines, and was actually a tactician. The war is how he and Bradford got their scars, having fought in the same battalion together.”

“Amazing. Thank you for your service, Razz, really. History remembers what you fought for, and I sorely wish we had the same drive to stand for the rights of others now…” it hurts your heart to think of all the ways things have slid back toward intolerance recently.

“hey… you aren’t alone,” Honey put his hand on your shoulder, and someone else hugged you. A tall someone, so probably Syrup. “Not here. And a fight is only lost if you give up. So stay determined, pal.”

Stay determined. That was all they asked of you here. And it was what you could do to make things better around you, and that’s all anybody should ask of another person. You can’t change the world, but you can change YOUR world, and that’s what you’re doing. And even if you’d been seen as alone, you’re with friends. Very good friends, and a lot of them.

Chapter Text

Going through the portrait hall, you found a door into a library.

Two busts sat in deep alcoves, one wearing glasses and another in goggles that covered his sockets. You weren’t looking forward to all the book preservation nonsense you had to go through now, but were happy enough to have a quiet space in the larger part of the house.

Well, it WAS quiet until you quickly went from one side of the room to the other and heard a scraping noise of stone shifting. When you turned around, the busts had both turned to look at you.

“Is nothing in this house going to behave itself?” you walk over to the busts and see them shift to look at you still, “Okay, let me introduce myself. I’m the human who’s staying here and cleaning the place up. I want to keep everything as it is, just cleaner and able to be lived in for me, too. You guys are more than welcome, but please don’t creep on me? I’m not trying to run you out or damage your busts, but I will do everything I can to preserve the books and bring in some new ones so you can update yourself on information…” reading the labels on the busts, “Dr. Clement and Dr….Clement? Oh, are you related or married?”

Dust on the marble plinth for the glasses bust is written in, “cousins”

“That answers that, thank you.” Putting down your pad and paper, you gesture, “I’d like your nicknames or first names so I can talk to you both properly and not have confusion. There are a lot of people haunting this place.”

A large script in careful cursive wrote, “I AM WEARING THE GOGGLES AND MY FRIENDS CALLED ME NICKEL BECAUSE I WAS ALWAYS PICKING UP DROPPED CHANGE. MY COUSIN IS GOLDIE, FOR HIS MAGIC COLOR. ALSO HELLO AND WELCOME! WE’D LOVE UPDATED BOOKS ON CHEMISTRY AND ASTRONOMY IF YOU CAN MANAGE THEM.”

“Lucky you, I have my textbooks from college left in my stuff. Masters in historic preservation, and I took astronomy as an elective. I’ll bring them in here for you guys once the cleaning and preserving part is done, but I’ll put them outside in the hallway till then so you can catch up quicker.”

A smaller cursive, more cramped, adds, “thank you, friend. A stagnant scientist is always in torment.”

“I’m more than happy to end your suffering then,” you giggle a bit, realizing the joke that was looming in that statement.

--

Fall was slipping into winter by now, and you shivered. As old as it was, and as consistently abandoned, you knew there was no central heat and every chance you’d have to abandon your little safe room with Dream and stay with Ranch and Farm for the season.

Still, every time you walked in the front door as the temperatures dropped, you found the fireplace going and Ink’s painted face smiling happily at you. “Hey, Ink. Cold night tonight, huh?”

He nodded, then the painting shifted to its natural state and a warm mug that had been sitting beside the fire was put in your hands. Curious, you took a sniff, then quickly took a sip, groaning in relief as the warm chocolatey goodness flooded your body, “Hot cocoa, oh thank you! You guys are the best housemates I’ve ever had, bar none, except maybe my mother.”

“just keeping our mortal safe,” came a happy, almost singsong voice. Had to be Ink’s, it fit him too well.

“Well, your mortal is grateful, Master Gracey,” you pull a goofy bow while keeping your mug steady and taking a seat next to the fire. “I’ll warm up with you before I head to bed. It’s been a long day at the store.”

The companionable silence of your shared home was sometimes reward enough for your hard work. Still, you wondered something, “Ink, do you ever talk with your husband?”

He was back in the painting, waving his hand a bit back and forth. “Sometimes? Okay. Are you on good terms?” you laughed at his emphatic nod and the way his eye lights changed to a yellow star and red heart. “It’s nice to hear, even if he did go on to marry Nightmare. Did you marry for love or money?”

Ink draws a little heart with his finger and sighs wistfully, even if his grin gets mischievous, “I feel like there’s a huge story you’re going to tell me the minute I can hear you consistently.” Another nod and you just smile.

“That makes me happy. A good love story is always a treasure, and knowing my friend found a good match is even better.”

Ink beams, and you’re enveloped in what can only be described as ‘static’ but it feels very happy. “Hahah, did you not realize I thought of you as my friend? One of my best ones, in fact. You’re goofy, but I really feel better seeing you here to greet me every time I come home.”

The static buzzes a little harder, and then it’s gone, but the painting looks elated.

“We’re friends, Ink, and I’m pretty glad I stayed that first day. Everything school age me ever wanted is right here.” Looking around your heart warms, “Lots of interesting people, most who are nice to me and some who even care about me, a cool mystery to figure out, a big house to explore and decorate at some point…only thing missing is a pet tyrannosaurus and a rocket to the moon.”

Ink’s painting silently laughs and you let your laughter peal out loud, not minding it at all as it echoes. Your friends never sleep anyway, so let them share your joy.

--

Going into the library to do some work on the books, you’re surprised to feel a change in the air. Instead of the curiosity of the two doctors you feel…melancholy. Almost like how Dream feels if you make the mistake of wondering about his brother out loud.

“Hello?”

A gasp, and a soft lavender light drops a book.

“Oh, sorry I scared you.” You pick up the book and hold it out to the little orb, “John Donne? He’s one of my favorites, if I had to pick a poet.”

The orb takes the book, floating on top of it, then sets it on a table. “you aren’t…afraid?” comes a very faint, tentative tone.

“No? I’ve seen lots of ghostly things around here by now. An orb is pretty tame,” you laugh softly and sit on the floor, “I was coming in to preserve these books and document them to try and find more modern volumes as stand ins. I want everyone to still have access to what’s important to them.”

“oh…” the voice is pretty far off, but the light sits itself in front of you. “that’s incredibly thoughtful of a human…”

“I try to be thoughtful toward everybody, living or dead. It’s just the polite thing to do,” you get on your gloves and start with the lowest shelf, beginning to examine the first volume. A collection of ghost stories from 1879, ironically. “What should I call you?”

“Um…” the voice sounds nervous, but then settles, “call me Aster. It was my middle name when alive.”

“Aster,” you perk at the name, “I think I’ve seen those kind of flowers. Lovely name.”

“Hmm…”

The orb sits by your feet in silence for quite a while as you carefully tease apart old pages and take note of what needs repair and the stories inside (if you can make out the words). It’s not an easy silence, but you wait for Aster to speak. They must be a powerful spirit to have a visible form and a voice.

“You’re doing so much for the house,” finally your companion speaks, “but you aren’t going to get any kind of reward. The money you’re being paid has to be paid back, right?”

“Yes,” you look at the little orb, wanting more information.

“And all you’ll get is the house and the very limited estate fund.” Poor Aster sounded so confused, “You’ll have to work your menial little job forever just to stay even?”

“Well,” you put down the book you’d been examining, “firstly, I should be hearing back from the National Historic registry soon, and if the place is designated, that means we’ll get a stipend for restoration and preservation efforts. And I’m sure we could pass off some of the spookier things as a Halloween attraction if everybody agrees to it…but I’m not too worried. As long as I can pay the property tax, buy my food and pay for electricity and wifi, I’m happy. And as soon as we get an agreement in place, Farm and Ranch will be living in here with me. No sense having all this space without sharing it, right?”

“Why are you being so KIND, though?” the orb was pulsing, fading to a bluer shade, “It makes no sense. You could run us out, destroy our graves, throw everything we held dear away and make a huge profit, but…but you aren’t doing that. I just don’t understand it…”

“I can’t really explain it, Aster,” you take a deep breath and really think about it, “I just can’t imagine doing things differently than I am, though. Kindness isn’t supposed to be done for personal gain. People ought to be happy making others happy. I know that’s how it works with me. And so far it’s made my life better, and I hope others’ lives as well. What are we doing here if we don’t leave this world better than we came into it?”

The orb floated to your face, and gently pressed to your forehead. “You’re very unusual for a human…I really hope you stay.”

The melancholy of the room became a heavy shroud on your shoulders, “I’m going to do everything I can to do just that, Aster.”

---

You took a break from the tedious book tasks and went for some basic cleaning in the next servant room. Honey was with you today and you knocked on the door, “Bradford? Can I come in?”

The door swung open, and Honey said, “it is bradford, he’s the lowest on the quicksand totem, so you’ve seen him.”

“Hello,” you wave wait till Honey nudges you to go in. You don’t want to accidentally walk through someone, as you have more than once with Honey and Dream and it isn’t pleasant. All over cobwebs, eugh.

Setting down a fresh notepad and pencil, you gesture, “I know there’s two of you in here, and I’m really sorry I didn’t remember the other name, but I do remember it was unique. Please, if you can, write down what you’d like to say to me and what you’d rather have me call you.”

Stiff, big print letters came across the page, “I’M THE ONE YOU’VE SEEN IN THAT FRANKLY INSULTING PAINTING OF MY DEATH. I PREFER TO BE CALLED EDGE IF IT’S ALL THE SAME. I LIKED TO LIVE ON IT, AND I DIED ON IT.”

“Duly noted,” you take that node and smile, “I’ve already cleaned your fellow soldier’s room, so I hope I’m up to your standards, Edge.”

“don’t flatter him.” Wrote a strange and messy mix of cursive and print. “don’t bother thinking of my name, it’s shit for anybody to have. I went by Red, for my magic and what color the ladies’d turn when I walked by.”

A strange clacking noise was heard, and Honey laughed. “Edge just smacked him on the back of the head. They’re both orphans, adopted each other in the war.”

You laugh as you realize what happened, and Edge’s response heightens your giggles, “HE’S AN INCOURIGABLE CAD, BUT HE’S UNFORTUNATELY MY ONLY FAMILY. PLEASE HOLD IT AGAINST HIM FOREVER.”

--

Red and Edge end up talking a lot. Well, writing.

Edge tells stories of his and Razzy’s time in the war, sneaking away from confederate soldiers, planning surprise attacks by night, and sometimes, if you’re working late in the night and Honey has gone to rest somewhere…he tells you about the people he lost. His friends and commrades, who did not have the same luxury of being in the mansion’s grounds when they passed.

“THEY WERE THE ONES WHO DESERVED THE MEDALS. RAZZY AND I JUST LIVED LONG ENOUGH TO GET THEM.”

You cried when he wrote that. Cried because you ached for his pain and because you panged with your own losses. Life had not been the kindest to you, so you became the kindness you’d lacked. You’d lost many things. Friends, family members, pets…but you also lost the innocent trust of childhood, the chance to be carefree in that time, the casual freedom of trusting fate.

Thicker arms than Edge’s wrapped around your shoulders and a bare whisper of a soft Brooklyn lilt met your ears, “feel what you gotta, human. If anybody understands, we do.”

That night released all the frustration and tension and fear you’d bottled up, and you felt other presences come and go while you sobbed. You just babbled, not knowing who of your invisible friends was hearing it.

How you’d thought you were going to die the first night you were here, how many flashbacks to your abuser some of the stories had given you, how much you hated not being able to see and hear all the people around you when you KNEW they were there…

It went on and on, the list of your troubles screaming into words until finally you just whimpered, “I just want to be good…”

“you are, darlin’,” came a soft southern drawl. You had no idea who it was, but they wiped your tears away.

“Syrup’s right,” Honey’s voice comes from near the door, “you’re doing more than anybody’s ever done for us before as a group, and you want to know us all individually. You actually care, and it’s clear to us all exactly why you deserve our friendship and our help. It’s not easy to live, but it’s worth it, and we’d know what the other side is like.” Silence for a brief second, then he’s right in front of you, “for tonight, honeybee, we’ll be your protectors. Give dream the night off. Because you didn’t leave us, so we won’t leave you when you need us.”

It felt so good to just nod and let many sympathetic souls surround your aching one. To feel the love you’d been desperately pouring into the world finally come back to you.

--

It’s not till later on you’re able to get the courage to ask, “Syrup, why do you sound like a southerner?”

Every room now had its own notebooks so the ghosts could write to you when you weren’t there, and Syrup wrote in the one for his room, “our family grew up in Georgia, but when tensions started rising, we left for the north. We were fighting our former neighbors, but at least we were on the right side of history. I was a medic, so I stayed back but” he stopped writing for a moment, as if wondering how to word it, “I’m very glad people like you are living now instead of back then. It would have hurt you too much to see all that.”

You decide to vocalize your feelings, “I want to hug you so bad, you tall skeletal cutie pie!”

The pencil fumbles and falls to the floor, but you feel better, “You’re so sweet, and I am convinced you’ve got to be at least as adorable in person as your painting made you out to be. Honey’s wasn’t even flattering, but yours at least made you seem nice.”

You’re amazed to see a brown-orange glow next to the desk where the pencil rests, and you beam, “I can see your magic.”

The glow gets brighter, and then vanishes. The pencil is picked up and you read what’s written.

“MY BROTHER IS EASILY FLUSTERED BY COMPLIMENTS. HE’S GONE TO HIS TREES TO COOL DOWN. I’M IMPRESSED BY YOUR PERCEPTIVE ASSERTIONS.”

“Thanks, Razzy, but I didn’t want to send him running. I’ll have to be a little more cautious in how hard I push the positivity next time.” Learning boundaries is a very important part of friendship, after all.

--

You’re working at the store with the fluttering ghost, and ask, “Have I learned your name yet, friend?”

An X on your arm. No.

“That’s a shame. You three spend the most time with me lately.”

A pat on the head, and they continue going around looking at labels.

It takes a few minutes, but suddenly you hear a voice come over the intercom, “Uh, hey, you seeing something in your aisle or is my camera bugging out? I keep seeing floating cans.”

Alarmed, you turn and yelp when you see three cans floating around a single spot. That makes the ghost drop the cans, which are now dented, and you feel terrified.

“Oh geeze, it was real! Dude, we’re haunted!” says the security lady over the intercom. You think her name is Hariet. “Uh, you want to just go home? Cause I don’t know what to do about a ghost intruder and I feel too creeped to stay.”

“I think,” you swallow, “I think we should go home now. Maybe we’ll think more clearly in the morning.”

“Okay! Meet me at the doors!” and then the intercom crackles off.

“Friend, go to the car quick,” you hiss and feel the cold air rush past. You can only hope your manager is at least somewhat open to the idea of the supernatural.

You don’t have to pretend to be shaken when you get to the doors, because you’ve never been so scared for someone else. That someone being your ghost friend.

--

Now that it was cold enough to do some graveyard keeping that will stick, you do. Farm and Ranch don’t normally go near the graves in the front or back, but told you want plants were and what should and should not be there.

Lots of dandelion stalks to pluck out of the ground, which the little white dog would pick up and run away with. Lots of places where mushrooms were growing, those you left alone because mushrooms are cute.

But afterward, covered in dirt, green things, and sweat, you went to the little brass bathroom in the servant’s quarters downstairs and soaked in the claw footed tub.

It was one of the few places in the house you were certain no one alive or dead would bother you, and it let you think on things.

Working on the house made you happy, even the very nit-picky work of preserving the library books and finding more modern editions or similar volumes. You loved taking pictures of the furniture and posting them to the little group chat of folks from your college who’d also gone into preservation (and a couple other old friends who just liked antiques aesthetically). And you had to admit the little emo kid you’d been at 14 or so was giddy you lived in a house with actual ghosts and murders and graves. You were living a very metal life for a nerd, and the thought made you giggle to yourself.

As you use your nicer body wash to perk yourself up after a long day, you start singing to yourself, going through the songs your reminiscing about teenager-hood had brought to mind. You couldn’t remember half the band names, but the lyrics stuck with you and you were happy with that.

Coming out in your robe, you went to your room, and never even noticed the wet footprints that went the opposite way from the bathroom….

Chapter Text

You met Aster often in the library if you went after work, and they said it was because that’s when Goldie and Nickle went to the basement where their laboratory had been.

“I prefer it to be quiet and not to have eyes on me,” came the soft confession. “There’s only a few people here I can handle…would…would you like to meet one?”

Eager to set down your aching fingers from where you’d been pressing individual book pages again, you agree and get up.

The lavender orb leads you across the hall and to a door you hadn’t opened yet. Inside was a music room, with a large piano.

“This is where…ah…Mr. Mason likes to hang out sometimes. He moves around a lot, though.” The orb gently pushes into your back, “I told him you might visit tonight if you were up for it. Go ahead. I…I don’t like to be out of the library when I’m on the first floor…”

“Okay, Aster,” You turn and gently cup the orb in your hands, “This is your home as much as mine. More so, since you’ve been here longer. If it makes you comfortable, I don’t mind going in alone to meet your friend. Take care of yourself, and that will make me happy, too.”

The usually cold and sad aura around Aster lightens a noticeable fraction, “You…you really like me, don’t you?”

“Yes.” You grin, “You’re one of the people here okay with friendly silence and parallel bonding time. It’s been ages since I’ve had a someone who understands the value in that. You’re wonderful to be around, Aster.”

The light grows brighter, “Thank you, friend…I think I really needed to hear that out loud. I’ll see you another night.” Then off they float, back through the library door.

Sighing and shaking your head fondly, you head into the room as the piano is clamoring away in a jaunty melody.

“Hello?” you ask, and the piano quiets, but then starts again. The light won’t turn on, probably burnt out, so you flick on your flashlight from your pocket and guide the beam to the piano. No one sits at it, but the shadow of a man in a tophat…or a skeleton more likely, sits playing on the wall.

“ah, hello there,” you address the shadow, who tips his hat to you. “Mr. Mason, I presume?” a nod, “Aster said you’re a likeable fellow, and I think I can probably trust their judgement. Your playing is wonderful.”

A lilting, soft tune greets you, making you feel that was a thanks.

“I’m going to be cleaning up in here once I’m done with the books in the library. You may have to switch instruments from time to time as I have them cleaned and tuned but I don’t want to displace you.”

Ragtime plays for a moment, happy, “Ah, you’ve probably wanted this thing tuned for years, huh?” the shadow nods empahtically, “Good. I played flute for a few years myself and when I picked it up again after five years away at college, I was miffed at how off it was.”

The piano stills and a flute covered in dust floats to you, “Oh! You have one, too! I won’t play it right now because of all the dust and probable damage to the pads,” the shadow slumps a bit, “But! Once it’s cleaned and tuned and has good pads, I’d be happy to work myself back to playing state so we can duet. Music is very important to me.”

The piano tune returned to what it had been, a playful minor key, discordant through the neglect of the physical instrument, and you listened happily till your eyes were beginning to cross from need of sleep.

--

You startled when you checked your email one morning and saw a missive from the Evers Group.

Opening it with trepidation, you read:

“Dear Asset Manager,

We have noticed our funds are not being used, despite ensuring they are going to the correct account. Has something happened to you? Please respond at your earliest convenience to ease our concerns.

The Evers Group,

Keegan Ramsley, human resources.”

Taking a deep breath, you take your computer out to Farm and Ranch.

“What do I do?” you ask after they’d both read the message.

“Respond carefully,” Farm was studying the screen closely, even if it was clear his mind was on the problem and not what he was seeing. “these corporate types are experts at coercion and talking circles, so play their game.”

“How? I spent my life being as honest as was polite and possible, I’m an academic not a suit.” Your anxiety was peaking.

Ranch carefully sat you down at their little dining table, “We’ve been dealing with this company for generations, let us handle it. Just try to calm down and I’ll make you some tea.”

“Milk and sugar, if you don’t mind…” you groan as you put your head in your hands. To be honest, you were scared. You’d read your contract, very carefully, with a family member who was a lawyer present. There was nothing LEGALLY preventing you from anything you’d done thus far. Having a second job? Wasn’t ever even mentioned in the document. Restoring the home? That part was ENCOURAGED and would net a bonus if done on ‘return of the asset’ which was not happening.

Ghosts had not been mentioned, and you distinctly remember a “removal of any remains found would be both applauded and compensated for” line somewhere in the jargon. Of course a corporate real estate firm wouldn’t want a mansion ripe for conversion into a hotel or full on bulldozing to have any graves on site. Ugh, just thinking about how underhanded what they’d hired you to do actually was made you sick.

Ranch sat the teacup in front of you before taking his own seat, “Don’t mind the big wigs, friend. We’ve already had to write them two letters in the time Farm and I have been in charge of the groundskeeping, and our cousin Cherry is very insistent on us standing our ground. He’s a contract lawyer in Kansas City.”

“okay, try this,” Farm showed you a document he’d opened with a letter on it.

“Dear Mx. Ramsley,

I apologize for any worry on the company’s part, but getting settled in a new place has kept me busy. I’ve been engrossed in my work and finding ways to catalogue and research items as I move through the property.

