Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Even a sceptic like Shane would admit that the atmosphere of the house was heavy, uncomfortable enough for him to cast an uneasy eye over his shoulder with every door he passed. The darkness dripped from long abandoned cobwebs, veiling his sight and clogging his lungs. Even surrounded by the band of jittering ghost enthusiasts he struggled to find humour in the situation.

Goddamn, he just wanted to prove to his more – enthusiastic – friends the impossibility of supposed ‘spirits’ existing.

The tour guide stopped in front of a closed door and turned to them. Her eyes flashed with a characteristic nervousness as her pupils darted from the door to the group of guests. “And finally, behind this door is the very room in which the murder happened. In 1921, January 14th, a servant by the name of Ryan had almost finished his nightly rounds. It is said that just as he was about to leave he found the door to be locked, and when he turned around, a shadowy figure appeared from the small connecting bathroom. Other residents of the manor were awakened by his scream though it was cut off quickly, and his body was found by the lady of the manor at that time. He had three stab wounds in his chest, and one arm had a four-inch gash. There was no trace of the murder weapon, nor the murderer, and to this day, it is a mystery as to who killed him, and why they did it.”

Her eyes focused again once she’d finished the retelling, and she gave them an unusually haunted look for a simple underpaid staff member. Shane shifted, but the strangeness of the incident was over before he could acknowledge it, and she turned around again.

“Aren’t we going to go in there?” A teenager asked.

“Unfortunately, there is some long-term construction work being done and we are unable to allow visitors inside.”

They continued, Shane reluctantly passing the door. He almost wished he could go inside, have a look for himself, perhaps have a good laugh at the supposed ‘spirit’ who had died in the room.

“It’s not really construction work, you know,” the same teenager who’d asked earlier appeared by his side, “it’s actually the ghost of the servant that haunts the room. Anyone who goes in it either dies, or disappears with no trace; the ghost kills them.”

Casting a wry glance down at his side, Shane stifles a smirk, “is that so?”

“It’s true! The ghost’s pissed, man!”

‘Sure it is,’ Shane thinks, amused, and allows himself to indulge in the creepiness of the hallways they traipse around, ironically more relaxed after the stupid ghost stories that have the others skittering like mice. The room they were finally bustled into was clear of furniture, the sole window casting a gloomy melancholy into the blank space and highlighting wide-eyed faces in a grey, coldish light.

Sleeping bags were handed out, and small lumpy pillows, and Shane allowed himself to take the closest point to the exiting door without looking suspicious while their leader took the furthest, and spoke. “Okay, thank you for your patience in getting here. This room we’ll be sleeping in for the remainder of tonight. I want to remind guests not to leave this room, even if you hear voices or sounds in the rest of the house. If there are any problems, wake me. Any questions?”

There weren’t any, and the group shuffled on the dull floorboards, sounds dying down over the next few hours or so, and the lonely snores of one filling the room almost comfortingly. Shane found himself awake. Painfully awake, and while he knew he mustn’t be the only one, it was frustrating to find himself in the perpetual state of alertness when he knew there was nothing to be alert to. Inexplicably, he felt a pull out of the relative safety of their clique. Curiosity, he told himself. The room beyond the closed door wouldn’t leave his mind.

It felt like another forever had passed before his energy had festered enough that he was driven to stand up and survey the supposedly sleeping mass of people on the floor. Good. Asleep. Or at least too dull out of their minds to notice him leave.

Out of the safety of company, a heaviness he hadn’t previously felt fell over his shoulders like a thick, muffling blanket. The guide had mentioned about ‘noises in the night’, but contrary to the issue the quietness and the blackness intermingled into something almost tangible, and the previous unease he’d felt was multiplied.

It was his imagination, of course. The mind would play tricks in the best of scenarios; it wasn’t unusual for even him to feel slightly wary of dark, unknown residents.

