marlowemuses | who could ever learn to love a...

Adam Parrish stared up at the house that was his with his heart in his throat.

It was, by a substantial margin, the most wonderful thing that had ever been his. Prior to one week ago, the things that Adam counted as his could all fit inside an milk crate (including possession of the crate in question).

But now, now, he owned a house. Not just a house. An estate. It stood alone at the end of the lane, with too much lawn, overgrown and wild, that seemed less like a lawn and more like an encroachment from the forest behind.

The plastic of the milk crate cut into his fingers. He forced himself to loosen his grip, to take a breath.

One week ago he had received a phone call. Are you Adam Parrish, it said. Your uncle has left you an inheritance.

I don’t, said Adam, have an uncle.

It turned out that his mother had a cousin, so it was not so much his uncle as it was his first cousin once removed, but it was easier to say it was his uncle. She had never spoken of him. Adam wondered if it had something to do with this house where she didn’t live. He wondered if some part of his mother, who had never protected him, who had never loved him, belonged in this place with its haunted gables and its wrought-iron finials, bristling like thorns along the rooftops.

Fog pooled in the forest around it, making this place seem timeless and removed, a piece of Virginia that had been caught out of time, drenched in some unreachable Gothic past.

All of it was his.

Climbing the rickety front steps of the ancient place, he put the heavy iron key into the front door lock and turned it.

Edited 2016-10-31 19:54 (UTC)

When Adam turned his key in the door, all was eerily quiet. Like a breath quickly inhaled, on the precipice of something great, something new, something amazing.

Nothing happened.

Nothing out of the ordinary, anyway. Sunlight broke into the dusty foyer and two spiders went scurrying away to the safety of shadow. In the light of day, swirls of dust drifted through the air like ghosts minding their own business. There were some footprints broken through the dust across the wooden floors, and a few areas were cleaned off, but most of the place was undisturbed. The shapes of tables and couches covered with sheets, tarps covering lamps, floor uneven in places from a poor foundation. It needed work. A lot of work.

But somewhere above, too many floors away to hear, feathers rustled. Something wasn't right.

Ronan Lynch had been dreaming. Sprawled out in a nest of things, trying to dream something sweet and kind but it turned out heinous as usual. A noise had woken him out of his sleep; a click, something that was right, which meant something was wrong. He sat upright quickly, mass of black feathers ruffled and his companion, Chainsaw, turned her head quickly and blinked at the door. Ronan slept in the attic. It was the only door in the house that the master key couldn't unlock. He'd moved up there when old man Greerish moved in (not that Greerish had ever tried to hunt him down, it had been a pointless precaution in the end).

Someone was in the house. He could smell them—the faint scent of gasoline and grass, of sun, of shampoo. It wasn't that odd to have an intruder. Kids like to bet each other to break in all the time, even when the old man had been alive.

It was always Ronan's delight to haunt them out.

His grin was all sharp teeth, fiendish joy, at having another game to play. Snot-nosed brats scared easy. Then he'd be able to fall back into dreams, try again for—something. Something that made sense.

With a playful wink to Chainsaw, Ronan faded into shadow. As a shapeshifter, he was able to shift into any shape, as long as he kept his original shape on him. It was the only note he'd gotten from his father on his to control his powers. He'd spent so long trying to figure out the damn riddle only to discover that it wasn't a riddle at all. When he became shadow, he was still a monster, the outline of such only recognizable to those who were really looking. And he could hide in real shadows, to hide how he didn't quite belong.

Creeping out of his room, he took care to peek around the bannister, peering down and squinting at the open door. Now, just who had decided to intrude this time?

Adam set down his milk crate and looked around. He breathed in, dust and shadows, and breathed out again. The house was wonderful. It was disastrous. It would take years of work to return it to what it had once been, but Adam had years. He had an income. He could live, like Uncle Greerish had, on the interest from his inheritance. He planned to study investments and finance, to figure out how to maintain and improve his money.

Likewise, he'd need to learn how to maintain and improve his house. He knew cars, but houses were a language he didn't yet speak. He was determined to learn.

He began by pulling down the sheets covering the windows, and opened as many of them as would open, letting in fresh air to clear out the scents of neglect and old age.

Leaving the sheets in a pile in the living room, a project in-progress, he wandered up the stairs. Though he had shut the front door, he left his crate of possessions in the middle of the front hall. He needed, first of all, to decide on a bedroom, and to clean it well enough to make sure he'd have somewhere to sleep tonight.

