The Definition of Trust
Done for @omgcpumpkins
(with words by @heyfightme )
Happy (almost) Halloween folks.
Content Warnings: cannibalism, referenced/implied murder, gore, black humor
Jack is starting to lose track of the number of people who have told him he and Bitty are made for each other, and yet each time still manages to send a thrill of pleasure up the entire length of his spine.
He has been told that they are meant to be. A match made in heaven. Destined, from the start. Maple and pecan. Peaches and honey.
“Apple and sage.”
Jack replies with an enthusiastic hum, setting the cooler in his hand to the ground and shrugging out of his jacket. It could do with a trip to the cleaner; one too many roadies, one too many careless stains. For now, it goes over the back of a kitchen chair. Bitty pauses in his mincing, holding the knife aloft as he throws Jack a warm smile over his shoulder.
“Thought it might be a nice celebration pie. The apples are good and fresh; I went picking this morning. Oh, and honey, the orchard had a lovely pumpkin patch, and I know it’s a tiny bit earlier than we usually do, but I just couldn’t resist.” Jack follows the line of the knife to where it’s directed along the kitchen bench. There is, indeed, a hefty-looking and brilliantly orange pumpkin waiting there, a blank canvas ripe for carving. Jack simply hums again, and crosses close enough to drop a kiss to Bitty’s cheek.
“Can you roast the seeds, the way you do?”
Bitty scoffs briefly, but cranes his head up, mouth searching. Jack gives him what he’s looking for, cupping a hand around Bitty’s jaw, and sidling in closer behind him as he presses their lips together. Jack is aware of the blade still in Bitty’s hand, and the cut of meat he’s almost cradling on the chopping board. The earthiness of the sage fills Jack’s nose, tinged also by the apples – a sharpness, almost sour to the scent. Along with the heady raw smell of the meat, and the warmth of Bitty’s blind-baked pastry case, not mention the taste of Bitty in his mouth and the long lines of Bitty’s back pressed up against his front, it sends more than one part of him growling with hunger.
He makes a noise, a gravelled push of a sound, and Bitty chuckles against his lips.
“I’ll be done in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, sweetheart. You’ll be satisfied before you know it.”
“I sure hope there’s a double meaning in that.” Jack leaves one last kiss on Bitty’s mouth before opening his eyes and drawing away. In trailing his hand from jaw to his shoulder as Bitty turns back to the shank on his chopping board, Jack catches sight of his soiled sleeve. A glance down at his person reveals it’s not the only part of the shirt he’s gotten stained.
“Ah, shit.” It’s not the first shirt, and by no means the worst stained, but Jack can’t help the mild exasperation.
“What’ve you done?” Bitty asks it without looking back, re-dedicated as he is to slicing even pieces off the shank. His knife skills, as always, are deft and almost graceful. Jack, however, has things that require attention.
“My shirt’s a fucking mess.”
“There are always more shirts, Jack.” It comes as a sing-song as Bitty moves from slicing to dicing, chopping the meat fine enough to mix with the sage and apple pie filling he has already prepared. “Was the mess worth it?”
“You tell me,” Jack teases, rolling his shirtsleeves up to his elbows and crossing back to the abandoned cooler. He scoops it up and crosses back to the kitchen counter just as Bitty is smoothing the combined meat-and-apple mix into the waiting pie case. Jack drums his fingers on the lid of the cooler, eyeing the offcuts from the shank as Bitty crimps the edges of his carefully-laid pie lid.
The pie gets tenderly deposited into the oven, and Bitty turns back to Jack with a wry expression as he wipes his hands on a dishcloth.
“Alright, my handsome man. Let’s see what you’ve brought me.”
“Most of it all’s out in the freezer already,” Jack informs him, prising the clasps on the cooler open, “but I thought I’d keep this bit fresh.”
Fresh is perhaps an understatement. As Jack opens the cooler and they both peer inside, he’s a little struck by how much the cut of meat has bled. It’s managed to produce a sizeable puddle, stark against the almost sterile plastic. It’s the watery residue of rested meat, not blood-thick, but near vibrant in its redness.
The meat itself is a finely-cut fillet, prime tenderloin, lean and with the skin intact should Bitty want to salt it for crackling.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Bitty breathes the endearment, reaching out with newly-clean hands to lift the meat from its box. He nearly cradles it, weighing the cut in his palms and testing the quality with trained fingers. “This is going to be gorgeous. I picked up some new potatoes at the market, and the rosemary has been coming in so nicely – I wanted to do a roast tomorrow night anyway, and this’ll be so much better than the lamb.” He settles the meat back down in its own juices, and holds his hands out gingerly as he rises on his toes to plant a kiss at the corner of Jack’s mouth. Jack finds himself turning into it, just briefly. The embers of warmth in his chest, the ones that Bitty is always able to stoke so easily, flare and send their heat to the back of his neck.
“Yeah, well, thought it was time I brought you a prime cut.”
Bitty giggles, and raises an eyebrow as he shoots back, “You always give me that grade-A meat, honey.” He punctuates it with a slap to Jack’s ass as he crosses to the sink.
“It’s a nice lean loin, though. And thank you for leaving the skin – it’s been a while since we’ve had a clean one, huh? I’ll finally be able to try that crackling.”
“That’s what I thought.” The warmth in Jack’s voice is an almost tangible thing, seeping into his smile as he leans against the counter and watches Bitty clean himself up.
“I honestly thought that recipe was a lost cause, the way you boys like to mark yourselves up. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like your tattoos – and lord have you earned them – but that’s a non-issue, isn’t it?”
Jack hums again in reply, reaching out idly to flatten the butcher paper the shank offcuts are still sitting on. Bitty turns back to him, wiping wet hands on his apron.
“So,” he begins, voice low and jokingly conspiratorial. Sly. Jack raises his eyebrows and folds his arms, attempting an air of impassive innocence. “Who is it?”
Jack shakes his head, smile eking his canines into his bottom lip sharply. “Nuh-uh, you can’t get me that easily. Figure it out for yourself.”
Bitty’s humph is largely theatrical, and wholly familiar: it’s an immature game, sure, but one neither of them have ever tired of.
“You know, at least last time you did me the courtesy of a real clue.” He gestures to the offcuts next to Jack, finger of the severed hand still bearing a Stanley Cup ring. It had been a little overly-dramatic, a little dramatically performative, but when the guy had actually been wearing his ring – well, leaving the hand attached and diamond-encrusted monstrosity in place had seemed too good to pass up. Bitty had laughed, anyway.
Having crossed back to the cooler to peer at the slab of meat inside, Bitty makes his own speculative hum.
“You know, this is a thick cut. And like I said, still lean. There’s only a few boys I know who could make a loin like this.”
Jack grunts non-committally and folds his arms. Undeterred, Bitty turns a shrewd look on him.
There’s something hopeful glinting in the brown of his eyes.
“Is this actually –?”
“I’m going to stop you right there, Bits. For the last time, that is never going to happen. He’s the most recognizable player in the league. There’s tricky, and then there’s just stupid.”
Bitty tsks in frustration, his eye-roll an almost palpable thing. Still, though, he sidles up to Jack and trails teasing fingers along the collar of his shirt, looking up through blond lashes.
“I know you say that, honey, but don’t you want to know how that ass tastes?” He nips playfully at Jack’s chin, soothing the bite over with a lush press of lips. “Because I, for one, would love to know how that ass tastes.”
The pie has thirty minutes left in the oven. The tenderloin needs to be put in the fridge, ready for their dinner tomorrow. The hand and its ring need to be carefully disposed of. For now, though, Jack is content to fit Bitty’s body against his own, and kiss him with the right measure of roughness and tenderness, and let the richness of the cooking meat in the air coax him to being fully ravenous.