But it went beyond that. At some point, the quiet shifted, and small creaks beyond his own footsteps dotted the night. Some long, some short, taps dotting like music and the ‘swish, swish’ of absent air swirling round his head. His breath hitched when the vibrations became voice-like, but the sound was so silent he was convinced it was a humming in his head – perhaps his logic scolding him for indulging in the fear of his surroundings.

The torch he’d brought along with him finally illuminated the same door the guide had been so adamant in avoiding. He didn’t know how he’d reached this location – he hadn’t been walking with any particular aim – but a sudden intensity flashed in the desire to investigate the room, and he stumbled as a force of maybe his own will shifted him to grasp the door handle. It was cold. Cold beyond what was natural; it was like someone had placed the engraved metal in a meat freezer.

The door opened. Had he even opened it himself?

Inside, the room was shrouded in a darkness beyond even that of the rest of the house. The flashlight’s light scratched the shadows pathetically; they barely retreated at his entrance. The door fell slowly shut.

It was unnaturally cold inside the room, but Shane reasoned that the work being done in the room must have included refitting the windows because there was a draft, a constant movement, that spiralled around him. Unlike the outside chatter that had followed him like a phantom through the hallways, the silence here made every stifled breath mountainous.

He was still. Nothing.

Nothing.

Of course there was nothing; what had he expected? He wasn’t turning into one of those people, surely, who would believe in anything a spooky mind would share.

He sighed, and a strangled chuckle escaped him. “Okay, ghost, here I am! Do your worst.”

Nothing.

“What are you going to do, make me disappear?”

Nothing.

“You gonna kill me?”

Nothing.

“I’m wai-” His voice caught in his throat as the bathroom door slowly inched open, and he half expected a face to appear from behind it. He laughed again, uneasily, “drafty, huh?”

But the air had stopped, even as it grew colder. Unwilling to give in, yet slowly beginning to forfeit his resolve, he took a step towards the closed door behind him, and for a sudden, heart wrenching moment, he froze.

There was no way, in all the faculties of the universe, that the shadow that manifested itself in a large human imitation could be anything but unnatural. Darkness rolled over itself like smoke as it moved in a lag towards him, and only too late did Shane notice the blade grasped in ebony fingers. It loomed above him as he stumbled against the wall, struggling to process what was happening as the moonlight mocking glinted in the knife that was being thrust at his chest-

And just as suddenly as the shadow – person? – had appeared, a blinding light spread from a pinpoint in front of him and attacked the darkness in the room, scattering it like broken glass and immediately dissipating the to-be murderer.

As the light died down, Shane slid down the wall, a muffled “fucking hell” escaping tortured lungs. He was juddering, and could only think about the fact that he was almost killed… almost killed by a… a thing that was clearly not human. Fucking hell. What mocking imitation of sanity was this. He almost ignored the new figure that crouched down in front of him.

“O good Lord, are you okay sir?”

“I-I… what..?”

“You shouldn’t have come here! What were you doing? You could have been killed.”

“Ha… be killed… fuck, who are you?”

The man gave him a sceptical look. “I’m Ryan, though surely you know that if you decided – like an idiot may I add – to come inside this room.”

Shane laughed, slightly neurotically, “oh, yeah, sure, you’re Ryan. I’m Shane. You’re dead.”

“I’m aware.”

They looked at each other, energy sparking from fear and adrenaline, and suddenly they broke into laughter, and despite the hysteric, it was nice, it was calming, and suddenly Shane was able to forget his own lingering mortality.

“I can’t believe this,” Shane finally shifted.

“I don’t hear that often,” Ryan offered him an icy hand to help him stand, “most people who venture here are horror enthusiasts.”

“I don’t believe in that shit,” Shane countered, and Ryan gave him a wry sideways glance.

“Good luck with that. Anyhow, I have to get you out of here before He returns and you become one of us.”

They made their way into the hallway, Ryan closing the door behind them, and Shane was only mildly curious about his ability to leave the room the staff had been so careful to secure. “I don’t understand. What are you; what was that thing? Aren’t you supposed to be murderous or something?”

