A/N: Here's my personal challenge. The Les Mis characters in their very own Asian horror special. For anyone familiar with Filipino horror stories, or the Shake, Rattle, and Roll formula, here's to you guys. This is slightly related to the continuum of "Cities We Call Home" and "Monsoon Night", but it's again, not necessary to read those to get this.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from "Les Miserables"; they all belong to Victor Hugo. Likewise, I am thankful I do not own the preternatural entities here, they are an unfortunate part of public domain and folklore.
THE LIMITS OF LOGIC
Part 1: The Corner Apartment
When all is said, done, and purged, it is generally agreed that the trouble all began when Bossuet had rented an apartment at what could only be described as an unholy rate.
"Either there is something wrong with this place, or you're the luckiest bastard to get a fully furnished apartment, downtown, for just nine thousand pesos a month!" Feuilly points out as he helps Bossuet shake out an old rug that had graced the entrance of the studio apartment. "For all we know the place has leaks or is condemned or something—"
"I'm not about to complain, honestly," Bossuet says. "At least I can sell off some of the furniture for a little more cash."
"The chairs, the tables, maybe even the bed...but this one will be a challenge to get a buyer for," Eponine chimes in as she pulls the cloth covering off an old wooden chest stowed in a corner. She wrinkles her nose at the reek of camphor that seems to permeate the box. "Why are you moving out of Joly and Chetta's place anyway?"
"i need to be closer to the firm," Bossuet says. The last thing he wants is to lose yet another job opportunity thanks to tardiness, which is becoming a clear and present danger nowadays thanks to some brilliant politician's idea to revamp the roads all over the metropolis. 'Anyway it should be an experience,' he decides. He has been living with them for so long to the point he's quite forgotten how it is to be on his own, so he is already aware of how steep this learning curve can actually be.
That is a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, he is happy to engage in a more masculine version of nesting, and to let his friends make a party of it. As if to emphasize the point, Eponine energetically shoves the chest onto a cart of items that Courfeyrac and Gavroche are about to bring down to the first floor storage room. In the meantime, Jehan and Azelma are rearranging the living room and taking advantage of the newly freed up spaces. Marius and Cosette are cleaning out the sleeping nook, leaving Bahorel and Grantaire to apply 'ergonomic' theories to putting the kitchen in order. Enjolras has taken on the task of refurbishing the bathroom, while Combeferre is organizing Bossuet's meagre book collection. Joly and Musichetta have made it their responsibility to organize the closet, using the same system they have all come to rely on over the years.
"Ever think of putting some decor here?" Jehan calls to him.
"What sort of decor?" Bossuet asks.
"Something ethnic, or maybe given that this place is so poky, something colourful." Jehan suggests.
"Maybe some nice hanging for the blank wall there," Grantaire says, pointing to a plain white panel near the apartment's sleeping nook.
"Surprise me," Bossuet quips. He's always trusted his friends' aesthetics and quirks more than his own taste after all. "Color me unique, people."
"Are you sure that is a good idea?" Azelma asks. "He might come up with something like another odd installation in the middle of the living room-"
Everyone laughs at the memory of one of Grantaire's wilder illustrations of 'the ills of imperialism', which involved setting up an oversized sandwich in front of an embassy. Even if this adventure ended in some jail time and fines just days prior to the hugest typhoon to hit the country, it was definitely an incident for the history books. 'A story sans regrets,' Bossuet says before going to unpack his boxes.
By nine pm everything in the apartment is set up, and the rest of the evening is given over to drinking and chatting, up until till Grantaire calls it a night and curls up on the floor, giving Courfeyrac the problem of hauling him out. It is everyone else's cue to make their way home; thankfully they are all still living within half an hour of each other, give or take delays thanks to traffic and flooding.
Bossuet's bedtime routine is fairly straightforward, and within a quarter of an hour he turns on his new electric fan and stretches out in his cushy sleeping nook. When he shuts his eyes he can hear everything, from the soft whirring of the electric fan a few feet away, and even the honking of car horns on the boulevard below. It is a noisy tranquillity that almost lulls him to sleep, until he hears three distinct taps someplace in the darkness.