They are a team.
prompt: The Bittles are a family of vampire hunters, infamous in the South. When Bitty gets turned and flees instead of staying and turning himself in, they send a call out to every hunting family in the world. Wanted Dead. Jack Zimmermann of the Zimmermann hunting family runs across a sweet little baker that runs the night shift.
There had been too many of them. What he had assumed was merely one vampire had turned out to be a whole nest. Eric closed his eyes where he laid sprawled out on the floor like a rag doll. He could hear them talking above him. Some words he could make out, and some was just a wash of Russian, French, and some other language he could not name. The rhythm off it lulled him, and he wondered why they had just not killed him yet. He could feel the blood seeping out of the wound in his side. His vision darkened at the edges, and he felt sleep creeping up on the edges. He wanted nothing more to close his eyes and just let it claim him.
“...stupid. Just child. What you think Marty? You eldest here.”
“...Tater, you don’t...”
“I’m not tolerate this. You want me to get George?”
“No. Damn it, Tater you...”
The voices washed over Eric. Bits of conversation that he could barely understand. It wasn’t long before he was lifted. “Oh, little one. Is not good. You wanting to live?”
Eric whimpered. Dying was not something that he wanted. Not at all. “Please,” he croaked. “Help me.” It was an effort to get even that out.
“I’m do that then. Will be fine.”
<center>***</center>
It wasn’t fine. It was the farthest thing from fine. Eric woke up in a bed, covers up to his chin. He wasn’t alone.
“Is good you wake, finally. Turning very bad. Think we lose you. Fever for very long time, then sleep for longer.” The man stook, and towered over Eric. “Lost words? Maybe sleep more and find them again.”
“What? No,” Eric croaked when he remembered to draw a breath. “You...you turned me. I can’t...you...”
“Yes, I’m turn you. Don’t want you to die. We don’t do that.”
“You what?” Eric sat up. His hands were shaking as he pushed away the blanket.
“We not take life, unless unavoidable. I’m Alexei.”
“Eric.”
“Please to meet. Probably weak for while longer. Change take long time. Fragile for a while. Long while, but I’m take care of you. Promise.” Alexei smiled, and Eric couldn’t help but believe that he meant what he said.
Eric closed his eyes. He should walk away, and give himself up to his family. They would take care of this, but the thought of what they would do to him left Eric shivering. They were unforgiving, and would drive a stake through his heart no matter what he said. Vampires were monsters to them, but Eric did not feel like a monster. He felt like himself.
“I’m scared.”
“I’m know. Is very scary thing, but we work through this. Maybe we find you job. Keep you occupied.”
“I’ll need money, so I guess that is a good idea.”
Alexei laughed, and sat on the edge of the bed. “No worrying about money. We take care of each other. No, I’m mean something you like to do. Something to pass time with. We are having so much time, Eric.”
“My friends call me Bitty.” Something seemed to unwind in his chest. “I’ve always liked to bake.”
“Is good place to start then.”
<center>***</center>
Three years later...
Eric knew who he was the minute that he walked into the bakery. The Zimmermann’s all had the same striking features, dark hair and blue eyes. The man's hands shook as he put them on the counter.
He pasted a smile back on the his face, and made himself walk up to the counter. “What can I get for you, sweetie?”
He made his tone light, despite wanting to run into the back, hide, and call Tater. He didn’t though. His creator couldn’t save him from everything, and he certainly did not want to drag the rest of the coterie into this.
“Oh, I think you know why I’m here?”
“For our pie, I would hope. I make them fresh every day. I think you would like the apple,” he said evenly.
“Why’d you do it?” He said, not to be dissuaded.
Eric let his eyes widen. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Why’d you run? Why didn’t you go back?” The man leaned in, eyes bright and intense.
Eric found himself answering before he could help himself. “Would you? I know I didn’t want to die?” His hand covered his mouth, and he drew in a sharp breath (more in habit than any real need). Eric stared. “Shit.”
“So you let them turn you into a monster?”
Eric took a step back. “You don’t understand. They aren’t like we thought they were. It’s not...we aren’t the monsters. We don’t just kill people. Kill families.” He wrung his hands together, and backed as far away from the Hunter as he could. “Y’all are the monsters. We don’t hurt anyone.”
“That is a lot to claim.”
“It’s not a claim, it’s the truth, Zimmermann,” Eric said as defiantly as he could. His nails bit into his hands, drawing blood. He hoped that Alexei wasn’t the one to find him. It would break his creator’s heart.
The hunter didn’t move though, he just shook his head. “Show me then.”
“What?”
“My name is Jack.” He held out his hand.
Eric stared at him, and wondered what kind of trick this was. “What?”
“I just can’t do this any more. Maybe...maybe there is another way.” He laughed, and it was a sound that made Eric’s heart ache. “I mean, dying didn’t really help.”
“What is even happening?” Eric mumbled. “Dying?”
“Maybe a story for another night? I mean. You help me and I will help you, I guess.” Jack looked at him with haunted eyes, and he couldn't help but nod in agreement.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: T
Words: 5269
Pairings: None
Warnings: Homophobia
Summary: Written for @omgcpumpkins fest. Prompt - Bitty is an angry/vengeful spirit who was murdered in a house that Jack moves into.
Bitty didn't survive that night in the closet in 7th grade. He's been haunting his old childhood home ever since. Jack moves in after being traded to the Atlanta Thrashers, completely unaware of the history of the house.
Warnings (overall): body horror, angst (Let me know if there are others that should be added!), mention of a couple of real life hockey players.
Notes: Inspired by a few things, but mainly @whoacanada‘s NHL!Bitty series and my commission from @omgpieplease. Title from Lady Gaga. I’d started on this before @omgcpumpkins, but I thought it fit the theme. :)
Summary:
Bitty knew about the hockey gods, of course. Hockey players could be quite superstitious indeed, making their own rituals in routines. But he didn’t exactly believe in them.
Now he’s on a pro team. He’s in the big show. The Schooners have made the playoffs. And playoffs…are a different creature altogether. For even if you don’t really believe in the hockey gods, they believe in you.
Show Me Your Fangs
Eric's first year in the NHL flew by. The prospect camp for the Schooners was fun and went better than he could've hoped. In September he killed it in the rookie exhibition and the preseason games.
Come October, he was playing in the NHL, for real. He, Eric R. Bittle, Jr., was playing professional hockey! A former figure skater from Georgia was on the starting roster of the Seattle Schooners!
If you’d told him in his freshman year that this was what he’d be doing after graduation, well, he’d probably have been quite concerned about your head injury, or perhaps asked for your supplier on Shitty’s behalf.
It was terribly difficult sometimes, to be sure. Jack was on the other side of the country. Skype helped, and calls every day they could manage. Packing months of affection into holidays that were all too brief.
But they won games. And lost some. But the important thing was, they won enough.
Enough to make the playoffs. PLAYOFFS!!! And wasn't that something else altogether. Out of 34 teams, he was on one that was getting a chance at the Stanley Cup!
And then. Not long after they'd secured their spot, there was a team meeting. Nothing unusual, Eric thought, the coaches just wanted to get them psyched up, keep them focused.
Which, it was, yeah. But after the expected speeches...
"Okay, so if there's any trouble with the creature features..." there were several amused snorts. "...Just see us or the trainers. We know it can get hard to deal with, especially for the rookies." He went on to tell them about proper fang dental hygiene (same as usual, but get extra toothbrushes, and eat more calcium, apparently).
"What," he said incredulously. "That's...something that happens? Playoffs turn you into...into a monster?!?!"
He looked around. Most of the other rookies looked kinda stunned. The more experienced players just nodded.
"Yeah, how much usually depends on ice time," Cricket said. "And no, you wouldn't have heard of it. Being able to actually see it, that's limited to players, other playoff teams, and some of the hands-on staff, like the trainers. It's been happening since at least the '60s, they think. Maybe earlier, but they don't talk about it that far back."
