Good evening. I come to you today with an official summary and some trigger warnings.
Summary:
After being disowned, Casper the ghost king has nowhere to go but the graveyard. Here, however, he meets a kind man named Thomas Daniels. Thomas takes him to his house, where strange occurrences keep Casper up at night, along with the nightmares. Casper soon finds out the house isn't what it first appeared to be, and neither is Thomas.
"As radioactive material decays, it releases particles. The particles excite each other, creating a reaction. It is of my belief that houses decay in a similar way. As they decay, they release things, things that should never have been released. Things that, like radiation, can destroy a life brick by brick. These things excite one another, waking up more and more as the years go on.
"You see, it is also of my belief that when something happens in a house that holds enough significance, be it good or bad, it leaves an impression. This impression is what you see as it decays. A ghost, of sorts.
"The half life of a house is directly related to how much had happened there. Younger houses are much safer than older ones, and happier homes are more sound than troubled ones.
"If a house were to say, burn down, everything contained within its walls would be released at once. If someone were to rebuild on the cursed ground, the new house would be plagued by the old."
-from The Journal of Thomas Daniels, 1943
Casper and the figure stared at each other. It didn't move at all. It didn't even blink. That was when the radio turned itself on, tuning through the static until music cut through. Casper decided that it was high time to run.
As he sprinted toward the stairs, he heard the figure break the window, footsteps pounding after him, all to the tune of the radio.
"I don't want to set the world on fire-" it cut back into static as Casper practically jumped up the stairs. "- just want to start a flame in your heart-" he swung around the banister and flung open his door, slamming it behind him and pressing himself against it. The thing that had been chasing him seemed to be gone. The radio sang through the otherwise deafening silence.
Casper waited a few minutes before finally crawling into his bed, laying on his back and staring at the ceiling as the song faded out in the background.
As he lay there, he noticed something odd about the house. There were no smoke detectors anywhere. This was one of his last thoughts before the fear wore off and exhaustion overtook him.
Casper was jolted out of a nightmare he couldn't remember to knocking on his door. He tensed on instinct, pulling the covers over his head. He only gave the knocking a second thought when it stopped, and he heard a familiar voice call his name.
"Thomas?" He called back, hesitant.
"Yes, who else?" Came the reply. "Can I come in?"
"S-sure." Casper sat up in bed, watching intently as the door opened and Thomas appeared in the doorway.
"Good morning." He said with a soft smile. "I'm making eggs and bacon for breakfast, if you'd like to come on down."
"Oh, yeah, sure." Casper stood. He'd fallen asleep in his clothes again, a bad habit he'd picked up since he got here. "Thanks."
"Mhm." Thomas led him downstairs, humming.
The radio was on, and some old timey man was chattering on about the weather. Casper glanced over as they passed the study to find the window he was certain had broken last night in one flawless piece.
How? How could that- what was going on?
"How did you sleep?" The question broke him from his thoughts, and he realized he'd been staring at the window.
"Uh, I slept pretty well. You?"
"Like the dead." He laughed. "But I usually do. Once I'm out, well, I'm out for good."
Thomas started on breakfast, and Casper sat down at the table.
"So, little ghost king," Thomas started. "Who did you see?"
"So, why don't you tell me a bit about yourself, ghost king?"
Casper looked up from his bowl of spaghetti. He'd been too absorbed in his thoughts to even think about talking to Thomas. Now he realized he'd been rather rude.
"What do you wanna know?"
"Tell me how you came to be the ghost king when you're not even dead." Thomas prompted. "It's quite a feat, you know."
"Well," he paused, considering the best way to explain. "I think it was the Translation. You know them, right?"
"The illegal time travel organization, yes."
"Well, I think they wanted to recruit me. So they did some ritual… I don't know, all I remember is waking up in a coffin. It was terrifying."
"Recruit you? But you're a child." Thomas said, a little outraged. "I'm sorry, Casper, I really am. You don't deserve the… responsibility that comes with this position, nor do you deserve to be disowned. But I'm here to help, no matter what."
Casper laughed nervously. There was something about Thomas's tone, the way he asked questions like he already knew the answer, the way he almost seemed to spit out the words 'ghost king' like they left a bitter taste in his mouth. It all freaked him out.
"Thanks, but I hardly know you. I mean, I know I'm staying in your house, and I'm grateful for your generosity, but really I probably shouldn't stay for long." Casper said, trying to push down the sudden anxiety.
Thomas frowned. "Has something got you spooked?"