What was this? What was this?

This—this—aesthetically pleasing human waltzing in like he owned the place. Taking down the sheets? Stirring the dust?? Offense after offense piled up. Usually the little assholes stood in the foyer trying not to piss themselves. This one... he brought sunlight in with him. It made it harder and harder for Ronan to hide in the shadows.

And then he was moving. Too fast, having dazzled Ronan with sun.

Panicking, he fled backward down the hallway, accidentally thumping into the table that stood at the end of the hallway and knocking the lamp right off. With a crash, it fell to the floor and the bulb shattered. Pieces of glass spun forward, pieces he avoided by jerking back into his old bedroom, pressing hard against the wall and holding his breath.

Shit. It was just a human. Why the fuck was he getting freaked out? Sure, the amount of humans that had the gall to climb the stairs could be counted on one hand, but still. Despite his posturing his heart thudded madly in his chest. Damn it. Fuck. Leave. Leave.

Adam paused on the stairs at the crash. He frowned, hesitating. What was that? Wind, perhaps, from the windows he'd opened. Or possums.

Tapping his fingertip against the railing, he decided to investigate later. There were plenty of things broken and damaged in the house. One more could wait.

He opened a couple of doors, finding a worn and battered library filled with worn and battered paperbacks. He found Greerish's bedroom, with a visible depression on one side of the bed where the old man had slept for decades. There was a chair with a faded cushion and a book set out of place to one side. Adam felt a sick certainty that this was where his uncle had died.

Retreating back into the hallway, Adam shut the door. He tried keys from his ring until he found one that locked it.

The beautiful boy wasn't leaving.

Not leaving, but he wasn't charging down the hallway, either. Peeking out, Ronan watched as the figure dipped into the library and then discovered Greerish's room. Ronan hadn't been in there since the night before the old man died. Didn't plan on going in there again. It seemed that he and the beautiful boy were of like minds on that one; he stepped back into the hallway and locked it.

What was he looking for? Was he trying to steal? Ronan bristled, sliding back into his old bedroom. Down the hall there were five rooms left: the bathroom, the study, the guest room and Ronan's old room. The last door would reveal the stairs to the attic door, which was locked. No way the beautiful boy was going to get in his room.

There were probably still some valuables in the study.

Skulking in shadows still, he waited. He'd catch the thief red-handed and scare the shit out of him. Once he came out of the study with whatever he decided was good enough to steal.

Adam tried the other doors. He found the bathroom, which was in better shape that he'd expected, a richly-paneled gothic study, a bedroom that was dark despite the tall Gothic windows, and a door that wouldn't open. He tried every key on his ring on the door at the end of the hall, rattled the door, and tried them again.

Being forbidden a room in his own house bothered him, but he left it for later. One final door on the floor awaited. He opened it into a clean and attractive bedroom that appealed to him at once. It was decorated in a more modern style than the rest of the house, with soothing blue blankets and cushions amidst dark wood furniture. It felt like home, more than anything Adam had ever encountered.

Turning a circle as he admired the room, Adam fell back onto the bed with a smile, finding the mattress to be perfect.

Scratch there being a beautiful boy in his house.

There was a beautiful boy in his bed. Old bed. Still his bed since it was all his stuff, and the attic room was only a makeshift room hastily thrown together when the old man crept in, so it was his bed still.

Seeing such a beautiful man sprawled across his bed made his heart lurch in an uncomfortable way. From that, Ronan only hated himself more. A creature like this would despise him. It didn't matter how ... enchanting his smile was. Ronan wanted to recoil. Greerish was easy; he was a decrepit old man that was half-blind. This boy smelled like sunlight. Had fine features, delicately high cheekbones and lovely curled eyelashes. And his hands. Ronan wasn't thinking about his hands. Not about how they were growing into the hands of a man, knuckles slightly too big and fingers long. He wasn't thinking about the cut of his jawline or the rise of his adam's apple. Fuck. Fuck. He wasn't thinking about any of it.

This human couldn't stay.

His rage was sudden. Intense, all-encompassing, like a lit candle suddenly hitting a curtain.

A shadowy hand darted out and grabbed one of the drawer handles, flinging the drawer out of the dresser and across the room. It slammed against the floor, heavily, wood meeting wood in a loud bang.

Adam gasped at the bang, fear and adrenaline flooding through him. He jolted up, fingers splaying against the covers, brain scrambling to make sense of it. A drawer out of place, linens spilling out. It was striking against the tidiness of the room.

