Content warning: Starting with this chapter, there will be references to physical and emotional child abuse.
Frankie was the first person who didn't appear to be bothered by the House. She walked right up to the correct door, which happened to be a porthole in the middle of a belladonna patch, and knocked three times.
To be fair, the House didn't get many visitors. The Boogeyman's House was nobody's favorite place, least of all his, judging by how little time he spent there.
It was all funhouse mirrors and wallpaper that only looked like it was reflected in a funhouse mirror.
The doors changed their minds regularly. So did the floors. All that M.C. Eschering made furniture less than ideal, so Tylwa had compromised by sewing as many lounge pillows as possible. She had to steal sheets from some of the children she visited, but she made sure it was only at houses almost as big as her own.
"Thank you so much for having me!"
Frankie pulled her in for a hug as soon as the porthole was open. It was a little awkward with Twyla only halfway through, but once again, it was not entirely unwelcome.
Frankie has always respected Twyla's boundaries… except for the physical ones. Grabbing her hand when they ran from the lightning storm was understandable, but after that there was a hand on her shoulder, then the small of her back, and then there was the hug.
Frankie was smart. She must have noticed hers was the only physical touch that didn't make Twyla's skin itch. When any other monster tried to touch her, she phased right out of the physical realm. When Frankie touched her, she… didn't mind.
She did freeze up, but that was just unfamiliarity. Twyla wasn't used to physical contact that didn't come from the back of a hand.
Dad had never appreciated it when she got in the way of his work.
Most of the time she could hide from him- Twyla hadn't been joking when she told Frankie that spying on people was what she did best. Sometimes, as evidenced by recent events, she freaked everything up.
It was no big deal. She could phase out of the physical realm after all. When she was fast enough.
"Please, come in. Sorry about the ladder."
"No worries!" Frankie called, cheerfully if echo-y. "You would not believe how much time I end up spending in the Catacombs."
"The Ghoul Squad, right?" Twyla asked before remembering she wasn't supposed to know about that. "Sorry. It's easy to overhear things when you're invisible. It's usually not on purpose."
Frankie laughed as she jumped the last few rungs to land in Twyla's front hall.
"No worries! It's not exactly a secret. Especially not with how much Cleo brags about it."
"And complains about it," said Twyla, and Frankie laughed again.
Frankie scoped out the House without an ounce of subtlety. "So the reason you have thirteen refrigerators is because you have…"
"Seven kitchens and six kitchenettes. Most days. I think the House is trying to remind me to eat. Speaking of which, are you hungry? If you're not ready for dinner, I have brownies. No dirt, I promise." She didn't mention they were from a mix. Batty Crocker, she was not.
Frankie laughed yet again. Maybe it was the electricity overdose.
"Are you okay?" Twyla resisted the urge to check her temperature. She didn't even know the right temperature for a simulacrum of corpses.
"I'm fine." Frankie cocked her head to one side. "Why?"
"Well, that was a lot of electricity you took in the other day. Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine, and I promise to tell you if I'm not. If I've learned anything from all of this, it's that I can ask you for help." Frankie gave her a calculating look. Twyla didn't know what it was calculating, but she sucked in her stomach just in case. "You know you can ask me for help too."
"Oh," said Twyla. "Of course."
"And if you're up for it, the Ghoul Squad would love to have you at our next group creepover."
"Thanks. I'll… think about it. Okay?"
"Good enough," said Frankie. "Now... about those brownies?"
This time Twyla laughed too.