Casper was quiet for a moment. He didn't want to mention the knocking. That would make it more… real. He didn't want it to be real. "No, not really," he said carefully. "I just don't want to overstay my welcome, you know?"
"I see." Everything about Thomas seemed to get a little less intense. "Well, don't worry about that. I'm happy to have you. And you're safe here, really. Safer than you were out there."
"Yeah… I guess I am." Casper's voice was barely a whisper.
The two went back to eating silently.
The knocking came again that night, this time louder and more desperate than before. Whatever was out there really wanted to get in. Casper ignored it, staring at the door, afraid that if he took his eyes off it, whatever was there would burst through. When, after what felt like hours, it finally stopped, Casper stood. He crossed the room toward the vanity.
As he stared at himself, taking in every blemish and imperfection- the bruise forming above his right eye from the fight that got him kicked out, his cut lip, some sort of mark on his left cheek- the room seemed to warp in his periphery. The wood of the walls blackened, bulging out before collapsing in on itself. The wallpaper curled and crisped, peeling off the walls. The faint smell of smoke wafted through the room.
When he looked back, the walls were just as untainted as before, but the smell lingered.
Sighing, he returned to his bed, reaching underneath for his bag. It was a small backpack, stuffed with the few things he'd managed to grab before having to leave home. He pulled out his phone. It was nearly dead. The time read 12:06. How had it gotten so late so fast? He set it aside and dug around some more.
Aha! He pulled out his flashlight. Tonight was the night he'd explore the house.
Opening the door slowly so it wouldn't creak, Casper turned on his flashlight. It was dim, and flickered slightly, but it was better than nothing. He shut his door just as carefully behind him, convinced that if he left it open for too long, something would get in.
He quietly moved to the next room over, opening the door and shining the light around. The room had been converted from a bedroom to a small library, with oak shelves lining the walls. The window was covered by thick red curtains that danced on the floor as if in a breeze, though the air was still. Casper got the intense feeling that someone was watching him, and quickly shut the door.
He couldn't risk the other side of the landing. He didn't want to wake Thomas. Something told him Thomas wouldn't like his snooping. He made his way around the furniture on the landing, cringing every time a floorboard creaked. Slowly, slowly, slowly he made his way down the stairs, sticking to the sides where he could. The smell of smoke was stronger on the first floor. And not the nasty smell of cigarette smoke. The distinct smell of burning wood, as well as something else. Something… meatier.
He stopped as he passed Thomas's study. The smoke smell was almost overwhelming, and he swore he could hear something inside. Something rhythmic. A thump. Thump. Thump.
He was just about to reach for the doorknob when there was a loud knock at one of the windows. He glanced over and stifled a gasp. A figure stood just beyond the glass, staring straight at him. In a voice clearer than it should have been, it asked, "Hello?"
i am Looking at the warmth thing for thomas's house. specifically going "so how high is the likelihood casper gets stuck in some possibly illusionary/otherwise non physical fire hellscape because of that house"
You know better than anyone the significance of fire in this story
Hmm while I'm brainstorming the next chapter, feel free to send in asks! I know there are only two of you and there's only been to chapters but if you have any thoughts/theories/questions I'd love to hear them
Hmm while I'm brainstorming the next chapter, feel free to send in asks! I know there are only two of you and there's only been to chapters but if you have any thoughts/theories/questions I'd love to hear them
Hmm while I'm brainstorming the next chapter, feel free to send in asks! I know there are only two of you and there's only been to chapters but if you have any thoughts/theories/questions I'd love to hear them
He sat at a desk, watching the teacher scribble in squeaky chalk on the chalkboard, half asleep. His uniform was uncomfortable and his chair wobbled. He felt like the white walls were closing in on him, pressing down and threatening to suffocate him. A shiver ran down his spine, jolting him out of his stupor.
Suddenly, he got the strong feeling that something was… off. His gut twisted itself in knots, his leg bouncing with nervous energy. Something was wrong. Something was about to happen.
That's when the screaming started. It was from the lower levels of the school, the distinct sound of agony. Along with it drifted the smell of smoke. The teacher said something, but he couldn't make it out. The teacher's speech sounded as if he was listening through water, muffled and distorted.
The room got warm.
And Casper woke up.
