A/N: Based off of the prompt "Thomas's wardrobe is riddled with woodworm so he buys a beautiful new one from a mysterious store in York. That night he starts hearing a strange scratching and he's sure it's coming from inside the wardrobe…" from irrationalgame's Halloween prompt list
(sorry if someone's already written something for this prompt xox)
(also it has a more playful nature rather than scary or spooky but hey ho)
Tall and proud, strange and foreign, the new cupboard stood firmly against Thomas' bedroom wall, inhabiting the place where the old one once stood. It had taken years of his wardrobe slowly getting eaten away by starved woodworm-who had nothing better to do with their time apart from munch on his belongings-before the door decided it had quite frankly had enough, and broke clean off, crumbing upon the floor sadly.
It was only fair that they pay for a new one. After all, it was a necessity; he couldn't just leave his precious clothes on the floor or draped over the back of chairs. That simply wasn't good enough.
'But surely you don't want my uniform to get rumpled, Mr Carson!' he had argued to the aging butler who merely furrowed his eyebrows in response, before huffing a sigh.
'I suppose I can give you the money for it to be replaced,' he'd decided brusquely, before pausing to add in gruff tones, 'but only if you're willing to go out and buy it yourself on your day off, Mr Barrow.' He'd finished, waving him out dismissively.
With money in his pocket-a great deal in fact for a servant-he'd originally intended to go out and buy something in York, maybe from the second hand store, or perhaps the furniture shop if he could find a bargain. However, plans had changed when he turned down a narrow lane he'd never wandered before, moving in a trance like state, as if mesmerised by an unseen force.
And there it had stood: Mr Magio's Emporium. The wooden sign, faded and battered, tapped against the brick wall, urging him in. The whole thing looked very mysterious, with its strange mystic eye painted onto the worn surface, and the title of the shop written in an odd curling font. Part of him said 'no you fool, don't go in' but the rest of his mind was certain that a little mystery never did any harm, so he tampered down the other pesky thoughts and entered though the heavy door.
And there it stood; his new wardrobe, waiting for him in the centre of the room, as if it had been expecting him, practically glowing with delight. (Perhaps it really was glowing? Technology really was quite something these days). He'd never seen anything like it before, with its glossy purple wood, and intricate eye in the centre, complete with flowing swirls, etched deeply into the surface. It was a sight to behold and he knew then and there that he had to own it, even if he had to spend year's worth of pay checks to get it into his possession.
'Ah, young lad' said an old, eccentric man, in Victorian dress, with unsightly whiskers sprouting from all over his face. Thomas thought he was truly horrid and really ought to get a haircut. It just wasn't respectful to go around looking a wreck.
'I see you've found my precious cupboard, Journey.' The elderly gentleman continued, slumping into a rocking chair by the till, as he inspected Thomas who couldn't help but stare, mesmerised by the beautiful wardrobe that was Journey.
'How much?' he had asked, distantly, without even being fully aware of having moved his lips.
The old man had laughed joyously. 'How much? For you-' he said, raising a hand theatrically, 'nothing. I have had my enjoyment now. It's time Journey found a new home, with a younger, more attractive man," the decrepit man wiggled his eyebrows suggestively 'who can have experiences living up to her name.'
The old man, who Thomas assumed was Mr Magio himself, had even offered to deliver it to the abbey, so keen was he that Thomas should own it. Everyone had gawped when it arrived at the back entrance-such a fascinating piece of furniture for a mere servant to own-and Thomas took pride in how their jaws dropped as Mr Magio lifted the cupboard up in one clean sweep and carried it up all five flights of stairs without breaking a single sweat.
If he hadn't been the one experiencing all this, it would have been hard for him to believe the road of events that led him to standing before the glorious, exquisite, wardrobe, Journey.
Thomas felt embarrassment-though no one could see him-for how fear bubbled in his chest at the odd shadows Journey cast out upon the room. It was almost like being a child again, seeing monsters in every simple outline. But this was different. So much different. There were no items to create the frightening shapes, it was as if the shadows themselves were compressing together to create ghosts which seemed to flit around his bedroom silently, urging him to cry out in fear.
He would not. People already thought that his mind had gone to mush with the loss of Jimmy. He would not prove them right by screaming girlishly, no matter how much he wanted to when one of the shadows approached him like a stranger asking directions before rushing right thought his very being.
'There's nothing there.' He reassured himself, but he was having a hard time listening to his own mind.
Eyes drooping shut, Thomas was nearly in the land of dreams when he heard a scratching which seemed to be coming from Journey. 'Oh God, don't tell me I've got another woodworm invested cupboard!' was his first thought as the croaking on his new wardrobe continued and grew louder and louder. He tried to ignore it and thought of the money he had gained from Mr Carson who thought, judging by the quality of the workmanship on beautiful Journey, he had surely spent every penny. He took delight in scamming the old butler out of his money.
He could take no more when Journey's rattling was so intense that she seemed to be rising off the floor, and practically buzzing around the room. He padded over to her on bare feet, and ran a hand along the side of her wood. He didn't know why he did that, it felt almost instinctive, but whatever he did, it must have worked for she settled down and ceased her movements immediately.
Thomas noted, wearily, as he headed back to bed, that she had moved six inches from the wall and was now standing at an angle.
Very peculiar indeed.
By morning, Journey seemed to be singing to him in a wordless tongue that begged him to come hither.
Come hither, he did not, until he had dressed in his livery that hung motionless and clean over the back of his desk chair. He had intended to put his clothes away as soon as Journey arrived, but, as he observed her from the bed, time seemed to pass in abundance until it was practically time for bed.
He heard feet rushing down the corridor and was about to do the same, as he had found, now that Jimmy was gone, it was no fun lingering on his own. His sorrowful thoughts were so oppressive they seemed to crush his very soul. The only cure was to always be doing something to force the bad feelings away. It was the only solution.
And he would have done so; he would have raced down that corridor to join the others for breakfast, complete with snarky remark, if it wasn't for the way Journey seemed to call for him longingly: come hither, come hither, come hither…
A bright glow lit up her insides and shone through the doors making them shake, nervous and unsettled. Against all better judgement, Thomas opened the doors, muttering under his breath 'Jimmy you bastard, you've made me half mad' as the light pulled him in unexpectedly and engulfed his body into its endless chasm of whirling, violet energy.