A/N – What is this? An update a week after the last update? Grab your helmets! The sky's about to fall! Just kidding. I finished the second draft of Devil's blood 3, and I don't want to start another project before my thesis (I've got one more quarter and I'm finished with school!) So, while between creative projects, I'm aiming to get some major progress done on these stories. I make no promises.
Thank you all so much for enjoying this story! You're awesome!
X
Chapter 5
It's strange. Hiccup moved out to be on his own and found himself living in a house with a ghost-woman. Even though she mostly kept to herself, Hiccup noticed her follow him from room to room once in a while. She never went into his office, at least not very far. He suspected the technology he'd crammed into the space freaked her out.
Hiccup made a half of a pot of coffee and warmed up the remains of the day before in the microwave. He'd drank plenty of day-old coffee and never had a problem. Why change things?
He took his coffee into his office, but not before glancing up the stairs. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary.
Hiccup sat down and turned the computer on. He sipped his coffee while it booted, and kept his eyes on the stairs that he could see. He waited for the air to simmer, for the stairs to give in underneath a ghostly weight, anything, but nothing happened.
She might be sleeping, if ghosts slept at all.
He checked his email first and promptly deleted the junk. Heather had sent him a reminder about that first chapter.
"It's on my list," he mumbled to his coffee. It was, too.
Another email alerted him to a post made on his topic by HesaCow45. Hiccup clicked on the link.
HesaCow45 had been a member of the site since the first year of its life. Hiccup knew little to nothing about the person behind the screen name. Hiccup assumed it a man by the way he spoke. HesaCow45 knew more about the paranormal and history pf the paranormal than anyone else Hiccup had known. He'd spent hours in private chats with him, hiding his laptop under the sheets, sometimes until three and four on school nights.
He lived outside the United States, he suspected, but Hiccup never asked. He knew books and names that Hiccup had spent hours researching in the school and public libraries. Hiccup never asked how he knew what he knew. A part of him didn't want to know.
The response read:
You had a trans-time crossing? That's impressive. They say it's similar to an out-of-body experience, but not quite. Personally, I've never met anyone who's experienced it. Little study has been done because it so rarely occurs. In the early years before World War II, rumors say that Hitler commissioned paranormal enthusiasts and "witches" to try and cross through time, but no reports exist of it.
They suspect, though this is mild speculation combined with common theory, that the trans-time crossing occurs when there is a strong emotional bond pulling a spirit through time. I don't know to what extent that emotional bond needs to be. No one does. If you've got the time, I would like to talk more about it with you. PM me.
Hiccup typed up a response and posted into the text box. His mouse hovered over the post icon, but he reconsidered. He moved it into a private message. He didn't want the world knowing what had happened, not yet. He'd save it for the book. He had enough finger-pointers calling him insane as it was.
With it being a private message, Hiccup added more details of his experience.
Hiccup sipped his coffee. Cold.
He swallowed it anyway and stood up to warm the rest. He set it inside the microwave, hit the thirty second button, and paced while it heated. The timer went off and he reached for the handle – but it vanished.
Hiccup's hand landed flat on the countertop. The microwave had gone. The fridge was gone. His coffee pot was gone. He whirled around.
He'd done it.
He'd gone back.
The air felt stale and still, off, like he'd walked into an old photograph.
Only this time, he heard things, muffled things, like he held earmuffs over his ears and pressed them against his head. Hiccup walked out of the kitchen and into the hall, and back into his office, or the room that would become his office.
A man sat at a desk much grander than Hiccup's, a desk worthy of Sherlock Holmes. The shelves were filled with proud tomes and hefty books. Light shone through the window. The curtains had been drawn back.
The man at the desk looked familiar. Hiccup knew he'd seen his face somewhere in his research of the Hofferson House. He wouldn't forget his face this time, not after seeing him at the desk. It wasn't the same man he'd seen sitting at the table.
Hofferson House had been built by brothers. The Hofferson brothers. Randal and Jacob. Which was which?