"Wha- Why?" Eric stutters out.
"It's...I dunno, a thing with the hockey gods. The regular season is hard enough. All the big and little sacrifices to make it on the ice. To get through playoffs, you need more. And so we get a little help."
His stomach twisted. He thought back to last year, when the Falconers had made their own deep playoff run. George had warned him, obliquely. Jack had been grumpier, more irritable sometimes, but not really any worse than he'd been at Samwell. Bitty just chalked it up to it being his rookie year in the pros. Of course it would be more stressful.
That night, Eric makes a somewhat stammering call to Jack.
After the sweet greetings and I-love-you's are said, Bitty finally asks.
"So. Hockey gods and monsters on ice. What the fuck, Jack?"
Jack looked slightly sheepish. "Ah. Guess I should've expected this once Seattle made the playoffs."
"I mean, it does explain why you were a bit weirder than usual last year. And the biting." Jack pinked at that. Eric smiled at him. “Not to say that I’m complaining ‘bout that, mind.”
"So many times I wish I could've told you. But would you have believed me without being able to see for yourself?"
"No, I suppose not. But you look perfectly handsome as ever."
Jack dipped his head and gave a shy grin. "Well, of course, the first round hasn't even really started. Nothing to see, yet."
"I figure I'll deal with that as it comes, how bad could it get for a rookie? I'm a little more concerned about...appeasing the hockey gods. Gosh, there's a sentence I never thought I'd say with any sort of seriousness."
Jack was silent for a minute, clearly thinking. "Hrmm. A quick prayer never hurts. But with how my dad and Yags talked about it, it's in the little things. Our pre-game routines, the cellys, even the fights and injuries, all the little dedications that sometimes you don't even realize you're doing. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. You’re as dedicated to the game as anyone I know."
"Wait...Yags?"
"Oh, Jaromir. Jagr. He's with the Aces now, you might face him soon enough! He's been in the NHL for longer than you've been alive, Bits. He knows things."
Eric didn't know why he was surprised. Of course Jaromir Jagr was among Jack's hockey uncles. He’d won a couple of cups with Bob and Mario. They probably didn’t get to meet up much because oh yeah, he was still playing pro hockey.
On the other hand, hockey gods and ice magic would explain a lot about that.
At the Schooners’ next practice, Eric paused to breathe in the chill of the rink. Okay. Fine. Whatever happened, he would do his best. He’d made it this far.
His spine tingled a little. Just excitement. Or maybe the hockey gods were watching?
Far be it from him to disappoint them.
They won the first two games of Round 1. It felt really fucking good. It was definitely harder than a regular season game, everyone giving it their all. The speed, the rush of it all...it was amazing. Every goal seemed that much sweeter.
Game 3...was a loss. But it was so so close, going into overtime with them tied 3-3.
The next morning, Eric's jaw ached. He probably had just been clenching his teeth in frustration. They'd all played well, but sometimes the other team was just better. But there were at least two more games left in Round One. It wasn't over yet.
He brushed his teeth grumpily. They had the morning to rest, with practice in the afternoon, Game 4 the next day, and the flight back to Seattle after that.
He stretched and grimaced at his reflection, side tender where he'd been checked.
Oh.
OH.
Okay.
He poked his tongue at newly sharp eyeteeth. No wonder they all ached like new fillings.
Well.
Their captain had said things like this were almost common, in playoffs. Pointed teeth and ears, patches of fur or scales. Horns and armor sometimes, in the later rounds. He could live with pointy teeth.
He was just a rookie, though a pretty dang talented one if he said so himself (and so did Cricket, and Jack, and the Schooners GM). How much could really happen to him, anyway?
He spared a brief but delightful thought for how much Jack would squirm if he bit him now. It would leave a nice mark, he mused. Then shook his head. No time for nice daydreams, though. Now was playoffs, and they’d barely started. Hopefully.
Hopefully there would be many more games ahead, and if they were really good and really lucky, sixteen wins.
It was weird. This hockey monster thing...was the weirdest thing that had happened to him since...probably since he went to college and joined Samwell Men’s Hockey. With people like Shitty, Holster, and Johnson...yeah, the rest of the campus was right, the team was full of weirdos.
At the same time...it felt sorta good. He really was a hockey player, he’d earned his spot here and he belonged on the team.
The Schooners won Round One in five games.
Whatever magic it was that happened during playoffs, Eric was grateful for it. The last game was another tough win, and he knew, KNEW that any other time, playing like that would leave him near exhausted. But now, even after cellying like crazy out on the ice, waving their sticks like madmen, he just felt energized. Even if he crashed afterwards, they had a couple extra days to rest and practice before Round Two.
But right now, a few drinks to celebrate wouldn’t be amiss.
Thank you, hockey gods, he thought. God had bigger things to worry about, surely, than playoffs. All it said was no gods before Him right? This was just like...asking an angel or a patron saint for something. Yeah. Hockey was totally an earthly-type matter, the gods of playoffs had more time to devote to hockey players anyway. They needed all the help they could get.
Probably he should ask if there were names for them, he thought, a little tipsy. It would only be polite. So he could thank them. Maybe he could make them a pie? His teammates would be more than ready to eat it afterward.
The next morning saw him peering confusedly at mostly illegible drunken scribbles on his nice stationary. Apparently he’d ended up trying to write a thank you note to the hockey gods.
Wow they mixed their drinks strong at that bar.
The day after that, Eric blinked at eyes that had gone from warm brown to a molten amber.
He'd...he'd gotten plenty of ice time, that was all.
“Yeah, that the creature that owns them will fucking kill you.”
***
Based on the OMGCPumpkins Prompt: "Person A takes Person B to their mountain lodge where they get snowed in. It wasn’t going to be too bad of problem, just wait it out. Until they try to leave and realize that they are trapped on the mountain with a yeti that has destroyed their only method of transportation."
Notes:
AN: Archive warnings won't apply until the next chapter, at the earliest. This prompt required more setup than I initially thought it would. It's also posted... seven days after it's relevant, but I hope you all enjoy regardless. :)
Read it on AO3!
Snow has always been a foreign concept to Caitlin Farmer. She’s seen it plenty of times, when the temperature at Samwell drops right after the new year, but it’s simply a reminder that Samwell, Massachusetts is not her California hometown.
She sits on the wooden porch of a cabin in Northern Maine, watching flurries turn into heavier snowfall as Dex pelts Nursey with a hastily fashioned snowball. Chris sits beside her with a matching mug half full of lukewarm coffee. Dex and Nursey are much more at home in wintery weather than she and her West Coast boyfriend could ever be.
Dex meanders over to escape the frozen downpour, Nursey following closely behind. Their eyes are bright and they have smiles on their faces. Will? Dex – one is too intimate for their new relationship and the other isn’t intimate enough – his face is bright pink from the cold and it makes Caitlin want to wrap another scarf around his neck.
“Storm picked up right when the radio said it would,” Dex says, sounding slightly like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. “We should probably get inside.”
“There should still be coffee,” Chris says, sipping at his own. “You two idiots need to warm up from shoving snow down each others’ pants.”
Dex squawks and Nursey throws his head back to laugh at full volume. Caitlin lets out a chuckle as well, knowing fully that Chris is hiding a shit eating grin in his mug. “I second that motion,” she says, standing up. “Everyone, inside.”
There’s still half a pot of coffee, just like Chris said there was, and they drain it while Nursey stokes a wood fire filling the hearth. Dex brings in firewood to make sure it stays dry and Chris builds a blanket and pillow nest large enough for the four of them.
“This is normally a summer house,” Dex says, settling in between Caitlin and Nursey with a mug. “I wasn’t sure how well it would hold up in a blizzard.”
