Chapter Text
In this economy, home ownership is wishful thinking, more like a fantasy in your honest barely-above-minimum-wage-three-job-having opinion. Getting your own house is a borderline figment of imagination that many don’t even dare dream of these days, you can save for years and still never get close to affording anything greater than a rundown haunted shack twenty Klicks past the ass-crack of nowhere.
You would know, since you in particular happen to be touring one such paranormal locale this day, faintly grasping at the hope that this listing was real and not an excuse to steal your kidneys.
You know what the world is like, you have seen the writing on the wall. College was a scam when you realized the juice wasn’t worth the squeeze, and any work worth doing isn’t hiring for shit unless you have that fancy paper; those that do fire people in droves the second a project is done or the second they want to meet a better bottom line. Screw that noise, so you put your nose to the grindstone working as hard as your body allowed. Late nights, barely any sleep, long nearly impossible hours, multiple seven day work weeks in a row; Using your adderall prescription and energy drinks to appear super human while destroying yourself bit by bit.
All to achieve that so-called dream of getting your own place to start a family or some bullshit the media is selling, some big lie that was. All that effort could have gotten you through med school but that debt was too huge to risk taking on, plus you weren’t smart enough for academics regardless of your work ethic. Or you could have been, if not for the gifted child to college drop out pipeline you had found yourself in.
Your only reward for burning yourself out at both ends was crippling burnout and injury that prevents you from ever working like that again. You aren’t quite disabled, you checked and you don’t qualify, but any blue collar work is permanently out of reach without risking your health even more. You feel too old and behind to try college again, no way you could keep up with the younger folks who can still put in effort like you used to. You won't be able to work while schooling anymore so debt is a huge reason to never go. Any job that doesn’t require back breaking labor would turn you away at the door because you lack the needlessly necessary piece of paper that says you know how to read, write, and cheat with AI. So any office position is even more out of the question.
Since you are so doomed and running out of time, you might as well give an old long lost dream a chance. Which brings you this eerie shanty.
You were browsing listings anywhere you could find because without a job, getting evicted is a guarantee. You stumbled on an ad in the paper of all things, about an old farmhouse with a hectare of land being sold for dirt cheap. The place was pretty tiny with a fairly open floor plan and all that: kitchen supplied with well water, a little land, a falling-apart tiny barn, one bedroom, a bathroom that only has a bath, one tiny guest room, a little loft-attic thing, and a cozy fireplace to keep the place warm with a potbelly stove in each of the three rooms. It has no real plumbing and barely any electricity, there is a toilet, kind of. It’s an outhouse, not a bathroom, an outdoor outhouse with a candle holder as the only light source. The bathroom in the house truly is just a stone tub in the floor, you have to manually fill it with water using a hand pump connected to the well. It even has a little spot underneath to light a fire to heat the damn thing.
Even with as simple, run-down, and unupdated this place was, it was reasonably affordable. Even the taxes were low because it was still somehow zoned for agriculture. You balked at the price as a joke when you first laid eyes upon it, but you still chose to call the number anyway. They were serious, that ridiculously low price was real! And the taxes were way less than your current rent as long as you kept growing shit on the property. You wouldn’t even need a mortgage and could buy the place outright with some savings left over.
You had to do it.
So here you are, looking around this decrepit hovel in desperate need of love; and likely an exorcism or twelve. The thunder and lightning truly complementing the ambience of what you’re about to get into. The downpour also adding to the fantastic mood lighting while the cold wind biting your ass isn’t making your mood any better. It’s probably not this bad just because it’s haunted, it being right before winter is likely a major factor. You did that on purpose, not because you wanted to get soaked. but because in fact, so many housing advice lines recommend purchasing during winter so you can find any leaks there might be.
So Casá Del Thunderstorm is your current location to assess for any potential water damage because you are not dealing with that.
The realtor here getting soaked with you is the aging aunt of the previous owner, or so she claims, probably doing this for not enough money. She said they are desperately trying to sell the place just to get rid of it, you get the impression it was cursed or something. You might not be super religious but you could certainly believe that this place was possessed. She came off as kinda sketchy while giving you a tour of the place, probably the bad vibes in the air just giving you the creeps.
Every time the wind blew through making a hissing that sounded suspiciously like it was telling you to ‘get out’, she would deflect telling you that the place had character. You would deadpan at her; she would ignore you and move on, shuffling past you to get to the next unsettling set piece of this house. Yeah, the place was certainly haunted. But in this economy, you and the ghost would just have to get along. You had no other options, so maybe you could ask what it wanted, make some kind of peace.