“Rumours like that are among the many perks of having your own murderer as a spectral roommate. It was human once, but died – obviously – and has become more and more demonic over the decades. As for me, well, my passing wasn’t exactly natural, and without final rights I became trapped here.” He crossed his arms, pouting skittishly, “a tourist attraction. You’re taking this very well.”

“I think I’m in denial.” They were nearing the staircase that led to the lower floor and the grandiose lobby, Shane relieved as the moonlight grew more potent. He was already planning his journey home, a short hours drive, his own bed and an apologetic phone-call in the early morning explaining his absence.

Ryan grabbed his hand suddenly and intertwined their fingers high in front of Shane’s face. “Does this feel fake?”

Shane shook his head. Ryan’s fingers were cold, but evidently physical, and they were so close he could feel the ghost’s cold breath – well – ghosting over his lower face. “If this doesn’t feel fake,” Ryan said looking him seriously in the eyes, “then stay away from paranormal places like this. I’ve seen too many people die from thrill-seeking, and a paranormal death is something your soul will never rest from.” It was strange hearing someone who looked so alive speak about macabre inevitability. While he was so cold, skin a sickly pallor, his eyes glinted with wasted intelligence, dark and knowing, having seen more than anyone alive had. His face had a pleasant disposition which shone through his evident fear.

“Can’t you find peace?” Shane choked out.

Ryan shook his head sadly, stepping back. His eyes were filled with an empty longing that had long ago resolved itself to the eternal imprisonment he faced.

“There must be some way.”

“Not that I know of, though let me know if you find one though,” Ryan attempted a light joke, surprised as Shane took his hands again, grasping them like a lifeline.

“I will: I’ll find a way to free you from here.”

“What-”

“It’s the least I can do.”

“Shane-” Ryan gasped as his protest was cut off by a gentle kiss that felt like eternity despite only being a few, fleeting, heartbeats. They broke apart sooner than it had begun, breathless in fleeting emotion and looking as confused as the other. Finally, it was Shane who stepped away eagerly toward the exit.

“I’m coming back for you, I promise.” Shane smirked, and Ryan laughed breathlessly.

With that, they parted, Shane only once looking back to find Ryan leaning against the doorway, a smile playing on his ghostly lips, wistfully gazing out upon the night, and finally melting into something resembling happiness when his eyes met Shane’s one final time. He gave a wave that Shane returned, and as Shane turned back to his car, Ryan was reclaimed by the darkness of the house, his afterlife, if only a little, a tiny bit brighter.

Shane resolved himself to the nighttime drive. He needed time - a lot of time - to work out what had just happened, if it had indeed happened at all. Maybe he was delusional. Who knew.

And he probably would have convinced himself of some logical explanation, if it wasn't for the lingering coldness playing on his lips and hands, that spread like fire into his soul.

Chapter Text

Over the next few days that rolled on by Shane lived life like a lucid dream. He went to work, ate his meals and binged Netflix in his free time, just like normal, yet, life wasn’t normal after what he’d seen. Even without meeting Ryan – a freaking ghost – the very fact that he had unintentionally proved to himself that ghosts existed in the first place was unassumingly terrifying. Every night, he wondered if something was watching him. Every sound his apartment made felt like another presence.

It had been his scepticism that had kept him sane his whole life. He had often felt relieved at his firm sceptic stance when he saw the permanent anxiety that coiled in his believing friends, but now, he believed as well, and the world may as well have been flat all along.

It wasn’t right. What else did he know that would turn out to be false.

Then there was the issue of Ryan who’d been a victim of the spectral world and his fly-of the-moment promise to come back and save him. How he’d do that, he had no idea.

But it occurred to him the most likely place to start would be interrogating some enthusiast friends into perhaps giving him information, perhaps helping him. Perhaps… holding the fact that they had been right all along over his head for the rest of his life. Whatever. Any was good.