There’s a roar outside and he tenses. Nursey claps a hand on his shoulder. “Chill, babe. It’s just the storm.”
“I know it’s the storm, I just-”
“If I know your family,” Chris starts, “this cabin will hold up fine.” He grins. “If anyone should be worried, it’s me and Cait. We’re not built for the snow.”
Dex rolls his eyes and Nursey chuckles. “We’ll be fine,” Caitlin says, planting a kiss on Dex’s cheek. He turns pink, like he’s been out in the sun too long. Nursey rests a hand on Caitlin’s upper arm and gives it a squeeze. Dex laces his fingers with Chris’.
They’ll be fine.
***
“We’ll be fine,” Dex says, surveying the snowfall the next afternoon, well after the blizzard passed. “There are shovels and chains for tires in the shed out back, we’ll just have to shovel our way to the road once the snowplows come through. It won’t take long.”
“Like we don’t have all the time in the world,” Caitlin says, trailing behind him with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “We don’t have to be back at school until after New Year’s. It’s not even Christmas yet.”
Dex grunts in reply and steps off the porch. “I’m gonna go see if my car’s okay. The cold may have killed the battery, and I wouldn’t be surprised if some snow got under the hood and froze over.” He stiffens. “God, I’ll have to call my uncle Ian.”
“Uncle Ian can suck my dick,” Chris says, joining them outside. Dex starts toward his mini SUV, half buried in a snowbank by a cluster of fir trees. Nursey wanders outside and follows Dex to the car.
“Holy shit!”
Caitlin and Chris make their way over to see Dex in a squat, inspecting the snow on the opposite side of the car, and Nursey standing over him while they bicker.
“You totally put these here, Will, right?” Like-”
“No, Derek, I didn’t put them here, I’ve been outside for like two minutes-”
“They’re MASSIVE-”
“Thank you for letting me know, I wasn’t sure-”
“What’s massive?” Chris interrupts.
“These footprints!”
“These what now?” Caitlin steps closer to the other two men so that she can see what they’re seeing in the snow.
Stamped on the ground are footprints the size of her torso. The tracks come from the woods before stopping and doubling back next to the original path.
“Holy shit,” she repeats as Chris settles next to her. He’s silent, but his eyes are wide, and he has one gloved hand covering his mouth in shock.
“I can’t believe- I thought it was a fucking, legend, to keep us from being here year-round, fuck,” Dex sputters, standing at his full height.
“What legend?” Chris asks.
“A Yeti,” Dex breathes, resting his hands on the back of his neck. “A snow monster.”
“Chill, I thought you meant the cooler, thanks for clarifying.”
“Fuck off, oh my god-”
“Yetis are from the Himalayas, by the way,” Chris interjects, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“Jesus Christ, okay, fine, an Abominable Snowman,” Dex admits. “It’s not a sasquatch or a bigfoot though, this is a monster that shows up in snow only. I’m still calling it a Yeti though.”
“Fair enough.”
There’s a brief silence that Nursey finally breaks. “Hey, listen, it’s probably just someone playing a prank, okay? Ian- or no, not Ian, fuck, who is it that tries to put itching powder in your sock drawer at every Thanksgiving? Owen?” He rests his hand on Dex’s lower back.
“Owen, yeah.”
“Owen’s probably just pulling a prank on us for claiming the cabin during the winter, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Caitlin has never heard Dex sound this scared, or… small.
Nursey looks over at her and Chris behind his boyfriend’s back. ‘Say something,’ he mouths.
“Yeah, like, if it were an actual animal, the tracks would go back on themselves so that we couldn’t see them so clearly,” Chris says, pulling from what remains of his Eagle Scout knowledge. “The here and back are side by side, that’s something that happens when someone wants you to see the tracks, so it’s probably a human trying to scare us.”
“See? Nothing to worry about.” Nursey shifts his arm so that it’s thrown over Dex’s shoulders. He turns the two of them away from the prints and toward the cabin. “Besides, you know what they say about big feet,” he jokes, flashing a wink at Dex.
Dex’s jaw is tense. “Yeah, that the creature that owns them will fucking kill you.”
“Oh boy, well, good thing the creature doesn’t exist.”
Caitlin sidles up on Dex’s opposite side and mirrors Nursey’s position. “Did your car start okay?” she asks, trying to distract him.
“Fuck,” Dex spits. “I didn’t even- Fuck.”
“Call Ian anyway.”
“Yeah, I’m going to. In the meantime,” he says, stepping onto the porch. “We’ve got to do anything we need to do outside during the daytime.”
Nursey tries to object before Chris shushes him. Dex continues, staring at the now setting sun. “Please, you three, even if you don’t believe me, just… Humor me? I want to keep you safe.”
“Awh,” Caitlin and Chris sigh as the latter opens the door.
“Pinky promise, babe,” Nursey says as he walks inside. “Our next snowball fight will be at high noon. This cabin ain’t big enough for the two of us.”
Dex chuckles. “It’s plenty big for four, though.”
“That it is, Poindexter, that it is.”
Dex sheds his coat and walks into the tiny kitchen that houses the landline, since none of their phones have had service since they arrived.
“This yeti is probably a family legend,” Caitlin says. She plops down on the couch in front of the fireplace. “I know a thing or two about those.”
“Oh?” Chris sits down on the floor in front of her, next to where Nursey has settled himself. “Please, Farms, tell us more.”
“Chupacabras. My abuela raises goats and is very superstitious.”
Nursey plants a kiss on Chris’ forehead. “Mmm, well, there are no goats here. Just people.”
“Sexy people,” Chris points out. He rests a hand on Nursey’s hip. “Very sexy people.”
“Wow, okay, I see where I stand in this relationship,” Dex chirps as he walks back into the main living area of the cabin. He has a relaxed smile on his face as he grabs a blanket and claims a spot on the rug next to Nursey. “Ian says he’ll be here tomorrow morning. Chewed me out for being here in December, though. He’s even more superstitious than I am.”
Nursey buries his face into Dex’s neck. “We’ve just got to wait for another twelve hours, then. Chill.”
“Literally, chill, the fire’s getting low,” Dex grumbles, moving to stoke it before Nursey pulls him back.
“I like C’s idea for keeping warm.”
Caitlin laughs as both Dex and Chris turn pink. “Well, we’ve got twelve hours.”
“Holy shit.”
This time, everyone laughs, and for a while it’s easy to forget about what may lurk in the woods.
The house sits alone in the middle of the neighborhood, run down, a ‘for sale’ sign stuck in unkempt, thick grass; the only house on fraternity row that remained vacant."
For the @omgcpumpkins prompt: “The Haus is haunted, but not by Mandy and Jenny. The angry spirit wants SMH out of the house"
uhh no real triggers that I can think of? this is basically like a pg-13 ghost flick
ENJOY UR HAUNTS! AO3 LINK
July 12th 2009
The house sits alone in the middle of the neighborhood, run down, a ‘for sale’ sign stuck in unkept, thick grass; the only house on fraternity row that remained vacant.
Two men and a woman walk up the cracked concrete sidewalk to stand in front of it. One of the men eyes it cautiously.
“So what happened to the last owners, again?”
“Oh, it's been vacant since the early nineties,” the woman explains. “Used to be a sorority house, but one day they all just moved out. Probably to somewhere more spacious.”
“They all just...left?” The other man pipes up, staring at the house in awe.
The woman nods “it's not as strange as it sounds. It's an older house, after all.”
~~~
August 18th 2013
There's something off about the house, that's the first thing Bitty notices. There's something off about all frat houses, he'll be honest, but this is a different kind of ‘off’. It's heavy, almost, like the house exerts a pressure that can be felt just by acknowledging it. Half of what Shitty says just goes over Bitty’s head as they're ushered into the house, because the pressure is almost overwhelming inside. None of the other boys seem to notice, or if they do, they do as good a job at ignoring it as Bitty does.