I want to have a clear picture of what’s needed before spending too much, avoiding waste where I can, and the property is a large undertaking. I’m going room by room to ensure my sweep is thorough.

In the future, I’ll send a monthly missive with any concerns to avoid future issues like this.

Thank you for your patience.”

Reading the draft over, you sip the tea and let your shoulders relax from where they’d been caging your ears, “That sounds perfect. I can waffle off something short once a month to keep them happy. I just panicked.”

Ranch and Farm relaxed as well, their smiles no longer tight, and Farm copy/pasted the words for you. “there we go. That should fend off the sharks for now.”

The brothers regaled you with stories of their family continuing on while fighting off corporations as you finished your tea.

--

At work, your manager was baffled by the tape of your friend’s floating cans, but he just shrugged it off and said ghosts weren’t recognized by science, and he can’t do anything about them even if they were. So back to work for you and Hariet.

Before you got in the car tonight, though, you addressed the trio, “I don’t know if you’re all three here or just whoever’s coming tonight, but we’ve got to set rules. You can’t float things in view of the cameras, and you’ve got to at least put the activity way down for the next little while or something could happen. I was really scared when we almost got caught.”

You get no response, then sigh, “Are you guys even here? Even one of you?”

To your shock, you get three nearby sticks floating separately above the yard.

“Oh, oh good. Um…and since I can’t see or hear you, and I want to be able to do both so we can properly introduce ourselves later, I’m going to just…kind of give you temporary nicknames. Just till I can get a better gauge on you. And you won’t be offended because they’re types of ghosts, right?”

Two of the sticks cross to make an X. No. You’re so glad you worked that “x no circle yes” out with the sitting ghost the first night.

“Okay. Sitting ghost is Spirit, running one is Wraith, and mr. inquisitive is Geist.” You just gesture vaguely except for Wraith because you point at the highest floating stick then. “I know Wraith is tall and it’s his turn anyway, right?”

The high floating stick twirls and then drops, the back door of your car opening and closing without you.

“Okay. Spirit, Geist, you two maybe come up with something to help keep things low key. I don’t want to be alone on shift but we can’t have another sighting. Nobody wants amateur ghostbusters in this house.”

The other two sticks draw circles, then fall, so you smile, “Good. I’ll catch you guys later.”

You put on peppy music and hear Wraith’s hands drumming on your center console along with the rhythm.

--

Curling up by the fireplace in the library, you sigh as you finally finish with the last book. “Well, that’s the end of that task. When I get a chance to head into a bigger town, I’ll start the repopulation of the shelves, but till then, everything’s laid out in the staff dining area.”

Goldie’s cramped writing flowed, “thank you for working so hard on our home. It’s so refreshing to have change back in this place.”

“I can imagine,” you get up and crack your back, “Oof. I just know how I felt for the eighteen years I lived in a small town. Nothing changed, nothing happened, nothing to do…it weighs on you.”

“WHERE ARE YOU HEADED NOW?” Nickle’s cursive queried.

“Music room. I have instruments to tune, polish, and repair, and see if there are any rare sheet music pieces. One of my friends from college is going to deal with the stringed ones for me just to say she’s part of this ‘project’.”

The busts turned your way and you blinked, “What? Did I say something wrong?”

Nickle continues his writing, “JUST BE CAREFUL. ONE OF NIGHTMARE’S BOYS LIKES TO GO IN THERE SOMETIMES.”

“That’s not reassuring, but okay. Thanks for the warning.” You braced yourself as you headed out. You were going to have lunch and then go to the music room.

--

It was with a broom in one hand and great trepidation that you head into the music room. However, you don’t find anything happening. The room is silent and you get concerned. “I hope Mr. Mason is okay. Maybe he just likes the nighttime like Aster.”

Still, you’re on edge. You brought your lantern today since you already know the lights are out. And some lightbulbs.

Looking at the fixture, you just know it’s going to be a two person job. Still, at least you’re aware now.

Not able to do much else, you set the lightbulbs in a cabinet for later and instead start cataloguing the instruments. Tambourine, hand bells, piano, flute, violin, trumpet….there’s a whole band’s worth in here. Maybe some of these belonged to the ghosts? You could ask your friends if they played later.

--

You put a photo of all the books laying out on the staff table and the kitchen floor on your group chat with your college friends.

Jamjan: holy sheets, wiggy, you did WORK

You nodded and replied.

Wigoutwednesday: it wasn’t easy, especially with how TINY the library is compared to how many books there were.

Archfirstwizard: and being alone in the murder mansion

That made you mad.

Wigoutwednesday: hey, only one murder was in the research material and it wasn’t even that really. It was a duel.

Jamjan: let wiggy defend their house. Not like your house is half as cool, wiz.

Wheezel: gotya there, bud. What’s the next plan?

ButterflyKicker: The music room! I can’t wait to get those packages. Who knows how long those poor things have sat unloved D:

Of course, Kimmy is the one worried about instruments, band kid that she’d been her whole life. You had to laugh.

It felt good to connect with other living folks now and then, and these were the folks you’d choose if you were picking your own squad. Maybe you’d invite them once you had the house full and clear.

Wouldn’t it be fun to introduce your dead friends to your living ones? And it’s great to imagine everybody you know together and having a good time. That’s the kind of future you want for yourself and this house. A place of coming together and understanding between worlds, human and monster, dead and living, past and present…

--

You met up with Mr. Mason again and played “guess the tune” as you cleaned and boxed up the smaller instruments for shipping.

This one was hard, but then you heard a familiar line, “Grandfather’s Clock!”

Charge being played means you got it right. You fist pumped and then went back to putting together a box for the violin, “I only know that one because of a horror game franchise. They used it in a music box.”

A single high note, lingering a bit like a question. “Uh, well, like Frankenstein or The Raven? Those are horror things. Nowadays, they make games that are like visual novels you can interact with and change the story depending on your choices.”

A slide up the keys, sounds interested, “Yeah, and they make scary ones, and this one I’m talking about is kind of popular. I had to look up the song, though, because I liked it.”

The notepad you’d set on the piano was used for the first time, print in a hurried and messy line, “do you like music boxes?”

“Oh, yeah. I like the way they sound; completely changes a song when it’s played that way.”

“I collected one from one of the folks who tried to live here before,” Mr. Mason writes, “I’ll bring it from my bedroom tomorrow.”

“that would be awesome, though stealing isn’t good at all. Bad ghostie,” you tease, even though the sentiment is genuine.

He plays The Entertainer. You laugh.

---

Finding the first downstairs bathroom was a relief. Now you wouldn’t have to run back to the servants’ quarters to use the toilet.

“Oh yeah, I forgot we had this,” Honey says, having followed you today since you said you wanted to open a new door. “I think Ink wanted to build to human standards just to rub it in how well his art was received and sold for. Monsters don’t use toilets after all, no need with our food.”

“I forget about that a lot,” you idly get out your wet wipes and start wiping down the sink, “It’s pretty, all the sea green with the purple.”

“thanks, ehehe.”

Both you and Honey yelp, and then Honey groans, “Pepper, you oaf, that scared the water out of me.”

“i’ve got plenty for both of us,” the voice says, and you see water begin to drip into the tub like it’s running off someone’s clothes.

“Ugh, show off,” Honey seems to turn to you, his voice changing directions, “pal, this is Culpepper Clyne. He was a cousin to Mr. Huet and ran a fishing boat.”

“and then, ehehe, then drowned while I was snoozing in the bath after his wedding.”

“I don’t understand how that’s funny, captain?” you have to ask.

“oh, it ain’t. I have, ahaha, have a head injury. Makes me laugh even, ahaha, even when I don’t feel happy or funny. Me’n clove got our, hah, the same day. Boom smacked us both, hahaha, both in the noggin on my boat. We dumped the idiot who caused it overboard cause it ended, heehee, ended up being a stupid attempt to mutiny.”

“Oh! Wow, that’s awful and yeah, I think I’d do something similarly drastic…still, sorry you ended up not seeing more of the sea after you came here.” You kept cleaning, and Honey and Pepper talked, only hearing Honey’s half.

“Yeah, they’re good. You seen your brother lately?” Honey asked and though you heard nothing, your companion sighs, “Good to know he’s okay, but I understand why he sticks to the ballroom.”

“We have a ballroom?!” you interject, and honey laughs a little.

“Yeah, but that’s where most of the inside ghosts hang out and really close to the attic, so I don’t want to head there till we’ve done all the smaller rooms. You are only one human after all. Plus,” he draws a smile in the dust on the mirror, “it’ll be more impressive if I find Madam Leota and have her help you see us before then.”

“Madam Leota?” you remember Clove mentioning a Leota to you before. “Who was she?”

Honey said, “We’ll come clean up later, Pepper, I gotta talk to this one about the Madam.”

“bye, human, hahah, an’ be safe.”

“I’ll try,” you wave at the still drippy specter in the tub. Once you and Honey get into the hall, he leads you outside by whistling to let you hear where he is. “Okay, so Leota’s buried in the family plot?”

“She is. Hers was actually one of the first ones, since she died not long before Master Gracey did.” Honey’s voice comes from a grey stone, with a female skeleton’s face carved in brass on the front. “Madame Lavinia Leota was the most accurate and praised fortune teller in monster society in our day. It wasn’t free, and if you were a bad person she’d grant your wishes in a genie’s bargain. What you want, but not how you want it.”

“I didn’t realize monster magic could tell the future,” you whisper in awe.

“It depends on what your magic is affiliated with but some can do it just with observations of a person. I could do a little of it, but Leota could always tell.” Some dust is brushed off the carving, “Nobody knows what happened to her, but we found her dead in her bedroom. Now that we’re all ghosts, we’ve been wondering where she was, but nobody’s found her in all this time.”

“Do you think she’s really here then? What if whatever’s kept you guys around happened after she died?” you don’t want your hopes up for nothing.

“She left a body, friend,” Honey sounded confident, “Which means whatever happened, it started with her. So she’s the one we need to find, both so she can use her magic to help you see and hear us, and so she can tell us what might have made the house so unusual to begin with.”

You stare at the tomb for a minute, then jump when the eyes of the carving open, look you over, then close. “Honey? Did you see that?”

“What?” he was quiet for a second, “What did you see?”

“The carving just looked at me! Its eyes open and close!”

“Then that has to be Leota. She heard us talking and wanted to see what’s up. I might not know where her main spirit core is, but she just got a glimpse of you and that has to mean we’re closer than we think.”

Shivering from being unnerved as well as the chilly weather, you gesture, “Okay, but let’s continue our discussion inside. It’s too cold for me out here.”

“Oh, right, humans who are alive need warmth. Heading back,” you feel his presence pass by in a light breeze, making you shiver more.

It’s nice to know there’s a fire inside and a glimpse into what you’re looking forward to.

Chapter Text

Honey led you to the end of the hall and said, “The staircase up to the second floor is here. I know we haven’t seen everything on the first floor yet, but I’m hoping maybe there will be clues to Leota’s location in her room up here.”

He helped you open the heavy red curtains blocking the view, and you heard him curse before you saw the problem.

The staircases were going in a multitude of directions, but nothing a human could use. Doors and archways floated at the ends of staircases at impossible angles and you looked at the other side of the curtains, “Honey, please explain.”

“I wish I could. Hey!” some glowing footprints on one of the stairs stop, “Violet, you jackass, stop acting stupid and come over here.” The footprints vanish and appear in front of you and Honey. “This is Victor Hightower, also known as the Theif in Violet, pretty famous cat burglar in his day. He’s also one of my closest friends and an idiot. Did you mess with the stairs?”

You stare at the footprints while Honey listens.

“then who did? Your brother? Ugh, and where’s he? With mine? Okay. Go back to your tomfoolery.”

You yelp when you feel a kiss on your cheek and the footprints run across invisible paths to start walking around the stairs again.

“Ugh, flirt.” Honey takes your hand and pulls, “Come on, Blue and the culprit are in the Gym doing fencing. I’m kind of glad; my brother’s been dying to meet you and bugging me every day.”

Going back to the hall, the purple wallpaper flashes by and you head to another unopened door. Inside is a large room with various sporting equipment around the edges and a mirrored wall on the far left. Two fencing foils are floating around and going through the motions of a sword fight, but the opening door makes them freeze midair.

“Blue, Grape, this is the human who’s restoring the house,” Honey explains, and suddenly one of the foils is pointed at your face. “Grape, cut that out, you maniac.” It’s batted away, “we’re only in here to get the stairs fixed. I’m trying to find Lavinia.”

Someone takes your hand and shakes it, and you feel an aura of happiness and welcome, much like Dream’s but less overwhelming.

Honey chuckles, “Blue, they can’t hear you or see you right now. Yeah, that’s why we’ve gotta find her. They stay with Dream at night, so maybe you three can have a sleepover night when we do.”

A powerful burst of happiness washes over you and you can’t help laughing, “I can’t wait to see you properly, Blue. I haven’t had a sleepover with friends for years, so I’m looking forward to it.”

The fencing foil is back in your face, and Honey growls, “What did I just say? They CAN’T SEE OR HEAR YOU.” The sword droops and you feel irritation and desperation. “Fine, I’ll do it if you stop threatening them and fix the stairs. Pal, this is Fred Hightower, Violet’s younger brother and former owner of a nice little vineyard, hence the nickname Grape.”

“An ancient profession and well respected,” you say, deciding to be diplomatic.

“He fancies himself the next Napoleon. But he’s going to fix his ‘trap’ on the stairs and let us get to the second floor. RIGHT?” you feel irritation, then a hot rush of air shoots past you and out the door. “good. Okay, so we might be able to get up there soon…but not today.”

“That’s alright,” you smile and look around, “I’ve got another room to tend to while we look for a piano tuner and we got to meet Grape and your brother. I’m happy with the outcome. Also, a home gym area is incredibly useful. I can move around at my leisure without any strangers snooping on me.”

“Well, any strangers you can see,” Honey teases and you laugh. “Seriously, I don’t know anybody here who’d peep on you, though. We’re all raised at least polite if not formally etiquette educated.”

“I know that. I trust you guys.” It was absurd to you to feel paranoid about the ghosts. They’re monsters, for one, so there’s the species divide, and then there’s the fact you’ve never felt unsafe once you made friends with the ghosts in each room. Pepper always stepped out of his bathtub when you needed to use the facilities, anybody wanting to talk with you in the servants’ quarters one knocked, and Dream even stepped out of his room when you changed for bed. Privacy was respected here.

The fencing foils both were polished and replaced into their holders, and you spent the day starting your work on the gymnasium and having Honey and Blue nearby, chatting as you could with the both of them.

--

You were playing cards with Edge, Red, Pepper, and Honey one evening when you asked, “I still haven’t met the butler. Does anybody know where he is? Also, Cam hasn’t even spoken to me so I haven’t been able to clean his room.”

“don’t expect him to. Cam liked to keep to himself when he wasn’t gambling,” Honey stated.

Red wrote on the page provided for him, “he was always a sneaky little weasel, and I never trusted him or his brother. I think his name was Bart? Hardly ever said a word to us that wasn’t an order.”

Edge just played his cards quietly before writing, “Bartholemew de Doom, if we’re being pedantic.” You didn’t like Edge writing in normal capitalization. It meant he was out of sorts in some way or another.

“either way, they’re both very private people and will probably only open up their room when forced to.” Honey finished up, and slapped a reverse card down, “back to you, edge.” Uno was fun with unseen friends.

--

You actually encountered several of your familiar ghosts while cleaning the gym and met a new one.

“AMBROSE POCK, SPORTSMAN EXTRORDINAIRE!” came across your path on your third day working there. You found him posing with a javelin and had asked his name. “BUT MY STAGE NAME WAS THE GREAT PAPYRUS, MASTER OF ANCIENT SPORT.”

“What ancient sport exactly?”

“THE CLASSIC SPORTS OF THE FIRST OLYMPICS, JAVELIN, WRESTLING, JUMPING, RUNNING, SO MANY THINGS!” His cursive was very fancy but neat and his aura was energetic and warm. “OF COURSE, I WAS A PACIFIST BY PRINCIPLE, SO ALL MY BOUTS WITH OTHERS WERE DONE FAIR AND SQUARE, BY THE BOOK!”

“I’m a pacifist until someone is genuinely putting someone else in danger. Then I’m okay with fighting,” you admit.

“THAT IS A PHILOSOPHY I CAN UNDERSTAND AND ADMIRE YOUR WILLINGNESS TO PROTECT OTHERS.”

Papyrus and Blue would come together sometimes, seeming to be great friends. Grape and Razzy sparred often, and you enjoyed watching it even if the aura of these spars would get very agitated and aggressive. You noticed you began to feel the emotions of your ghostly housemates more the longer you were around them. It certainly made it easier to read the silences between writings, and helped color Honey’s commentary when he was holding a conversation without you.

The gym had windows outside into a tiny strip of courtyard with a small fountain and a two-person swing in it. You wondered how to get there, but it might be a door in the still non-Euclidean staircase room. Grape was apparently having to take down a lot of layers of magic and ghostly power to get things back the way they ought to be, but you could wait.

Your online friends were loving the old timey exercise and sports equipment, and you were finally getting some time to look into replacements for the library books. The quiet of winter was soothing, and you made sure to clean the chimneys as was prudent just to make sure you weren’t added to the afterlife brigade.

At least you could sleep comfortably, and your breaks from constant restoration were filled with fun among the ghostly guests that walked your halls.

--

The holiday season meant your first foray away from the manor. With you gone, the ghosts roamed at their will and decided to make the most of it.

Dream, Blue, and Ink made little efforts to help you when you returned by scouring the first floor for things that might have been missed or fallen into cracks. Honey and Edge supervised the long awaited return of the staircase area to usable state, and the three store companions kept and continued the beautification efforts for the family plot.

A piano tuner visited, with you on video call, while you were out with your family, and the ghosts behaved…mostly. Mr. Mason did keep shifting the piano a bit and Violet wanted to pick pockets but that was stopped by a watchful Honey.

It was odd for your friends to have a living person in the house that wasn’t you or the brothers outside. This person could not sense them, hear them, or even know of their presence. Their mind was closed to their whispering and their soul gave no energy to them. Even the most powerful of them couldn’t reach them, as if a hood had been pulled over their head.

This piano tuner was somehow shut off from their efforts and it was hurtful after so long with an open soul. It was a stark reminder of their separation from the rest of the world. Especially when on their way out, the tuner commented, “I’d feel freaked out living in a house with so many eyes everywhere. It’s hideous in here.”

Their home was lovely to THEM, and the ghosts didn’t appreciate this person calling it ugly. But they all appreciated you answering the stinging barb, “It was the house of an artist. I want to preserve his vision, and I have honestly never felt more at home anywhere.”

Every ghost who was present for that exchange held on to your words until you came back with a pile of gifts from your parents and wanted everybody in the kitchen so you could share your travel stories with them.

“Whew,” you said as you sat down against the cabinets so you could spread your haul out on the floor, “I love my family, but it feels so good to be home.”

The sudden pile of auras around you was confusing, but you never questioned why you got a group hug as soon as you got back. And it would take a while before anybody was willing to admit that home wasn’t home without you anymore.

--

You were cleaning the mirrors in the gym with Papyrus and Blue tossing around a medicine ball when a question hit you, “Do we have a swimming pool?”

The ball stilled and was set down, and one of the went to the pad and pencil, and with its height you judge it’s Papyrus, “WE DO, BUT IT’S UNFORTUNATELY THE SITE OF THE QUICKSAND NOW. NIGHTMARE HAD IT BUILT FOR HIS THIRD WEDDING, BUT BEFORE THE FOURTH, SOMEONE FILLED IT WITH ENOUGH SAND THAT ACCIDENTS HAPPENED.”

“And thus explains the depth needed for three to drown while stacked. Good grief,” you groan and rub your eyes. “I don’t suppose it was also used for a tightrope stunt with a crocodile?”

“ALLIGATOR” Papyrus corrects, “AND YES, IT WAS. THAT WAS BEFORE I CAME HERE, THOUGH.”

The pad is handed down to Blue, “I WAS THERE! THE YOUNGER MISS LEOTA WAS GOING TO ENTERTAIN THE GUESTS AT NIGHTMARE AND ERROR’S WEDDING, BUT-“

“Wait, who’s Error?” you had to ask, not having heard that name before.

“INK’S HUSBAND, NIGHTMARE’S FIRST. DID NO ONE TELL YOU HIS NICKNAME?” Blue’s quick script asked.

“No, but his name sounds very similar to it, so I understand.”

“HE ALSO LIKED TO COMPLAIN ABOUT THE STATE OF THE WORLD AND HOW HE WANTED TO DESTROY IT ALL IF HE COULD, USUALLY USING A PHRASE LIKE ‘EVERYONE IS IN ERROR HERE’ SO WITH HIS NAME, THE NICKNAME CAME ABOUT.”

“Okay, thank you, Blue,” you get back to the mirrors, “So there are two Leotas? Which one is Honey looking for?”

