˗ˏˋ wading deep waters ˎˊ˗
PROLOGUE .✦ ݁˖ ghost billy x fem reader .✦ ݁˖ ⤷ summary: the house across the meadow fills billy with longing, especially now that you've moved in ⤷ notes: i'm sorry if this chapter is boring, i had to set up a lot of things that are to come later <3 ⤷ spotify playlist /// pinterest board
i. the yew tree
When Billy was alive, spring had been his favorite season.
There was peace to be found in the gentle budding of tree leaves; in the green patches of grass in the meadows; in the bright spots of wildflowers here and there; in the soft birdsong that echoes through the trees.
Even in death, he finds peace in the earth's awakening. Spring will always return; the seasons will move in their natural rhythm. Billy's only job is to sit back and observe them. It's a lonely existence to just be an observer, but no matter how hard he's tried, he cannot change the cards he's been dealt.
The sun shines brightly today and though he cannot feel the warmth, he tries to enjoy it.
Tries, being the key word, because even if he concentrates, he can't remember how it feels to sit in the sun. He's never felt so disconnected from everything, including his own humanity.
Frustrated, he sits up and pulls his hat off his face as he shifts to rest against the yew tree trunk. This is his favorite tree. It stands right at the edge of the forest, acting almost like a guardian of the wood beyond. It has an ancient spirit that feels comforting to Billy.
He loves sitting here and listening to the breeze rustle the needle like leaves. He loves watching the bright red berries ripen but he's sure to always chase off any animal that tries to eat them. The seeds inside are poisonous.
To put it simply, the tree is his shelter. It makes him feel less alone.
Is he really lonely enough that he's befriended a tree?
As he leans back against the trunk, he laments that he can't feel the bark against his back. Nor can he feel the grass underneath him.
There's just a maddening feeling of emptiness that he can't run away from. He can look at the world and listen to it, but he cannot interact with it.
He doesn't like thinking about the emptiness or loneliness for too long. It's too easy to get lost in it; to press on it like a half-healed bruise. A wound he has to compulsively analyse.
He turns his focus to the house across the meadow. The tree he's resting against is his favorite spot because it has a perfect view of the tiny cottage tucked in against the opposite tree line. Billy used to come and sit here everyday, even though the house had been empty for the past few years.
It hadn't always been that way.
A family—a young couple and their son—had lived there five years ago. They'd moved in shortly after Billy had become a ghost.
Those days were full of bitter jealousy and anger. He feels ashamed at the way the sight of the couple and their child made him feel. Each time he saw them, looking so happy, he'd feel as if he was getting shot all over again. They were a reminder of everything Billy would never have, so out of fear and despair, he stayed away. He watched them from afar but never tried to test his limits.
As the little boy grew bigger, he began adventuring more. One summer, he made it his mission to climb every tree around his home. Billy kept count and celebrated each win with the boy, who day after day, reminded Billy more and more of his long lost brother. Or a son that he himself would never have.
Two years ago, the family packed up and moved away abruptly, leaving Billy behind. They had never known he was there, of course, but he still felt abandoned.
Until you.
When you arrived a few weeks ago, he felt as if he'd swallowed a star and it was burning him from the inside out. The feeling had startled him. He hadn't felt hope in so long that he'd forgotten what it was.
Longing blooms in his chest as he hopes that things will be different this time. Maybe, he will find that connection he's so desperate for. The one that he was too afraid of to explore with the first family. Maybe you were his second chance.
All because you moved into a tiny house in the middle of nowhere, and as fate would have it, near where his body is buried. Some part of him hopes that you stumble across the unmarked grave deep in the forest. A theory has taken root in his head and holds on, stubborn until it is tested.
He's felt drawn to you ever since you arrived. A connection this deep has to mean something. The connection he'd had with the previous family was powerful, sure, but he'd never felt like he was physically drawn to them. You, on the other hand, are like a magnet.
The intensity of the feeling scares him but more than that, it confuses him.
How can he be drawn to you when he can't leave this forest? He's never been able to stray too far away from the yew tree. Each time he's tried, he's felt like he's turned into a shadow; stretched thin like a cloth woven of the finest gossamer.
He's tied to this section of the forest because deeper inside of it, buried deep in the soil, lie his bones.
Movement across the field catches his eye. He sits forward, eager to see you.
You emerge from the front door of the house, carrying a laundry basket on your hip. You open the garden gate with one hand, struggling slightly. Billy longs to rush forward and help you—even though he knows that it's no use. He's only going to drive himself further into despair by indulging in thoughts like that.
He is dead. You are alive. That's all there is to it. There will never be any helping you carry the laundry basket.
Or chop the firewood. Or saddle your horse. Or do anything that needs to be done.
A breeze threads through your hair as you tie a clothesline from a post on the fence to the railing of your front porch. You pause for a moment, the back of one hand pressed against your forehead in a pose of weariness, before starting to hang your clothes.
What's got you looking so weary? The question lodges itself in Billy's head until it's all he can think about.
Maybe you were just tired today.
But still, as he watches you sit down in the grass after hanging only half your laundry, something squeezes in his chest. A tight feeling starts there and he presses a hand against his sternum, confused. Why does he feel pain there?
A few seconds later, you press your hand to your own chest. Right in the same place.
ii. sunshine in a basket
While your laundry dries, you decide to go foraging for some wildflowers to brighten up your home, despite the weariness in your bones. The inside of your home feels a little bare and in need of some cheer. Maybe some flowers would help you feel better.