Bitty doesn't mention anything. He finds the kitchen, he rummages through the fridge and the cupboards and he manages to find half an empty bag of flour, and if he cuts the mushy, bruised bits off these apples, they'll make a fine filling-
Soon enough, he's got a pie out of the oven and onto the counter, and it doesn't matter if the place gives him chills because the kitchen works and that's all that matters. After a thirty minute detour of pie, Shitty rounds everyone up and the tour starts again.
“Listen up, frogs, because you'll wanna know this if you plan to make it through your hazing. There's about eight steps from here to the staircase, and from there there's fourteen steps to the end of the hall on the second floor, give or take for stride. Remember this fucking layout!.”
Eight steps to get from the kitchen to the staircase, then ten steps on the staircase, followed by fourteen steps to the end of the hall, Bitty notes, and prays he'll remember for hazeapolooza.
~~~
September 9th, 2013
It's late. Usually Bitty makes it a point to get back to his dorms by 9, but there's an English quiz that hasn’t been graded, and seven pies to stress bake, and one is taking quite a lot longer than he anticipated. It'll be another ten minutes before the pie is out. Ransom, Shitty, and Holster said they don’t mind if he ever stayed late anyway, and Jack…
Well Jack’s opinion didn't really matter to Bitty, to be quite honest.
Bitty shivers and pulls his jacket on tight. Nighttime in the fall is always so drafty in New England.
There’s a thump from somewhere in the house, and Bitty flinches, then chuckles to himself. Lord, if the boys saw how worked up he got, they’d never let it go.
The thing is, sometimes, when Bitty stays at the house late, he feels like he's going crazy, like something’s watching him; underneath his skin, something is crawling, and he wants to dig at himself until it stops .
He tries to be out to his dorm by 9, just in case.
There's about five drinks in his system, but Bitty, in his dizzy and blindfolded state, remembers that at least.
Fourteen steps to the end of the hall, probably more.
One...
Two...
Three…
there's a creak.
Bitty turns sharply, stumbling back a bit.
He waits. Nothing. He turns back again.
Four…
Five…
Six…
Seven…
Eight…
A solid mass bumps against Bitty’s outstretched hands, and he immediately pulls back and yelps.
“Sorry!”
“It’s just me, Bitty,” Johnson's voice calls through. “Keep going straight, you're all clear”
Nine…
Ten…
Eleven…
Twelve…
Thirteen…
Fourteen…
~~~
“For a second upstairs, I almost lost it.” Bitty admits. The drinks had mostly passed through his system, leaving him pleasantly buzzed as he, Ollie, and Wicks walk back towards the lockers to get changed.
Ollie laughs, “What happened upstairs?”
“Oh, nothing! Just some creaks, y'know how old houses are.”
“Better watch out, Bits,” Wicks chimes in, “That house has a wicked rep for being haunted.”
Bitty rolls his eyes and snorts. “Sure, okay.”
~~~
October 31st, 2013. Halloween
"Oh yeah, Bits? This place is like hella haunted." Ransom throws out casually, digging through the fridge.
"Oh?" Bitty frowns, hands tensing around his mixing spoon. It's reflex, a byproduct of growing up watching his daddy's boys stuff condoms into lockers and throw freshman into lakes; hell, a few times he was that freshman. And that sophomore. And that junior, and so on. He's no fool to hazing.
"Yeah, like. I figured I'd tell you since you're around a lot, y'know? Don't want you to get spooked if you hear ghost footsteps, or whispering or something."
Now Bitty puts the mixing spoon down and eyes Ransom curiously. "So, what's the story? Does anyone know?”
Ransom emerges, triumphantly carrying an half empty Tupperware dish of macaroni that makes Bitty wrinkle his nose. "Knew I'd left this in there. Right, so, supposedly there were some sorority girls that got trampled one kegster night in like, the 90s and died. Don't know how true that is, cause it's like a decade long telephone game, but that's what's been past down."
For a second, Bitty thinks about having been tackled during peewee football, and a shudder goes through his spine. "That's so sad.”
"Yeah," Ransom nods in between bites of macaroni, "it really is.”
They sit in silence for a bit, before curiously eats away at Bitty fully, and he has to ask. “So before the sorority girls, any idea who lived here before.”
Ransom hums, thinking for a minute. “Dunno. It wasn’t part of the college. Jacks a history major, though, bro. He probably knows a thing or two.”
~~~
November 2nd, 2013
Talking to Jack is as still nerve-wrecking as it always is, even outside of hockey. He just stands and stares, like he expects Bitty to grow a second head.
Finally, Jack lets out a sigh “It was a family house. There’s not much else. Sorry I can’t help.”
“It’s alright, I was just curious.” Bitty gives jack a small smile. Jack smiles back, and Bitty wonders if Jack's ever smiled at him like that outside a game.
~~~
November 15th, 2013
The next time Bitty is alone and he feels the crawling stare just under his skin, he stops and looks around anxiously- for what, he isn't sure; a figure in the doorway, maybe, or a shadow against the walls, anything that the gaze could belong to.
There's nothing. It's always nothing.
Creak…
Bitty turns back to his pie crust. They're harmless.
...Creak….creak…creak…
Five...
Six...
Seven...
Eight...
Bitty closes his eyes and wills himself to stop shaking. They're harmless.
Bitty flinches violently from the soft hand against his shoulder, making Jack yank his hand back.
“Shit! Jack! I'm sorry, I didn't-I didn't know anyone was home.”
“I just got out of class. Is everything okay?”
Bitty looks towards the empty stairwell, then back at Jack. “Everything's fine.”
Still, Jack doesn’t make his way upstairs, instead stays next to Bitty, then sighs.
“Look, I wanted to apologize for the game yesterday. It was uncalled for, what I said. I’m your captain and I should be encouraging you.”
It’s definitely not what Bitty ever expected to heat out of Jacks mouth, and it has him stunned for a second.
“It’s-it’s alright, Jack. All water under the bridge.”
Jack nods, and walks back upstairs as Bitty goes back to his pie. Maybe this’ll be a new start for them, Bitty thinks.
~~~
February 4th , 2014
“So, what do you think of the house?”
At first, Bitty doesn't realize the question is directed at him. Lardo had been deep in conversation with Shitty, and Bitty had politely tuned out of it. She gives him a light kick from underneath the cafeteria table to get his attention.
“Huh? I mean, I don't really live there?”
Lardo nods “yeah. It's just-” she stops, then turns to make sure no one else is listening, and leans in. “The boys always chirp me, but I kind of hate it. It feels like you're being watched, y’know?”
Bitty knows.
~~~
March 13th, 2013
The scratching feeling builds up and up and up, until Bitty feels like he’s going to scream and cry in frustration. Until it’s a weight in Bittys head, making him want to never set foot in that damn house again.
Then it stops, and Bitty isn’t sure if the nothingness is better. It’s like Bittys waiting, anticipating some kind of horror to attack him. nothing happens, but it still leaves him in fear.
It starts again the next time Bitty enters the house, and Bitty takes a breath, and braves it.
~~~
April 4th, 2014
Things go on the same, Bitty learns to ignore the sensation of being watched, or maybe to find comfort in it. It's a strange thing to become accustomed to, like there's six people that live in the haus instead of five. Seven, if the story ransom told is true.
God, Bitty doesn't know if he could handle seven people fussing over him right now. He's concussed, not dying.
“Jack, I promise, I'm fine.” Bitty waves his offer of more blankets off. They end up on his desk chair, just in case.
“That really isn't necessary, Holster.” Because really, isn't five pillows a little excessive? Somehow, Bitty ends up accepting them anyway, and he nests himself in his bed.