“THE OLDER SISTER. THE YOUNGER ONE IS THE ONE THE ALLIGATOR ATE. STRANGELY ENOUGH, THE ANIMAL DIED TOO ALMOST INSTANTLY BECAUSE OF THE POISONS MISS NIGHTSHADE KEPT IN HER POCKETS FOR ATTACKERS.”

“Her stage name was Nightshade, right? Not her real one?”

A whisper of a laugh meets your ears, very small and cute, before the answer, “YES, HER REAL NAME WAS MAUDE, BUT SHE HATED IT. EVERYONE CALLED HER NIGHTSHADE, AND THAT’S HOW SHE INTRODUCED HERSELF EVERYWHERE. SHE GOT ALONG WITH RED BECAUSE THEY BOTH HATED THEIR GIVEN NAMES SO MUCH.”

The history of this house just kept getting more complicated. Cousins and sisters and husbands and…wow, just a lot of people. And now you’re wondering just how many there ARE total. But you’re almost afraid to ask.

--

The stairs are back to normal, but you now have a completely different issue with the area.

Spiders. Big ones. As in the size of your hand and bigger.

You’d found them when opening a cupboard under the stairs the first time you went in the “properly anchored” room, and shrieked.

You ran all the way back to the music room and had to dance around with the utter disgust squirming in your body.

Honey found you from your mumbling about getting them out of your house, “What was that about? It’s just spiders.”

“SPIDERS ARE SO GROSS!” you yell and shake your arms out like they’re covering you. “No no no no, I will not have those in my house no!”

“Oooooh…arachnophobia.” Honey’s voice is barely penetrating the layer of ICK all over your brain. “Thaaaat’s gonna be a problem. Those are monster spiders; they’re sentient and very much residents just as much as we are. Or…well, they were originally normal spiders but that was several generations ago and before someone hexed them and they drained someone’s magic.”

“THEY KILLED SOMEONE?! NO! NO SPIDERS IN MY HOUSE I DON’T CARE NOOOO!” you screamed and writhed in place, desperately trying to remove the sticky feeling all over. It finally led to you starting to sob and curling into a ball on the floor by the piano. You’d kept your neurodivergency pretty masked, you’d done everything to look normal for so long, and now you can’t stop the meltdown as one of your biggest triggers rears up.

Honey cannot understand. What just happened? You were your normal cheerful and hopeful self, but then one gathering of spiders and you’re panicking out of your mind and squirming on the floor, not responding. There’s only two people who could probably help, and he had to go find them.

“Friend, I’m going to get some help. Just breathe while I’m gone, okay?” the sob he got in return made him hurry faster up the stairs.

--

Honey looked for the right bedroom, and found it after searching two. Rushing inside, he found The General and the Admiral talking.

“Admiral Reginald?” he was panting even though breath wasn’t needed, it was just a habit.

The Admiral brushed down his suit as he got up, “Excuse me, General, I think I already sensed what this is about.” He was a relatively average sized person, his skull sitting at about five feet seven inches, with crimson pentacles in his sockets. His boots clicked on the floor, “Honey, take me to the human. I’ll get my brother on the way.”

Relief flooded his soul, and Honey nodded, heading down to the music room, pausing as one of the unexplored doors in the stair room was knocked on by the Admiral. His brother emerged, just nodding and following his brother without a word as usual.

Honey returned to the music room and saw that you were still curled up, but sitting instead of on the floor.

“What triggered it?” asked the Admiral, and Honey explained about the spiders. “ah, I see. And they cannot hear me?”

“No, but they can hear me.”

“alright. Ask them if it’s alright to touch them.” The Admiral knelt next to the human as Honey asked and got a nod. “Say who I am and that I’m going to try to ground them with touch.”

“Friend, I brought Admiral Caine from upstairs and his brother Daniel. They understand about meltdowns like this, and the Admiral is going to help ground you. Is that okay?” Honey was anxious, but you nodded and the Admiral began to gently rub your back and shoulders.

Daniel found the pad and pencil and picked it up, writing or drawing something before nudging you with it. You looked up and read the message.

“hello. Please call me Coffee; I was named for a mean person before. My brother goes by Reggie or Wine, mostly Wine among adults because he’s very good at identifying them.” Next to the words was a little skull with sad eyes and stress lines coming off it.

“H-hi, Coffee…” you wetly look at the pad.

Wine chuckles as he sees the pad, “Ah, it seems we’re adopting them too. Ask if they like art.”

“Do you like art, hon?” Honey asks gently, and you nod.

Coffee writes more, very careful print, “I do art. Pencil and charcoal sketches. Learned from Ink. He’s fun.”

You smile at the simplified drawing of a skeleton at an easel as the gentle rubbing on your back and shoulders is making you comfortable in your body again. Wiping your tears, you ask, “is there an art room in here?”

“They can’t go yet. We have to tell the spiders to move,” Wine sighs, “I’m sure there are spaces in the crypts that can more than serve their needs for the time being.”

Honey explains, “Afraid that one’s off limits for you till we can do something about the little guests, hon. But maybe you can do some sketching with Coffee in the entry hall with Ink?”

“Wonderful deflection, Honey. You’ve improved since the last time we tried this,” Wine nods approvingly, and Coffee’s sockets perk up a bit.

He scribbles and shows you, two skeletons with happy eyes around a little heart, “Do you want to draw with us?”

“That *sniff* that sounds good. Yeah.” You look blindly behind you and say, “Thank you, Wine, I think I can stand now. I can’t, um, I appreciate this so much….”

Wine backed off and smiled softly, “Tell them I’m available anytime they ask. I’m looking forward to knowing this one,” before he marched away.

“Wine left, but he says he’s open to talk anytime,” Honey helps you up, and Coffee floats around with the note pad, doodling and showing you excited messages about sketching with Ink. It just makes Honey more certain he can convince the spiders to make a move, or at least let you clean the area before coming back. Vacation for the remainder of the winter was actually a good idea for them. He’d make it work somehow.

--

Ink and Coffee kept you busy doing art while Honey arranged for the spider family to be shipped to Florida with the help of Farm and Ranch. If memory serves, there should be some nice swampy land somewhere in the middle for them.

It took a few days before the ghosts could really understand what had happened. You explained to Honey, Ink, and Coffee what was going on, but because of the time period they’d all passed in, there was a lot to talk about.

What was Autism, what did that mean, how did that effect you? Coffee got very excited and kept writing, “That’s like me!” You felt much better knowing someone understood, someone here had gone through this as well. You truly had understanding in this house.

Finally you just said, “I can’t stop the ick about spiders. I’m not actively afraid of them, but I just can’t be around them.”

“Okay,” Honey was sitting by the fire, casting a shadow, “We’ll find a way to do this where everyone is cool. I’ve got everybody out of the staircase area. Just Webber left.”

“Webber?”

“The guy who got drained. He actually came here in the 90’s. 1990’s.” Honey shrugged, “We have no idea what happened with the spiders, they just went nuts and did the thing and now he’s one of us.”

“Oh my god, that’s even worse. I thought all the deaths were in the 1800’s.” You were horrified, and Coffee shoved his notepad in your face.

“no. just most of them. One or two happened as the house got broken into, or squatted in, or from the people trying to get into the attic to start clearing it out. But we all get along fine here.”

“The latest one was kind of funny. 2006, the company sent a guy in and he tried to go in the attic. Fell off the ladder and tumbled into the ballroom to land head first right in the middle of the dance floor. Pretty dramatic, and we all made sure he was okay once he woke up as one of us.” Honey chuckled a bit, “You get a whole new perspective on death when you know it’s not the end. It’s not nearly so awful.”

That made you think for a bit, and you just shrugged after a minute. That made sense, and so long as nobody was upset about it in the end, you supposed it was alright.

Chapter Text

As soon as you got the clear from the ghosts, you finished cleaning the stairway area. It was nice to know for certain there would be no spiders, instead of fearing finding them at all times.

Coffee now had a writing pad of his own, with an attached pencil, and he has frequent doodles or questions as you’ve been cleaning. “do you like games?” “what kind of cake do you like?” “can I draw you?” “what’s your favorite color?”

It was a little like having a curious child nearby, but with the feeling of genuine adult awareness behind the questions. You’re happy to answer, and when you say you do like games, he draws a little playing card using a flamingo as a croquet mallet with a question mark nearby.

You giggle and nod, “I’m not good at croquet, but I’ve played a few times. It’s fun. And I love Alice in Wonderland.”

The note pad does a little flip and you realize he probably did, too. He showed you a little diagram of the stairway area and an arrow pointed to a door and had the words “we’ll play in the courtyard later. When you’re done cleaning.”

That sounded fun to you, and to your surprise, the door indicated led to that little yard you’d seen from the gym. An old croquet set was already set up, and since it hadn’t snowed yet this year, you managed to get a couple of rounds in before the cold wet stuff began to float down.

--

Spirit came with you to work during the next evening, the snow still falling.

Loading your pallet with milk, you headed to the dairy section and began to load, even if you were still wearing your coat to handle the cold. Your ghostly companion was looking at the dates on the milk and guiding you to the furthest away first so you could try to ensure the most vulnerable to expiry before sale were up front to be grabbed first.

Having a second pair of eyes to do this made it go faster and smoother, and your back only began to hurt at the very end of the task. “Well, that’s the milk. Now we go to the…”

You felt the aura change instantly. Something had put Spirit on edge, and you pretended not to notice while becoming alert yourself. The pallet cart was packed up as if things were normal, but you whispered, “Is there an intruder?”

A circle was drawn on your back as you stacked the wooden boards. Yes.

“Male or female?”

One tap, option one.

“Do something to get Hariet’s attention.”

X. No.

“They’re close?”

Circle, yes.

“Where?”

The arrow was drawn to point toward your rear, so the man was behind you. You were worried, but something came to mind, “Are they alive?”

X.

Now you were afraid. A ghost, who made Spirit this agitated and tense, had followed you to work.

“give me a push if I should run.”

No push.

The rest of the shift, you could feel Spirit holding your arm, but he never pushed, and he never calmed down.

--

The instruments began to arrive back and Mr. Mason seemed pleased. You heard him carefully plucking each of the strings on the harp, a beautiful scale on the violin, and some shakes of the bells and tambourine.

You came in and smiled, seeing the instruments floating about and being tended to one by one out of their boxes. Knocking on the door lets the ghost know you’re here, and you ask, “Did the restorers do a good job?”

All the instruments sing beautifully at once, and you feel the lift of the whole room. “Good. Having all my friends happy is what drives me on in this project. The house won’t be finished until we’re all pleased with it.”

Something begins to glow in the room, and you see a faint red circle. Approaching, you tilt your head, “Is…is that you, Mr. Mason?”

The circle flares, and then fades, but the aura is stronger where you stand and the mood of it is brighter.

“I think I saw you for a minute!” you jump up and down happily, and “The Entertainer” plays on the piano. “Yes! By the time Honey finds Leota, I might not need much help. I hope so. I want to see all of you as soon as possible.”

The flute comes out of its box and toots “pop goes the weasel” at you before drifting into your hands. “Ah, you didn’t forget. Okay. I’ll practice so we can play together.”

The time you have to play around is spent finding the old flute books you’d brought back from your family home over the holidays, and then taking them to the music room to practice.

--

Pepper stands dripping his spectral water on the floor as you’re cleaning the art room, “kid, do ya, hahaha, do ya feel up for a spook? Cause there’s something you should see.”

Looking up from where you were scrubbing a tough yellow paint stain off the floor, you smile, “I could use a break. And seeing what you guys can accomplish is always interesting.”

“Good. Let’s go see, haha, see Paps’ brother then.” He splashed out the door, leaving a trail that was easy to follow as you got up. Going up the stairs beside the large boot-shaped puddles, you head to an unsee area…and find the white drips falling on a deep once-red carpet, now dusty and near orange with neglect.

The wallpaper up here seemed to morph from the simple black on purple pattern to resemble the faces of monsters, with beady eyes following your every move. Pepper’s deep voice lilts a bit, “here he is. Harper hahaha, Harper Pock. And this is just what he can do when he’s bored.”

You came around the edge of the large archway and gaped openly at the hall beyond, a coldness and confusion filling your chest. The corridor stretched on beyond your ability to see, door after door, but no sign of a finishing point. Within, only a candelabra floated, bobbing slowly back and forth.

“What is this?” you ask, and the candelabra stops.

“Pepper? That you?” a soft, tired baritone calls.

“yeah, got the human who’s fixing things around here. Come say hi.” Pepper’s heavy step backed off a couple paces, and then the candelabra is set on a nearby table. A new presence’s aura washes over you. Sleepiness, a teasing bent, and deep worry mark this spirit.

“heya. Name’s harper, but you can call me sans.” His voice was very unique, and you put out your hand instinctively, getting a sudden *fffffffft* noise.

A red whoopee cushion drops to the floor, and after a few seconds silence, you begin to laugh.

“knew they’d, ahah, they’d fall for it. Nice one, Sans.” Pepper is chuckling along from real humor this time instead of his tic, and Sans gives a few little ‘heh’s.

“classic joke. And that’s where the name comes from, my comedy name.” Sans’ handshake finally happens, and then he lets go, “good to finally meet you after papyrus has been gushing about your efforts.”

“Oh, Papyrus has been a treasure! I’m glad to finally meet the brother he cares so much about. He keeps talking about asking you to the gym…” you realize something and feel bad, “Was…were you avoiding me?”

“huh? No no no, kiddo, no way.” He takes your hand again, “I’m just a lazybones. No, I haven’t even had a chance to meet you, I definitely don’t avoid people just because I don’t know them. Seriously.”

“hey, kid, we just, haha, we’re kinda both in the no effort no foul mindset. I wouldn’ta come out, hahha, outta the bathroom and said hi if you hadn’t come in. just doesn’t occur to us.”

“o-oh…okay…” you’re still uncertain, and suddenly you’re covered in cold, wet-feeling arms around you.

“none of that.” Pepper’s big gruff voice now was matched with a huge, strong body you could feel all around as he hugged you. “we’re, haha, we’re a team in this house. You’re doing right by all of us, heeheehee, and we’re all hyping you up to the folks who haven’t met ya yet. It really is habit, for m-hehehehe, m-most of us. We got a hundred years of routine to fight. Sans never goes to the gym and papyrus asks every day. I know, cause, haha, cause my brother does the same with the track around the graves in the back. Just chill, and know you’re, heehee, you’re good.”

Sans’ higher voice pipes in, “what he said, times ten. Seriously just got so used to saying no to the gym that it didn’t matter what paps told me the reason was. i’m dying here from realizing how it looks from outside now.”

That got you laughing a little, and the both of them began shooting off water and death based puns at you until you couldn’t stand from laughing so hard.

--

Hariet came over the intercom as you and Wraith were putting up soup cans, “You wanna have lunch together? I just realized it’s literally two of us alone every time and never thought of eating together.”

“Should I?” you murmur to Wraith, and he’s excitedly drumming on your shoulders. You’ll take that as a yes. “Okay,” you call out loud, and Harriet whoops and then goes off the intercom. Wraith began running happy circles around the aisle.

You went back to your locker and got out the thermos of potato soup that Chef had given you tonight, along with the little thermal bag with your cold soda and a small package of crackers.

Hariet smiles at you, a heavyset woman but strong and with kind brown eyes. Her hair was up under her cap, and she had what looked to be a homemade blt sitting on her security desk with the monitors, and a lemonade from the vending machine. “Hey there, fellow ghost catcher.”

“Huh?” you were confused, but she smiled.

“We were the only ones here that night the cans floated. So we caught a ghost on film.” She opens her lemonade and grins wider, “So we’re the ghost squad. Anywho, it’s nice to talk to someone for once.”

“Yeah. Company makes the long hours better,” you open you sack and take out what you’ve got, putting it on the breakroom table behind her and in front of you. “What keeps you going during this shift?”

“I’m a night person and doing this shift lets me be home when my kids are home during the day. Yeah, I sleep while they’re at school, but then I can always pick them up and help with homework before coming in.”

“Oh? I didn’t know you were a mom.”

“Hah, yeah, two boys, nine and twelve.”

The thought of two kids makes you smile. You love children and wouldn’t mind being a parent yourself at some point. “I just have a big empty house of history to come home to.”

“Really? I heard someone moved into that old mansion outside of town, was that you?” Hariet blinked at you curiously, slowly taking a bite of sandwich as you finished yours of soup.

“Yeah, it was. I do historical restoration and got the opportunity. It’s a pretty cool gig,” you’re happy with your house.

“People disappear there, y’know,” she looks askance, “some tourist in the 90’s went there and never came out. Found his car outside the gates but no sign of him inside.”

“Oh, I heard about that.” You decide to pretend you don’t realize who that was, “But I haven’t seen any sign of anybody so he’s not squatting.”

“Good to know you aren’t alone with a creeper then. Wouldn’t want my only coworker to get in a scuffle with a crazy dude.” The two of you giggle, and she tells you more stories from the local area about your house.

That it’s haunted, that there’s a serial killer a la Michael Myers living there, that it’s a portal to a different dimension, that it’s full of zombies…

You manage to refute the last one, “If they’re talking about it being full of skeletons, I can explain that one. There’s a family of skeleton monsters that live on the land there as groundskeepers for generations.”

“Oh wait, I think I remember a kid from school saying he lived there…one of them a shorter fella goes by Farm?”

“Yes! Him and his brother Ranch have been helping me out with heavy stuff while I work on the place.” You’re excited now.

“Oh cool, he was quite a few years younger than me, but it’s a small school so all grades know all grades around here.” She seemed excited, “It’s good to know how he turned out. There aren’t a lot of monster folk around here, so I worried about him. Now I know he’s okay and he’s got a friend I can check up on him with,” she giggled like a little girl, and you beamed.

“Glad to be a go between. Connection is so important…I’m glad we’re finally connecting.”

She nodded and sipped her lemonade as you opened your soda, the two of you chatting for the hour before the timeclock reminded you of work.

--

You finally had the art room in order when you turned to see a strange site. A pink furby…on the floor….when it hadn’t been there before.

“Uh? Furby?”

It wiggled its ears and began babbling its little nonsense language, and you felt yourself falling to the nostalgic charm.

“Hey, buddy. I don’t speak Furbish, but you’re a sight for sore eyes.” Squatting in front of it, you rub its head with your finger, “Mine was green. You’re a cutie; where’d you come from?”

“Me love you,” says the furby.

“Aww, you’re very social if you’re already saying that. Who was your friend for that long?”

The notepad for this room slides into view, “Me, homie! Edward ‘webber’ Woodstock, at your swiggy-sweet service! This lil dude is my broseph, X-games!”

“Oh, Webber. Hey!” you’re excited, and then you see what he writes next.

“Uh, bro, after what the spooders done did, I go by Fresh now.”

“oops. Sorry, dude.” You do feel bad, because of COURSE he would want a new nickname. “Fresh, cool name. X-games is pretty cute, and I’m glad to talk to someone who remembers the 90’s after so long.”

“I am too, cause these 1800’s dudes are cool, but they do not know about Nirvana and Nsync.”

You let him fill pages as you converse about things from the past, Nickelodeon slime and boy bands, skating rinks and Tony Hawk.

“So you going to bring any cool tech in for the bruhs here to learn about?” he asks, and you think about it.

“I think? But I want to see their reactions, so I’m going to wait till we find Leota, so she can help me see and hear y’all.”

X-games coos, “Play! Play!” and you pet him idly.

“Welp, can’t fight logic. Anywho, gonna get going. Catch ya later, homie.”

X-games was picked up and disappeared with a faint “wheee”

--

Coffee and Ink had made the art sharing a weekly thing now, and you were trying your best to paint how you feel about the mansion.

Sometimes other spirits would come, usually Pepper or Blue, but it was mostly just the three of you. Ink was painting some kind of Mayday dance, but you quickly recognized yourself front and center. The ghosts, with their injuries and all, were dancing with you, but it was clearly a celebration.

Coffee didn’t want the two of you to look at his work till it was done, but he completed one already and it had been a surprisingly sweet sketch of his brother and you exchanging bows. Both smiling, both expressions clearly on the verge of laughter. It was even funnier because Coffee drew himself in the middle, sitting crisscross and looking amused.

You had to ask after a few of these art meetings, “Coffee, do you have any idea who would have painted the portraits in the stretching room?”

He showed you his notepad, “No. Ink and I were the only ones who ever used this room, and the only artists in the house as far as we know. There are writers and musicians, sure, but no more painters.”

The dead end wasn’t good, but at least you knew that much now.

You weren’t anywhere near either of their skill levels, but you enjoyed dabbling in painting and had a simple composition. A humanoid figure, yourself, with arms outstretched and surrounded with differently colored orbs of light with a larger light above you all. You were trying to show how free you felt here, how at home, that you were as much part of the group now as the others.

Ink wrote on the art room notepad, “You’re doing a great job! I love all the little orbs. That’s us, right?”

“Yes,” You tried to push down your shyness as a literally world renowned artist was examining your amateur attempt. “I just was trying to express how this whole process has made me feel.”

“If you feel that positively about it,” Ink’s messy scrawl came across, “then I feel kind of hopeful for all this. It’s been a lot more fun now that you came.”