Appease the thing so it definitely doesn't murder you; like whatever happened to create the large, brown, human-shaped stain on the off-grey stone floor of the bath room.
Maybe you should take up prayer, or would the spirits of the damned find that offensive, you aren’t sure? So you keep walking, not as if this tour takes very long, your mind is made up and your stint in construction tells you this place has good bones. Regardless of the storm raging, there’s not a single drop of water outside of what was tracked in. Not even a hint of draft other than the suspicious whispering winds you refused to name. It’s well built and has clearly stood the test of time, even with the minimal maintenance it might have received.
You leave the bath room staring at the ominous stain during your exit, aside from that the lovely little spot nestled between the two only other rooms was a tranquil place to get clean. It was kinda nice, the stonework is a lot of old grey rock with some smooth blue tiles decorating the grout. But that stain—you aren’t backing out now, too much pride and not enough savings—so you are sticking it out. You tell the realtor lady as much, well at least the interest part, no need to disclose any extra finances you might possess.
With a blank check in your pocket, you are ready to make the house yours.
You are hoping you can mention the stain to get the price lowered a bit more, might as well try to get the place for even cheaper, there is so much work you are going to have to do which will be costly. Like an indoor toilet for instance…
Your haggling skills might not be the best, but she didn’t have to laugh in your face about the brown, human-shaped stain waving it off to be ketchup. She can’t be serious right? The splatter looks like one of those cartoon chalk outlines of a corpse in a detective show!
Whatever, the price is fine so you agree with the writing of the check for the agreed upon amount and reading over important documents. You could have sworn that the house was booing at you with the final signature and you were not going to let Casper tell you off.
When the lady turns her back, you glare around towards the noise and smile like a manager of a fast food chain trying to tell a Karen that she can’t have ten extra toys for free just because her rotten crotch fruit is celebrating another year around the sun. The realtor almost catches you smirking off into space but you are quick enough to turn around.
You shake on the completed deal and follow her out of the place. She says she will give you the keys when the check clears and if it bounces that the deal is void, and that sentiment makes you feel like this is a con. You are quick to suggest going to the court house to write up multiple written agreements that you Will get your keys the second the money clears. She was hesitant but your glare must have made her waver, so you two marched to your vehicles to ensure everything was official and wait for the money to clear.
3-5 business days later, keys in hand, and a whole rented trailer filled to the brim with all your belongings; it's officially move-in day. Thankfully far more dry, at least according to the weather forecast and appears to only be threatening rain. There’s a little drizzle but if you move quick there won’t be a problem. You don’t have much stuff in the first place, the little you have is all you have…
Cuz of that, you don’t want your stuff torched by the specter so you did some research on ghosts in preparation before officially bringing your stuff around. Apparently appeasing ghosts is not as common as trying to banish them, so getting info was a little more tricky than anticipated. You don’t want to evict the thing. Getting kicked out of your home sucks, you would know, therefore you would personally prefer peace.
Maybe if you reach an agreement the ghost could be your guard dog and keep bandits and teenagers away? But for any of that to happen it is important to figure out who the ghost is, maybe help them with unfinished business or whatever, even talking to the thing like a spooked horse can make it less likely to murder you apparently. You needed to know who you were dealing with to really get the lost soul to leave you alone, no way you were paying for a priest—too expensive. When looking into the house’s history you came up with almost nothing. Just names of previous owners who couldn’t stay for any longer than three months or disappeared due to mysterious circumstances—a lot of owners.
No official deaths, but no one who vanished was ever seen or found again. You don’t need to think hard to connect the dots… Small town where every other person is a cousin, news travels fast. For folks to just vanish is…strange. There were even some goofy internet stories of people trying to film paranormal activity only to end up with zero evidence and still running away scared.
Some were even families with kids in the distant past… which made you a little depressed to find out that even they couldn’t manage to stay. So many articles of things falling apart, renovations failing, contractors quitting, no one could ever last there for more than a single season. Eventually news about just brave or stupid people trying to gain the system by buying a fixer upper permitted the rest of your research before even that became old news.
The place is a revolving door of failure that not even the bank wants to hold onto when it inevitably ends up in their possession again. Even trying to demolish the place to make it a fresh lot didn’t work. Any machine that entered the property or touched the building would start falling apart! Human hands trying to mess with it always gave up in a week of trying.