“It's okay, Shitty, I just need to rest.” Honestly, food is the last thing on Bittys mind. Shitty leaves the plate on his desk table.
There’s quiet. Bitty almost forgot how much he hated this house when it was quiet. It doesn’t take much to convince Bitty to go to sleep and avoid the sinking feeling in his chest When Bitty opens his eyes again, it's dark outside, and he can very clearly see the door opening a crack.
A sudden crash has Bitty screaming, scrambling up and nearly falling off the bed. The door bursts open, and Jack, followed by Shitty, then Ransom and Holster, all pile into the room, asking concerned questions.
Bitty can't stop shaking enough to explain. He just stares at the wall, and the broken pieces of plate and food around it.
Eventually, Jack is able to shoo the others out of the room, and quietly picks up the food and plate scattered across the floor. Neither he or Bitty say anything, there's just a silence in the room.
Finally, Bitty pipes up “Jack, I didn't…” he trails off, then again, quieter, “I was asleep.”
“It's alright, Bittle. I believe you.” Is all Jack says.
~~~
April 19th, 2014
It's a bright, crisp spring day when Johnson walks over to Bitty at the pond, shakes his hand, and says the words, "You got my dibs, lil dude!"
By now, Bittys learned that whatever Johnson says, it's probably harmless, so he accepts the handshake, then presses on. "What are dibs?"
"Ask Ransom and Holster, they'll tell you" he adds. "Oh, and I'm sorry in advance!"
Bitty frowns "For what?"
"For the plot. Nothing personal, y'know? We don't choose what universes we inhabit.”
-0-
July 22nd, 2014
The snap of broken glass being stepped on beneath his first steps into the house has Holster cursing under his breath, and when he pushes the door open wider, he realizes the broken glass is from a cup, and that the cup isn't the only thing that’s broken. Behind him, Ransom swears loudly.
~~~
@Omgcheckplease Ransom and Holster got back today and it looks like the haus got ransacked. Furniture thrown around everywhere, broken glass, etc
@Omgcheckplease it's just really scary to think about. Someone just breaking into the house you're about to move into. What if they come back?
~~~
August 14th, 2014
Bitty stands outside the house, taking it in for the first time in months. The feeling of being watched already creeps into him, like radiating heat from being too close. Nothing about the house has changed since Bitty was last there, but something about it looks foreign to Bittys eyes. He never really stopped to look at the haus before. It looks normal, Bitty thinks. Perhaps the most unsettling thing, though, is how normal it looks, like it doesn’t, or shouldn’t have this heaviness attached to it.
A slap on the back from his mom has Bitty jolting forward, almost making him drop the box in his hands. She shoots a look of worry, and Bitty waves her off, readjusting and trailing behind her into the house
It's weird to think that a month ago someone was breaking into the house. There's no trace of someone having broken in anymore. Plates, cups, and broken picture frames have been replaced, the ugly green sofa is back on its legs, pillows are where they should be.
Bitty walks upstairs and unlocks the door to his room. The air is stale, and as Bitty drops his box of things down on his bed and begins unpacking, he tries not to look at the indented mark on the wall across his desk. A Beyoncé poster ends up going over the dent, and along with more posters, curtains, and a brand new bedspread, Bitty thinks his new space is pretty nice.
There's a knock at the door, and Bitty jumps, having missed Holsters calls from downstairs. The taller blonde laughs a little. “You know there's nothing to be scared of, right? It was probably just some lax bros messing around. They did the same thing my freshman year. So like, where do you want this?” Holster gestures to the box in his hands.
“Oh! Here, let me get those.” Bitty ushers them both downstairs.
~~~
While Bitty has stayed late at the house plenty of times before, and was accustomed to the creaks and groans of boards settling against each other, that doesn't mean he likes it. Ransom and Holster had done their best to reassure him that there was nothing to be afraid of earlier, and Bitty knew it was all in his head. The fear of moving into a new house, with the knowledge that someone had broken in, and whatever happened with the plate before is getting to him.
Creak...creak...creak.
Bitty sits up on his elbows, expecting someone to knock or open his door, but there's nothing. A few seconds later, the creaks start up again. Three of them in a row, then a pause, then three more.
He pulls the covers up tight and tries to make himself fall asleep.
~~~
August 16th, 2014
Bitty tries getting up and opening the door, just to see who's walking around outside his door, but the second his feet hit the ground, the creaks stop.
~~~
August 23rd, 2014
“Hey.” Bitty starts, making Jack look up at him from the kitchen table, and making Bitty look back down at the dishes he's washing. They're friends now, Bitty thinks, talking to Jack shouldn't make him this nervous. “So, I keep hearing someone walking around outside my door almost every night. It's not much of an issue, mind you, I can sleep through it fine. I was just wondering if you heard it too?”
Jack is silent for a second, then he shrugs. “Yeah. It's just the house settling, I think. Don't think about it too much.”
It's a reasonable enough answer. Still, Bitty isn’t convinced. Jack must sense it, because he looks back up at Bitty again, and says “It’s easier if you just ignore it, Bittle. Trust me.”
~~~
September 1st, 2014
The sound of footsteps outside his door at night is another thing Bitty becomes accustomed to; that barely makes him bat an eye now. No, what makes Bitty bat an eye, or more, squint at his computer screen, is when he looks back over his most recent vlog.
It was a simple recipe on homemade pumpkin spice and butterscotch cookies he'd done in the kitchen; about halfway through, Bitty turns from the camera, a spoon falls to the floor, and Bitty bends down to get it. At that second, a dark figure dashed in the background, completely unbeknownst to Bitty.
Bitty stops the footage, then plays it back, then repeats.
~~~
“Could be a trick of the light.” Dex suggests.
“Maybe it's a smudge?” Ransom tries.
“I really don't know what to make of that.” Jack says.
Maybe on it's own Bitty would pass it off as nothing more than a bug on his camera flying off, but not with everything that has piled up.
~~~
September 10th, 2014, Hazeapolooza
The night started off perfectly. Everyone was a little bit drunk, having fun, even Jack was smiling brighter than usual. They'd separated into teams, Jack picking Bitty, and headed off into the night, wandering around campus. Finally, after hours of stumbling around the darkened buildings, they headed to their last stop before Faber to get their clothes and gear: the house.
Normally, the game was for the blindfolded to be lead through the building while someone else piggybacked and gave them directions. Because of the height of some of the upperclassmen, and the low ceilings of the house, the goal of the last stop was just to lead the blindfolded person around from behind them while the others waited in the living room.
First up was Holster and Dex. They went around the house, bursting into laughter as Dex ran straight into the kitchen wall on his way out. They went upstairs, and came stumbling down.
Next were Ransom and Nursey. Aside from a small bump in the form of the kitchen table, they made it through and up the stairs, then down, with no incident.
Then Chowder and Lardo made their trek throughout the house. Bittys hands trembled with the thought of him and Jack going next, and having to deal with whatever the hell he'd seen. Maybe it'd stay away if he was with Jack?
A sharp scream broke out, making Bitty jump, Jack and Shitty shoot up, and others turned their heads in shock. Within seconds, Lardo and Chowder were tripping over themselves down the stairs, frantically shouting.
While Shitty calmed Lardo down, Jack and Bitty sat with Chowder, who was almost vibrating with the force of his shakes.
“What happened up there?”
Chowder shakes his head “I don't- I don't know what we saw. I couldn't see. There was something up there, though. We thought it was one of you.”
Jack sighed “Let's just get everyone back to Fabre, yeah? It's been a long night.”
~~~
While the freshman went to go get changed, the older kids waited at the bleachers with Lardo, who refused to be alone.