You feel Coffee’s lanky form slide up next to you and rest his head on your shoulder. He does that often when he wants to show his affection and you enjoy it. “Thanks, guys. As nerve wracking as it is knowing there’s at least one murderer and a macabre painter around somewhere, I’ve met so many more of you that are fun and helpful and just really cool people. I don’t see how I could NOT feel good about living here.”

A vibration in Coffee’s presence is all you can describe of the feeling you get, and Ink writes, “I couldn’t ask for better for my house.”

--

One afternoon, you head back upstairs to the hallway and find it amazingly calm and normal looking, an alcove instead of a hall, with a window streaming sunlight.

“Sans?” you call, and the candelabra lights up. “there you are. I found something in my personal book collection for you.”

You lay down a copy of “1001 jokes for Halloween” and watch the book lift, slowly being flipped through.

He chuckled a few times, then put it down, “those are great, even if I don’t understand a few. I’m guessing they’re in reference to newer stuff. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I don’t know a lot of people into comedy really, but I love corny jokes. Thought I’d dig up some new ones for you,” you give him the opening.

“don’t get too chummy or they’ll call you a grave robber,” he cautions playfully.

“ooh, if they try, I’ll make a fuss enough to raise the dead.”

Having a pun off was not something you’d ever have thought you’d do on this assignment, but you were so happy to have found an excuse to do so.

--

The aura that protected your vulnerable sleep stood strong against the darkness outside.

Dream would not allow another soul to fall to this, not again. He had seen the tragedy of Fresh’s demise, and of the poor worker in the Ballroom, and the poor homeless fellow before them. Whatever this was, it infested the walls of the house and crept along unseen until it wished to do harm. And it was enraged at the presence of his human friend.

“There will be no quarter for your evil tonight,” Dream growled to the evil outside. “I won’t allow it. I felt you here to begin with, and I have stood against you. I stand now.”

Even with his stalwart guard, your dreams were plagued with nightmares, causing you to mutter and whimper, half crying out or squeaking in your unconscious attempts to scream. Nights such as these made Dream long for his brother…his actual brother, and not the corrupted shade that skulked the attic, the shell of his former self.

--

The entry of February was without change. Cold, snowy, and keeping you from any further work or games outside. Icicles littered the edges of the roof, at least until Farm and Ranch removed them under the reasoning of “someone’s died from this at least once here.”

You begin to wonder what someone HASN’T died from here.

Regular missives to the company are doing their job of keeping them satisfied. You note that you’ve had the instruments of the music room restored, that the books are being appraised as you speak, that you’ve found “what seems to be” an art room, on and on, mediocre details that said nothing of your intent nor of your actual progress.

Wine checks in on you about every other day, his presence steeped in decorum and the amused concern of an adult for a child. Having never had a good or healthy relationship to your father, you find his guidance and patience healing. Coffee is elated to have found someone else who understands his condition, who gave him the words for who he is and expresses this by following you as you begin to work on what turns out to be a linen, towel, and pillow storage area and holding your hand anytime it’s free.

Papyrus, Blue, and Edge have taken to doing lively snowball fights outside, which you observe from the safety of inside. You’d join, but with the strain of your physical jobs, you can’t safely do so. Curling by the fire in various rooms, meeting on sleepless nights with Aster or Mr. Mason, you get wrapped up in your life and forget the time of year until your boss has you decorate the store for Valentines one evening and realize it’s close.

When you wake up the next day, you go to the stretching room, “Honey, do we have valentines decorations?”

Sleepily, he answers from above, “If we do, they’re in the attic with the other holiday decorations. We’d have gotten the stuff for Gyftmas down otherwise.”

“Ah, well that stinks. I’d have loved to brighten up the house.”

The air circulates as he spirals lazily down to you, “we can always make new ones. Paper cut-outs are about the max for most of us in our day.”

Perking up, you nodded, “That’s a good idea. Get the word around and I’ll join in when I’ve got a little bit done today.”

“will do, sunshine,” he snickered a bit and you went in to do more work in the linen closet.

Chapter Text

You don’t know what you expected, but when you come out of the linen closet for some downtime before work, you find little cupids and roses everywhere. No hearts, but that makes sense since Monsters see “souls” as private and thus don’t use heart shapes if they can help it.

Giggling, you say as you walk down the hall, “Good work, guys! This is amazing!”

The handles on the doors rattled a bit and you took that as the acknowledgement of your words.

You found crafting supplies in the kitchen, and after you had some food, you went to work on your own little paper flowers. It’s fun and keeps your mind off most other things, making it relaxing too. Making something felt good. Making something fun and festive felt even better. You were once again a kid making crafts in school for the holiday.

But your ‘work time’ alarm broke the spell and you sighed as you got up, “Okay, guys. I’ll be back tonight and heading to bed.”

The happy rattle of pots and pans sent you off to work with a smile.

--

Sleep is merciful for the next few nights. You dream of either nothing or silly adventures through the warping vistas of your mind.

It probably should have been seen as the warning that it was, but you wandered through your days happily instead. And as you were working on the house one Saturday evening, you thought nothing of the door to the linen closet opening on its own.

“Hello there. I’ll be done in a moment, just taking inventory.” You were about to turn when something hard hit you from behind and the world went black.

On waking, you found yourself in pitch darkness, confined to a narrow space with only a little room to move from side to side. After you regained your wits, you pushed upward on the wooden lid of your space and were horrified to find it stuck tight.

“Guys?” you asked, “Honey, Sans, somebody? This isn’t a good prank!”

Pressing upward, you felt a little give at the top of what you are beginning to dread is a coffin. “Let me out! I am not laughing!”

It takes effort, a lot of it, but you pry up the edge and see candlelight and hear music. A funeral dirge.

“SOMEONE! ANYONE!” you scream to the house, “I’M TRAPPED! HELP!”

“what?” a voice from right beside you makes you jolt. “a human…in my coffin?”

“Your…? Can you help me push so I can get out?” you ask desperately.

There is silence, and then, “kid? How’d you get in there with Lime?”

“Sans!” you want to cry, “I got hit from behind and woke up in here. Help!”

“ah…he likes you. I’ll help then,” came the voice inside with you and with three, you manage to open the lid wide enough to get out.

“oh my god, you were nailed in…did someone drag all this in from outside?” Sans’ voice is panicked as you begin to shake and shudder. “Lime, what happened?”

“dunno. Was napping. Woke up to them screaming. Know I sleep like the dead,” says the voice still inside the coffin.

“fine, but they’re in shock. Can you go get pepper to help me get them back to ink?” Sans’ hand was in yours, and you were not letting him go.

“okay. Haven’t been out for a while anyway.” The voice drifts away toward the stairs, and Sans guides you to sit on the floor.

“okay, so you’re on the second floor, just a turn past my alcove,” Sans explains slowly, arm around your shoulders and holding your hand tightly back, “usually this just looks out onto the backyard with a loveseat, but someone’s dragged Lime inside and all his wreaths.”

“Who is he? I think he’d have just let me die…” you’re unable to stop your body’s quivering and the racing of your mind.

“Chauncy Coats, but he calls himself The Rolling Lime” Sans explained as his thumb bones rub over your hand, “a homeless man from 1965. We all wondered how another skeleton found his way here, but it’s like the house attracts us. That coffin was downstairs in the art room and he went to sleep in it. Died the same way someone tried to get you, nailed in and starved. We opened it up when his ghost came to ask where we all were when he was asking for a way out. Someone drug it all the way up here…”

“And the wreaths?” you began to look around and shiver at the black rose wreaths reading “rest in peace” and “we’ll miss you”.

“He has a knack for gardening and was a goth type when living. Roses are actually dark purple but look black in candlelight. He made them for himself and uses his magic to keep them fresh.”

Splashing, stomping steps signaled Pepper’s arrival, and you were swiftly picked up. “I won’t like, hahaha, I am gonna do something, heeheeeee, something drastic to whoever thought this was funny.”

The familiar smell of salt water and lavender soap washes over you and you fall limp and ugly cry. You no longer feel safe in your home, though you love your ghostly friends all the more for being here for you in your time of fear.

Lime’s slow, cautious voice states, “now that I know you’re important…this will never happen again.” The finality of the statement cements your uneasy acceptance of this strange individual among the ghosts.

--

Ranch and Farm insist you stay in their house and let them do the cleaning for a while. They move Lime’s coffin and wreaths back to the backyard, and Ranch explains more about the coffin sleeper.

“He doesn’t talk a lot, but he’s deliberate in every action,” he’s cooking some kind of vegetable stew, and you’re glad for the warmth and company after that trauma. “It really hurt our mother to have someone die on her watch. We’re very glad she moved after Fresh’s incident so she didn’t know about the worker. It breaks her heart to think she couldn’t stop this weird curse on the house.”

“Does he do gardening for you?” you ask, and Ranch laughs.

“Oh goodness no. He only tends the little patch around his coffin and tomb! Brilliantly, but he doesn’t help others without a long process or vouching from someone he trusts.” Turning the flame down and putting the lid on to let it simmer, Ranch sits at their tiny kitchen table with you, “He’s a loner, but he has one friend and he respects Sans. That’s about as good as you can get with him.”

“Okay…” you don’t know if you like Lime much for being so aloof to your plight, but…you won’t have to interact much if you avoid the backyard.

Even being in Farm and Ranch’s house, away from all the ghosts and mystery, sleeping in a small twin bed, you were waking from nightmares you couldn’t even recall. The boys were worried, and you called in sick for the week just to ease your burden a bit. You slept when you could, even if you woke often and always in panic.

Ranch and Farm eventually sat you down, concerned.

“kiddo, even if you mean well, you can’t destroy your peace of mind for this place,” Farm’s gaze was firm and worried. “Your hp is real low and any progress to health you make is robbed by the nightmares.”

“We don’t want you falling like the visitors before you,” Ranch took your hand and squeezed, “And I’m sure the spirits feel the same. As much as we care for you and want you to succeed, your health and wellbeing are much more valuable.”

It hurt to know they were right, but you couldn’t just leave the house…even if you desperately never wanted to go back in at this moment, you knew it was all from your experience and not from anything the inhabitants did. You told Dream you’d fix this, you’d invested your time, expertise, and heart into everything here.

“How do I argue with you?” you sigh, but leaned away from their touch and kind-hearted words, “I can’t break my word, though, or my contract. I stay the year or I do not get the house. I won’t put them through more torment when they’re stuck in this limbo.”

“But if you continue, you could die simply of the strain, human!” Ranch whined, “We don’t want you to join the number here. It’s high enough and climbs with every generation…”

Tears are dripping from your eyes as you fight your baser, more instinctual reaction which is to get in the car and never look back, “I don’t want to either, but I’m pretty sure either I get this house or it stays as it is, never releasing its captives, forever.”

Unable to stand the tension, Ranch wraps his arms around you, “I can feel the kindness in you fighting the fear, and while I commend you for it, I also wish you would lose that fight. We haven’t had anybody care for us or the others here for a long time, but it’s not worth another life.”

Farm groans and rubs his sockets, but stands, “I’m putting my foot down. I can’t stand around and do nothing while you kill yourself out of good intentions. Paving your own path to hell. Kid, you take what you need from the house and you go home. I’ll put in your resignation at the store, just….for the love of all that’s holy, just stop.” He joined the hug and held on even tighter than his brother did. “I lost the worker. I’m just like my mother in that I cannot lose another person or I won’t be able to continue here. You mean something to us, to the spirits. Knowin’ you exist is good enough. Knowin’ you’re safe is better.”

Sobbing is all you can do because as much as your soul is fighting for what it knows is the right thing, your fear and trauma are more powerful in this moment and you just give in.

And give up.

--

“And you’re sure this will work?” you’re almost begging as you put the last of your things away, feeling the sorrow of the spirits as the whole household seems to gather around you on the drive.

“We’ve lived here much longer than a year,” Farm assures, “we just didn’t ever feel the need to fight the fight. We’ll use the funds we have and petition the company for the house. And you don’t worry at all; if we find a way to fix all this, you’ll be the first to know.”

Coffee’s clinging to you, and you hear Syrup very softly, “we’ll miss ya, darlin’.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, unable to stop the tears welling again after you’ve pressed them back into your eyes so many times today. “I don’t want to go…”

“It’s for the best, dear human,” Ranch puts the suitcases in your hand into your car and shuts the back door. “Go back to your family, use the funds you diligently earned while here to establish your life. We will be as we always have been and you can heal.”

Something comes over you, and you feel as if you’re watching a movie as you nod, “I suppose you’re right, Ranch. Thank you, everyone.”

You can’t control your body, just feeling as you get into the car and begin to drive off. Halfway down the drive, you hear yourself speak in a voice not your own, “I’m going to deal with this, homie, don’t you fret. Freshie-fresh got your back, and I ain’t gonna let the farm fellas get you down. We got the hitchhikers here, too. We gonna hole up with our buddy Hariet and get her info on the hiz-ouse. She a medium, did you know?”

No, you hadn’t known, but you were happy to hear there was a way out.

“But you need ta stop fightin’ me, cool? This possession shizzle is NOT easy, bruh. An’ Ranchy boy was right, ya’ll need ta chill and let your soul rest, dawg. I’ll drive, for real for real, and me’n the hikes will get us back to the house with some protection. You sleep for a while.” You could feel it now, the vibe you got when Fresh was in a room, familiar and bright, fizzling with excitement. It’s like he’s surrounding you, like a suit or gloves, and as you realize the feeling, you’re alright with it.

“You’ll make sure we can get back to the house?” you manage to say in your mind, feeling a teasing happiness respond.

“I know th’ way, human bruh. Rest your own soul, ain’t nothin’ else right now.”

All your stress seems to melt away, and you trust your friends. You fall into a healing sleep for the first time in weeks.

Chapter Text

Fresh and the three hitchhiker ghosts sat on Hariet’s livingroom furniture as she stared at them.

“I recognize you three,” she finally says, gesturing to the trio, “from the store. But you,” she points at her friend’s body, but means the ghost riding in the driver’s seat, “are new and I don’t like what you’re doing right now. You better be glad my boys are at school right now or I’d be getting out the holy water.”

“Yo, no harm meant, mrs. H,” says the overshadower, and holds up your hands, “I’m Fresh, an’ the lil human here needs your help but they’re too drained by all the gnarly things at the house ta be present, right?”

The trio nod, and Wraith begs, “They can’t see or hear us, but they’ve taken good care of our home and our friends for months now, ma’am. They just need some way to protect themselves from the person responsible for this all.”

“So Mr. Gnarly is the tourist who vanished in the 90’s, I can tell from how you talk,” she pointed again, and then at the trio, “And you three come with them because you want out of the house, right?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Geist nods. “They let us indulge our wish for freedom while appreciating the company. We’re in their debt to a vast degree.”

Steepling her fingers, Hariet looked between the four very seriously before shaking her head, “Okay. You’re going to explain to me everything my poor friend has been through, and then what exactly you need from me.”

Fresh and the others prepare themselves, this is a long talk.

--

You wake slowly, but find yourself in a corridor that feels familiar. The purple wallpaper of the house covered the walls, but it had morphed to have multitudinous eyes peering at you and stretched into winding curves.

“What kind of dream is this?” you wonder, but open the door closest to you. Inside, you see an old swimming pool in a yard, three pairs of shoes on the edge of it, and a hat floating on the surface of a muddy mess inside.

Realizing what you’re seeing, you quickly slam the door shut.

Opening the next door, you see a figured wrapped in webs being menaced by huge spiders the size of your arm, and again, you slam it shut.

Each time you open a door, you see another death of one of your ghostly friends. Growling in frustration as you hear the echoes of Dream and Nightmare’s final shots, you yell, “Whoever you are, you aren’t impressing anybody. You’re cheap! I know they died, and it was awful, but everyone does. And they’re happy now! They enjoy our time together and I enjoy being with them, ghost or not.”

Whatever is in your mind, creating these unnerving dreams and visions, you’re going to oust it here and now.

--

“And that’s where we are now, ma’am,” Wraith finishes.

Hariet listened in silence the whole time, but now she rubs her eyes and sits with her hands over her mouth. Taking a few steadying breaths, she states, “I understand why they called in sick then. And why you’re piloting, Fresh. They do need some deep spiritual rest after an experience like that.”

Getting up, she’s followed by the ghosts, “You all have to know none of this works if you four don’t trust me to keep them safe.”

“You the medium, my dude, I’m the dummy here,” said Fresh, and she laughed.

“Okay, you’re fine then. The rest?”

Spirit piped up finally, “you saw something the night you wanted to go home early. It wasn’t just geist, was it?”

“No. There was some shadow man walking around and he was getting way too close to Geist and Y/N,” she started getting things out of her cabinet, “I saw him again another night, but I was prepared that time. I’d slipped a bit of tape with a protection sigil on Y/N’s back. He could get close but couldn’t touch them so long as that tape was there.”

“that’s what I thought,” Spirit smiled, and the other two perked up, “I was there when he couldn’t touch us. His anger was palpable but nothing happened thanks to you. You have our support.”

“Okay then,” Hariet handed Fresh a bag. “The slip of paper in there? Copy that onto those plastic spoons and put on in every room. Charge it with your desire to protect Y/N, put that intent into every move you make as you draw the symbol. The more you want it, the more it’ll work. Then have them hang this lavender branch on their bedpost. I was going to give them this when they came into work this week, just in case. It wards off evil and strengthens those with good intent.”

“thank you, Mrs. Hariet…you don’t know what Y/N has meant to those of us who are peaceable at the house,” Geist was getting teary, and Wraith put a supportive arm around his shoulder.

“I have some idea. I’ve never felt anybody with sympathetic vibrations that strong who didn’t have the Sight,” she herds the ghosts out of the house, “Now I’ve gotta nap till school’s over. Shoo, silly ghosts. Go make my friend’s house safe for them.”

All four waved and piled back into your car.

--

You walked through the curves and twists of the corridor, hearing the calls for help, the banging of fists, the frantic twisting of doorknobs. Hands pressed around the edges, whole doors moved with heaving breaths, and screams of agony came with flashing lights around their frames.

It was all for show, you knew that now that you weren’t physically burned out. Walking, steady, unbothered walking, was your weapon, and you found something different after a while.

A clock sat in the corner of another archway, ticking away with hands spinning wildly and reading 13 at the top.

You’d seen this clock while gathering your things earlier, having dared to look at the site of your trauma and seeing it at the end of the hall.

“What do I do with you?” you wondered, hand reaching toward the hands to stop them. The face of the clock was inside the mouth of a horned demon, though, and the demon snapped at you. “Oh! Right, it can’t be that easy, can it?”

Looking back at the hallway, you glare at it. “I’m going to have to open these doors, right? Go through the darkness to reach the light?” rolling up your sleeves, you take a deep breath and grin, “Alright, bet.”

--

Spirit asked as they neared the house, “what do we tell farm and ranch?”

Fresh shrugged, “I’mma straight up tell them we went to a medium and got protection. Gotta be safe if we’re gonna do shenanigans, right?”

“They’re going to be mad,” Geist was fretting with the hem of his shirt.

“Dudes, chill. I can feel our lil’ human revving themselves up while they’re resting, their HP’s climbin’ real good, and I can deal with the farm peeps. We’re good!” He reached into your pocket, but only pulled out cherry limeade mints.

“Oh, dude, sweet! They have these now?” He popped one into your mouth and sighed happily, “Totes doing the right thing. Even if I can’t access my own inventory like this.”

--

Back at the beginning, you remember how many doors you opened and go to the next one on the list.

Honey’s empty body hangs limply from the cupola while the voices of his friends and brother below call his name.

“Yes, that’s how it was,” your soul aches at the thought of your friend this way, but you bolster your resolve with the memories you’ve made with him. “But without this, I never would have met him. And without this, he wouldn’t have been able to speak to me so regularly. Even the darkest events have their purpose in the end.”

Closing the doors, you hit the next. Pepper’s massive form is sunk in the bathtub, arms and legs hanging limply. “Again, it should never have happened, but he’s been so good to me that it ended up for the best. It hurts that they had to suffer these fates, and that’s normal because I care about them.”

Shutting the door, you move on. All problems have their solutions, even the big ones.

--

Farm is tapping his foot as he sees the car driving back up to the house, but the expression on your face hits him as completely unnatural.

When you get out, and the backdoors open themselves, he realizes why. “Okay, who are you, and what have you done to them?” Farm hisses.

“Farm, bruh, it’s just Fresh. Y’know, the spider dude?” he held up your hands like he was at gunpoint. “Lil broseph needed to rest, nobody wanted’em to go, so we all four hopped in and they let me drive.”

Farm looked over your face, and it was in the eyes he saw the clear glow of purple magic. Yes, there was someone else inside your body if the voice wasn’t clue enough. “Why?”

“to go get some protection from the bad guy, whoever they are. Went to talk to Mrs. Hariet, got her on board with the whole ‘save the house’ plan, and she sent us home with a goodie bag, so dope!” The plastic baggie had some disposable spoons, a strange symbol on a post-it note, and a large bundle of lavender. The positive intent practically dripped off the symbol and the lavender, and that was what let Farm relax a bit.

