Chapter Text
Y/N gazes up at the decrepit building just outside the main road. For being an old mansion of a prominent family, the Gallagher’s who owned half the town before Elias supposedly inherited the whole estate before perishing the day of his wedding.
Yeah they don’t know much despite this being your childhood town. Taylor would slaughter you for not paying attention for his long rambling rant about the history of the mansion itself. It was a three hour PowerPoint slide and it topped your biology seatmate’s two hour Dragon Age timeline.
You are more scared of Taylor given he knows where you live, has the spare house key and will not hesitate to elbow you in the stomach while getting your required eight hour sleep. Curse college life, and Taylor, for interrupting it. Well, you know why you have to help him, you joined his club, OSHA? Yeah OSHA, and he needs some more members which is why you are standing here, in front of this boring mansion that you normally wouldn’t pass on your early morning jogs.
For one, the mansion is near the main road and you’d rather not risk your life either jogging or cycling because of people commuting to work or coming back from a late night shift. Although, maybe you should stay out of the park now. The squirrels have been eyeing you too much with their beady little eyes.
You can’t help but feel as if they know your sins.
On the weekends you deliberately get lost in the woods. It helps you live on the outskirt of town where the woods are plentiful and a simple ten mile run will send you straight to the mountains. You get lost in those woods deliberately, pack full of survival gear and your phone that you barely touch.
It is an honor to get lost and find your way through a compass and climb atop of trees to find your way back to town. Along the way fighting squirrels for their food, winning half of the time, lil buggers move in swarms and you are spiteful. You feel like they live in a colony and slowly over the years their reach is growing farther where they’ve infected parks.
A squirrel has actually attacked you three days ago, so it isn’t paranoia speaking when they are out to get you.
And you’ve done nothing wrong. You swear.
Just a little raiding of their stock of berries. It’s nothing personal. Sometimes Taylor messes with your pack, eating all your trail mix and dried fruit and you forgot to check in the morning.
Just another lesson in preparedness AND honing your top notch climbing and athletic skills. You never know when your phone will die on you in the middle of the night, so you can’t just rely on technology. Sometimes it is hard to get Taylor to come join you on your excursions, camping on occasion and you let him handle the traditional scary stories.
Some famous ones he told were the Bag Man, some dude that comes from your bag, and Skin Ripper, something who chooses the most delectable skins to wear for a suit. Y/N always laughed at the end, not because you were scared, you don’t understand fear. Fear is for the weak and you, you are strong. Both mentally, physically, and emotionally.
You give a little flex outside the mansion at that, can’t help but admire your toned arms against the white long sleeved open jacket that covers a white blouse, loose white pants, with excess cloth around your waist that mimics a skirt that is tied around a gold roped tassel. And you can’t forget your white three inch high boots. The most stunning part of this outfit.
“So um Taylor, why am I in this outfit? The jacket is tight on me,” Y/N says as they talk into their earbuds, currently on a call with Taylor while they are wearing a wire and camera on the top of your jacket.
“Y/N!” You wince at him yelling in your ear, “Please tell me you were paying attention at least once.” Taylor practically begs.
“I mean, kinda? The explanation was a bit too long. Something about exploring like the last spot? Yeah sounds about right,” you say as you rub your chin.
You hear him facepalm, or hit his head against something. Just some sort of hitting noise and you can’t not imagine your friend doing his signature double facepalm where you worry that he will destroy himself. Specifically, his fingers.
“You didn’t smash your fingers against the table again right?” Y/N asks as they pace in front of the abandoned mansion.
“...No. I don’t know what you are talking about Y/N. Just…you know that this is very important to me.”
“I know. We need it for more members for,” and is it OSHA or not? You can’t recall so time to do your fourth best trait, improv. “our organization. I can provide the commentary and I am just calling on Elias after professing my undying love for him yeah?”
“Make it a spectacle and heartfelt. You already know how to do that so just gas it up.”
“Oh I’ll give gas. All the gas where this Victorian child will be overjoyed and seeing the light of sculpting your body.”
Elias was 23 when he died. You are 24. He is a child from a time long ago, but perhaps you’ll get to experience the gentlemanship of ages past. You won’t fault his age, but you will judge him by modern standards. You have many positive traits besides your age, you are a great motivational speaker and can bring people up to speed. You have energized actual children, adults younger than you, and even older.
You got this. Otherwise you wouldn’t be known as Y/N L/N, health consciousness extraordinaire with a good work life balance. You work as a part-time personal trainer and dog walker/sitter while also going to class full time with one extracurricular activity.
A supernatural extracurricular activity that is impeding on your eight hour rest. Taylor is going to cook you lunch and dinner for a week from what he’s doing to you tonight.
You guys even shook on it.
“Y/N. He’s a ghost. A literal ghost. Do you think that a ghost can get ripped?”
Without missing a beat, “Yes.”