“We were upstairs, made it through the hall, and turned back.” Lardo starts, then stops and sighs “I thought- I don't know what I thought. One of you'd managed to get a fake body and prop it in the middle of the hall? Fuck, I really don't know.”
Everyone's quiet for a minute, working out what they were hearing. Then Holster spoke up.
“I mean. I guess we can't keep ignoring this, right? Like. Come on. There's some freaky shit living in the house with us. We've all seen something.”
No one says anything.
Quietly, they all disperse. Shitty, Ransom, and Holster make sure Lardo and the Frogs get back to their dorms okay. Jack and Bitty walk back across the campus to the house in silence.
It's quiet, like there wasn’t anyone but the team in the house just hours before, like there wasn’t anything to be terrified of. Bitty stares at the staircase in reluctance while Jack walks up the stairs, then turns back halfway when he notices Bittys yet to move.
“I- If you want, you can stay in my room for the night? There’s an air mattress, and I get it if you don’t want to be alone.”
For a second, Bitty thinks about going back to his room, and sleeping by himself in the dark, and shudders. “yeah, that’d be nice, Jack.”
No one in the house gets much sleep that night, as it turns out. At around two am, Shitty was knocking on the door and inviting himself into jacks bed, muttering something about being cold, then around thirty minutes later, Ransom and Holster showed up unexpectedly.
They stay up, trading horror stories about the house from the years before.
To no one surprise, Holster is great at telling stories, and Bitty feels himself pressing closely to Jack. Instead of shoving him away like Bitty thinks he will, Jack wraps an arm around Bittys side, and Bitty presses closer.
~~~
September 16th 2014
Bitty likes to think he and Jack are friends now, they've settled into a routine together, starting every morning at 4 am and ending after practices or games, depending on the day, so when Jack doesn't show up at 4 am, he jumps past elated and moves straight to concern. It doesn't help when Jack shows up at breakfast at 7am with bags under his eyes.
Bitty shoots Jack a worried look while he's grabbing his eggs from the cafeteria line, and is met with a sheepish wave in response.
Long night Jack mouths.
That doesn’t make Bitty feel better, somehow.
Later, after practice is finished, Bitty tries to look for Jack again, but he's not anywhere in the locker room.
“He’s probably at the library,” Shitty shrugs. “I think he's got a big test coming up.”
Bittys at the house, baking cookies before he even thinks twice about it. When they’re out of the oven, Jack hasn’t walked in, yet, so Bitty knows he’s still at the library.
Sure enough, Jack is studying a book deeply when Bitty shows up, handing over the small baggy of cookies.
“Made you a study snack.”
Jack smiles softly, and takes the cookies. “Thanks, Bits.”
Bitty smiles back and nods “Of course, Jack.”
~~~
September 24th 2014
In the weeks that pass, no one really speaks about what happened. Not even Lardo mentions anything the next Monday, she just shows up at Fabre for practices, and the cafeteria for breakfast and lunch.
Bitty still hears the footsteps outside his door, and tries not to imagine a zombie like figure crawling around, and just sleep through it. It's almost three in the morning when they wake him up again, and he groans, pulling himself out of bed and wandering over to the bathroom.
As Bitty washes up and turns the sink off, he turns to the door and frowns at what sounds like more footsteps outside the bathroom door. Quickly, Bitty reaches over to yank the door open. It doesn't budge. He tries again, checks the lock, pulls. The door still doesn't open.
Bitty knows falling into a panic won't help him get the door open, he tries to reign in his breathing, gives the door one more tug. It gives, and Bitty scrambles out and back to his room, unsure if the door slamming behind him was because of him or not.
~~~
October 3rd 2014
Sometimes, Bitty wakes up, and the first thing he does is take a deep, gasping breath, like his lungs had never felt the luxury of air in them. His neck will be sore and stiff the next morning.
Bitty can never remember the dreams that lead up to him waking up like this. Only the lingering fear, and the anger.
~~~
October 31st, 2014. Halloween
“Hey y'all! Welcome back to another vlog, as always, thanks for watching. Now, this vlog is a little different. This is…definitely not something I talk about normally. I've never really believed in the paranormal, but living in this house for the past few months, even having been around it last year, there's definitely something.
“It's honestly been something that I've noticed since I first set eyes on this place. Like, something just didn't feel right. I always felt like I was being watched, in the worst kind of way. I heard people walking down the stairs when I was alone, that sort of thing. And then, the first big thing happened. A plate that was sat on my desk went flying. This was after I'd got concussed, so for a while, I just thought I hallucinated it. When I got back here in August, at the end of summer, there was still a crack in the wall.
“Since living here, it's only gotten worse. There's been footsteps outside my room almost nightly, I've seen shadows in my recordings of these vlogs, my friends have actually seen someone hanging in the middle of the hall, I've been locked in the bathroom a few times. Most recently was yesterday. I was walking down the stairs in the morning, and I swear, I felt someone try to grab my shoulders and shove me. It wasn't like I tripped, but something grabbed me.
“This didn't start when I got here, either, some of the boys were saying they had weird things happen to them since they've been here the past few years. The same kind of stuff, they tried to brush it off as pranks at first.
“I really don't know why I'm making this. I guess to prove to myself that there's something, or to document. Talking about it helps, I guess? I'm just- I'm really at a loss for what to do here.”
~~~
@omgcheckplease I'm kind of freaking out. The video I wanted to post today isn't loading. The footage is corrupt somehow?
@omgcheckplease this wouldn't be an issue, but when you know what I just recorded, it means way more than just a messed up file.
@omgcheckplease I'm gonna try again, and hopefully it uploads?
~~~
December 13th 2014
Between the oppressive feel of the house, and the oppressive feel of being anywhere blow the Bible Belt, bitty isn't sure which he prefers. Samwell has been amazing for him, he'll admit, but he can't help but feel a bit of relief from getting out of that damn house for a month. The last of his clothes has been packed into his travel bag, and all that’s left to do is sit on his bed and wait for his uber.
At first, Bitty thinks one of the boys forgot something in the house, and had let themselves in downstairs, and goes back to ignoring the little sounds he hears. The sounds get closer, and he can recognize whispering, but can't make out the words.
Everything goes eerily still, and then Bitty can feel breath on the back of his neck as someone whispers.
“ You need to leave. Now.”
Bitty spends the next few minutes waiting for the uber outside, cold wind be damned.
~~~
January 25th, 2014
The thought alone of going back to the house made Bitty’s blood fill with dread, but he knew he had to.
Unpacking his clothes went without incident, as did the arrival of the others in the house, and for the first few weeks, everything went by normally.
Then the banging started.
It was soft, at first, almost like tapping, just barely muffled. No one noticed it for the first few nights. Then it got louder, and louder every night, making the basement door shake with force. It only stopped days later, when Jack decided upon leaving the basement door ajar.
When they check in the morning, the basement door is wide open.
~~~
February 21st, 2015
Normally, Bitty wouldn't bat an eye at seeing Jack in the library, settled around dozens of books and papers, not when graduation is around the corner for the senior. It's when Bitty notices what Jack is looking at that makes him curious enough to ask. It's old books about Samwell history, maps, and when Bitty walks up to Jack, he sees old death and birth certificates.
“Are you doing a side project?” Bitty asks, sliding into the chair across from Jack.
Jack shrugs “Kind of? I got curious about everything going on in the house, so I've been doing research.”
“So what have you found?”
For a second, Jack doesn't say anything, and Bitty is about to back down from his question, but Jack manages to find his words. “There are records of two sorority girls having died in the house, but it's weird. They were found hours after a party, dead at the bottom of the staircase. No witnesses, despite there being hundreds of people there.”
“Maybe they were still drunk in the morning and fell?” Bitty shrugs. If it were that simple, why was Jack still digging?
Again, Jack pauses, but this time Bitty notices the look of awkwardness, and stands. “You don't have to tell me anything, Jack.”