He freezes for a moment, wondering if the sound is from the first risings of his REM sleep, or whatever his friends call the dreaming state. He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath when the tapping comes again, sure and rhythmic. 'Tak-tak-tak'.
Immediately Bossuet reaches out and turns off the electric fan. He knows the signs of mechanical failure when he hears them and he's not about to have another appliance blow up in his face.
Predictably, there is nothing wrong with the electric fan, but Bossuet gets it exchanged anyway for one in a different color.
"It's probably just a case of vermin," Joly suggests when they and Combeferre meet up the next day at the train station near the appliance store. "You might want to get that checked out."
"If not vermin, then lizards. They do get quite big even in this part of Manila," Combeferre reminds him. "You don't want to flush out something friendly."
Bossuet sighs at the possibility of these non-sentient roommates. "Well better that than bad neighbours. The only way to deal with those is an eviction notice."
Combeferre and Joly exchange looks. "Bossuet, no one else lives on your floor. We checked on our way up," Joly tells him.
"What?"
Combeferre shrugs. "Upstairs you've got a noisy family with triplets. Below is a whole troop of call center workers, and of course they are usually out at night. The rooms to your left, right, and across you are vacant, and aside from those there's only a broom closet on your floor."
"Does my reputation for domestic calamities already precede me?" Bossuet jokes as he begins counting out what change he has for a ticket. Nevertheless the part of his mind that's a paralegal is sifting through all kinds of possibilities. An unresolved litigation? Threats? Perhaps a family feud? He toys with them for a few more moments till the impatient teller behind a glass pane reminds him that he does have to state his destination if she is to give him a ticket.
The matter slips out of his mind until he stumbles home at past 1 in the morning, to the sound of the triplets wailing restlessly upstairs. As soon as he gets his key in the door and pushes it open, he hears that tapping from someplace in the darkness.
Something deep in the pit of his gut tells him that this thing is actually out to greet him.
Over the next few days he expends a great deal to bring about silence in his apartment. He tries bug spray, ant traps, rat traps, and every other gizmo he can find in the arsenal versus vermin. He borrows some money from Joly and Musichetta to get the services of an exterminator. When the noises persist he tries earplugs, soundproofing, and even borrowing the white noise machine that Jehan once found in a rummage sale. That one earns him a complaint from the neighbours below.
He wonders why no one complains about the triplets, who seem to be crying louder and louder every night. Then again, they look to be about five or six months old, teething age, so heaven knows.
Combeferre seems to have other ideas, or so he says one day when the rains catch some of them on a shopping trip and force them to take refuge in his place. "Don't get me wrong here; I'm not a father or a child development expert, but I've done my paediatrics rotations and I don't think that well children should be that fussy," he points out.
Bossuet shrugs even as he notices Eponine seemingly flinching at these words. "Ponine? What do you think of that?"
"No, it shouldn't be the case," Eponine replies, sounding a little tired and far off even for someone who's just had a cup of coffee. She knows what she's talking about; she has younger siblings and her work at a community center brings her in contact with children all the time.
Bossuet nods even as he watches Eponine cross the room to where Enjolras is busy arranging some sort of conference call on his phone. She practically falls asleep the moment she is back to back with her partner, and he leans ever so slightly against her to lend some support. It appears to have been a hard week at work for everyone, but Bossuet knows better than to ask. "Maybe they hear the noises too," he tells Combeferre.
"I wouldn't rule it out," Combeferre agrees.
That night Bossuet goes upstairs, with the intention of having a friendly chat with the neighbours. Much to his surprise, the apartment is locked. There are no lights, no noises to suggest that the family is in. 'Most likely they are on vacation,' he decides, and he jots down a note on his hand to meet this family as soon as they return.
When he returns to his place, everything is silent. He goes about barefoot and hardly dares to breathe, in hopes of catching any clue as to this disturbance. It's about 2am when he finally gives up and decides to go to sleep. He turns off his lights and sits in his sleeping nook when he sees something dart past the frosted glass windows. Before he can leap up to take a look, the shadow is gone.