There might be endless stories about how much the place is unlivable, but there was nothing about why this place had been so haunted or who the ghost was, if it even was a ghost. You should have asked more when the realtor lady was still around, unfortunately she blocked your number after everything was said and done so that wasn’t going to help you any.
You probably should have done that snooping before you found yourself locked in, but you have a plan to not end up the next failed resident of this ramshackle Halloween attraction.
Before moving any stuff in, you began with an offering. Ghosts were supposed to like gifts so you put a serving of honey within a special bowl in the center of the house alongside some shiny rocks from your personal crow collection. You might have your folklore confused but maybe this ghost won't know the difference and be pleased anyway? Everyone likes honey and rocks right?
You looked down at the pile of offerings hoping that it’s adequate, mumbling under your breath a bit, “Gosh this had better work” Looking around the space and listening in reveals nothing of the ghost’s thoughts on your presence or gifts.
Centering yourself to get this over with, you proposed your deal to this specter. “Okay, so you live here.” You pause to listen again, not hearing anything, so you continue. “I don’t want to kick you out, cuz this was your place first—probably. I just want to live here too, and maybe we can live here together? Uh, Peacefully would be preferable…”
That second declaration really got a reaction, all of the windows started to shudder while the temperature dropped. You didn’t know if that was good or bad, it certainly didn’t feel friendly in the slightest. You keep going trying not to let the hesitance cloud your voice. “Maybe we can work together or something? You can tell me what would make us cool?”
The temperature started to return to normal while the shuddering paused, looking down the honey and rocks were gone so there’s a decent chance the ghost was pleased—For now. “Noted, gifts are a go”, you mention when mumbling to yourself in speculation.
Breathing a sight of relief you get to bringing your belongings inside. You decide to use the loft area as your sleeping space since heat rises and all that. You figure this ghost might have lived in the main larger bedroom, so you don’t want to sleep where they likely died—or where other families could have died…
You keep unpacking, going from your truck to the house with disassembled paneling and pieces. All your furniture is very light weight, small, but sturdy; knowing that you would be moving everything alone you sold anything too cumbersome. It certainly hurts having to move so much, but at this point in your life you are used to the discomfort. Some sleep and medicine will have you back to normal in a few days, you packed tons of extra food so not leaving for a while wouldn’t be an issue.
The dissembled dresser fits perfectly in the loft, as well as the other drawers and cabinets for your clothes to live. Piece after piece gets carried and placed, while at it you figure it can’t hurt to talk to the ghost during the move in. Maybe they will have more mercy on you for the polite conversation? “So this here is my mattress mat, It is very easy to move and low to the ground, since laying on the ground is better for my back.”
How are you going to get it up the ladder? Well, shoving hasn’t failed you yet? “So I’m putting up in the loft, which I guess is further away from the ground… but the rest of my stuff will still be grounded on the ground floor. Since my bed is floating, would that make my head in the clouds?” The bedroll feels a little lighter when pushing it up the ladder, weird?
Maybe the tiredness is getting to you? Or is it the ghost? With a little trepidation, you keep up your conversation. “Uh, thanks for that! I think? I hope to be a good roommate.”
A chill rushes up your spine causing your grip to slip on the bedroll, and with the added height it falls down even harder when it feels as if gravity greatly increased on it. You stumble out of the way, barely on time for the mattress to careen down and slam on the floor; with far more force than a bundle of cloth and feathers should ever be capable of. You stare at the heap, maybe the ghost needs more gifts…
“O-okay. Um, I’ll get you more snacks. That sound good? I’ll be right back.” Your voice was shaky as your legs when you made the sprint out of the house. Digging through your car, you grab some things a ghost might like. An unopened bag of chips, a few cookies, a couple loose crackers, an apple, okay all of these are just what you could grab and gift without cooking. But it might still work!
Rushing back in the house gives you a strange feeling. The second you cross the threshold there is not a single noise from in or outside the building, even your hurried breathing is muffled from the twisted sensation permitting the place. Not a creek of a tree or whisper of breeze can be heard through the open door. Entering the place had deafened the outside world and everything within. The silence feels loud, you are deeply uncomfortable. Trying to inch back towards the door makes you feel physically ill as every hair on your body stands on end in alarm, you have to move foreward…deeper into the home.