“I think you need to explain things from the spirit perspective then. Ranch and I are still of the opinion that Y/n should go home.”

“Duuuude, I just did that but okay, bruh, I got you.” Sighing, Fresh slumped his way into the front room where Ranch was trying to busy himself with the furniture to avoid thinking about the sadness of their human friend leaving.

--

You saw Wine, taking a sip from a glass of burgundy, choke and fall to convulse on the floor.

By now you were crying. The first time you see some of your friends, and it is in their horrendous last moments. You close the door as you see Coffee enter.

“Thank you, Wine, for supporting me. For being the rock I needed when I couldn’t hold myself to the earth.”

You sit in the hallway, dreading the rest of it. The pain is harsh, and the reminder that these events are long past, that your friends are perfectly intact back at the mansion and awaiting your return are all sounding more hollow.

But you can’t let whoever this is get to you. You cannot let the evil win and you are going to get out of this hall to give whoever it was hell.

Spite is a powerful motivator, and you get up, wiping your eyes and yell, “I AM NOT GOING TO STOP. I AM NOT GOING TO FALL. I AM GOING TO GET THROUGH THIS AND YOU WILL PAY FOR ALL YOU’VE DONE. I’M MAKING A LIST OF YOUR CRIMES AND IT’S GETTING PRETTY LONG, BUDDY!”

The next door, and the next, and the next.

--

Ranch stared, “So you’re driving their body while they rest? That’s pretty weird but cool.”

“yeah, dawg, it’s radical. I got ta taste cherry limeade for the first time in decades cause human bruh had MINTS that flavor. They just get cooler!” Fresh’s enthusiasm is different, the way he uses your muscles to express it is odd on your features, and his gestures are odd, as if meant for someone much taller than you.

“And all we have to do to keep this from happening again is put a marked spoon, charged with intent, in each room?” Farm clarifies and Fresh nods. “okay. Let’s get started then.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Fresh got up, then sat back down hard, “oh, wow, nah bruh. Head went all wibbly.”

“That happens when humans stand up too quickly,” Ranch stated. “Just rest a moment and stand up slower next time.”

--

Coming back to the clock, you open the last door. A skeleton that seems vaguely familiar till you see the red and white circle at his chest, identifying him as mr. Mason, drips something into his empty sockets, then gasps and begins to scream, before falling to the floor. A shadow looms, and an axe comes down swiftly onto his neck. Whether what was in the eye drops killed him or the axe, you’re unsure. But you are intensely upset about it in the most angry of ways.

Hissing to the clock, you glare, “How dare you. I’ve watched every one of the horrible things you caused to happen and I’m disgusted. Whoever you are, you don’t deserve even limbo. Whatever it takes, I’m sending you to Hell or whatever exists in its place. You are NOT welcome in my home, with my friends, after all that. Even two or three of those would have made it impossible to forgive you but all of them just send you strait to the top of the shit list!”

The clock is hovering around 10:45 on a typical clock. “Did I miss something?”

Now you have to look. There has to be something in this hall to change it to hit thirteen…you just had to find it.

--

As they each took a spoon, the ghosts scurried to their individual rooms with their own thoughts.

Ink’s sat proudly on the mantle under his portrait. He was going to do more around here to help instead of just finding his peace in oils.

Dream set his spoon on his vanity, tucking the handle into the frame of his mirror before tying the lavender to the bedpost. He’d do anything to get his human back, and resting soundly again most importantly.

Cookie and Chef made theirs part of the wall displays, one in their bedroom and one in the kitchen. Their happiness and new-found purpose rested with the human, and they’d make doubly sure their domain was one of respite and invigoration.

Honey stuck his spoon firmly into the chair rail in the stretching room. Nobody was going to make his buddy miserable, never again.

Goldie and Nickel rested their spoons in the alcoves, Goldie’s with his bust and Nickel’s with the candel holders in the hall. Their library was now becoming a place of learning again, and it was thanks to the human. Now they could still respectfully pursue their place as scientists, and they’d protect the person who gave them that chance with all they had.

Edge tucked his under his mattress, while Red put his in the servants’ bathroom medicine cabinet. They did not discuss it, but both had channeled all their drive into the spoons as they placed them. They would protect the human, and they would punish any who dared harm them.

Syrup put his in the hallway of the servants’ quarters. Every room, right? This one included. The lil sweetheart had to be safe everywhere. Razzy tucked his into the edge of his medal box. Being their companion had been more of an honor to him than many of his ‘feats’ during the war. Here, his actions had brought laughter, comfort, and happiness. That was what mattered in life.

Fresh was the one who put his in the stairwell. Grinning with your smile, he placed it sticking out from behind art of a sea scape, “Here ya go, homie. We’re gonna make sure you’re doin’ good.”

Wine placed his in the bedside table of his room. No, the human had not gotten here yet, but they would and he would ensure it was already a refuge. Coffee sat in the art room, holding his spoon. His friend, the first person to totally understand him besides his brother, needed his help. He’d give it, gladly, and in spades. Just as long as they could stay. He needed them to stay.

Sans made his alcove the upper hall location, trapping the handle under the mirror’s edge. He’d felt terrible that his vigil had lapsed long enough someone hurt their human friend, and needed the chance to redeem himself.

Mr. Mason had slipped in and out with a spoon early, and hid his spoon in a little compartment under his piano. Here he kept his old favorite pocketknife, and other precious mementos. The tuner had not found it, and he was glad. His duet partner had to come home, and he had to make it happen no matter the cost.

Blue put his spoon in the gym, inside the sword cabinet. Please let this work! If he was still alive, he’d proudly fight any ruffian for his friend! And even now, he’d use what strength he had to do so if necessary.

Papyrus put his in the linen closet, where the human had been attacked. He wanted HIS protective charm to be there in case the evil returned. No one would dare cross the Great Papyrus when he was protecting the innocent, and most assuredly not when that innocent was his very dear friend!

The hitchhikers found places for theirs. Geist placed his under a board on the porch. Not even here, vile forces! Wraith’s was laid respectfully on Dream’s grave. He knew Dream would want the human safe if they ever visited here. Spirit put his in the siding between the kitchen and the farm brothers’ house. Safe, even here.

Pepper chucked his under the tub, letting it clatter into the dark space by the wall. If it didn’t feel safe, he’d move it, but for now he was still raging at whoever had tried to hurt his human. They were HIS human dang it, his friend, his little thing to protect. And you don’t mess with a sailor’s things if you want to be peaceful.

Clove had brought his spoon with him, not knowing where to put it. He felt honored to be included, and had put that feeling plus his wish for the human to be safe into the placement when he found it. A loose bit of paneling in the hall leading to the attic. Now their way was clear, and Clove had made that possible. He hummed idly to himself as he went about his day, pleased.

--

You flopped onto the floor beside the clock and groaned. Nothing. Up and down the hall, looking through the archway (darkness only, nothing more) on each end of it, lifting up the edges of the rug, rolling the whole dang rug up (it just rolled back on its own), and nothing had struck you.

But as you get up, you notice something. Inside the pendulum cabinet of the clock, there is a key. Qucickly, dodging the swinging demon’s tail, you pick it up and examine it. Old, clearly, with a curling top and strange bottom. Now, you had a clue. Find the keyhole.

--

There were plenty of spoons left over when the ghosts finished their placements. Farm sighed, “okay, Fresh, I think we can safely let them come back.”

“uh…” Fresh looked uncomfortable, “They’re kinda deep asleep, dudes. Might take a minute, so can I, like, dump them on a couch or something?”

Ranch nodded, “Of course, they live in Dream’s room. Take them up there and we’ll be up in a bit to see them.”

“I still don’t know about this,” Farm let it be known, “but I’ll try it out. I didn’t want to force them out anyway, so I’ll take a plan B. But the second anything else happens, I’m sending them home. And I’m going to make sure they go this time, okay?”

“sure, broseph, you got it. No more hocus pocus if it happens again,” Fresh nodded. “I don’t want homie getting yoinked anymore than you do.”

They went to dream’s room and Fresh proceeded to flop haphazardly on the bed and leave your body.

Chapter Text

The hallway held no secrets till you were at the very front once more.

Beside a strange chair that kept activating your pareidolia, you found a keyhole hidden amongst the eyes in the wallpaper. Opening it, you see nothing but an orange void, but you hear a voice screaming.

“HOW DARE YOU DEFY ME AGAIN?! THIS IS WHAT YOU GET!”

“MY WORD IS LAW HERE, WHELP!”

“DIE IF YOU CAN EVEN MANAGE THAT, WORTHLESS AS YOU ARE.”

“GET OUT OF MY SIGHT, YOU MANGEY CURR!”

Insult after barb after abuse was hurled at whoever this door belonged to, and you waited…but no end came. Instead, the orangeness coalesced into a shuddering form of a skeletal body in a black void, mumbling.

“no, no, I won’t…but I have to…don’t make me…please…”it sobbed, and you knew now this is the secret you had to find, because this is the reason you’ve been having nightmares. Someone is forcing this spirit to haunt your dreams.

“I see,” you say, and the orange figure gasps, looks up, and vanishes. You hear the clock chiming, and its clear notes transform to that of the alarm clock by your bed in the main house.

--

Farm and Ranch are glad to see you up when you come down into the kitchen, and you smile, “I won’t be having nightmares anymore.”

“We know!” Ranch is making pancakes, while one of the ghosts are putting together some hashbrowns. “We were worried when you weren’t up as soon as Fresh left you, but you seem alright. Now you’re safe everywhere in the mansion you’ve been so far.”

“and we have plenty of the uh…talismans for the rest of the rooms. Nobody’s going to be able to sneak up on you again.” Farm is worriedly looking you over, “and you’re hp’s back up to full. Good.”

“Well, I meant I found what was causing it and dealt with it, but…that’s cool too!” you smile and they seem confused. You explain what you saw as you were “out of the driver’s seat” and they seemed astonished, nodding.

“But the hallway upstairs is safe, just so you know the vision wasn’t entirely accurate.” Ranch pipes up at the end.

“wine made his room up there safe, so I’d start there when you feel up to continuing,” Farm adds, though his sideways glance tells you he’d advise against that today.

“I’ll take the day off and rest today, but tomorrow.” That appeases the protective skeleton and you sit down with him at the table, getting side hugs as the kitchen ghosts welcome you back their own way.

--

The sun streamed through the windows of the upper floor hall when you finally reached it the next day. It was so much cozier than your dream had depicted, and you saw the door open for you and the familiar scent of sweet wine that followed your Admiral friend about.

The room was sumptuous, burgundy sheets and canopy over the bed, soft pink walls and dark carpet. You felt Wine’s presence when you entered, and you relax completely.

“I hope you’re okay with me cleaning everything in here. I’ll put each item back where I found it, just so you know.”

The usual supportive amusement washed over you and you got started happily. As you cleaned, Wine was reading something from the library while sitting in a chair, and the quiet, sunny companionship helped ease the nerves you still had after the coffin incident.

You told Wine, “The brothers are still going to petition for the estate, and honestly I’m glad. I’ll stay on at the store, but I think I’ll go down to part time. Maybe three nights a week.”

The aura brightened, and you could feel the satisfaction from him. Dad-friend approved move, apparently.

“Is Coffee doing okay? I was very worried about him before Fresh pulled the rescue…”

He tossed the notebook to you after a moment, “He was very panicked about being without you, but once he had a focus of protecting you, he recovered quickly. As soon as he’s sure you’ve had a good dinner, he’s going to come see you. He’s been preparing the art room for your return.”

“I’ll be happy to hang out after dinner. I just want to connect with everyone again after all that unpleasantness. It felt more like I was isolated than that I was protected when I was with Farm and Ranch.”

Wine’s fine script slowly appeared on the page, “I can speak for everyone here when I say we felt the same. Every day here, you have been becoming more and more tied to all our souls, and the moment you succumbed to that hideous trap and the fear it caused, we felt you become walled away from us. It was painful, my dear, and we all vowed to win your trust back and ensure your safety personally from now on.”

You felt your heart melt happily, and were energetically refreshed to continue your work with new fervor.

--

At the end of the week, you’d hung out with Coffee doing art, practiced your flute so you could play with Mr. mason, taught Cookie and Chef the recipe for your family’s signature cookies, and finished cleaning Wine’s room.

Farm and Ranch had met with their family’s law firm, and gotten permission from their parents to move forward with acquiring the estate. Everything was moving forward.

You were looking for a new thing to clean, and saw a note slide out from under a closed door.

Cautious, you approach and read the easily seen all caps script, “HELLO, HUMAN. I HAVE BORROWED THIS SHEET FROM WINE, MY FRIEND. I AM GENERAL RAYMOND CLYNE, BROTHER TO PEPPER, AND KNOWN AS CHIEF TO MY FRIENDS. I AM HOPING TO COUNT YOU IN THAT NUMBER SINCE YOU ARE DEAR TO THE HOUSEHOLD, AND WINE AND COFFEE AND MY BROTHER, ESPECIALLY. KNOCK THREE TIMES IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO CHAT.”

Pepper’s brother? You remember him mentioning he had a very uptight but generous brother at some point. Okay, you’ll try, but first…

“Sans?” you look down the hall and see the candelabra peek around the corner. “Is this room the General’s? and if so, is he cool?”

The candelabra nods like a person would, and you giggle, “Okay, thank you. Just being safe.”

“good job, safety acquired,” sans’ voice barely reaches you, but you enjoy it.

So you knock on the door three times, and it opens.

--

This room doesn’t need cleaning so much as it needs some rearranging and minor repairs.

Which, now that you think about it, was a lot like Wine’s room.

You put out a new notepad and smiled, “It’s a pleasure, General Chief.”

That instantly got a response, pencil flying, “THAT SOUNDED EXTREMELY AWKWARD. JUST CHIEF IS FINE. AND HELLO.”

His response was funny, and you nodded, “Chief, okay. Can you show me what needs the most help in here? It looks very tidy.”

Around the room, little drawers opened and small objects were laid on the bedsheets (which were clean and well kept). Medals that were a little tarnished, pens that had dried out and needed a good cleaning, and an old fashioned camera that you had no idea what was wrong with.

“THE CAMERA WAS SUPPOSED TO BE PEPPER’S GIFT FOR HIS BIRTHDAY THE YEAR HE DROWNED. HE IS FASCINATED BY PHOTOGRAPHY, AND I WANTED HIM TO HAVE HIS OWN. THE NIGHT HE DIED, I TORE THE ACCORDION PART IN A RAGE AND INSTANTLY REGRETTED IT. I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO REPAIR IT.”

It broke your heart as you saw the punctures in the side, looking like claw marks. You know from what you’ve seen that a subset of skeleton monsters have sharp teeth and claws, and Chief must be one of those.

“I’ll do everything I can for it, and you can give it to him this year,” you smile, and the atmosphere in the room lifts like a fog. “Even if I can’t fix it, I’ll get you a more modern version so the spirit of the gift is the same.”

Now it was bright and hopeful despite the dark browns and greens of this bedroom. Speaking of, you’d have to test the wallpapers for arsenic and asbestos…just in case. You’d already done that in Dream’s room and the others you’ve searched but this is a new room.

Happy to mend old wounds and help a new friend, you busied yourself doing all the things you needed to.

--

Every room in the hall ended up belonging to one of your friends. Chief and Pepper were happy to help place the new talisman spoons, and Blue and Papyrus were very pleased to have help tidying their rooms further.

Compared to your dream, this hall was infinitely more open, happy, and welcoming.

Honey was with you one afternoon, and as you were going to grab Red from his room to play cards in the art room for some variety, you both noticed one of the two doors you’d never entered in the servants’ quarters was open. Honey said, “stay here. I’ll get a spoon ready and me’n red will go with you.”

Better safe than sorry, you did as he asked. When a spoon came up to you, and you felt the heavier, more angry energy that followed Red around, you went toward the room. It was…incredibly sad, to be honest. A mattress had decayed into the floor beneath, red marrow splattered the walls, and broken bits of a desk and chair lay in one corner. Shredded clothes, also stained crimson, were clinging to a broken and battered body hung starred out from corners of the room. The cobwebs decorating the empty corpse made it abundantly clear no one had bothered him in the long years since his death, and the cracks littering his bones, unhealed, spoke to his method of demise.

This skeleton had been beaten to death, every bone visible broken, skull a web of separate fractures.

“Cam…”Honey’s voice was quiet and broken. A knife was sticking out of the broken furniture, and Red used it to cut the ropes. He then pulled a notebook out of your bag and wrote.

“nobody knew what happened. He never told anybody. Never even said how it happened. Just that he was clumsy. And I ain’t seen him since you said he left the painting. Dunno where he is. But whoever did this has ta pay. He was a lil shit, but dyin’ like this isn’t something we’re gonna let slide in this house. He had to have seen who did it, cause they took their time to make sure every bone broke. We have to find him.”

You just nod, taking the spoon from Honey and placed it on the mattress, wishing safety for yourself, and the poor soul whose forgotten body you would have to bury.

“We’ll leave a note for him. I won’t touch this place until I have his express permission, especially since he was left here alone for so long,” you were amazed how steady your voice was despite the tears running down your face. Whoever had left him, whoever had killed him, would never be welcome here. You would make sure the cruelty done was given its due punishment, somehow. Or what use was a word like ‘justice’?

--

Farm and Ranch were mortified when they saw you carrying the body.

Ranch took him quickly, and Honey told them his name.

“He’d been hanging there for a century…just left there,” you sounded numb, but every word laced pain through your throat. “Beaten to death in his own bedroom, living with less than a prisoner…how did this happen?”

Farm wrapped you up in a hug and the warmth of him grounded you enough to squeeze him back, like a reflex. “we’ll find out. I dunno what we’ll do when it comes to light, but we’ll figure this out.”

--

A funeral, attended by only three living people and a wealth of ghosts.

You’d never been in the backyard before, but it was a maze of tombs and plots, graves from fence to fence.

Cam was laid to rest in a narrow plot, and you chalked his first name onto the brick marking the site for the headstone. Ranch sighed, “And here I thought I’d live my life never needing that stone carving skill our dad taught me. Bless his soul and I hope he knows we want to do him justice, wherever in the house he is.”

Honey sighed, “How did we not know? How did none of us know how he was living? How he died?”

Pepper’s voice rolled from behind you somewhere, “he was a private guy, haha, an’ real hard to talk with. Prickly. Ain’t surprised, ehehe, ain’t surprised he managed to live like that in secret but the death…how’d a beating like that not be heard? I mean, haha, h-he had to have screamed…struggled somehow…right?”

A familiar hand on your shoulder, and the scent of maple. Syrup was beside you, and it bolstered your resolve. This place would become a happy home, for you and the brothers, and all the ghosts. In spite of all the tragedy, betrayal, and death, you WOULD change the fate of this place. And things like this would not be happening, ever again, as long as you lived.

--

It took a long time for you to get over your find. It took longer to get an answer from Cam about permission to make his room more livable.

Eventually, you just got a “yes” and that let you start. You’d still been working at the store, just three days a week, and Hariet had been keeping up with things at the farm, so she helped you pick out things for Cam’s room. And proceeded to hug you and make sure you ate lunch and drank water for the entire hour of lunch where you told her about finding his body.

She also told you to call her friend who’s a licensed therapist who deals with supernatural things on the down low, and regular grief and body-finding level trauma otherwise.

You’d need that, but later. Once you were finished, you’d rest and recover.

In the meantime, you would transform the empty and desolate room into a soft respite in pastel oranges. You had a horrible feeling Cam had been the soul in your dream, the one who had haunted you against his will, and thus you went with the color you had seen as the theme. Orange like sherbet and Fanta and summer, and many other good things besides. The warm, light colored wood of the bedframe and desk helped brighten the room up, as did the rug and sheets for the twin bed you added. You never felt a presence here…you hoped that meant he was just shy as the others had implied, but the vicious certainty that his muderer’s ghost had hold over him was hanging over your mind.

Still, the spoon protecting the both of you was tied loosely to the corner of the bed. There was little else you could do, and thus you let yourself rest at long last.

Chapter Text

Spring had come to the mansion before you renewed your mission to clean and fix everything.

You loved the chance to breathe fresh air, and the flowers appearing on the trees outside, even if your nose did not and stuffed itself shut in response.

Still, it made your mood lift, and gave you more energy to see the sun again for longer.

And it helped that Honey came to the kitchen one day during breakfast and crowed, “I found Leota! Follow me!”

You had no choice, leaving your biscuits, jam, and milk hastily to rush after Honey as he called, “here! Here!”

The room at the end of the upper hall, just behind the arch, was a general sitting room, but the rug was thrown aside and beneath found a trap door. “She’s down here. It goes all the way to the basement.”

There was a ladder and a very dusty, dark, narrow corridor, and you grabbed a flashlight out of your bag and told Honey, “I am holding you personally responsible if there is even one spider down here.”

Using a dustpan broom, you swiped the cobwebs away after going down the ladder. Everything was limited to the beam of your flashlight, and you could hear strange sounds echoing up.