Last time he checked, he lived on the fifth floor, and it was a straight drop past the glass.
The neighbours have not returned. The tapping is still there and perhaps growing just that much louder. Sometimes Bossuet is sure it is coming from the thin air, sometimes he believes it is just underneath the plaster, and one terrible time, he hears it right next to his ear. That night he loses no time in heading down to the convenience store, drinking coffee till the sun is up.
That day he manages to get a hold of Feuilly, Bahorel, Enjolras, and Eponine. If there's anything that needs finding in this city, these four know how to get it. Bahorel has most of the capacities of an engineer, even without the necessary degree. Enjolras has a streak of a historian and he has access to a plethora of information thanks to his work. Eponine and Feuilly know their ways about the city; it is best not openly explained how they came across this knowledge.
They agree to meet for pizza in Bahorel's apartment. When Bossuet gets there, Bahorel is still ordering in the pizza, while Feuilly and Enjolras are studying an old map. Eponine is exhausted and curled up in a large chair. "Everything alright?" Bossuet asks.
Bahorel shakes his head as he hangs up the phone. "The blueprints for your apartment building are, to put it politely, shit."
Bossuet whistles; he's used to strong language from Bahorel but for him to outright describe something as such from the get-go is quite a new step indeed. "How?"
Bahorel unrolls some sheets onto the table. "The piping for one thing. It isn't up to building code standards. I don't like the fact that there are so many crawl spaces."
Feuilly looks up at the mention of crawl spaces while Enjolras merely frowns. Bossuet shrugs even though the meaning is as clear to him as it is to them. Who knows what's in those nooks and crannies? "It's not the only messed up building in Manila," Bossuet says.
"In more ways than one." Everyone turns to where Eponine is stirring in her seat. She rubs her temples as she sits up. "It's an old city. Very old. It was damaged in the war-"
"Eponine, really?" Enjolras asks her, his disbelief all too evident in his stare. "There must be a more rational explanation than that."
"The thing is, the rational clues don't make sense at least when put altogether," Eponine points out. She gets up and points to the map. "It's downtown. Not exactly the quietest place, on any plane."
Enjolras shakes his head. "There must be some other reason."
"I'm willing to look down every possibility," Eponine retorts tersely. "I've seen it before, in the underpasses. Charms, stories, incantations-"
"You used to laugh at them."
"Some, not all."
Feuilly holds up his hands before the two can launch into another heated debate. "You both have a point, okay?" He then looks squarely at Bossuet. "No one had any stories, warnings to tell you when you said you were renting the place? No histories say of unexplained death?"
Bossuet shakes his head even as he already has that feeling of dread creeping up his spine. He knows what Feuilly is getting at. He knows what these thoughts do to Eponine's mind. He looks to Enjolras, ever the arbitrator in most other situations, and sees him seemingly looking far off. "What do you think, Chief?" he asks.
"You may as well not leave any stone unturned," Enjolras says at last. "Just don't do anything unnecessary that might make you lose your deposit."
"Understood," Bossuet says. Enjolras usually has the most practical ideas after all; though he is known as a theoretician he is first and foremost a problem solver. Bahorel and Feuilly seem fine with this line of thought but Eponine remains sceptical, to the point of tossing a wadded up napkin at Enjolras' head.
The rest of the night passes easily enough with pizza and talk about the ins and outs of the city, and how honestly it's no longer the same place that they all came to as children. It's pleasant talk, and for a little while Bossuet feels like he's twelve years old again and wobbling around the tarmac just minutes after arriving in Manila for the first time. From where he'd stood, he'd seen the late afternoon shadows stopping just short of his feet, and he'd laughed then, knowing that the darkness could not lay any sort of hands on him.
It's not what he is thinking later that night, when he's curled up under his blanket and the tapping sound starts again. This time it is as if there are eyes boring past the thin fabric, and foolish him, he raises the sheet just in time to see the mattress dip right next to his feet.
When he shows up at Bahorel's apartment ten minutes later, his friend does not even need to ask questions before letting him in.