Jen, Daysha and Maycie where the final quarters that made up their post-university tight-knit group that had endured into the world of work. The three women lived together, frequented… interesting situations and were openly peculiar in so many ways.

Their shared apartment was the same size as the one Shane habited alone, and with two more presences came a multicoloured fabric in the air, and energy as the thrice as dense atmosphere jostled whoever attempted to break it. Shane was also encouraged by the fact that the Daysha was a keen practitioner of magic, and he suspected that even Jen would steal her Norse runes every now and then to attempt to make sense of the future.

They were also the same friends who’d dared him to the haunted manor in question in the first place.

“Shane! How are you, it’s been so long!” Daysha greeted him ever energetically at the door, arms thrown out in a joy no one else understood. It had been a week actually, but Shane let it slip.

“Hey,” his voice came out in an embarrassing croak, and the woman fixed him with a knowing look.

“Looks like someone found out some things he didn’t want to last weekend. Come in, come in.”

Cluttered as usual, the apartment gave of a warm, friendly air. Jen had inhabited the half of the couch not swaddled in laundry, scrolling her phone absent-mindedly, looking up with a smile when she saw Shane. Maycie appeared with half a celery stick in her mouth, grinning round it.

“He totally believes it now,” she proclaimed, and Shane wondered if the door was still open. Of if they have a spade that he can dig a hole with. Anything to escape their triumphant, smug expressions.

“Okay, fine, I admit it. You were… right. Ghosts fucking – fucking ghosts exist. What’s up with that?”

“Hell if we know!” Daysha exclaims, now come on and tell us what happened to make an uptight grump like you to suddenly change your mind.”

So he told them, because what else could he do. They looked mortified when he got to the bit about the shadow that almost killed him (though Jen cackled at his stupidity) and eyes widened at the mention of Ryan, though he’d decidedly left the romance out of it.

“You met him? The servant that was killed? Why did you get that; I’ve been there twice!” Daysha lamented.

“I think you experienced more than any of us three have combined,” Jen’s eyebrow raised.

Shane shrugged with a wry smile. “I don’t know why; I admit I was stupid. But I may have… kind of promised the ghost that I’d come back and find a way to help him pass.”

“You did what now?”

“Look, I know I’m usually a self-sufficient bastard, but he saved my life, and he was nice and down to earth somehow, and I just think that being trapped on earth for eternity with the thing that killed you; that’s a little harsh even for someone way worse than him.”

The girls nodded, sporting knowing smiles and traces of sympathy in their eyes. “Well,” Daysha started, “I don’t know how to pass him to the next life, but there is a potion that theoretically will allow him to move freely from the manor. Well, it technically connects him to you, and he’ll have to follow you to your home; it’s a technique used by spirits looking for new hauntings. Then it’ll be much easier to send him to the afterlife.”

“That actually sounds like a smart plan,” Shane raised an eyebrow. “What sort of potion are we speaking of?”

“Nothing fancy, I have everything I need. But you’ll have to go back and get him as well.”

Shane hesitated. The house had shook him more than he cared to admit, but then, the thought of Ryan trapped there night after night… putting his own comfort first was selfish even by his own morals.

“You know what, fine. I’ll do it.”

“Oh good! I’m coming!” Maycie enthused.

“Me too,” Jen joined.

Daysha turned to Shane, “It okay if we tag along?”

Trying to hide his relief, he nodded, and the women grinned in excitement. “Next Saturday; it’s a date.”

Saturday came far too quickly. Shane was having major second thoughts about returning, his only resolution in the fact that his friends would be joining him, and they should know better what to do. Hopefully, that didn’t include angering vengeful spirits with sharp objects.

All packed up, the four of them bundled into the car and were quickly on their way to the haunted manor, potion, and spare potion, cradled maternally by Daysha herself. Tension was high even for the easy-going quartet, and conversation unusually sparse, but it didn’t stop Jen from frequenting corny space jokes and Maycie explained she’d been working on all week. Shane wasn’t surprised; the girls could never surprise him any more.