The basement was farther down, another ladder after a ways down the corridor, and the sounds began to resolve into a voice, “wizards and witches, wherever you dwell, send me a sign by ringing a bell.”

You called out once you heard them clearly, “Hello? Madam Leota?”

The voice stopped, but a purple and green glow got more intense. “I hear the voice of a living soul. Come to me, child of life.”

Honey whispered, “she’s really dramatic, so just go with it.”

That made you less nervous, but you still approached cautiously. The room at the end of the corridor was draped in dark purple curtains, with a long backed chair sitting in front of a table covered in a purple cloth emblazoned with silver moons, stars, and suns.

On top of the table, on a brass tripod stand, was a crystal ball and inside the ball was the skull of a skeleton woman, the lids of her sockets sparkling violet as she smiled at you with her long skull, “hello, human. I’ve felt you searching for me for a long time.”

“Yes, I’d like to see my housemates and be able to hear them too.” You carefully sat in the chair as she nodded.

“ah, well, if that’s what you wish. It will cost you, and you have to be very sure that’s what you want.”

“Lavie, stop,” Honey sounded unimpressed, “you know as well as anybody here that they’ve been dedicated to our house and us. Seriously, you’re pulling the genie bargain stuff?”

“no,” the woman in the ball giggled, “I was just playing. I haven’t had a visitor in here besides my sister the whole time I’ve been trapped here. Here, friend, let me speak it into being. You already have intense sympathetic vibrations from your wish to help us. It’s just a matter of focusing them.”

Her sockets glow fully, circles of light in the green glow of her ball, “serpents and spiders, tail of a rat, call in the spirits wherever they’re at. Rap on a table, it’s time to respond.” The table and chair begin to float as a breeze from nowhere begins to flutter the curtains while a sharp knock rings from the wood beneath the tablecloth.

“Send us a message from somewhere beyond. Goblins and ghoulies from last Halloween, awaken the spirits with your tambourine.” Ghostly jingling echoes around as green energy percolates into view, swirling around your floating seat.

“creepies and crawlies, toads in a pond, let there be music from regions beyond! Grant them the sight, grant them the sound, converge on their soul as we spin around!”

The green energy zapped into your body as you felt a RUSH of hot and cold running up and down your arms, legs, and back, when suddenly you and the table thunked to the floor and you saw a skeleton in old fashioned clothing staring at you in shock.

“Seriously, did it have to be THAT freaky?” the skeleton standing there was speaking with Honey’s voice. It had to be him.

“Yes. The ethereal powers enjoy their theatrics as much as I do,” the floating ball sat primly back onto its stand, “now, that’s all I can do for today, but feel free to come back and ask more questions after you celebrate, little human. Miss Lavinia can always accommodate her friends.”

“Th-thank you, ma’am,” you mumble as you get up, body tingling like it’d been covered in fresh mint.

--

Honey now provided a soft orange-yellow glow as you navigated back to the second floor sitting room. He had cracks in one of his vertebrae, and rope marks around it, but otherwise was very normal to look at other than being monotone.

“you okay, pal?” he asked softly, and you just shrugged.

“I don’t know yet, but I do know I’m glad to see you.”

That made him smile, and you’re better about things.

--

After climbing up the ladder, you’re shocked by being picked up by a skeleton you don’t recognize who has all kinds of small holes in his shirt and is incredibly tall, “GOODNESS, I WONDERED WHO HAD OPENED MY FLOOR. HELLO, HUMAN.”

“Hello?!” you struggle a bit, and get set down to crane your neck upward so you can talk to this skeleton face to face. He has very messed up teeth and beady sockets, “I’m sorry, sir, but I only just gained the ability to see and hear ghosts, so have we met?”

“NO, NOT TILL NOW. I’M ASHER HUET. I THINK MY BROTHER SAID SOMETHING ABOUT YOU.”

“Oh, Clove has a brother?” you hadn’t remembered or maybe nobody told you.

“HE TOLD YOU HIS NICKNAME? OH, THEN HE LIKES YOU. THAT’S GOOD. YOU CAN CALL ME CINNAMON THEN! IT’S LOVELY TO HAVE A NEW FRIEND AROUND HERE.”

“Cinnamon, how cute,” you feel less spooked now as he’s clasping his hands in glee and those tiny sockets are crinkled in a big beaming smile. “It fits you.” It really does, as you imagine the long curly sticks that make up the spice and can see that image fitting this skeleton perfectly.

“THANK YOU!” He sits on one of the chairs and folds his hands in his lap, extremely polite, “DID YOU FIND ANYTHING INTERESTING DOWN THERE?”

“yeah, we found Leota,” Honey answers, and Cinny startles and squints at him.

“OH HONEY! THERE YOU ARE. I DIDN’T SEE YOU TILL NOW. AND YOU FOUND HER? THAT’S AMAZING! NOW THAT WE KNOW SHE’S DOWN THERE WE CAN VISIT! HOW FAR DOWN IS IT?”

“basement,” Honey states and sighs, “I think her séance room was down there, and whoever did all this walled it off. We’ll ask Goldie and nickel if they know anything about it.”

“OH THEY’RE HERE?” The myopic looks made you realize he needed glasses but hadn’t gotten them. “I’LL HAVE TO GO SEE THEM. WHERE ARE THEY?”

“Cinnamon, did…do you own glasses?” you had to ask, maybe he just forgot.

“OH, I DON’T, ACTUALLY, BUT FROM WHAT PEOPLE TELL ME, THEY’D HELP THIS BLASTED BLURRY VISION.” Cinny sighed and rubbed his sockets, “I HAD GIGANTISM, YOU SEE, AND MY FAMILY KEPT ME IN THE HOUSE TO AVOID THE SHAME. I ONLY WAS ABLE TO LEAVE WHEN CLOVE MARRIED THAT NIGHTMARE FELLOW AND TOOK CUSTODY OF ME. UNFORTUNATELY, NOT LONG AFTER I HAD MY HUNTING ACCIDENT, AND THEN CLOVE HIMSELF PASSED, SO WE DIDN’T HAVE LONG TO CELEBRATE MY FREEDOM.”

“Hunting a- OH.” It took you a moment to realize what he meant, and now you recognize the holes in his shirt as buckshot. “Oh dear…that had to be painful.”

“IT WAS, BUT WITH AS FRAGILE AS I WAS IT ONLY LASTED A FEW MINUTES. AND I HAD WORSE PAINS WHILE ALIVE, SO IT WASN’T ACTUALLY THAT BAD. NOT LIKE CLOVE AND PEPPER’S ACCIDENT. THAT HURT THEM FOR MONTHS AND STILL ITCHED YEARS LATER.”

Honey nodded, and you winced, “Itching skull wounds, oof. I’m glad you didn’t suffer too much, though, Cinny.”

“HEEHEE, YOU’RE A KIND SOUL. I LIKE THAT. PLEASE, DON’T BE A STRANGER AND COME TALK AGAIN. I LIKE THIS ROOM BECAUSE OF ALL THE LIGHT.” He gestured at the four windows taking up the south and east walls.

“Oh I will. I’m cleaning the whole house, so I’ll be here to get all the dirt out of your chairs and curtains soon.” He proceeded to lift you and spin around happily.

“WONDERFUL! SPLENDID! FINALLY A HELPFUL HUMAN!”

Honey was laughing, and you had to join. You’d probably never get used to how strong monsters are, but it made you feel strangely secure to be hugged and held and picked up so easily, like when you were a child with your family.

--

Heading back to your room was wild.

Wine peered out of his room and called, “HONEY, TELL THE HUMAN THAT COFFEE NEEDS THEM LATER. HE HAS A SURPRISE FOR THEM.”

“you just told them yourself, wine. They can see and hear you now. We found leota.” Honey could hardly hold in his laughter at the momentary shock on Wine’s face, but then he rocketed out of his room and beamed at you, taking your hands, “HUMAN! FINALLY I CAN SPEAK WITH YOU PROPERLY. I AM INCREDIBLY PROUD OF YOUR STRENGTH THROUGH ALL OF THIS, AND YOUR PATIENCE AND KINDNESS TO MY BROTHER IS UTTERLY PRICELESS TO ME. YOU ARE BY FAR THE MOST ADMIRABLE OF HUMAN WHO HAS EVER STEPPED FOOT IN THIS HOUSE, AND A TESTAMENT TO TRUE COURAGE AND SELF-SACRIFICE.”

It was so much to take in, the blood across the corner of his mouth, the pentagrams in his sockets, his sharp smile and the impeccably fitted and pressed uniform he wore. But you nodded, and smile, and tried not to cry because you FELT his elation at being able to say these things to your face at last and it made your own soul shudder in humble joy.

“DID YOU JUST SAY YOU FOUND LEOTA?” came another voice, higher pitch than Wine’s and you turned to Chief’s door to see another uniformed skeleton, but this one was almost as tall as Cinnamon and had teeth like an oni mask, “HUMAN, CAN YOU SEE ME?”

“Yes, Chief, I can.” You feel Wine let go of your hands and hear his slight chuckle.

“I THINK YOU’LL BE GETTING A LOT OF AFFECTION AND PRAISE TODAY, HUMAN. BE READY,” and Wine clicked his way back to his room in heeled boots.

Chief came to stand near you and looked you over, “HOW DO YOU FIND SEEING US, HUMAN?”

His injury is clear, as his ribs and pelvis cave in dramatically with a bloody stain on his uniform in the center in a large circle. Canon backfire. But you meet his eye lights, the smell of gunpowder he carried now making sense, “It will take getting used to, but being able to hear your voices and talk properly is a dream come true.”

He barked a small laugh, then put a clawed hand on your shoulder, “I WASN’T EXPECTING THAT. YOU ARE A VERY STRONG SOUL, AND WE ALL ARE GRATEFUL YOU CHOSE US AS YOURS. TAKE HEART IN THAT, HUMAN, AND REMEMBER YOU ARE CARED FOR HERE.”

“Thank you, Chief. That means a lot, coming from you.” He was a logical, clipped sort of person, and had played chess with you a few times when you’d found the board in the hall closet. But his touch was gentle and his words warm.

“CARRY ON THEN, AND KNOW WHATEVER COMES, WE ARE WITH YOU.” His march back let you wipe the tears gathering in your eyes.

Honey stood beside you, leaning a bit on your side, “do you want me to let you sit a bit? Everyone’s really excited to finally be able to be seen and heard, so I could go warn them ahead of you?”

“That’d be great, hon, thank you. I’ll sit in the alcove with Sans.” You headed down and saw him, a large slash from his left shoulder to his right hip dripping blood. You’d seen his death in the dream hall, some dark assailant catching him unawares in his sleep with a knife, but now that you see it in waking life, it’s more impactful, like the tiny rivulet of blood leaking out of his teeth.

“heya, heard the hubbub. Come sit with old sansy and we’ll see if I can tickle your funny bone.”

You sigh and take the chair in the alcove, smiling at him, “hi Sans. Good to finally see you. Knew you’d have a smile on.”

“hehehe, always, kiddo.”

Honey slipped downstairs quickly.

--

He came back with your now room temperature breakfast, but it was good to finish it, and it made you feel more equipped to go back to your room. Sans had been regaling you with tales of things Papyrus did as a kid, and how he’d gotten them both into and out of trouble, and it let you get used to his appearance more.

Still, Honey came up the stairs and you momentarily jolted before realizing who it was. Other people being visible in your house was going to take getting used to.

Heading downstairs, you were hit by two people running into you with big hugs, and Papyrus whooped, “HUMAN! FINALLY! WE CAN GREET YOU PROPERLY AFTER SO LONG!”

You just KNEW it was him, because it was a voice from above you and you could see a javelin bobbing in the edge of your vision. Papyrus had died via a javelin stab, so….yeah.

The other voice was higher pitched, just as energetic and more your height, “WE’VE BEEN WAITING FOR ALMOST FOREVER!”

“Hi, Blue, hi, Papyrus.” You hugged back, still a little wary about possibly fazing through them.

“HOW DID YOU KNOW IT WAS US?” Blue asked, and you back out of their arms.

“I saw Papyrus’ javelin, and you two are usually together.”

“SO OBSERVANT! I KNEW YOU WERE A VERY HIGH CALIBER PERSON!” Papyrus is literally shining in bright neon orange, and Blue is the color of the sky. Sans had been denim colored, Wine almost purple red, and Chief a dark crimson.

It was so interesting to see the variety, and you realize these must be their magic colors. Blue’s wounds made you hurt, a massive square dent in his skull with cracks webbing from it as well as breaks in his arm bones from self-defense, but you hadn’t seen his attacker in the dream hall either. “Well, it’s just something I’ve been since I can remember, but thanks for the compliments.”

They both stayed by your side down the hall, and babbled about new games they could play with you now that you could see and hear them. They were so lively for ghosts, and it was almost comical watching the javelin bobbling around in Papyrus’ chest. Honey casually floated next to Blue, and you felt yourself easing back into feeling at home.

It would take you several days, but seeing all the friends you had made would be reward in itself.

--

Dream looked up quickly when you entered and was relieved when you smiled. “Oh good. I heard everyone getting excited and hoped you were alright.”

“I’m fine, Dream,” and he startled again, making you laugh, “Honey found Lavinia and she did her work. I can see and hear you now.”

Pure joy flooded him and he quickly embraced you, then looked you over, “I can’t tell you how glad I am, but nothing amiss happened? You’re safe?”

“I’m good!” you go and sit on the bed, patting the spot beside you, “Let’s just talk, okay? I need to know what’s really going on here and you’re the most likely to know.”

Dream felt his anxiety edge back, but sat beside you. You were just so open, so willing to help, it made him want to trust you. But trust had never rewarded him in life, only leading to pain, misery, or betrayal.

“Where do you want me to start?”

“Start when you first came here.”

Nodding, Dream searched back in his memories.

--

“Night and I came after things went sour back home. I was already friends with Ink, having met at a society gathering in Barcelona. I met Blue and the others when I arrived here, and Ink gave Night and I this room until we could establish ourselves in America.”

“The house was very busy then as it is now, and Night and I were both unsure of ourselves, and our feud was already beginning. Then Ink was killed. It was one of the worst days of my life; one of my only friends was crushed by his own artwork. I found out later it was an accident because he and Error had been fighting, but…still. I had Blue, and I had my brother, but it was like a third of my heart was gone.”

“Error and Night were very similar in philosophy, and humor, so I wasn’t surprised when Error proposed. Ink was my friend, and thus Error was important to me. It felt good to know we’d still have a home and I’d be able to keep Ink’s works around me. It was a gorgeous but small wedding, and we were all happy for a time. But one day Night came out of the master bedroom and seemed…numb. He was even more distant than before, when he’d been suspicious of me trying to steal his love. I was more like Ink than he was, after all, so it made sense why he’d be jealous.”

“Night said Error was dead, and all of us were shocked…but the funeral was held and he was buried in the family plot in the side yard. My brother was lord of the manor now, but he was never the same. Colder, snappish quickly, and slowly he pulled away from me.”

“Dusty was next. He was from Missouri, a prominent family but a very ill fated one, beer brewers. But he loved my brother, and they were married in a year of courting. He was quiet and distrustful of me, but I welcomed anyone that could make my brother smile again. But he too died, two years later. Night began to blame me. Error had died after trying to start setting me up with some people he knew through Ink, to have a family of my own. I’d just been talking to Dusty the night before he died, and he’d finally confided that he didn’t want to bond with me because he’d lost his own brother and it hurt too much. Night had heard it, and so he blamed me.”

“Clove came next, a local cattle baron, and he brought Cinnamon with him. They were both much more welcoming of me, and I was so excited to have more members of my family, especially ones that valued bonds like they did. But first Cinnamon had his hunting accident, and then we found Clove beheaded in the garden…Night attacked me that day. ‘You just want me to suffer’ he said, ‘to be miserable and alone like you.’ I don’t think I’ve ever recovered from the hate in his eye…apparently Clove had just asked if I might have an allowance to do for myself since Night was so hostile toward me. He thought it might be better for us if I took some time on my own with my own money.”

“Then Killer came. You know him as Mr. Mason,” Dream giggled when you gasped, “That’s his last name. George ‘Killer’ Mason, of the Mason knife factory fortune. He has a dark sense of humor, a quick wit, and a talent for knife throwing as well as music. And I’ve never seen anybody handle Night like he does. It was a dance I had to watch in awe, their romantic journey. Night was hurt, badly, and didn’t want to love again, while Killer was perfectly fine to wait by his side till he opened up. But he picked up Night’s hate toward me and echoed it. I stopped leaving the servants’ quarters except at night after they got engaged. It was just easier. We got five years of peace, and in the fourth year of that is when Christian came. Well, I call him Cross, mostly because he loved the letter X for some reason, and he always looked a little grumpy.”

“Cross was from Mexico, noble but the last of many siblings and thus left to his own devices. It was so good to speak my native language again, even if the two dialects were so different. He came to every party after we met, and we’d scurry away to the garden or somewhere else just to hide from my brother and brother-in-law’s gazes. For the first time, I fell in love. And am still in love today.”

You held Dream’s hands as he began to tear up. “We’d been dating for a few months when Killer…was beheaded too. In the stables this time. But night went numb and stopped talking. Even with how cold he’d been to me, Cross couldn’t let my family suffer in silence and he started to befriend Night. It was never cordial between he and I again, but we could tolerate each other. I took that with gratitude. Haha, but Cross was so excited. He kept finding things we did that matched, Night and I. ‘you two are so similar,’ he’d tell me, “it pains me to see you both hurting in mirror images.’ It just made me love him more when Night came out of his silence and the three of us began to spend time together. I felt hope that maybe our lives weren’t cursed, maybe we could all be happy.”

“Night and Cross came to talk to me together and asked if I’d be alright adding Night to our relationship. I was overjoyed. I never had wanted to have a life away from Night. We were born together, had lived through all our hardships together, and I wanted us to be together till the end of time. Sharing Cross as our mate was as natural to me as breathing.”

“We became engaged after a few more months, and Night began to loosen his distaste for me. It was more like how he used to be, before everything. By the night before, though, guest after guest and servant after servant had been dying, horribly. I wanted to cancel and send everybody home, just marry in private, but Night refused. He wasn’t going to give in as he put it.”

“I only had Blue to help me that morning, wearing my best and a veil, finally excited because the love of my life was waiting for me in the ballroom. I arrived there only to find…” He sobbed and you bundled the lemon yellow spirit against you. “Cross was dead, headless, at the alter, and Night was knelt beside the body, screaming, cursing at me, before he ran away.”

“I couldn’t come out of my room for days, Blue was bringing my meals to me. One day he didn’t come and I ventured out. He was lying in the floor of the main hall, and I saw Night holding a hammer. Now that I think about it, he looked confused, but at the time all I could think of was that he’d killed my friend.”

“I challenged him to a duel, and he agreed. No one else was left in the house besides the grounds keepers at that point, who wisely hid away. We walked, we shot, we died…and we haven’t spoken to each other since.”

Chapter Text

You let Dream cry for a while, rubbing his shoulder, then asked, “Has nobody ever found proof of who did all this?”

“No, but I have made up with Killer in the century since. He just thought I’d been why Night was so traumatized.” His voice was soft, tired. “I know everyone thinks it was Night. I did too, but…part of me can’t accept that. Especially because Night doesn’t have the power to keep people here like whoever this is. Leota might, but she was already dead before anything happened to Night’s husbands.”

“So I’ve met two of your brother’s husbands and neither of them has hurt me at all…when I was pretty sure they would all murder me instantly.” You had to clarify this, it was just bothering you.

“Yes,” Dream seemed surprised. “Did someone tell you they were dangerous?”

“Farm and Ranch assume they are,” that makes you think, “Maybe the story got jumbled after all the years…”

“I’d say. None of them ever laid a hand on me, even if Killer made mean jokes before we talked,” it sounded like Dream was getting irritated.

“So…let’s change the subject then,” you suggested, and he nodded, “Do you want me to leave this room for you and go sleep over at Farm and Ranch’s guest room or no?”

“Noooo!” Dream quickly held you tighter, “No no no, I am very happy to let you have the room and just go to stay with Blue or Ink if you need privacy. His eye lights became tiny, “please, I can’t imagine this place empty again. Not now that it’s tasted life. Not after all these months…not like when you were gone. I can’t do that again.”

“Okay, okay,” you went back to stroking his skull carefully and felt him slowly relax, “I just wanted to give you your space now that I can see and hear you if you needed it.”

“Alright. I’m sorry for being clingy, I just can’t…I can’t imagine that tonight.”

“Okay. I’ll stay here for the rest of forever then,” you tease, and he laughs softly, breaking the tension.

“Only as long as you take care of yourself, roomie,” was his contribution.

“deal.”

--

Cookie and Chef were surprising to see when you went to eat lunch. Every inch of them was cracked, and there were a few pieces of bone that just floated around near them. Though, exploding would explain that, you suppose.

Chef had a very clean and nicely pressed coat and pants, even the hat of a chef, and was the taller of the two, and was a lovely minty green color. Cookie looked like a line cook, messy apron, what counted as casual wear for his time, and was a soft navy blue.