It must have been there before. It hadn't been there before.

Gansey would be thrilled.

Adam could just imagine telling him. Hey, so that house I inherited. It's haunted. Definitely haunted. And the ghost hates me.

Thrilled. He was pretty sure Gansey would want to explore the whole place. There would be seances. Blue and Henry and a Ouija board.

The thought of it was a little exhausting. Adam dropped back against the mattress and groaned once.

What the fuck kind of reaction was that?

Ronan scowled from the corner he was crouched in. It had started off well enough with the beautiful boy sitting upright in a panic, but ... what happened? Did the guy not care that a drawer just dislodged itself and threw itself onto the floor? He just dropped back down onto the bed with a tired groan. The fuck was television doing to kids these days? Didn't they know that you were supposed to run out of a goddamn house when it was haunted? Or was the housing market and economy just that bad that college students were okay with being roommates with demons?

"The fuck is wrong with you?" he growled, not even trying to be subtle anymore. The fallen lamp had been an accident so he let that one slide. This, though? No. This shit was prime haunting and this asshole was just gonna groan?

"You're supposed to run out of a fucking haunted house, asshole."

His voice was sharp, biting, a touch of a growl and a touch of incredulity.

"Go. Get out of here."

That got Adam off the bed. Fear tingled through all his limbs, chilling him and making his body stiffen. He backed away from the direction the voice had come, eyes flicking around the shadows, looking for something from a horror movie.

Definitely a ghost. Definitely haunted. Maybe some kind of non-ghost magic? Maybe a trick or a prank?

"This is my house," he said, scared but stubborn. He was familiar with fear. His shoulders hunched, body tense in anticipation of being struck. "You get out."

There was no strike.

Ronan wanted to scare the guy out, but... he didn't want to actually hurt him. He hadn't done anything except wander onto property that wasn't his. Ronan was mean, he was a monster, he was a disgusting horrible creature. But he still had his own set of morals. Unless the beautiful boy did something deserving of a punch then Ronan wasn't likely to give it to him. Was it impossible? No. But as of yet, he didn't even want to get close to the human.

Only, apparently, the human did think it was house. What the hell?

Ronan snorted. Loudly. There was nothing to see but the slightest shift in the shadows, something on the peripheral that would vanish when it was brought into full view.

"No, this is my house. So you get out."

Adam echoed the snort, amused that he was getting into a "no, you" argument with a ghost. There wasn't any further attack, so he was going to need more than that to get out. "Agree to disagree," Adam said, polite but with an irritated edge.

And then he returned to the bed and flopped across it again, glaring stubbornly up at the ceiling. The house was the only real thing that he'd ever owned. Maybe the car, but he didn't really count his piece of shit car. He'd die before he gave it up.

Hopefully the ghost wasn't bloodthirsty.

Ronan was irritated and offended. He glared at the beautiful boy from where he was still crouched in the corner, blood rushing through his veins, but it still didn't make him bloodthirsty. The old man had been like this too. Only, the old man was senile as shit, half-blind, and probably thought Ronan was his cat. That was manageable. He stayed mostly in his room, didn't touch stuff, and didn't drape all over Ronan's bed.

"Believe me, you're gonna be gone within a week," Ronan spat, feeling bitterness pool into his chest. No one ever stayed. No one but the old man because he was senile as shit, half-blind, and probably thought Ronan was his cat.

He whacked the lamp off the dresser for good measure and stormed out of the room, swinging it open so that it crashed into the wall, and then crashed into his own door and slammed that. Chainsaw cawed and stared at him as he threw himself down onto his makeshift mattress, and he glared at her, too.

"You think it's a good thing he's here, don't you?" he snarled. "You liked the old man, too."

He wasn't dead. The ghost had simply made some empty threats and thrown a few things.

Adam got up and started tidying the room as soon as it was clear the ghost was gone. He put the drawer back, stuffing the linens in without folding them, and put the lamp back on the dresser. The lampshade was bent, but it was otherwise unharmed.

This room would be perfect. The sheets on the bed seemed relatively clean, good enough that Adam didn't want to worry about trying to change them.

He went back into the hall, then downstairs, fetching his milk crate of possessions and bringing it upstairs to his new room. He set his alarm clock by the bed, put his spare clothing in one of the empty drawers, and took his toothbrush and comb into the bathroom. He arranged them tidily by the sink, throwing out the old toothbrush that was already there, and sat down on the toilet lid.