When they arrived, a rush of icy anticipation flooded him, and he supressed the anxious shiver. The tour guide – the same one he’d met with a fortnight ago – gave him a strained, friendly smile. “Took some support this time? Good man, you’ll manage to get through the night this time round.” Not if Shane could help it, though he forced amity anyway. If all went to plan, they’d be gone before the dynamics of 3am could terrorise them all too much.

As the usual tour commenced, even Daysha was quiet and devoid of her usual cheer; she’d entered a serious mood as her eyes scoured nooks and cobwebs, and when they passed the door Ryan was supposedly behind Shane swore he could hear a muffled “hell no,” as Jen took the other woman’s hand.

Apart from the distinct feeling of discomfort the quartet evidently shared, the evening continued with relative normality, though adding to Shane’s familiar (since when had he gotten used to supernatural paranoia?) worry, he couldn’t help a sense of foreboding that screamed at him to flee immediately. He put it down to anxiety, but that didn’t stop him from skirting from the dark hollows of the house like cobalt eyes were watching his every move.

For all he knew, they could be after all.

The night whispered in all their ears as the breathing of the other tourists lulled into sleepy abandon, and for Shane, it whispered the loudest. ‘Turn’, and ‘go’ and ‘leave’ and ‘help’ repeated in his mind and his ears rung with voiceless profanities that eventually stirred him to be the first to rise, and place a gentle hand of his companions’ to rouse them at the correct hour. Having not slept, they wearily rose begrudgingly, darkness invading their vision with vicious abandon.

Shamelessly clasping cold, sweaty hands, Daysha led the way down the route Shane had been acquainted to twice a week earlier, the floorboards giving their customary greeting, and the white noise of the mansion beginning it threatening crescendo yet again. While before the room had felt like ice, now it felt like a whole new articulation of freezing that they could feel even through the closed door. Before entering, Daysha patted her breast pocket where the potion sat wrapped meticulously and then clasped the handle – oh how freezing it was – and let the door swing it’s own path open.

It was like a dam breaking. Out from the room, dark energy and more of the invisible mist rolled with the force of a thousand rivers, physically pushing them back with malevolent intent. Maycie clutched Jen’s shoulder, whose grip began to hurt Shane’s hand, but he gave it no mind. Daysha had entered.

They followed behind, though none of them wanted to with one ounce of their being. Blank noise screamed deafeningly in their heads. The draft convected with new exhilaration. None of them saw, nor expected the dark figure to materialise in the doorway, trapping them in the cursed space.

Like a cruel recreation of Shane’s trauma before, it advanced with a purpose Shane knew all too well. He shoved Jen and Maycie behind him – they fell on the grand, dusty bed – and stood shoulder to shoulder with Daysha, who fumbled with a vail in her coat pocket, a clear liquid spilling as her hand’s juddered.

With desperation, she flung the remaining liquid at the spirit, and as it came into contact with the billowing darkness, a high-pitched wailing pierced their ears, so intense Shane clamped his hands over his head and doubled over with the pain, paired with an intense heat that burned their faces like a wall of flames. Through the chaos, Shane could barely see as the figure dispersed then seemingly respawned, bigger, more frantic, the glint of the weapon flashing as it was thrust at the friends…

As his consciousness lingered and wavered, Shane could only hear the yell of agony and hear a body slam to the floor. In his haze, he thought he could smell something metallic, feel sticky wetness beneath his fingers, a liquid spreading on the filthy floor, but to the unlikely lull of Daysha’s desperate sobs, and Jen’s mantra of ‘oh my god, oh my god’, the pain piercing his body finally sent him to blank.

Chapter Text

“Shane! Shane, wake up!” A low, persistent voice spoke over his face, dragging him for blissful sleep. “You have to wake up now.”