“HUMAN! OH WE HEARD THE NEWS, WE’RE SO EXCITED TO SPEAK TO YOU DIRECTLY!” Chef was plating you a serving of broccoli cheddar soup, and you took it from his hands eagerly.

“I am too, Chef, and it’s nice to see you two in something other than that morbid portrait.”

“still not sure how that one happened,” Cookie’s slow voice made you think he was probably that guy who slept on a stool in the kitchen when he caught a chance. “but yeah, we’re happy to finally get ‘casual conversation during meals’ back on the table.”

Chef made an irritated noise while Cookie smirked about the pun and you tried not to laugh out loud.

--

Razzy, Syrup, and Edge joined you for dinner after you took your vacuum up to Cinnamon’s sitting room for the afternoon. All three were streaked in mud, but you were glad it wasn’t worse. Syrup surprised you by instantly hugging you and beginning to PURR as soon as he saw you. Purring wasn’t something skeletons tended to do with people outside close friends and family but….so it goes, seems you’re part of the family.

“darlin’, you are a treasure. Don’t you ever change, not a bit,” he mumbled, not letting go till his shorter brother smacked him in the back, taking his brown-orange glow with him.

Razzy’s magic matched the color of his eye lights in the painting, magenta, and he sighed, “EXCUSE HIM, HE’S VERY EMOTIONAL. IT’S GOOD TO KNOW WE CAN HAVE GAME NIGHT MORE MEANINGFULLY FROM NOW ON.”

Edge huffed, his cherry red magic standing out, “YES, WELL, I THINK IN THIS SITUATION IT’S UNDERSTANDABLE, IF EMBARRASSING STILL.” He then smirked and held out his hand, “LET’S SHAKE ON OUR FRIENDSHIP, HUMAN. I’VE BEEN LONGING TO SEE WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO SHAKE YOUR HAND.”

Easy enough, you do your business handshake with him and he nearly crushes your fingers, but looks impressed anyway. “SUCH CONTROL OF POWER, I COULD FEEL YOU HOLDING BACK. MODESTY GETS YOU NOWHERE, HUMAN, BUT IT DOES MAKE PEOPLE INTERESTED TO SEE MORE.”

“why are you like this, edge?” Cookie asks, poking him with a wooden spoon.

“BECAUSE I CAN BE, FRY COOK!” is his answer.

--

The house was now buzzing with activity, and you can hear conversations, music, singing…but you notice you never see Aster around. The little soft violet orb has vanished and you’re worried.

So, gathering your courage (and holding the painted stone Coffee had granted you to help ground yourself) you go to see Mr. Mason for the first time since gaining your Sight.

To your surprise, he’s there, and wearing his head, playing the piano.

“hey there, pal,” Killer was smiling and his dark sockets looking blankly at the sheet music in front of him, “I hear you can see now. And hear. Is it fun?” His neck has a bright red line across it, and his main color otherwise was white with that red and white target across his chest.

“It’s definitely interesting. So…Killer, do you know where Aster is?”

His playing stopped mid-note, and he put his hands down, “Ah. So Dream told you already.”

“Yeah. But I don’t mind you not telling me; not with the reputation Nightmare’s got.”

“And you feel the same?” he quirks his browbone, and you sigh.

“Yes and no. I don’t doubt our time together, but I do wonder what else you might hide. But right now, I’m just worried about Aster. I haven’t seen him since the coffin incident and I know he’ll have been upset by that.”

The skeleton twirled around on his piano stool, then grinned, “I can tell you he’s fine. Just a bit nervous about your gift is all. Doesn’t like being seen, y’know.”

“I do,” you nod, feeling dumb now that you think about it, “I just didn’t realize it would apply to my new Sight.”

“yeah, he’s shy, don’t worry. You’ll run into him when he’s ready for you.” He tilted his head and his crazy grin got bigger, “Now, you want to show me if you can play canon in D on that flute by now?”

Accepting his offer to ignore the awkwardness, you nodded and took your instrument out of the cabinet.

--

You found a lot of old coins in the cushions around Cinnamon’s sitting room, and happily sent pictures to one of your friends online who dealt with them. Cinnamon babbled the whole time you were there, seeming eager just to talk, and you listened. Things Clove had done, things he’d read or heard about, things that happened in the house during the century and some it was empty, and lastly, things he dreamed of doing once.

Your vacuum was a quieter model, thank goodness, so you could listen, and your little hand attachment was very soft in its sound. Cinny LOVED the machine, praising invention and modern conveniences. Hearing you talk, when he opened the floor, about modern machines made him giddy, clapping his hands, squealing in glee, his aura sparking and radiating.

Refrigerators were something he crowed about most, loving the ability to store fruits, vegetables, and meat longer. “AND YOU CAN HAVE MILK?! ANY TIME YOU WANT?!”

It makes you giggle to hear him occasionally go, “I NEED TO VISIT THE KITCHEN IF THESE MARVELS ARE IN OUR HOUSE NOW.” You actually find him there one morning getting a tutorial on the toaster from Cookie.

Eventually, you ask why each ghost seems to have a room they’re attached to, and stay in.

“WELL, WITH SO MANY OF US, IT GETS CROWDED IF WE ALL GO EVERYWHERE AT ANYTIME. SO WE TEND TO STICK TO OUR ROOMS SO WE CAN BE FOUND, IF ANY OF OUR FRIENDS NEED US, AND SO WE CAN KEEP THE BUILD UP OF PEOPLE IN THE HALLS TO A MINIMUM.”

That makes sense to you, and you agree it sounds like a good system, but rather boring.

“WELL,” he admits, “SEVERAL OF US CAN JUST TELEPORT WHERE THEY WISH TO BE, SO….MAYBE IT WAS A BIT MUCH.”

Still, you’re happy to know why the house was so clearly divided.

--

Being spring, you could now go outside comfortably and begin helping Farm and Ranch plant this years vegetable garden. The trees were making you miserable with their pollen, though, so you wore a mask while tromping about the garden.

Several of the ghosts come out to help, and you’re happy to see Clove is one of them. “Clove! Hi!”

He blinks and looks up, then seems to remember something and smiles, “hey. Cin’s just getting his garden gloves. Glad to see ya.”

You hurry over and can’t help wiggling in place, “He’s such a sweetheart, and it’s so good to see you now, too. How are you?”

“good. Better now that you’ve met cin and he’s happy,” His big hand pats your head, “also, killer is pretty proud of your progress…been talkin’ to us other husbands about ya.”

“aww, that makes me feel good. I really couldn’t have kept the motivation to do much with music on my own. I take it you like gardening?”

He nods, and Cinny dashes out of the house, “plants make sense. Animals, too. People not so much.”

Cinnamon waves his hands, covered in gardening gloves, “THIS IS THE BEST THING ABOUT BEING A GHOST, NO ARTHRITIS!”

Having a little giggle about that, everyone got to work digging all the little holes and planting the seeds. It was so nice, everybody busily getting the garden together, and seeing the little magic sparks of happy skeleton ghosts all over.

--

Ink and Coffee were so happy when you tried to paint them during your art meeting. Coffee had surprised you by reviving some of the pigments they had and making your own little paints box for you. Ink began to slowly help you improve your painting, even if it was still amateurish because of your still limited ability to distinguish shades or accurately guess which colors would mix to make what you want.

The more you improved, the more you realized how it would take a lot of patience, time and skill to make the paintings in the house that had mysteriously shown such awful moments. “How would anybody have the opportunity to paint those awful pictures…?”

“They must do it in secret. We’ve never found any other place in the house with paint, but Lavie had a secret room, so there might be more in the basement,” Ink supposed as continued working on the painting. Now you can recognize a lot of the ghosts from around the house in the painting, like Coffee’s caved in skull on his right side and the wet trail leading to Pepper’s feet. Your own painting was marginally better now, and you declared it finished.

Coffee pointed to all the remaining white orbs after you had given a sheer of the correct color to the orb representing Cinnamon now, “Those are for the ghosts I haven’t met yet. Like Error and Dusty.”

“I haven’t introduced you to Ruru yet?” Ink asked, seeming confused, and you shook your head, “Oh my god, I’m hopeless then. I’ll have to do that on a good day for him or he’ll just kick us both out.”

“Huh? Why?” now it was your time to be befuddled. “you told me you two were on good terms.”

“Oh, Error is an introvert supreme, that’s why.” With a little laugh, Ink shrugged, “On his bad days, he doesn’t even want to be around me, but on good days he’ll be most open to meeting new people.”

“Wow, really? I kind of get it. I’m kind of burnt out on socializing sometimes too…”

Coffee came and sat on the floor next to you and leaned against your leg while Ink spoke, “Yeah, but he’s got the added problem of being afraid of touch. Not a lot of people are understanding about that sort of thing.”

“I hate touching strangers,” you say, starting to rub over Coffee’s skull, avoiding his injury, “so Error doesn’t have to worry about me.”

Ink chuckled, “You don’t like touching strangers, but you don’t mind touching us?”

“You guys are my friends, so…no?” Coffee was purring again, and you like it. “Touching you guys is the same as hugging my cousin or leaning on my mom or high fiving my brother. All good, except cold.”

Coffee wraps his arms around your waist and sighs softly, reminding you of a puppy whose owner has finally come home and sat down.

The other artist just giggled and went back to his painting, “Yep, you’re definitely worth keeping, and Ruru is gonna love you whether he wants to or not.”

--

Now is your chance to show the ghosts new technology.

They’d already been curious about your phone, your computer, lots of things you used regularly around them. But now you could get more complex.

Using your computer, you showed the guys how things had changed. They’d ask questions and you’d go over it with them. The short answer was usually “machines do that now” but they were pretty excited about health care improvements, more freedoms for more people, and improvements in travel.

Coffee was the one who became interested in the one tech you doubted they’d pick up. Video games. You started him out with Tetris, but he quickly went looking in your other ‘classic games’ that you had on your game device. Soon enough, you’d find your own high scores replaced with insane numbers under the CFE name.

It made you giggle when you’d find him sketching out what he thought the game worlds looked like inside, and told him about posting his works online (possibly). He shook his head, but would happily show you and Ink and his brother.

He’d play a few of the more modern games, but seemed to prefer the older set, and you were lucky to get him up to the late 90’s style games. Those and later you could play with Fresh, which was also fun.

Fresh was eager for all your newest memes, videos, and weird toys. He’s watching videos most of the time, and is sort of your wingman in getting the others up to date on tech. He was alive for the beginnings of the internet, and had a blast hearing about all the Y2K weirdness when you explained it to him.

Lime began to hover around when you were with Pepper, and the big dripping skeleton explained, “his younger brother was in the navy in life, so we get along. He’s not a bad guy, just really numb from some stuff that he went through.”

You took Pepper’s word, and with time, the silent observer soon began asking questions. What ended up happening about the Vietnam war, is there a memorial for it, were the monster casualties on it, etc.

It was that which clued you in to why Lime was quiet, aloof, and sarcastic when he did respond. His brother died in the war, and it sent him on a spiral and he took off from home. He finally told you himself one day while looking up old music.

“lost my baby brother in the war.” He said, very softly, still scrolling playlists on youtube. “was chronically ill m’self so no draft. Mom made a shrine and I couldn’t take it. Hitchhiked here, found the coffin and just…took it as a sign.”

“So…you just gave up?”

“yeah. Lost hope, no will to go on. But when I woke up and the damn thing was shut I was angry. If it’s my choice, cool, if it’s somebody else, hell no.”

He was taller than you, wearing hippie kind of clothes…the beads on his headband clicked as he leaned his head over on you. “you’re the only one who’d ever understand that feeling. Sorry for…how I acted at first. Don’t trust humans much.”

“I don’t blame you. We’re not exactly the best with our track record of tolerance or understanding.”

“yeah…but you’re different. I like different.”

His voice never got above a near whisper, never had more than a bored drone to it, but his aura said everything, slowly getting brighter till you connected, his magic color matching his name.

You made a point to practice ‘The sound of silence’ on your flute after that. You still were hurt by what Lime had done, but understanding did a lot to soothe it. And now you were going to play the song he kept humming when you’d be alone in a room with him, or with Pepper.

Any port in a storm, any connection in the dark.

--

It was about time you went to the basement. You knew Lavie’s room was down there but walled off, and you knew Goldie and Nickle had a lab down there…so you asked the scientists to escort you.

Goldie was about your height, his glasses bigger than his sockets and magic the color of the flower his full nickname came from. “It started as a bit of an insult,” he explained as his lapis colored companion opened the secret door behind the bookshelf in the library, “Goldenrod isn’t exactly a popular plant with most people, making everyone sneeze and such…but I like it, it’s a lovely flower, and when my friends shortened it further to Goldie, it just stuck.”

“BECAUSE YOU’RE GOOD AS GOLD, I’VE TOLD YOU A THOUSAND TIMES AT LEAST,” Nickle scoffed as he cleared the cobwebs while walking ahead of you, “AND EVERYONE AGREES WHO KNOWS YOU. KIND, SELFLESS TO A FAULT, INVENTIVE, WHAT’S NOT TO LIKE?”

“lack of confidence, tendency to ramble in complex jargon, completely spacing out while working?” Goldie tried, but you laughed.

“You just described ME, Goldie, and most of my friends who do restoration. We’re all little nerds holed up with our antiques, but we talk online and found each other in college.”

He blinked, funny because of how his thick glasses magnified his eye lights, and then smiled happily, “is that true? Really? Oh that sounds like a wonderful time then, talking to fellow enthusiasts. I wish we’d had the internet when I was alive, goodness, can you imagine?”

“FRIENDS ALL OVER THE WORLD! COMMON INTERESTS GATHERED TO SHARE IN THE JOY! A MARVELOUS INVENTION TO BE SURE!” Nickle was chuckling in his sweet, nasaly way, and you were happy till he shouted, “GOOD GRAVY, LIME!”

You and Goldie hurried to the bottom where Lime was standing at a chemistry set, idly tapping on a beaker full of some substance.

“HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN DOWN HERE?” Nickle put his hands on his hips and tapped his foot rapidly.

“’n hour.” Lime saw you and waved, getting a wave back.

“AND WHY?” Nickle pressed.

“’s fun.” Lime gestured at the chemicals and glassware. “love it.”

“YOU?? ARE A CHEMIST?” Nickle asked in bewilderment and Lime nodded.

“went t’school for pharmacy…didn’t finish.”

“it’s nice to know another scientist is in the house,” Goldie offered, and Nickle groaned and nodded while rubbing the bridge between his sockets.

Lime just chuckled and set his beaker down, “made somethin’ toxic. Might wanna get rid of it.”

“WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!”

You start to cover your mouth because you don’t want to laugh. Toxins are serious and you’re still alive to feel the effects after all, but…this is EXACTLY what you’d expect from Lime now that you knew him better. Making poison for fun? Yeah, that’s him. Dark, nonchalant about it, and full of hidden depths.

While Nickle raged at him, Lime gestured to you to get a small metal tub. Inside was a powder that Goldie instantly recognized as a basic powder to neutralize acids.

“Did you make hydrochloric acid?” you ask, and Lime nods, a small smirk appearing on his normally flat features. A good guess on your part.

Goldie measured out the proper amount of powder for the acid and slowly added it into the beaker till the acid was safe.

This house was going to keep surprising you and you were in for the long haul, especially to see more of tolerant and curious Nickle having stomping fits over solo experimentation without proper ventilation or gear.

--

The chemistry set was most of the lab, but there was also a little table of gears and springs and wires that Goldie said was his own little workshop. He liked mixing magic and technology, and had made many inventions for himself and Nickle to use.

After a bit of looking around, Nickle called to you and found a piece of brickwork in exactly the shape of a door. The masonry was quickly done and thus sloppy, letting you get Farm and Ranch down to help you remove it.

A door was behind it, and when you opened it, the séance room was revealed.

“Hello, dear,” Lavie turned in her crystal ball, “I knew it wouldn’t take you long to free me of this room. Hello, boys. You resemble your great-great-grandparents quite well.”

“Madam Leota, these are Farm and Ranch, the current groundskeepers,” you open your hand at each of them in turn and they nod their heads.

“oh, none of that. I hate formalities. Call me lavie, dears, and come by for a chat anytime. Much easier now that the secret way isn’t the only one.”

Having found and remedied the ‘locked in’ situation, you went to explore the rest of the basement.

--

Mostly, you found ancient preserves, sprouted root vegetables, and the area in which all the canning and preserving was done. There were also old gardening tools, packs of old pipes, wrenches and hammers, and cans of dried paint from long ago. The paint would have to go, most certainly containing lead, but it was so interesting to have found all this.

There were also crumbling rolls of the wallpaper, and you were glad you wore all your gloves and masks to ensure none of the more dangerous old chemicals could harm you. Lead paint, asbestos ceiling tiles, and arsenic green wallpaper, all were possible in old houses. And you were very happy to have safely removed what little you DID find of these hazardous materials, but that was only possible due to your training and the help of a very reliable service in Omaha who would send folks out this far.

But you had your house, you had your friends, and slowly you were making this a safe place to maybe have a family of your own in one day.

If the one you had found here didn’t already count.

Chapter Text

Daytime always made the house so mundane despite the ghosts. But today you were going with Ink to meet his husband and it made your anxiety spike.

The hallway past Cinny’s sitting room was on a balcony and it overlooked a huge ballroom, but it looked empty in the sunlight. Ink waved at the room, “Don’t worry, it gets exciting in there come nighttime. But right now it’s pretty dull.”

Knocking on the door of the last room in the hall, Ink called, “Hello~ dear husband~”

“ink, stop being stupid and come in,” growled a weirdly textured voice. If Pepper and Edge had a growl to them, this guy had…static. It’s like you could see the wavelengths and the peaks were softer with Error.

“okay, you told me to!” Ink opened the door and you were in a rather large bedroom with a big bed and fancy filigree lamps. A basket of knitting supplies sat on one of the tables and on the bed was a skeleton with a black skull, blue lines on his face, and a big red slash across his neck. His finger bones were red and the tips yellow, like his teeth, and all the colors coalesced in his sockets, intimidatingly filled with red around the blue and yellow centers. “Is it an okay day for me to hug you?”

“Yes…but who’s that?”

Ink leapt forward and latched around his waist, “Ruru, this is our human! The one who’s fixing up the house. Did you know that green wallpaper in the closet had arsenic in it? Shame, it’s such a pretty green.”

“really? Huh…” he looks you over for a moment, then waves you off, “okay, ink’s here, you can leave. Shoo.”

“Error!” Ink pouts and sits up, “They’re my friend now. I wanted them to meet you properly.”

Error stares at you a moment, you stare back, then he sighs, “Hello, human. I am Eramus Gracey, or Error as you’ve heard. And you are?”

You introduce yourself quietly, “I’m very fond of Ink and he’s been excited about this for a bit.”

“hm.” Error went back to his knitting, his photo blue magic color covering the needles, “can’t understand why. It’s over now. Go back with the others.”

“They’re going to have to restore this room, too, you know,” Ink pushes.

“No.” Error doesn’t even look up, “I’m no-o-o-ot interested in having my space disturbed.”

“I’m afraid it’s not something I can skip, even if I’m staying in Dream’s room,” you feel a little frustrated, even if you’re wondering about his voice skipping like a record. “Farm and Ranch are going to acquire the house if I don’t, and we’re all going to need the place swept for hazardous materials at the least, and a century of dirt is highly hazardous to everyone.”

“I’m included in everyyyyy-everyone and it isn’t a problem for me,” okay, it’s really strange to hear a ghost from the 1800’s talking like a computer glitch, but magic does weird things. “And it’s good that dream’s moving on from cross, poor man has enough dealing with nightmare alone much less that codependent mess.”

“Error!” Ink gasped and let go of him, getting off the bed.

“That was uncalled for, Mr. Gracey. Dream has a lot of trauma he’s dealing with,” you aren’t letting someone badmouth your protective, sweet, and damaged roommate.

“Did he tell you how he abandoned Nightmare in Spain? How he was so selfish he wouldn’t move despite the threats to Night’s life? Huh?” Error sneered and Ink’s eye lights went red and orange.

“He can tell me the past in his own time,” you answer, being calm despite the building irritation, “and in the meantime, I think it’s best if we don’t associate until civility is possible.”

“By aaaaaa-all means,hu-u-u-u-uman,” he hissed, and Ink got up.

“I’m going to stay and have a TALK with my husband,” Ink told you as he showed you to the door. “In the interim, why don’t you check the hall? I’m sure it can use a touch up or two.”

“Thank you, Ink,” you nod, “I will.”

The door closes, and then you hear intense arguing begin. You don’t want to cause strife between them, but you’ve got plenty to think about on your own.

--

Dream heard from Ink what had happened, and came to you after dinner while you were watching movies with Blue and Papyrus.

“Can we talk?” he asked, and Blue turned around.

“Sure, Dream, what about?” you looked up and he blushed.

“A-about what Error said…in private?”

Blue nodded and took the computer from you while you got up and went with Dream to your room.