“No, I-” Jack sighs “It's just-this is going to sound weird, Bittle. When I overdosed, my heart stopped for about a minute. The doctors and nurses managed to resuscitate me, but since then- it's like I can sense things?”
A year ago, Bitty would have found the whole thing ridiculous, but as it is, Bitty finds himself nodding along to what Jack is saying. “So what do you know?”
“One, it's male, and there's only one. Two, it's angry and bitter and wants to be alone. Three, it's not that old. Less than a hundred years.”
Bitty nods. “If you need any help, you know where to find me, Jack.”
~~~
February 30th, 2014
When Bitty wakes up to piercing shrieks in the middle of the night, his first thoughts are ‘what now ?” followed by ‘wait, shit, that's Holster .’ and he shoots out of bed and runs towards the attic, where Jack and Shitty are already huddled over Holsters body, lying crumpled on the floor, next to a rambling Ransom.
His blood runs cold as his mind jumps to the worst, of his close friends lifeless body on the ground. Bitty breaths a sigh of relief when he hears a groan of pain coming from Holster.
“What happened?” Jack asks, kneeling next to Holster.
It's not Holster, but Ransom that responds “I fucking told him not to! The noises wouldn't stop, but I told him not to say anything to it. I told him it would only get madder.”
“ What happened?” Jack repeats.
Slowly, Holster stands up and lifts his shirt, showing off three bright red and bleeding scratches on his abdomen. “I told it to shut up.”
~~~
March 13th 2014
Everything is silent. It throws Bitty off just how quiet it is. For the first time in the Haus, there's no pacing in the hallway, or banging on the doors. Everything is still.
Bitty sits up in bed, waiting for the noises to start up again, some kind of reminder they were there at all. It's 12 am when he finally gives up, pulls the covers above him, and goes to sleep.
~~~
It's cold. Why is it so cold? Why isn't there any light?
Bitty stands up, and if feels like he's floating in blackness. He reaches for the door handle that he knows is there, and pulls, but it doesn’t give. Bitty tries again, unwilling to believe that he’s just been locked in a closet overnight. The door still doesn’t give.
Suddenly, Bitty’s shoved forward and falls, and when he gets back up, he’s not in the storage closet of his old high school. He doesn’t know where he is. Why is it so damn cold? Bitty reaches his hands out again, but there’s no door, only a cold, hard wall.
There’s a scrape behind him, and Bitty spins around, suddenly aware of another person's breathing. Bitty looks around the darkened room to no avail, and then right by his ear-
“I’ll kill you. I killed them, and I’ll kill you.”
Sharp nails dig at Bitty’s arms from behind, and Bitty’s too scared to move.
They shove at him roughly, and Bitty’s falling, falling down, hitting every step on the way down.
For a moment, Bitty lays there: every bone in his body screaming. He manages to open his eyes, and he sees the stairwell, and a dark figure on the top.
Still, through his pain, Bitty manages to whisper out “Who...who are you? What do you want?”
There’s silence.
~~~
With a deep, gasping breath, Bitty wakes up, one word ringing in his head.
Emmett. Emmett. Emmett.
He can’t forget. He won't forget.
It feels like Bitty blinks and he’s in front of Jack's door, knocking repeatedly. The door opens, and Jack looks confused to see him.
“Jack! Jack, I need you to listen. His name is Emmett, Jack. I remember it! I remembered my dream-“
Bitty doesn’t realize he’s swaying forward until he feels Jack’s warm hands steadying him. “Okay, Bittle, slow down. You had a bad dream?”
“It’s not just a bad dream, Jack.” He lets himself bury his head on Jack's shoulder as Jack's hands move to his back. “He showed me. He’s been showing me. He showed you too, but you never remembered.”
“You need to sleep, Bits.” Jack mutters quietly, “You had a nightmare.”
Bitty frowns and pushes himself roughly out of Jack’s arms. “If you won’t help me, I’ll do it myself.”
“Bittle, what are you talking about?” The worry in Jack's voice almost makes Bitty stop, but instead, he brushes Jack off and all but trips running down the basement stairs. Jack’s shouts and Bitty’s own racket running around has definitely woken up the rest of the house, the sound of their footsteps upstairs are barely noticed at all by Bitty.
Off to the left of the room is the old boiler, Shitty’s scrawl still drawn across it, and Bitty goes straight for it, Jack following closely behind. The boiler doesn’t budge when Bitty tries to shove it out of the way, so Bitty kicks at the wall behind it instead. Pain shoots through Bittys foot, and he hisses, but gives another swift kick.
“Eric, please, you're going to hurt yourself!”
Jack’s hands wrap around Bitty’s waist and pull him back, but Bitty kicks the wall hard once more, and it gives.
There's shouting in his ear as both he and Jack go tumbling to the ground, but Bitty can only concentrate on the mess in front of him. White, hard fragments on the cold floor, mixed with plaster. Bone.
Behind them, Ransom mutters, “Oh, shit.”
~~~
Fifteen minutes have passed when sirens begin approaching fraternity row.
“For now until the investigation is done, you’ll have to find other lodgings.” The officer explains “It’ll be two days to a week. We can't have people walking in an out of a potential crime scene.”
Bitty sits quietly with Jack on the lawn while the police work, walking in and out of the house, getting statements from Ransom and Holster. Shitty had gone off to talk to university officials about housing for the next few weeks. It feels like an end.
“His name was Emmett.” Jack says finally. “I can’t- if I tell the police this, they won’t believe me. But I felt him when you broke the wall. His death never went reported. You were right.”
Bitty nods.
~~~
One week later, they’re back inside the house like nothing ever happened
Five weeks later, they’re at a cemetery on the outskirts of Samwell. It has nice, shady trees and bushes that blossom with red and pink flowers in the spring. It’s as nice an end as any.
~~~
March 13th, 2027
The morning starts off the same way it does every day of the year. Bitty wakes up an hour after Jack goes on his morning runs, and makes himself coffee. At around six thirty, the door opens, and Jack makes a detour to the kitchen to give bitty a morning kiss and to steal a sip of Bittys drink, and goes to wake up Connie, then comes back downstairs and idly chats with Bitty while he makes breakfast for the three of them.
Connie tumbles downstairs around thirty minutes later, dressed for school. Jack tells her he and Bitty are going on a trip for the day, and that Alyssa, their sitter, will be picking her up from school and spending the night with her, they'll be back in the morning, behave well for Alyssa, and they love her very much. Bitty wonders if she’ll catch on one day, that they always go on a trip the same day every year. Jack sends an email to his classes, and Bitty calls in sick at the bakery.
They make the forty minute drive to Samwell and arrive at about one thirty. Samwell is always beautiful in the spring, Bitty thinks. Jack's hand rests on his as they drive. It's nice. They’re lucky they never had to move far from Samwell before Jack retired.
Jerry’s Diner has held up through the years pretty well, all things considered. When they arrive, Shitty and Lardo are already at their usual booth, waving them over.
“How’s the squirt?” Shitty asks fondly as the take their seats.
“She’s doing good.” Bitty smiles “Starting 3rd grade this year. And Caleb?”
“Starting 6th, time really flies, you know? Feels like just a week ago we were at the agency, now it’s been 3 years.”
Lardo nods. “He’s been so excited about seeing Connie.”
The four of them talk, and laugh, and when Holster and Ransom get there a few minutes later, they order food, and for a second, it’s like they’re kids again.
When they finish eating, they all drive up to the cemetery on the outskirts of Samwell, with tall trees and pretty flowers on bushes that always bloom so beautifully. The flowers they left on the grave the year before have since withered, and Shitty replaces them with fresh ones. It felt weird at first, coming to see someone they never met, but they go every year. It’s a perfect end, Bitty thinks.