Casper sat on his bed, thinking. He had no idea what time it was, but judging by the light peaking through the window, he guessed it was early morning. He'd gotten to Thomas' house around midnight last night. It was rather large, with two stories and spiraling staircases, trees carved into the wood of the banisters. The upstairs had four bedrooms, two on either side, and a wide open landing adorned with furniture that looked straight out of the 1940's. The downstairs contained a kitchen, a living room, a den, and a study, which he was not allowed into and was locked.
As he sat in silence, he noticed something. There was no hum of a central heating system, nor was the wood stove in his room lit. And yet, despite the chill outside, it was perfectly warm inside.
He had no time to ponder this, however, as a knock rang out on his door. He stood up to answer it, but something made him pause. The knocking came again, louder, more frantic. And again, and again. Casper shied away from the door, walking backwards until his back hit the wall, ever keeping his eyes on the door. The door did not move as whatever was on the other side pounded on it. And then, it stopped.
Casper wasn't sure how long he stood and watched the door, expecting at any moment something to burst through. It had to have been at least twenty minutes before he slowly, slowly went over and gently opened the door. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to be there, but whatever it was, it wasn't a silent, rather dark house, lit only by the grey light of dawn slipping through the large windows.
Hesitantly, Casper made his way out of his room and down the stairs, each creek of a floorboard putting him on edge. He flicked a switch, and the lights in the living room buzzed to life. He could see Thomas out on the back porch, sitting in a rocking chair. He could faintly hear him muttering to himself. Casper sat down on the couch with a sigh. He had the distinct feeling he was being watched.
There was no TV in the house, but there was a radio, standing tall and old next to the couch and an armchair. He flicked it on, getting nothing but static as he turned the dial. Occasionally he would get a few syllables of speech, but when he tried to get back to that station, he was met with more static. Strange. He finally turned it off, seeing this was going nowhere.
He jumped when Thomas came in, bringing with him that sickly sweet scent that was so familiar, and yet escaped his grasp every time.
"Good morning. Feeling a little jumpy today?" He asked, sitting down and turning on the radio. An old sounding song played. Casper sat in silence.
Casper stood in the very center of the local cemetery, rethinking the events of the day. How had it happened so quickly? He watched idly as moths and flies slammed themselves into the single light above him.
He'd been attacked. It wasn't his fault! None of this was his fault! He didn't want to be different. He didn't want these powers! It wasn't his choice! But now he was alone and homeless and had nowhere to go and would probably freeze to death and if he died would that just make him the full on ghost king?
He closed his eyes tightly. And because of this, he missed the figure emerging from the shadows beyond the halo of warm light from the lamppost.
"You on your own now, little ghost king?"
Casper startled at the new voice, jumping back and opening his eyes. It took him a moment to adjust to the dim lighting. Black spots still plaguing his vision, he tried to take in the new person. He was tall, wearing a sweater over a dress shirt. His hair was duel colored, nearly dark grey on one side and lighter on the other, tied back. His skin was a light brown, splotches of vitiligo on his face and hands. In one hand, he held an unlit cigarette. In the other, a lighter.
"Who… how do you know who I am?" Casper breathed.
"You've made quite a stir. Everyone who's anyone knows about you. Anyone with powers, at least." He chuckled, putting the cigarette in his mouth.
"You have powers, too?" Casper asked, voice soft. A bit of excitement welled up in him. Maybe this man could help.
"Sure do," he grinned. Suddenly, the lighter lifted out of his hand, flipping itself open and lighting his cigarette. It then landed back in his hand, nestling itself into his outstretched palm.
Casper stared in awe for a moment, muttering a single "woah".
"You're not… you're not part of the Translation, right?" The boy asked tentatively. "Or the Nighthawks?"
"No, no. No need to worry, I'm not part of either. Do I look like I'd be a member of an international crime ring?" He laughed. "Don't answer that. Come with me, kid. I can help you."
The man extended a hand, and after a long moment of consideration, Casper took it, shaking it. "What's your name?"
"Names Thomas. Thomas Daniels."
"Casper." Casper replied. He almost put Hills after, but then realized he couldn't do that anymore. He wasn't welcome in the Hills family. He wasn't welcome in the ghost world. But…
But he was welcome with Thomas. If he hadn't been so wrapped up in the joy of a new home, he might have noticed how off Thomas was. The cold of his hand, the flies that buzzed around him. The way his skin was slightly grey and the strange, sweet smell covered mostly by the smell of stale cigarette smoke. He didn't stop to even think why he trusted this random man so much… he just did.
"How far is it?" Casper asked.
"Not very far. Not very far at all. Maybe about twenty minutes on foot." Thomas replied, mulling over his answer.