On sitting you down, he sighed, “Error was right that Night has trauma I don’t. But it’s not as simple as he made it out.”

“I know that. Nothing ever is. But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to talk about it,” you reassure him. “If you were a bad person, you could have done a lot to me already. I trust you and want you to take your time.”

“I understand that,” Dream rubbed his arms, shrinking into his shoulders, “but I feel like I need to tell you now. You’re interacting with the people Night cares about, and they’ll take his side. I want you to get both sides before you actually make your decision about…everything.”

He appreciated the patient and understanding look on your face, but he had to steel himself even so.

“When we were young, back in Spain, we both looked the same. Identical twins. But because of his powers being based in negativity, because of his introverted nature and studiousness…he was bullied harshly. It got physical, and even though I asked them to stop, none of them would.”

He fidgeted and grimaced, “I never did more than ask, though. I didn’t inform the adults, I didn’t get the authorities involved, I…I never even intervened. I left him to the torment and when it went too far…there was no one to blame but me. They damaged him horridly, smashed half his face off…the socket that’s covered now isn’t there underneath.”

That was more the look he expected, hands over mouth, eyes wide and face turning pale.

“His powers exploded from his own suffering. The anger, pain, desperation, it looped in on itself and took over. In his madness, he killed his tormentors, and that’s why we had to flee our home. He didn’t say he resented my inaction, but I felt it, and it only grew because of what happened here.”

Their eyes meet, and Dream prepares for the inevitable questioning of how he could be so careless…

“How old were you when the bullying started?”

That was not it, “Nine.”

“And when you fled?”

“Eighteen.”

“How would you expect direct action from a 9 year old, a ten, eleven, twelve year old, against violent bullies attacking someone who looks exactly like them?” You look at him, the tilt of your eyebrows inward and up, the sadness in your eyes weighing on your voice. “You were afraid of them, Dream. Where were the adults? Where were the people old enough, who knew better, who could do something? Yes, you could have told someone, but that would have put you in danger as well. A child shouldn’t be expected to fight violent bullies, whether to protect themselves or someone else. By the time things escalated, you’d been conditioned to be helpless because no one helped for NINE YEARS.”

He felt the prickling of tears, “b-but I could have-“

“No.” Getting up, you took his hands and met his gaze evenly, “This might be because times have changed, but nowadays, we understand that it is the bully’s fault for hurting their victim, and it is the adults’ job to prevent and stop that behavior. Your brother wouldn’t have been the first person to die from it and sadly probably will have many others encounter the same situation. But it is NOT your fault that you couldn’t protect him, and it is not your fault that bad things happened to him. You did not hurt his husbands, you did not punch him or call him names. That is on those other people.”

“Is it really?” Dream couldn’t just let go of the guilt he’d carried for over a century, but knowing someone was giving him permission to if he could…

Collapsing into you was a relief he couldn’t quantify, and he dissolved into an orb, being held close to you. You told him all the bullying and isolation from your own childhood, that you had hoped for a savior and never had one. That it’s because of that experience that you swore to be the safe spot for other people, that you didn’t want anyone to go through your pain. That somewhere in his mind, Nightmare is still the child who first got hurt and is in desperate need of the love and support he did not get. The acceptance that was denied him.

But healing that child is not Dream’s job. It is no one’s job but Night’s. And he has to take responsibility for taking his frustration and hurt out on Dream when it was not his fault. The little orb was cold, but slowly warmed, and his sobbing eased. Finally, he asked, “can we go down and join Blue and Papyrus? I think I’ve been alone long enough.”

“Of course,” You got up and carried him down the stairs, where Blue got concerned and Papyrus commiserated.

“WHAT HAPPENED?” Papyrus asked, not up to date on everything.

“Error talked about something and seemed mad at Dream for it, Dream explained, but it was a painful memory and there’s a lot of misplaced blame going around. Dream just ran out of spoons.”

“WHAT? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? WHY WOULD HE NEED SPOONS?” Blue was confused and worried for his friend.

“It’s a modern saying, Blue. It basically means you have no emotional energy left if you have no spoons.”

“OH, LIKE WHEN HONEY WAS MISSING,” Blue nodded as you gently handed Dream-orb to him, “I JUST COULDN’T SEEM TO BE MY USUAL CHEERFUL SELF.”

“Yeah, crises like that are perfect examples of times when people have low or no spoons,” you smile, glad it’s getting across.

Papyrus unpaused the movie and laughed, “NYEHEHE, WELL, THE GREAT PAPYRUS HAS SPOONS APLENTY FOR EVERYONE TONIGHT, SO TAKE A FEW OF MINE, FRIENDS.”

The longer you knew him, the more you felt like Papyrus is the only person on Earth who can live up to being called “the great” anything.

--

Ink sat with you for breakfast the next morning and seemed happy.

“Did you and Error make up?”

“Oh, yeah, and he finally agreed to let you redo our master suite. Just be aware there’s a lot of paint everywhere now,” he shrugged and smiled.

“Huh? Paint?”

“Oh,” He waved his hand around, “my magic’s paint based. We were getting our emotions out in magic and it ended up splattering everywhere. Not the first time since we started sharing a room.”

“So it’s just magic and will go away?”

“No, it’s magic and has to be cleaned off with magic cleaner.”

You rub your temples as a sinus headache you were already having increased to a true migraine. “It’ll have to wait till later, Ink, but thank you for convincing him. I hope your relationship is okay?”

“Oh this is normal for us. Spats with each other is how we fell in love in the first place. It was a romantic throwback for us.” He laughed lightheartedly and was kicking his feet under the table.

“Well, I’m glad. How did your marriage do after…dying? Him remarrying?”

“Mmn, well,” Ink thought about it, “it was always an open marriage, mostly for my sake since Ruru is so self-contained, so it never bothered me even when I was one of the only ghosts here. Once he died as well, we just were happy to be together again and it didn’t get too complex for us till Night died as well. But Night and I don’t mind sharing him, and he mostly sticks with me if only because we’ve got a lot longer together and I can understand him more. Night isn’t one for a lot of touch either, but he forgets and gets grabby when he’s irritated and that’s no good for Error.”

“I see,” you didn’t, never having been in a relationship, but it was simple to imagine with all the things you’d read and watched about romance.

“Welp, hope your work in the hall goes well, and you can get on with Ruru, cause he said he’d be watching the whole time you’re in our bedroom.” Ink shot upward and away before you had a chance to protest. Ugh, your life…

--

You were eating dinner a little later than usual when you began to hear music.

“What’s that?” you ask, and Cookie grins.

“the party. When you’re a ghost, there’s no reason not to party all night, so a lot of us do. You just weren’t able to hear the other ones. Why not go out there and have a ball?”

He gestured to a door you hadn’t been able to open when you were first in the kitchen and had forgotten about since. It opened now, and you stepped out into a grand party just like the old days.

Ghosts were drifting in through a hole in the wall with a carriage driven through it, and you realize that carriage was an ancient horse-drawn HEARSE. This is probably where Lime’s coffin came from. And all over, they’re dancing, hanging from the chandelier (oh heavens it’s huge and gorgeous) and sitting around a table.

“hey,” someone says next to you and you jolt, but it’s just Sans. “glad you can join the party tonight. Punch has been pretty eager to meet you.”

“Punch?” you look around for some kind of boxer, and Sans takes you to the table head.

“it’s his birthday tonight, so we’re celebrating. He’s the guy who crashed from the balcony into here, so he wants some more modern company other than Lime.”

“Oh! Oh of course. But is his name really Punch?” you ask and Sans laughs again.

“nah. His name is Paul Gates, but he’s a tough little guy and we all call him punch because he was doing that a lot when he first got here.”

A surly little skeleton with cyan aura lights was at the head of the table, sighing as everybody around him celebrated. There was a cake, with lit candle and all, but he didn’t seem too excited till he spotted Sans coming over with you.

Standing up, he blew out the candle so hard frosting was splattering, making the ghosts around the table laugh, and Punch ran up, “YO, HUMAN. IT’S ABOUT TIME YOU GOT HERE!”

He was loud, rough sounding, but clearly happy about your presence if the big smile got you anywhere.

“Hi,” you introduce yourself, “and Sans says you’re Punch?”

“YEAH, THAT’S ME. LIME TOLD ME HOW COOL YOU’VE BEEN BEING ABOUT THINGS AND I WAS WAITING FOR NEWS. HOW’D THE WAR TURN OUT? DID WE EVER GET BIN LADEN? WHO’S PRESIDENT NOW?”

“whoa, punch, easy,” Sans puts up his hand, and Punch rolls his eye lights, “let them answer.”

You did answer, and then asked, “Punch, I have my computer. When the party is over, do you want to just catch up?”

“YES!” the emphatic boom of that one word was worthy of a Tony award as he began to cry and shout, “I LOVE THESE PEOPLE BUT I MISS THE WORLD! I MISS MY MOTHER AND YOUTUBE AND MICROWAVES! SAVE ME PLEASE!”

Lime appeared from the crowd that had begun to form and quickly wrapped his long arms around Punch as he struggled, “I HAD A LIFE AHEAD OF ME. I SHOULDN’T BE HERE! I WAS SUPPOSED TO GO HOME!”

“punch,” growled Lime, holding tighter, and you saw the sadness on the crowd’s faces.

Sans came forward and held tight to Punch’s hands, “buddy. We all know. We all felt that way for a long time. But we didn’t lose as much as you did, being trapped in this mansion and lost to the modern world, but we do understand feeling cheated.”

The angry look on Punch’s face faded, and he sagged in Lime’s arms. Lime himself gently turned him around and picked him up, letting him rest against his shoulder. “Punch’s a lot like my baby bro, emotional. ‘n I’m a lot like his baby bro, quiet ‘n tall.”

Everything in you could see Lime meant something a lot deeper than the words implied at first glance. Punch and Lime missed brothers they would never see again, and one accepted his demise while the other still fought the impossible.

Punch mumbled something and Lime smirked, “gotta go. Later, my dudes.”

The ghosts watched Punch and Lime vanish through a wall, and then the festivities continued. Sans sighed, a hand scrubbing down his face, “Sorry, pal. Um...it’s real cake, and none of us can eat any, so...you want some?”

“Yeah. It’s been a while since I had home made cake.” There’s a lead weight in your chest, the intense moment having left it there, made of concentrated sorrow.

Fresh popped up, and you gave him a smile.

“Broseph, you look bummed.” His magic was purple, but somehow every bright pattern and color on him came through. It was nostalgic to see those heavily 90’s designs. “Punch is a lil guy, but he’s got big feelings. You good, though?”

“I will be,” Fresh took you back to the table, and got you a piece of cake. It was strawberry, fresh and light, with soft creamy icing. Even as down as you were about Punch, you enjoyed it, and you were surprised to see a group of three hanging around the large organ in the back of the room.

Clove was leaning on the casing of the instrument, while Killer was playing in a lively fashion. Another skeleton was next to him, a hooded cloak over his clothes, and you realized you hadn’t met this one. Still, as you head over to talk to them, you’re swept into the arms of a giggling lady skeleton with glimmering plum magic over her eyelids.

“Hey there, stranger. My sister is raving about you.”

You’re startled, but as you look at her, you see the holes of an obvious bite wound in her skull, and you realize who this is. “Oh, Miss Nightshade. I’m glad to hear Lavinia is cheerful as ever. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Aww, you already knew I was here,” She hums a bit, leading you in the dance, “Lavie says you were getting real close to not needing her help at all.”

“oh, really?” That surprised you, and Nightshade nodded eagerly, her small form almost bouncing on her feet.

“Yes, indeed. She did her whole performance, but barely had to strain herself. Your little soul is very attuned to us because your willpower and emotions are tied so much to our spirits.” The tiny hourglass that she was, Nightshade was strong, easily twirling you around among the many dancers, which...you notice all the women are leading. A woman dressed like the reaper itself is twirling a skeleton man who with glasses and two large scars on his face, and though you couldn’t see HER face, he looked absolutely besotted and more than happy to be led.

Your curiosity made your companion grin, showing that she has slightly sharper teeth than Sans but not as sharp as Edge or Red did. She was somewhere between, and you hadn’t seen anybody else like this, but you hadn’t exactly paid attention to Lavinia’s teeth when you were being imbued with Sight.

“You’re full of curiosity, that’s good. It’ll help you get to the bottom of all this. Lavie can’t talk about what happened, part of the curse, after all, but…” Nightshade tilted her head back and forth happily, “I’m not bound by that. You have to keep working on the house, you have to talk to Cam, and you need to connect with Nightmare.”

“Nightmare?!” you yelped, and the ballroom came to a screeching silence.

Nightshade rolled her eyelights, giving a sarcastic smirk, “Yeah, that’s what I said. Now shoo. Go talk to Mason and Clove. You spoiled the mood and my pet is missing me.”

Blushing, you nod, realizing all eyes are on you, and Clove is parting the crowd to get to you. Nightshade flounces off into the crowd, the acid burns on her dress fluttering their scorched edges behind her.

Turning, you go to Clove, who smiles at you, “So….you talkin’ about my husband with the little firecracker, huh?” His gruff voice is amused, and you can see the red line across his neck that marks his true cause of death.

“Yeah,” the crowd around slowly goes back to dancing or chatting, and you are pulled by Clove to the organ, where Killer winks at you. “So...Mason or Killer. I’ve been given both for you.”

“eh,” the organist waggles his eyebrows, but the stranger glares at him with red and purple eye lights. “Okay okay, so I go by Mason mostly now, since I got with Night. He was why I stopped my spree, ehehe.”

Your eyes go wide, and Clove says softly, “easy, friend. He had his reasons.”

“I did, yeah, but...damage is damage.” Mason’s black sockets are soft as he turns to you, “You’re in no danger from me. Nobody here ever was. Racists don’t matter, but you aren’t one of them, and Night helped me find better ways to stick it to them, figuratively. You’re a gem, pal.”

Clove gives a soft hum, patting Mason on the head and using his other hand to pull you into a hug, “Gotta agree. Pepper’s about ready to sit by your bed and wait till you pass to propose, and my cousin’s not one to love lightly.”

It makes you giggle and grin up at Clove as Mason makes teasing noises and the hooded skeleton gives a soft snort of laughter. Clove just blinks down at you serenely and you have to laugh out loud. It reminds you that you have to talk to Farm and Ranch about the truth about the husbands of Nightmare, that they’re just as peaceable with you as the other specters.

“Oh right,” Mason grins and gestures at the silent companion, “This is Dusty. Dusty, our human.”

The hood is lowered a bit, and you can see Dusty’s face now. He looks exhausted, the same red line on his neck as the rest. You even now remember seeing the same thing on Error’s neck, blending in with the red of his bones below the skull. That gives you the clear indication that every single husband of Nightmare’s had been beheaded, and you say softly, “It’s a pleasure, Dusty. I want to be on good terms with everybody here that I can be, and I hope we can get to know each other.”

He smiled, very slightly, and then you see something that shocks you. A skeleton monster, yes, but just the red gloved hands and long skull of one, the skull nestled in a red scarf. “Oh oh, brother, their soul is so shiny clean! I think they might be able to help.”

Eyes locked on him, as he’d literally just faded into existence, you stammer, “U-um, hi? Have we been introduced? I don’t think so.”

All three around the organ jump, shocked looks directed to you and Dusty looks like he’s going to cry. His voice is whisper soft, like he hasn’t used it much for a long time, “You...you can see him. You hear him….for real?”

“yes?” You look around, and the floating hands clap happily.

“We haven’t but I’m so glad we can be!” He floats in front of you, bowing despite being just a head and hands, “Victor Lemp, but by now most call me Spooks. I’ve been a ghost before this all even happened!”

“Spooks, huh?” you say, and Dusty sits on the piano bench beside mason and starts sobbing, hood going back up as Mason puts an arm around him. “Um, you don’t happen to know what went down, do you?”

“Nope! Whoever killed my brother and brothers in law was using some kind of black magic. Pure hate, never saw that before or since. Blocks everything from a spiritual point of view,” Spooks settles with his skull on top of Dusty’s and hands on his shoulder. “My brother’s just overwhelmed. Nobody else was able to see me, even after they became ghosts themselves. They can hear me just fine now that they are, though.”

Clove squeezed you again, a little tighter, voice velvety with mixed feelings, “You don’t know what this means to Dusty. Before death, he thought he was insane, just seeing his baby brother out of grief. Knowing someone can see him, too, besides Lavinia? That’s a gift he never thought he’d get.”

Dusty nods, choking out, “It was my fault. Was trying to hit our father, horrid man….got Spooks instead. Dusted in an instant.”

“Shhh,” Spooks rubs his brother’s shoulders softly, “I know you didn’t mean it. And I couldn’t leave you alone with that man. You’re alright, brother. We’re still together, always. My soul will not rest until yours does.”

Tears linger in your eyes, but you smile, “I heard monsters don’t stick around after death, but you did, for his sake.”

Spooks winks at you, “Willpower can make up what determination lacks. I basically thrust my whole significant pulchritude into protecting him from Father AND himself. Brother’s always been quite prone to despair. One HP at all times, even in life. So I was the motivation, and I will KEEP being the motivation until we can do whatever monster souls do after vanishing.”

Dusty gives a watery laugh, “Bro, I told you, pulchritude is beauty, not stubbornness,” and Spooks scoffs but smiles.

Mason says with a little nudge to you, having abandoned the organ for the moment, “Why don’t you and Clove head to Cinny’s room? You haven’t seen it yet and he’ll love getting back to it once it’s clean.”

Nodding, Clove leads you up a staircase to the balcony above the ballroom, and down the hall and stairs. Cinny looks up from a book he’s reading, book against his face almost, one of the adventure stories from your personal collection that you’d moved to the library, as you pass his sitting area.

“Clove! Brother! Where are we taking our lovely historian?” he followed as you headed down.

“Your room,” Clove pats your head as you’re wiping the tears out of your eyes. Dusty and Spooks’ story had touched your heart deeply, the dedication and familial care they had making your chest ache.

“My? Room?” Cinny blinks, then beams, “Oh oh oh! Then you’ll meet Mimosa and Plum. They’ve been staying in there since I couldn’t stand it after the vines came in.”

“Vines?” You look up at Cinny, who nods.

“Oh yes, the vines from the courtyard came in around the windows and shed leaves everywhere!” Cinny followed you both out into the courtyard, where a door fitting Cinny’s height much better went back into the house. You hadn’t seen it due to the thick rose vines over it.

Cinny and Clove moved the vines, Clove’s magic making them wither and Cinny’s just pressing them out of the way with glowing light grey bones, and you open the door cautiously.

“Mimosa! Plum!” Cinny calls, walking ahead of you and waving at someone, “I’ve brought my friend I told you about!” he then gestures happily toward the table where two specters are sitting. One has a soft peachy-pink color, his spirit lacking his lower legs with jagged stumps left behind and a fire burning in his middle. Beside him is a smaller skeleton, about Blue’s height, and seems to have his belly cut open.

The opened one hops off his stool and scrambles to your side, “Ken Dread...call me Plum. Favorite fruit.” Plum came to you on all fours, his clothes looking matted and old even in his ghostly form.

Clove comes in behind you and says softly, “They got here during the Dust Bowl. House was nice and sturdy, town’s close to a river so we had water and stuff to sift it.”

“Yes, and we got killed anyway.” Mimosa glares at you, unimpressed, “And even that didn’t give me my legs back. Thank stars I can float now. Hello, human. Jacob Dread, but I go by Mimosa. Love the trees, hate the drink. You can thank your colorful ‘radical’ friend for telling me about that.” His air quotes around ‘radical’ told you he meant Fresh.

Plum stood up slowly, and you saw a small square hole in the back of his head. “Plum, your...did you have an accident like Pepper and Clove?”

“no.” He looks you over, only one eye light in his sockets, then seems to relax and shakes your hand. “Surgery. Out of control magic in my eye.”

“Mine was the accident...or, well, accident for me. On purpose for my good for nothing friend.” Mimosa’s tone was biting, sarcastic and bitter. He seemed to be generally acrimonious if you had to guess.

Cinny’s positivity wasn’t dampened, though, and he smiled as he went to sit on the bed on the other side of the room, which seemed to be a small apartment of sorts made to fit Cinny’s size. He nodded, “Yes, she was quite rude and evil for harming you that way. But, you came here and thus you’ve long outlasted her. She’s very dead at this point.”

“Yes…” Mimosa sighed, floating over and sitting next to Cinny. “But I’d have liked my legs back after I starved to death.”

You feel the impact of learning that hit the pit of your stomach hard. What a horrible death, and Plum taps your shoulder.

“Booby trap got me.” He points at his open stomach, and you’re confused a moment before he elaborates, “malice in it. That’s why all of us went. Monsters don’t get hurt much without intent.”

You nod, but there’s a weight settling into your brain. Monsters can’t get hurt badly without intent, which means...none of the deaths in this house were accidental. Every. Single. One. Was intentional, caused by the malicious actions of SOMEONE.

The rest of the visit to Cinny’s room was spent talking politely, but your mind was working the whole time on what could possibly have happened.