Shane groggily reached an arm up to shield his eyes as a flashlight blinded him. As he became more aware of his surroundings, he noticed with a sinking heart that he didn’t recognise where he was. The room was coated in a blanket of dust, and it filled the air making breathing feel toxic. The furniture was minimal, dilapidated, stained an unknown colour, looming above him as it contrasted with the bleak space in the small room.

Before he could sit up, the owner of the voice had grabbed under his arms and dragged him towards the only door, which appeared firmly shut, and looking down he saw that the place where he’d been lying was stained an ugly grey.

“What the..?”

“Shane? Are you awake?” Finally registering the voice, he cast a confused glance at Ryan, who was skittishly worrying over him. In the perfect absence of light, his body seemed to glow ever so slightly, making him appear all the more ghostly. He seemed agitated, scared, like this room was having the same effect on him as it was Shane. Shane wanted to run as far as he could.

“What – where are we? What happened?”

“The demon tried to attack you.”

“Wait – it’s a demon? But then, what about-” Oh god, what about his friends?

Seeming to guess his thoughts, Ryan hastily pacified him, “They weren’t hurt! But… you kind of passed out, and it ‘killed’ me again, so when I woke up, your friends were…”

“Gone…”

Ryan cast his eyes down.

“Where are we now, then? Why did we move?”

Looking increasingly uncomfortable (and guilty) Ryan stuttered over his words, “this is where I always wake up when it kills me in ghost form. I don’t know why you’re here now, but… it’s not good. This place is like… the origin of evil here. Bad things happened; are happening.”

Shit.

No wonder he felt awful.

Although he could tell Ryan was keeping a lot from him, Shane let it drop in his haste and tried the door-handle, twisting it with all he could for it only to rattle pitifully. He thrust his shoulder at the wood, feeling the tell-tale give of rot, and as Ryan joined him the tired oak splintered over the combined force, crying in defiance as they slowly worked it to defeat.

It fell like a guillotine, crashing to the floor outside in a billow of dust. There was an unsaid goal of finding Shane’s friends and getting out of the mansion as fast as possible. Ryan grabbed Shane’s hand before he could wander blindly through the darkness and began leading him through a labyrinth of abandoned trunks, riddled with vermin, and doors leading to obscurity. The maze groaned and shrieked, and Ryan couldn’t convince himself that it was only the oilings of an old house.

They came to a staircase, suspiciously short, that shook when they ventured up it one by one. Shane went second. The wood of each step buckled beneath him, and near the top it snapped and began to give way. Letting out a panicked cry, Shane threw himself forward, and thankfully Ryan had enough sense to grab him and haul him to the top.

What lay in front of them was like a nightmare to Shane. Bathed in a scarlet hue, the walls of a grandiose hall dripped with gore. It seemed to be an abandoned dance-hall, for the dilapidated floor still echoed the footsteps of classy women in impractical heels, and the stately men that would have accompanied them.

“How can-” Shane cleared his throat, tight with suppressed fear, “how can I only see this now? We went through here on the tour; it was a normal room then.”

Wearily, Ryan cast a sad gaze over the abandoned space. “You have been touched by spirits. Even if you are still alive, this much company of the dead only serves to lower the power of your life. I… I’m sorry this had to happen to you – I should have stopped it – but for now, let’s focus on finding your friends and helping you escape.”

While they continued, Shane startled, “wait, after all this, aren’t you going to escape with us? After all-”

“I’ve done enough,” Ryan spat bitterly, and although he desperately wanted to protest, Shane found himself subdued at the ghost’s uncharacteristic bitterness, and kept quiet.

As they made their way throughout the rest of the mansion, Shane was horrified to find many of the hallways and rooms the passed in the same condition as the ballroom. The bleak grey of the mansion was lit up in scarlet like a sickly imitation of a Christmas tree – a sting of intestines hung there, paint it red, make it beautiful. Shane was the grey of its former self.

