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

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who could ever learn to love a...

39 Excelsior Place was the oldest house on the road.

In fact, 39 Excelsior Place was the oldest house in the neighborhood. Through the years Henrietta, Virginia had mostly kept up with the times. Old, decrepit homes were replaced with bright white houses and wooden fences. The convenience store went from locally owned to a chain. The schools got better. Wifi was available in almost every pubic place.

39 Excelsior Place did not keep up with the times. Crouching darkly at the end of the road, squatting fiercely in its dead end, the house was every bit the past it came from. Tall with gothic architecture, unwelcoming pointed gates, and black bricks the hollow eyes on its gray and white face. Huge windows were long covered with sheets, as had been most of the furniture. Once upon a time the house had been beautiful. Once upon a time, however, was a long time ago. In 2016, most people stayed away from 39 Excelsior Place. Smartly so. Its resident monster hated everyone.

Everyone except for its sole resident, elderly Mr. Greerish. Greerish said he had a family. Nobody ever game to visit so the monster called him a liar. Greerish placidly made excuses, such as They’re very busy and It’s been a while since we’ve caught up. Apparently Greerish had a favorite nephew: a baby when they last met. It had smiled at him once. No one else in the family smiled at him.

The monster called him an idiot. Greerish laughed and returned to his books. That was how they found the old man dead. With a pleasant smile and a book in his lap.

Fine. The monster didn’t care about Greerish anyway. It had only just begun to tolerate him. With his death, 39 Excelsior Place would be free of pests and the monster could hide away from the rest of the world until it eventually died. That was what happened to monsters. He’d read the old books Greerish kept so neat in the bookcase. They all ended the same. The monster was killed, burned, staked. The handsome prince got the princess. Or, in the monster’s personal interests, prince. Not that it mattered.

What the monster did not know was that there was a Will. A thing that had been executed by the local priest out of pity for old man Greerish. There was only one stipulation.

Everything I own, including 39 Excelsior Place, will be so inherited by my nephew, Adam Parrish.

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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."

The cat looked rather pleased with himself, even if he was wondering how a talking cat was more frightening than a drawer crashing across a room all by itself. At least the beautiful boy looked properly alarmed—only, he wasn't bolting to the door like any sane guy would.

This... Adam? Was fucking weird.

The cat puffed, easing back onto all fours and slowly talking to the side, eyes steady on Adam.

"Neither." Ronan was a monster, yes, but he wasn't a liar. "Why are you here?"

"It's my house," Adam said, getting to his feet. He picked up the sponge he'd been using earlier, and resumed cleaning. Talking cat. Who either was or wasn't the same as Casper.

Adam had loved the cat, for just that moment. He'd relished the thought of having something to love, that would love him in return. It stung to have that snatched away from him.

"My uncle--Scott Greerish. He left me the place. It's mine. I'm not leaving."

Adam didn't look at the cat as he scrubbed the countertop.

The cat jumped gracefully onto the counter that Adam was cleaning, picking up its paws unhappily and making a soft meow at the feeling of dampness. When he was a cat, he was subject to a cat's senses, and even the feeling of something like water under his paws was unpleasant.

"The old man..?"

If a cat could groan, he would. Instead, his ears went flat against his head. It wasn't like he missed the stupid old man, or anything.

"You're not his nephew. He said his nephew was a baby." How long had it been since the last time Ronan had heard about the nephew? He couldn't remember. Time was different, for him. Like it never moved at all.

"A baby that smiled at him. He said that was why he loved him." The cat turned to show Adam his butt. "It's not yours."

"He said that?" Adam said, blinking in surprise. So the cat--Casper?--had been friends with his uncle. Or something like friends.

More importantly, he said that his uncle had loved him. It was the first time in Adam's life that he'd been told that anybody loved him, even for such a small reason.

"I didn't know that was why he left it to me. He didn't leave me any sort of message, just the will."

Adam was tempted to playfully flick water at the ill-tempered talking cat. He decided, instead, to reach out and scratch at the base of the cat's spine. "Thank you for telling me."

Oh. It wasn't like he liked Adam's hands or anything, but feeling the scratch at the base of his spine had him purring again, eyes drooped in pleasure.

Which was why his understanding of what the beautiful boy had said was delayed. The old man had left a will...? Son of a bitch. So the old man was the reason why this human was here. When he died, Ronan had figured he'd finally be left alone to his self-hatred and darkness. Now, the nephew that was suddenly not a baby showed up? Why would he want to live in this shithole, anyway?

"So you're the baby." Swiveling his head, he looked back at Adam with those same clear, blue eyes. "Why are you here?" It was less accusing and more inquisitive.

"The old man was old and blind so I get why he was here. You see what this place is like now, right?"

Adam grinned at the cat's response, pleased and a little bit charmed by the crankiness. He was certain now that the cat and the ghost were the same. Maybe a vampire? They were supposed to be able to shape shift like this.

He leaned his elbows on the counter, meeting the cat's gaze calmly. "Because it's mine. I'm going to take care of it. I don't know much about house maintenance yet, but I'm going to learn."

Adam tossed the sponge in the sink, drying his hands and going to get the roll of duct tape so he could tape over the crack in the kitchen window. "So what's your name?"

The urge to chase the sponge was intense but Ronan managed to suppress it. Instead, he tried to focus on his annoyance at that comment. Fix the house? The idea gave his stomach and unpleasant churn. Old man Greerish lived there, sure, but he hadn't changed anything.

Ronan didn't want anything to change. A monster belonged in an awful place. If Adam made it beautiful again, then ...

The cat shivered and jumped off the counter. "I don't want to tell you," he sniffed, trotting over to one of the cabinets and pawing at it.

"All right," Adam said. He came over to open the cabinet for the cat, looking curiously inside to see what it wanted. "Then I'm just going to call you Charlotte."

He smirked a little, expecting profanity and starting to really enjoy the cat's harmless bad temper. Adam wondered whether he should invest in a laser pointer.

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