The sensory deprivation is freaking you out more with each soundless step, panic and desperation seeping into your tone as you plead with the specter. Somehow your voice the only audible noise. “Please…I don’t—I don’t have anywhere else to go” It’s the truth. This place is your last Hail Mary to have a stable life in this world. Even with all the others who were here before you failing, wasn’t enough to deter you from trying for a reason. You can’t make it anywhere no matter how hard you try, and don’t have anyone to fall back on. “I wouldn’t be here if I had another choice.” Your voice cracks a little. “I-I’m sorry, I can sleep outside for a while. Or, or something! But please don’t kick me out.” You wait for an answer…
…
…
The sound of the light rain returns to your ear—slowly. Almost carefully. A veil is being lifted with hesitance. The rest of the world remains eerily quiet still. You want to reassure the spirit, you just want to live. It probably wants to live too, well, as much as it can… “I won’t hurt you. I just want a place to stay.” You put down the new offerings in the offering bowl and step away to give the ghost room? “So, we could be chill? Yeah? Maybe even pals?”
You sway in place with nerves refusing to look at the bowl, even as you hear extremely audible crunching noises, like there’s too many teeth. You might have underestimated what you were dealing with. Maybe it’s a demon and not a lost soul—The sound of the bowl being tipped over derails your train of thought. Without thinking you turn around to look only for you to be smacked in the face with the chip bag…
You can hear the bag crinkle on the ground, along with the wheeze that fell from your lungs with the startle. That’s not the only thing you hear, the wind in the trees, rustling grass, your own clothing shifting with your movements. Sound has returned, and it all feels magnified after your experience.
You start laughing, the joyful raucous echoing through the place seeming to bring brightness with it. Whether it’s in earnest or hysterics, you have yet to decipher but you are happy to hear things again. You have to catch your breath and heave a little, you brace your forearms on your legs as you hunch over to close your eyes. When you wipe your face and reopen your peepers, you see something strange about the chip bag on the floor.
The bag is inside out, the silvery innards flashing in the light and completely licked clean. Zero crumbs whatsoever, nigh a speck to be found. The truly odd part is the writing on the bag? Parts of the sheen are scratched to form letters, the simple phrase of “I w a r n e d y o u” displayed in a curvy yet jagged font. You swallow hard, but any other sensations from the ghost have vanished into thin air…
You decide that moving the rest of your stuff in takes priority over your mental breakdown. You have a rental trailer to return after all, that shit cost’s money. And heck, maybe the ghost only cares about the house and you can just retrofit the barn. It might be a little drafty at first, but you could invest in some tarps to keep things dry in the short term. Yeah, it’ll be like camping! Just camping to avoid having to step into the house and incur the wrath of a potentially vengeful spirit.
It’s fine, the property is large enough to build another unit! You don’t need to stay in the Spook’s house! They won, it’s all good. You weren’t that attached anyway! You can live happily outside of the murder house, the property is big enough for the both of you, so there’s no need to fight.
Through the power of mental spiraling and clear denial, you hadn’t even noticed that you'd gotten all of your belongings inside and partially unpacked! Wow, aren’t you efficient…well, maybe not because you arrived early in the morning and the sun has been gone for a few hours now…But whatever, it’s done, and dark, and wet, and spooky, so your barn living plans are thwarted for now! You also got your mattress into the loft using the sheer willpower of anxiety so you have a place to sleep until you decide camping in the woods is a better option.
Surprisingly, your ghostly roommate has been strangely quiet through the whole ordeal, that or your mind has vehemently blocked out the shenanigans for your own self preservation and sanity. Could also be both. At the end of the day, which it very much is, you’re grateful to have the place. And after all the soreness, you just want to lay your head down for the night. You are exhausted.
It would be so nice to get clean, but pumping a manual spigot after the day you’ve had doesn’t sound appealing. That and the bathtub needs a literal fire underneath it to be warm… You can probably figure out a better way to heat the tub sometime later, but until then you’re using the only source of hot water from the kitchen sink. It at least has an electric pump that leads from the well, through some barrel filters, into the only miniature water heater in the house, and then up through the faucet. The water tastes so clean. Absolutely refreshing and crystal clear when you take a grateful gulp.
It is the perfect remedy for wiping away some of your stress, even putting your head under the stream and pretending it’s a shower soothes a few aches. With pajamas on and being too wiped out to care, you crawl your way into the loft to completely knock out from exhaustion. Maybe you and the ghost can get along after all.