Since you've just recently moved in, you haven't gotten around to planting anything in the garden yet. That's next on your list.
Not today though, the laundry has taken up enough of your energy, which seems more and more sparse these days. All it takes to wipe you out is one or two chores.
Basket in hand, you pause by your fence, looking out at the forest with a hint of trepidation. Was it wise to adventure into it? You knew that there had to be animals wandering about, but hopefully none were aggressive, provided you kept to yourself. As for other people, well… you haven't seen a soul since moving here.
Odd, but it makes sense considering this area is comprised of farm land and homesteads. Perhaps there are others around, just farther than you've had the energy to explore. You wish you could be a better neighbor, but it's tiring enough to get through the day. You don't know if you could add socializing on top of that.
The grass rustles under your feet as you make your way steadily across the meadow. A few weeks of warmth and rain have coaxed it into vivid, emerald green.
You pass through a half broken fence that seperates the meadow from the edge of the treeline. Bushes with green buds crowd around it, creating a stark boundary that seperates this area from the safety of your home.
Ahead is the wild.
A shiver traces the back of your neck. The sky overhead is bright blue, the sun warm and golden, and yet it doesn't seem to reach into the forest. Shadows twist around the tree trunks; a breeze ruffles the bare branches of the oaks and aspens. The sturdy pine trees loom like statues.
You step over the knarled roots of an ancient looking yew tree. It has such a prescence that you consider asking it permission to enter the forest, but that makes you feel silly. Your imagination is just running wild from all the books you read.
Something cold brushes your shoulder. You jump, looking for the stray branch that must've done it.
Except, there are no branches hanging low enough to have touched your shoulder.
Ignoring your nerves, you step into the forest. The shade swallows you and at the sudden chill, you tug the edges of your shawl closer. Looking around, you feel like you're being watched.
"I'm just here for some flowers." You say, hoping to soothe any spirits that you may have trespassed upon. Not that you believe in woodland sprites or anything….
What else was there that could be lurking around? Ghosts? Now, those you believed in even less than faeries.
No doubt, the prescnece you could feel right now could be attributed to the Fair Folk. This conclusion makes the most sense in your frazzled mind.
"I'll bring you a gift before I visit next time." You say as you peek into your basket, hoping that you'd perhaps left something in there that would be suitable. There's nothing. "I'm very sorry for my intrusion and I hope you'll allow me to stay."
You swallow, searching your memory for the best way to interact with fae. "Can you help me find some flowers? I'm looking for some to fill a vase with. My home is awfully dull at the moment."
For a moment, the woods remain still. You feel a bit silly for rambling on, but talking is easing your anxiety, so you continue. "I know it's still early in the season so there may not be that many…"
You trail off as you stare straight ahead on the forest path. A few feet away, a low hanging tree branch is moving. The air is completely still; no wind, and yet, the branch is waving at you.
Drawing in a steadying breath, you walk towards it, assuming that this is your…..guardian's way of leading you to the flowers. "Um, thank you!"
The branch waves again as you approach. With a little smile, you reach up to give it a little playful tug. Like you're shaking its hand. Of course, if there is indeed a faerie around, it will remain out of sight, so you don't except to see anything.
Another brush of cold against your arm makes you jump. Your foot catches on a rock and you slip, gasping as the ground tilts.
A vise of cold closes around your wrist and races up your arm. Though you can't see anything, it feels as if something is holding your wrist, keeping you steady on your feet. However, just as fast as you felt it, the touch receeds. You regain your balance, fixing your shawl where it slipped from your shoulders.
"Silly me." You say, unable to explain why your voice wobbles. There's no reason to embarrassed. You're all alone out here! "We can pretend that didn't happen. Please, show me the way to the flowers."
The air seems to move next to you, like how it feels when someone passes you in the street when they're in a hurry. You smile, grateful that whatever creature is helping you seems to be friendly and eager to please.
A few seconds later, another tree branch starts waving, inviting you deeper into the forest. The action sort of reminds you of how will-o'-the wisps lure travellers astray, but you try not to give this thought too much mind. It's early afternoon and you can't think of any reason that a spirit would want to lead you astray.
The branch waves again, but slower this time, as if in hesitation. You force a smile onto your face. "Coming!" Gathering your skirt, you head that way.
The faerie—guardian? spirit? you don't know what to call it—continues to lead you using the pattern of shaking tree branches. You follow, noting that the tree branches start to shake only when you're close to them. Like the spirit is walking alongside you and reaching up to shake them as you pass.
The trees thin out as your guide leads you towards a meadow. You gasp when you spot a patch of white among the grass.
"Oh! Daisies!" Kneeling down next to the flowers, you touch one of them. "Hello, sweetlings. Aren't you beautiful." The sight of them fills you with wonder and the golden warmth of hope that only spring can provide.
Is it just your imagination, or does the grass rustle next to you, as if someone had knelt there? Focusing on the flowers, you don't pay much mind to the sudden feeling of cold against the right side of your body. Perhaps there's a breeze coming this way. Or it's some strange symptom of the fatigue that has plagued you as of late.
"I won't take too many." You say, unsure if you're talking to the daisies or the spirit that led you to them.
When you step through the tree line later, the chill lingers, even though the sun overhead hits you directly; even though you have a basket full of daisies. A basket full of sunshine.