As they journeyed through the gory bowels of the place, he felt himself lose his characteristic rationality. He skirted closer to Ryan, jumping at every, unexpected shadow. He wanted to run, but he didn’t know which way was closer, further, or if he could run away at all; in the darkest day it had always felt as if there was no escape, as if the spiral of misfortune could only suck him further down and even though he wished to help his friends – save his friends…

He jerked backwards with wild eyes. “I’m not doing this. Get me out of here.”

“Wait, Shane-”

“No you wait! You’re not the one who got dragged into this, I’m leaving, just show me the way.”

“This is the way,” Ryan spoke with poorly suppressed emotion, “and how could you leave those women?”

Flick, flick. On, off. Shanes terror appeared controlled by a switch of which he had no control.

The panic settled into a dull ache in the pit of his gut, and he slumped where he stood. He looked up as if seeing the halls for the first time, taking in, accepting the gore, accepting his purpose, and finally, settling on the ghost who’d become his friend, taking solace in the near-black eyes.

“Oh God I am so-”

“It’s okay, really,” the guilt was back again, and again Shane didn’t question it. He solidified in renewed purpose. “Let’s go.”

It felt like a lifetime of walking before they came to an arrangement on the skirtings of the main building. The wider windows did little to settle Shane’s fear as they allowed moonlight to drip through, harshening at already malicious shadows. They turned into the skeleton of a kitchen, picked clean of all its niceties. A door creaked open, a freezing draft fluttering their clothes, and Shane knew – he fucking knew it – that the ominous, blinking pitch that threateningly welcomed them was where Ryan was leading him.

And he followed. He had to trust him. It was his only hope; his friends’ only hope.

All the cellar was was black. Darkness melting and melding, wrapping round Shane’s neck like a noose. “R-Ryan?” He spoke, high and restrained.

Ryan didn’t reply, and Shane couldn’t feel him, couldn’t hear him.

“Ryan, please-” He was cut off by a feminine shriek. Slowly, the shadows darkened to make space for a reddish, purplish glow that emanated from the spirit. It was tall, reminiscent of a man yet so twisted and inhuman that the fact only served to heighten his terror of it. In its oily grip hung the body of Jen, still and unmoving. Shane’s heart stopped, was he… no, he saw the faint fluttering of her chest.

He was frozen, and didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t bring himself to step towards the demon, nor could he stir in himself to run. Then the demon spoke.

Though it opened its mouth, it didn’t open and close to form the words, as if a voice had been trapped in its throat and enslaved to serve a purpose. The voice was hoarse and deafening, vocal chords non existent or destroyed, the volume was piercing, near unbearable. “Give him up… give… and I will free you… give him…”

Him. Shane. “R-Ryan?” He yelped again, twisting in search for help.

“You are… mine…”

“Please Ryan, please help us!”

“Let… me…”

“F-forgive me.” Ryan, quivering in the corner, behind the demon like a minion. “I’m so sorry, but I can stand this no longer. I’m so sorry.”

Shane looked from Ryan, to the horrific sight in the foreground, and tried to equate what was going on.

“I’m… a payment?” His voice sounded even more horrified than he felt.

“Forgive me.”

“I was – I was helping you! We all were! How…”

They were interrupted by the demon, whose form had twisted into something less humane, more disgusting to the eye, neck curled and dry like a mummy’s, eyes bulging, tongue protruding, limbs skeletal with skin pulled over the curved bones. Its words were wordless, voice a shriek as its presence suddenly dumped Jen softly groaning on the concrete floor and melted into shadows, glowing shadows, like some hallucination from a traumatising experience of sleep paralysis.

Shane reeled back.

The spirit coiled his limbs, making the muscles seize up, making him shudder and freeze and burn with the unholy being invading his soul. As the physical pain intensified, something deep inside of him, some part of him he never knew existed, suddenly flailed in agony, white, hot, liquid agony that tore only a pitiful, desperate breath into the air under his arched back.

