night’s at hill house were less for sleeping than they were for tossing about in bed, pacing the room, and contemplating with great trepidation whether a stroll down the corridor might cost one their sanity.
clara lay atop her comforter, too hot beneath yet too cold above. she’d cracked the window in hopes the ambient sounds outside might distract her from the constant creaking and settling of the old house. eerily, she noticed, the night seemed to become silent all at once. had the crickets not just been chirping? the breeze gently shaking the leaves of the trees? even the house, uncharacteristic in its nature, seemed to be holding its breath.
she sat up with a start. one could never be too suspicious. kitsey would have immediately jumped to a supernatural explanation had clara voiced her worried curiosity. precisely why she avoided such conversations whenever possible. this proved easier said than done, there wasn’t much else to talk about in hill house.
perhaps one might reflect on personal history - that of which she avoided sharing with anyone, outside of the doctor who made it abundantly clear he needed to know everything and if he suspected you were hiding something, he’d figure it out by his own means. as for kitsey, well, it was impossible not to let things slip here and there. kitsey being the only person she bothered conversing with outside uncomfortable interactions with the groundskeeper and begrudging pleasantries when passing anyone else in the hall. maybe it was nice to talk to her about somethings, normal things, perceived normal in the context of everything else. she might give an entire monologue of her life since birth in order to avoid some superstitious spiel from the other.
a voice. unmistakable yet unrecognizable, as if she’d imagined it. the air seemed to thicken and for a moment clara idly wondered if the house might be on fire. good. she thought.
reluctantly, she rose from bed. it wasn’t as if she’d be getting much sleep anyway. she padded to her window, widening it’s opening in hopes to freshen the stale air of her bedroom. the moonlight cast haunting shadows across the front lawns, the way they danced and changed in size as if belonging to moving figures. she blinked and they stilled, wishing she hadn’t forfeited her antipsychotics down the toilet (for reasons she could yet to remember). the doctor had promised her a new prescription days ago, secretly she wondered if he hoped for more interesting findings from her current mental state.
she blinked again. a child, beneath the tree. there and then gone. she backed from the window, shakily striking a match and lighting the laughably archaic wax candle she’d begun relying on for light. the confines of her room had become increasingly oppressive and the air still too stuffy. kitsey was only a quick hop and a skip down the hall, her room had better ventilation she was sure. the only reason she’d decided to get up in the first place: to breathe. nothing more.
so without much more thought and before allowing herself any second ones, she slipped out into the corridor. as if on a mission her gaze set and locked on the third door down from her own, nowhere else. as she proceeded she became acutely aware of footsteps behind her own, only much too light to belong to any occupant of the house she knew of. she knew for certain it was a child’s. only there were no children, making this… all in my head.
‘ claraaa. we’re waiting for you. ’
‘ won’t you come upstairs and play with us? ’
she wished desperately to yell, to scream, to break out into a run. she refused herself this panic as she knew it would only give way to more. and after all, it was only in her head. which if that were to be the case, she’d be able to look behind her. yet she couldn’t shake the overwhelming sense of dread that came with that thought. with less grace than she would have liked she barreled her way into kitsey’s room, quickly shutting (and locking) the door behind her.
‘ good evening, friend. ’ she immediately moved to the window, taking a glance outside to see, to her relief, nothing. kitsey, was of course, awake - in a house full of insomniacs it’d be something of a miracle if someone were to be asleep. funny how they all practiced the soulless cycle of retiring to their rooms only to stare at the ceiling for hours, some in vain fear of a dark spirit in the house. silly fears.
‘ i think something’s wrong with the vents in my room. collecting too much dust or something, it’s musty and too hot. thought i’d poke my head in - see if you were awake. ’ she was speaking far more than she ever would, under normal circumstances. she was sure the other would pick up on this. ‘ did you, by chance… hear anyone in the hall just now? ’ / @rottenfrvit
admittedly, hill house had been anticlimactic — until the sun set on their first night and she began hearing things just like she does in her apartment. technically, she has company, with the few other participants of the experiment just a few steps away from her room. however, company found its way into her room in the form of mumbled voices and strange, brief apparitions. they certainly add character to the already larger-than-necessary bedroom she spends sleepless nights in.
kitsey has little to complain about though. they weren’t nearly as aggravating as the one she hears back home who like to make things go bump in the night, even if everyone else deems her theories as crazy and attributes the strange happenings to the age of the building. if she wasn’t a certified insomniac, their voices could lull her to sleep.
but if that was the case, she wouldn’t be here, now would she?
so the nights following the first with the revelation are spent staying up and engaging in a little small talk until the sun begins to rise, unless she does end up dozing off, even just for a little while. sometimes, she’ll even step out of her bedroom and explore already, since a house so big surely has much more to offer. at least with this company, she wouldn’t have to bother the others, even if the thought of bothering clara, the one proper friend she’s made so far (well, a living and breathing friend), has come up on multiple occasions.
now, while she’s definitely convinced the house is haunted, her theories aren’t exactly entertained by the others, especially the doctor. they’ll just have to see it to believe it. she’s beginning to grow a little tired from her attempts to convince them.
“say, if i were to tell my... friends about you, about the house, where could i find some proper evidence?” someone is listening, she’s sure of it. the walls have ears, so to speak.
“you —” is all she gets from the ghost child that’s been lingering in her room for a while now because clara’s unexpected appearance seems to scare off her other friend. kitsey frowns at the interruption until she takes note of the other woman’s demeanour. more frazzled than usual.
she sits up, raising a brow at clara as a ghost of a smile (ha!) begins to appear. “uh, good evening?” kitsey lets the other woman come up with something as an excuse for barging in, watching her with curious eyes, clearly entertained by this sudden change in character. she thinks this is the most active she’s seen clara since they got here.
“i hear a lot of things, but you already know that. in fact, i was actually about to get some juicy info until you came in, so thanks for that.” there’s no real bite to her tone, instead her smile just grows ever so slightly. “i'm guessing you heard something? unless...” she trails off, before lowering her voice. “it’s the vents.”
she can’t help the smug smile that creeps up onto her face, leaning back against the wooden headboard. “well, thanks for checking that i’m, y’know, awake.” sue her for wanting to tease the other a little. it’s well-deserved, she thinks. “are you making rounds now or?”