Ghostly form represents what you were in life but also they are obsession and emotion. If you can get Elias’ to change his tune he can be as ripped as you and you can get another gym buddy. Mindfulness is something you practice, and a state of mind. Maybe he'll get swol with that?
“I envy your optimism but you should utilize it.”
“And I will Taylor, I will. Have you ever doubted my capabilities? My-”
“Yes.”
Your eyebrow twitches but the grin on your face stays, “Wow okay. That hurts. I hope that there is another ghost here, someone who I could work out with and eat something sugary bimonthly. Maybe a ghost that makes pancakes or cookies.”
“Eep! You vile villain. No just one is enough. We don’t need to include a baking ghost.” Taylor screeches and you rub your ears.
Note to self, no teasing the monster fucker whose scared of ghosts. Like what is the deal with that? He wants to romance Mothman and Bigfoot. One of the ways you got him into camping as you scouted the western area of your town about twenty miles in. No Bigfoot or Mothman sightings but a complaining geek where you had to carry him piggy back to the campsite and he taught you some really good theater of the mind D&D and you died like two times in two sessions so who is the geek now?
Both of you. Everyone wins. Geekify everyone and also get healthy. Everyone wins.
You jog in place of the mansion and gaze at the door. It’s cold outside and you need to get your blood pumping. You can do your thing with scouting out the place, that’s what you did at the last haunt, but the priority is being a sweet hot young thing who was desperately left alone at the altar. You can search around this place later and also take a few selfies of your outfit.
You just don’t want to get it stained. You don’t have the necessary tools to take out any stains unless baking soda is your cure all. The fabric for your well designed wedding outfit that Ian raided the costume room in the theater department is too nice to be cotton. It’s kind of silky and stretchy in some places so it could be satin or nylon.
You aren’t an expert. The only thing you own from this ensemble is the kickass boots.
You punch your hand in the air, alright showtime!
You school your expression to be that of distraught. It isn’t that hard to think about the yearning of your bed, which is perfectly made at home at the ideal sixty-nine Fahrenheit for sleep, sleep mask of strawberries, and humidifier begging to be turned on. Just…perfection out of reach.
Y/N doesn’t even fake the tears that comes to your eyes, it is genuine and you grab the rose at your waist. You stride into the abandoned mansion.
The environment is…
Cold.
Dastardly so. Your arms are like gooseflesh and it reminds you of a dare earlier this year that you took up Taylor on his offer to only wear underwear in the winter for five minutes. He thought you would not take it, easiest twenty bucks you’d ever made.
But this? This took the cake. Even in your layered attire it is as if you walked into a tundra in this broken home. The wallpaper peels, there is chipped and broken furniture and holes in the floor. Just…mysterious stains on the floor as well.
How has this place not gotten condemned or a glow up from someone flipping it or restoring it Y/N will never know. Just that generations of college students and homeless coming in here to host parties, get hazed, or squat. Even so, everything is broken and you take a side step so your sick ass kicks aren’t going to get filthy from…suspicious dirt in holes.
You grab the rose that is on the side of your tassel belt. You were going to touch the wall and unleash your high school theater class and just stand in the middle. You take a deep breath, using your diaphragm as you channel your inner Ophelia and Hamlet.
Yes, two of the most dramatic characters in daddy Shakespeare's characters.
Bringing the rose to your lips you gaze mournfully at it as you hold your other hand over your heart. “Oh woe upon me. Betrayed by the one who has enamored me and captured my heart. Who took the keys and left me in this cage I gleefully lead myself to in hopes of matrimony. If only my love, no, that dastardly villain was to help me break from that brittle cage, corrupted by insincere feelings.”
You shed more tears, grabbing the rose’s petals and ripping them out. “You forsaken me! You let me believe that what we had was special, that I endeared you,” the anger in your voice grows softer as you simply let the rose fall to the ground.
Some of its thorns cut into your skin and there is barely a bead of blood but some scratch marks against your palm.
“What’s the use of love when it gives you heartache. Left alone to your woes, swallowing coal as it burns you from the inside out, either fire or smoke will consume you.”
“I hope, nay I pray that the one who resides here may provide shelter, even a crumb of comfort for my broken heart. Someone a known gentleman, someone…but no I mustn't impose. Such is my folly. Just a moment of rest.”
You add a few huffs as you forcefully grab your chest, forgetting momentarily that is where your mic and camera is at. Taylor can take care of that, using a little editing magic he mastered over the years.
“Stunning performance Y/N, I’ll make sure to bring you a bouquet of roses when you come back from a successful mission.”
Taylor mutters in your ears.
You cannot even respond to him as the star of the show, the man of the undead hour, Elias Gallagher manifests from the top of the broken staircase where half of it is falling apart.
The main event just arrived and it is time to impress a spirit.
Who knows, if you survive this night, you might get some spirits yourself.
Hehe.