The bathroom window was cracked. Half the tiles on the floor were missing or broken. This place needed a lot of work. And it was going to take all the more work if the ghost fought him the whole way.

Wandering back downstairs, Adam checked in the kitchen to make sure the fridge was working. It was. There was a jar of relish and a jar of maraschino cherries that had expired three years ago. Adam sighed and shut the fridge door. Time to go grocery shopping. His first grocery trip with money. Adam's head spun with the possibilities.

Taking only his wallet and his keys, Adam headed out to his car and drove away down the lane.

Ronan wasn't dull enough to think that the guy decided to leave from that alone. There was a stubborn look about this one.

When he heard the front door close and the engine of a car, he emerged from the attic room and thumped down the stairs, still pissed off. Rather than shadow he assumed his human form, a tall, wiry young man with pale skin and a massive tattoo covering his back, the beast swirling with feathers and beak. He'd thrown on an old pair of jeans and muscle tank. The only comment Greerish had ever made was that it was indecent to roam about the house naked. Ronan didn't care about being indecent, but he didn't want the old man seeing him naked, even if it was just another form.

His original intention had been to destroy whatever personal possessions the boy brought in with him. Looking around the room, however, Ronan found that not much had changed. There was a clock. And a crate. Curiously, he reached out to rake one finger against the face of the clock. This was all the kid brought?

Pursing his lips, Ronan turned away. It didn't sit right with him to break what little he had. Even if he was a no-good house squatter.

Instead, he settled on being incredibly annoying. First he breathed on the bathroom mirror and scribbled the word LEAVE!!! in the fogged up glass. When it became foggy again, when the boy took a shower, it'd pop up. This way he could be annoying and not risk really invading in on the guy's privacy. Perfect. Then he moved through the hallways, turning all the old portraits upside down. Sliding down the bannister to the first floor, he grabbed all the sheets the stranger had taken down and put them back up. The shade was a relief.

Finally, he went into the fridge and spelled out ASS in old, disgusting cherries, on the counter. Surprisingly, the cherries weren't so bad for being three years old. He remembered when Greerish bought them. Ronan had said he liked maraschino cherries, and the old man had picked them up for him the next time he went to the store. Out of sheer stubbornness, Ronan never touched them. Greerish left them in the fridge.

Thanks old man. They were useful now, in a slightly sticky stenchy way.

Then he returned to his room and threw himself across the bed.

Adam returned after a couple of hours with a full load of groceries, cleaning supplies, and things like duct tape and nails. He was pretty sure that the portraits in the hallways hadn't been upside-down earlier, but it didn't bother him. The sheets he had taken down were definitely back up, though, which was... interesting. His ghost was relatively powerful. And obstinate.

Dropping his bags in the kitchen, Adam smirked at the cherry message that had been left for him. So far, his ghost was considerably less offensive than the vast majority of Adam's schoolmates. The ghost was vulgar and indignant, but he hadn't made any personal attacks. Adam could live with a ghost who liked making swear words out of food.

He put his groceries away, then started making himself a grilled cheese. As it cooked, he cleaned up the cherries and started scrubbing down the surfaces in the kitchen. Eating with one hand, Adam kept cleaning with the other, determined to get the house livable as soon as possible.

Ronan had been asleep again but woke as soon as he heard the front door open. So the annoying boy was back. Keeping his eyes closed, Ronan tried to listen to what the human was doing, but the attic was too far from the kitchen.

He could stalk from the shadows again. Observe. But if there was too much light downstairs he'd be discovered instantly; a monster shadow on the wall was obvious when there were no bigger shadows to hide it.

What wouldn't be surprising to find in an old, giant house? It had to be alive. When he was shadow, he stretched the limits of his abilities. It couldn't be anything too small, either, because he'd gotten too big to change below a certain size.

Which was how he ended up slinking downstairs as a black cat. Slender, with bright blue eyes, he peeked around the way to watch what the human was doing.

It was horrible. It was offensive.

He was cleaning. Trying to make the old house livable. Who the hell said he could do that? Ronan bit back a yowl he wanted to make, not thinking that a cat making a noise would terrorize his new squatter. This one... he had to learn its weaknesses. Apparently regular bullshit haunting wasn't good enough.

From where he was pressing against the wall, the smell of what the human was cooking made his stomach grumble loudly. In response, his ears went up, and he darted into the sitting room to hide underneath one of the sheeted couches.