He crawled, trying to escape. He reached the foot of the wooden stairs, but on the first one, Ryan looked down at him in panic. The ghost was as scared as a human, yet stood his ground, such solidarity that Shane didn’t attempt to bypass him, instead submitting to his soul’s invasion, body twisting, contracting on the ground, face a mask of pain.

He thought this was what dying must feel like. But then a new voice snarled through the chaos.

“Stop.”

The demon ignored it in all its ferocity, but Ryan blinked as if awoken from a trance.

“I have a cross. I have more water. Get the fuck away from us.”

Shane’s flailing slowed as if the demon was pausing in wait. But the speaker gave it no time for retaliation before the flung her body forward and firmly pressed the crucifix to Shane’s chest.

The ensuing wail may have been Shanes or the demon’s. Maycie clung to her near-dead friend as his body toiled in panic, as the demon forced her away with inhuman strength, but suddenly there was another pair of hands holding the cross down, fumbling for the vail that Daysha had given her for protection and forcing the content down Shane’s throat. He made a gargling sound as the liquid burned an unseen entity, before falling limp and unconscious.

The pair of hands retracted, guilty, shaking, scared.

Weakly, Maycie checked Shane’s pulse before dissolving into relieved sobs. She stumbled to her feet, looking round for Daysha, sitting helpless with beaten legs and a proud, relieved expression, flighted with a mania endured by fear. “You did good, Maycie, you did good.”

“We gotta go.”

“Yes…”

Two were unconscious, one couldn’t walk. Where was the demon? No one knew.

Two pairs of conscious eyes turned accusingly towards Ryan. He stood broken, his back lit by the faint moon. He looked to be holding in tears of his own, keeping them back with force of will and the knowledge that he didn’t deserve to show weakness, not after what he’d almost allowed to happen in his behalf. The ghost took a step back when the fierce women glared at him, and looked almost to be about to run away, but jolted as his eyes saw Jen as lifeless as ever, Shane twitching with torn muscles.

As if moving through water, he bent down, and hauled Shane upright, hauled him onto his back and straining with the effort. Maycie struggled less with Jen, the woman light, and they dragged feet limp from trauma through the dusty, silent halls and to the parking lot exit. Ryan set Shane down regretfully by the door as Daysha stumbled alongside Maycie to their car, Maycie returning from Shane.

Before she started to struggle back with the man, she looked up, straight into Ryan’s eyes. He expected the accusation there, and perhaps the hurt, but he hadn’t expected the sorrow mixed in with it. It was almost as if she could understand his motive, if not forgive his actions, and the overwhelming kindness made Ryan’s eyes glimmer with new regret.

“H-here,” She said. “Take this,” She said.

She handed him a small glass bottle, filled with a murky fluid.

“What is it?”

“Daysha made it so that you could attach to Shane.”

“Oh.”

She paused, looking hesitantly back at the car. “You could… use it, you know.”

“I don’t think I deserve any of that now.” His words flickered with an immeasurable sadness.

“Maybe not,” She sighed, “but I know Shane would want you to. He even said, even some one much worse than you doesn’t deserve your fate.”

Ryan looked increasingly conflicted.

She took his hand, only hesitating once at the cold. “It is for you to decide. But don’t think that any of us are beyond forgiveness.”

Ryan took the bottle from her offered hand, and played with the lid. He took it off, smelled the contents, then remembered that ghosts couldn’t smell. He twirled the viscous concoction, let a drop fall on his tongue, then finally committing to swallowing the whole thing. His face twisted at the bitter taste. He shivered and handed back the bottle.

“I… thank you. I deserve none of your kindness.”

She turned her lips into a smile. “Then why don’t you earn it? You have time.” She turned and picked the sentient man up. “It’ll take until sunrise to take effect. They you will be drawn to Shane. He’ll be staying with us, of course, to recover, and so we can keep an eye over him, but you are welcome into our apartment.”

“Thank you.”

“Take care.”

“Thank you.”