Author's note: A short little Halloween fic set in the 2012 verse

I do not own the Ninja Turtles

There's No Such Thing as Ghosts

It's late, or technically it's early if you put stock in technicalities. I push away from the computer desk with a labored squeal of my chair. I should oil the wheels. Add that to my list. The clock at the corner of the computer screen flashes 2:48am and I let out a tiny sigh before rubbing my tired eyes. I'm not going to get anything else done tonight, might as well at least try to get some sleep. I stand up and reach my arms above my head in an attempt to stretch out my sore muscles. Countless hours spent hunched over a keyboard or my latest project threatening to undo my good posture. A tiny creak sounds by the lab door and I turn, expecting to see Leonardo with a lecture about proper sleeping habits.

No one.

"Hello?" I call out tentatively.

My only answer is the quiet of the early hour and I instantly feel the burn of embarrassment move across my face, even without anyone to witness the way my voice wavered. I must have imagined the noise. That is the only reasonable explanation. Or maybe the metal of the door is contracting; it is colder than it has been. That makes sense. That must be it.

You should really get some sleep.

I lean over to switch off the monitor of my computer, whirling around at another creak. I heard it this time. I know I heard it. There's no talking myself out of it. I've settle into a fighting stance, my feet wide and my fists raised. My embarrassment is forgotten when there is once again nothing to greet me but the quiet. My heart races and I attempt a few calming breaths.

Someone is playing a trick on you.

Mikey. It has to be Mikey. He's probably hiding and laughing at me right now. I close my eyes and strain my ears in an attempt to catch a stray chuckle.

Nothing.

"Stop being ridiculous," I mutter to the empty room and push my chair back up to the desk.

I reach the door, curling my hand around the cold metal to push it open further. The lights are out in the main room, save for the cool, blue glow that filters down from above. The planks hanging from the ceiling break up the light in dancing geometric patterns, like the bottom of a shallow pool of water. I look left and then right. If one of my brothers is going to try and jump out and scare me I'd at least like a heads up. There is a soft click and electric hum from behind me.

Don't turn around. Just keep walking. It's probably nothing.

I have to turn around. I have to. Even with my heart racing and my ingrained sense of logic fighting a losing battle against fear and paranoia, I have to turn around. Curiosity is something I have a hard time ignoring. It clouds my thoughts and digs its claws into my mind until it requires all of my attention and focus. I have to turn around.

You know what they say about curiosity?

I can't see the computer screen from the doorway, but it's illuminating the wall behind it with an unmistakable electric glow. I turned that off. I know I turned that off. Cold settles heavy and persistent in the pit of my stomach, reaching up to wrap around the rest of my insides until its teeth latch on to my limbs and cause a shiver. It takes me the span of a heartbeat to recognize the sensation as dread and as soon as I acknowledge it it's fighting for first place amongst my emotions. I turned that monitor off. It shouldn't be on. I turned it off. I take a step forward, because curiosity is a monkey on my back I just can't shake, even with dread doing its best to weigh me down.

The monitor is most assuredly on, the glow of the screen seeming unnaturally bright in the dim room. The screen is filled with the blue screen of death, angry white error messages glaring up at me. The dread is shooed aside by that special anger reserved for losing files you forgot to save before the unacceptable happens. I scoot around the desk, flexing my fingers in preparation for a fight. I pause, my fingers outstretched and my eyes wide as the screen dissolves into the pixelated snow of a broken television. The static hiss echoes throughout the room and I bring my hands up to cover my ears more out of shock than an actual need to hide from the noise. The snow is gone as soon as it appeared, replaced again by a blinding blue screen. There is only one word written across it now; boldly glowing white on a field of blue.

'Hello?'

I stumble backwards as if struck and the monitor clicks off with a sigh, fading to black. Dread has won out, no question, no competition; although the flight reflex is giving it a run for its money. I lurch towards the door with hurried awkward steps that are close enough to a run that I have to skid to a halt when I reach my destination. I slip through the opening and let out a less than dignified yelp when the door slams shut behind me of its own accord.