Adam was pretty sure he'd just seen something. A shadow, a possum, a cat? He was leaning toward cat, but it was hard to be sure.

Leaning to one side so he'd have a better view of the sitting room, Adam frowned. It looked clear. "That you, asshole?" he called. His tone was conversational rather than insulting--he needed something to call the ghost, so it would know he meant him. Right now, top candidates for names for the ghost, until something better was supplied, were "asshole" and "Bob." He planned to go with Bob once he had an opportunity to let the ghost know that he meant him, because he figured it was the sort of name the ghost would really hate, and they were now, he figured, affable enemies.

It was kind of nice, in a weird way. As long as the ghost didn't become more destructive, his rudeness was tolerable. Adam liked the idea of having company.

Being called asshole in return made Ronan grin. Much as a cat could grin. Okay, so this pretty boy had a bit of spunk. That was something Ronan could appreciate. Besides, Ronan was an asshole.

Still as a cat, he peeped his head out from beneath the sheet and studied the human with intense gaze. He'd never learn the pretty boy's secrets if he kept hiding. So, he crept back toward the kitchen, tail swishing behind him inquisitively. The guy refused to leave even though the house was clearly haunted. Was he brave, or just an idiot?

A part of Ronan wanted to know.

The cat eased through the doorway and looked up at Adam, cocking its head to the side in curiosity.

Noticing movement, Adam smiled at the sight of the cat. "Hey there," he said, putting his cleaning supplies aside for a moment. "Are you my uncle's cat? Bet you're lonely, poor thing. And hungry."

He opened the fridge, pulling out some sandwich meat and taking a couple of pieces from the package. Sitting down on the middle of the floor, Adam tore off a piece of the turkey and ate it, then tossed the next piece to the cat. It was a beautiful cat, with haunting, almost human eyes. Adam always had liked black cats especially. They got a bad rap, and that made him sympathetic. "Here you go."

The cat stared at the turkey meat, circled it once, as though it couldn't quite decide what to do with it. It looked from the meat to the boy, the meat, the boy, and then the meat again before bowing its head to pluck up the piece and eat it.

Then the cat approached. It looked a little skeptical of the boy sitting on the floor, a little curious, and still a little wary. Tail swishing still, it neared, ears upright and inquisitive, twitching every so often.

Once close enough, it nudged its face against Adam's hand. From the way that it hooked its paw onto Adam's forearm, it seemed as though it had a bit of a fascination with Adam's palm and fingers, his knuckles.

"Hey, sweetheart," Adam said, pleased by the company and contact. He'd always wanted a cat. He'd taken in a stray kitten, once, but then it had clawed the furniture and his father had wrung its neck.

He ruffled gently at the cat's ears, offering more pieces of the meat and petting the cat as much as it would allow, scratching gently under the cat's chin. "What a beauty you are. No collar. Nobody said anything about my uncle having a cat, but you seem like you've done all right. Gonna have to figure out something to call you." Speaking aloud to the cat reassured Adam, and he hoped that the cat was likewise reassured by his calm, patient tone. "Don't suppose you know anything about my resident ghost? All I know so far is that he's very vocal and likes profanity. I've decided I'm going to call him Bob. Or Casper. I guess Casper would make more sense. Which do you think would irritate him more?"

The cat's eyes closed in delight when the boy rubbed his ears and chin. Those hands.... felt as good as they looked. From his throat there was a low purr, unbeknownst to the cat himself, who was too busy enjoying the touching to notice. When was the last time he'd touched someone? When someone touched him...?

Then, he was reminded of who he really was. The resident ghost. Ronan released the beautiful boy from the grip of his hooked paws and sat back onto the floor, chiding himself for allowing the human to touch him. As though he hadn't been the one to instigate. He was a monster. A disgusting, unlovable beast. All he was looking for was for the guy to get out. Nothing else. He didn't need anyone to touch him. Fuck, he didn't want anyone to touch him.

Or so he told himself.

Blinking, the cat looked back up at the boy's face with clear, blue eyes when he mentioned the name Bob. Ugh. That was an awful name. Terrible. And Casper...

"Casper," said the cat, "was a little bitch."

"Fuck," Adam gasped, scrambling back along the floor in superstitious fear. A haunted house, and now a talking cat. "Fuck."

Heart racing, he sat forward again, skittish but fascinated by this magical occurrence. Gansey was going to be ecstatic.

"So are you a talking cat or a possessed cat?" he asked, breathing quickly with fear. "Either way, hi, I'm Adam."

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