Even Mikey couldn't put together a prank this good.

I stumble backwards, staring at the door as my heart pounds in my chest and breathing starts to become a struggle. I can't move, afraid that if I take my eyes off the door it might swing open and whatever closed me out will leap at my throat. What is going on? There has to be a reasonable and logical explanation for this. I imagined it. I could have. I'm tired and shadows can play tricks on tired eyes and minds.

Shadows don't use computers or slam doors.

The dread is back and I inch backwards, away from the door. I want to wake Master Splinter, but I chastise myself for the thought as soon as I have it. What am I going to say? Sorry I woke you Sensei, but I'm scared and I think there's a ghost in my lab. Ghost. The word brings me down and I take in a slow breath. It's ridiculous. There is no such thing as ghosts. The scientific evidence is nothing if not laughably circumstantial. Ghosts. It's absurd and a nervous laugh tumbles past my lips at my own foolishness. A loud bang sounds from inside the lab and I'm off like a shot. I don't slow down until I reach the stairs leading up to our bedrooms.

Maybe Leo is still up? Can't hurt to check.

I chance a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure nothing is following me. The lab door is still shut tight and the main room is empty save for the blue glow of early morning. There's nothing there. There was probably nothing ever there. It was just a trick of the light or the wind blew the door shut.

There isn't wind down here, Genius.

I rest a hand on the brick wall and turn towards the hallway. If dread is a cold, dead weight in my stomach, fear is its icy and equally unwelcome cousin. There is someone there. The hallway is dark, but beyond that is something darker; a shape. It's not the cylindrical, static masses of the pipes lining the walls or the shadow cast from the arched ceiling. It's separate and moving and beyond the darkness of a shadow, it's the complete absence of light.

I hold my breath and the feeling of the rough brick beneath my palm barely registers in my brain. The shape grows or stands, I can't be sure, but one thing is for sure. It knows I'm there. I lift a trembling hand over my shoulder to grab my staff. It's a habit and I bite back a tiny groan when my fingers grasp at thin air; my staff tucked away in the dojo with the other weapons.

What were you going to do anyway? Hit a ghost with a stick?

"There's no such thing as ghosts," I murmur, surprising myself when I say the words aloud. "There's no such thing as ghosts."

I press my back against the wall and close my eyes. "There's no such thing as ghosts," I repeat, taking in sharp breathes of air through my nose.

I am going to open my eyes and whatever that shadow is will be gone. It's all in my head. There is no such thing as ghosts. The sun is only a couple hours away and my brothers will wake up and this will all just be a bad memory. It's all in my head. I'm over tired and I'm seeing things. I just need to get some rest and everything will be better in the morning. There's no such thing as ghosts.

Then open your eyes.

I take in another sharp breath and force my eyes open. I'm met with an empty hallway and I feel the relief course through my tense muscles, warming the cold dread that has coated my insides. I slide away from the wall and crane my neck to get a more definitive look at the hallway and its emptiness.

"What are you looking at? I'm right here."

The voice is breathy and light and frighteningly close to my ear. I scream and whirl around, fists at the ready. It isn't dignified or graceful and it might be a small miracle that I don't trip over my own feet in the process. There's another loud bang and I cut short a second scream when I see that it's Raphael's bedroom door slamming into the wall behind it as he kicks it open.

"What the hell is your damage?!" he demands, sleepy eyes narrowed in anger. "It's three o'clock in the morning, Donnie!"

I must look half-crazed because he pauses before going into a further tirade. "Dude," he says with a nervous chuckle. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

I can't muster a response and when I try it comes out as an unintelligible garble of vowel sounds. I understand why he's laughing. It is ridiculous. There is no such thing as ghosts. Even as I try to convince myself of that I don't reject the offer to stay in his room until morning.