The man at the desk looked up, crease between his brows, frowning. Hiccup jumped. The man's blue eyes went right through him, or, as Hiccup feared, at him.
And then, another strange thing occurred. A man walked into the office, through Hiccup, as if he hadn't been standing there at all. Hiccup threw a hand against his chest, where his heart beat like mad.
Hiccup stepped to the side and out of the way should someone else come into the room.
The man that had walked through him was the man he'd seen sitting at the table. The other brother.
Which brother was Astrid's father?
They spoke, but though their lips moved, Hiccup didn't hear them speak. It sounded like something, but not words.
The brother that had walked inside brandished a letter from his breast pocket and waved it at the brother sitting at the desk. Neither looked happy. He threw the letter down on the desk, and Hiccup jogged over to read it over the other brother's shoulder.
The date in the corner read March 3, 1861. A month before the Civil War officially started. Things had been heating up in the country, as before any war, and these two brothers obvious felt the tension rising to the point of breaking.
He wanted to know what they said. He could learn more about the timeframe in which Astrid had grown up, the war itself, and about the people who had built this house.
Someone knocked on the front door. Hiccup turned, but neither man made a move. They continued to talk as if nothing had happened. The visitor knocked again.
"Are you not going to get that?" Hiccup asked aloud, though no one answered.
Hiccup glanced at the front door. It was the same front door that he'd opened. He took a step toward it, then another, and as he crossed the threshold from the study to the hall, the world flash bright; the men vanished. The grand desk reverted to his. His books lined the shelves. His computer had gone to sleep. From the kitchen, the microwave beeped to remind him that his coffee had been warmed.
Someone knocked on the front door, quicker this time.
"Coming," Hiccup called out, and jogged the rest of the way to the door.
Fishlegs stood on the other side, giddy and barely holding it all in.
"Fishlegs," Hiccup said, stepping aside to let him in. "You got here fast. How fast were you driving?"
Fishlegs walked a short circle around the entranceway, and then turned to Hiccup and said, "What do you mean? It's been enough time."
Hiccup pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the time. "Oh…wow you're right. I-I must have lost track of time."
"Hiccup, are you okay?"
"Yeah."
"Did something happen?" Fishlegs asked, concern melting into excitement.
"Kind of," Hiccup said.
"Tell me all about it," Fishlegs said, giddy in full. "Everything"
"Okay, okay, but after a cup of coffee."
"Agreed."
X
Coffee drank, Hiccup gave Fishlegs a tour of the place, highlighting the places mentioned in the paranormal reports, those he'd set up to be monitored by camera, and those spaces he hadn't decided what to do with yet, like the attic and other bedroom.
"There's also the guest room option," Fishlegs said. "People are always willing to pay more to stay in a haunted house."
"I don't want weird strangers staying in my house," Hiccup said. It was true. He loved the paranormal field, but it attracted some strange people.
"What's this door?"
"That's Astrid's room," Hiccup said, and before Fishlegs could open it or ask, he added, "We decided that we would each have a private space that the other would not intrude upon. Hers is her bedroom. Mine is the master bathroom."
"She gets a whole bedroom and you get a bathroom?"
He blushed, and laughed as he told Fishlegs the story of the open door. He giggled. He glanced over at Astrid's closed door. Hiccup knew what Fishlegs was thinking. He wanted to go in, but he respected Astrid's wishes. He respected her space. He and Hiccup had heard too many tales about those who had disrespected a ghost. Things flew off shelves, usually at the offender, blankets were yanked off beds, dates scared – all manner of poltergeist behavior.
Not all poltergeists started out that way, but people often pushed the spirit into an anger-fueled rage.
"We should make a new vlog about the place, get some pre-buzz going for your next book," Fishlegs said as he stared back down the stairs. "I've got some ideas. We could use some audio from those EVPs, phase them into the background, like an intro and then again in the outro, give it a real haunted house vibe."
Hiccup turned to follow Fishlegs down the stairs, when he saw it. It came from the corner of his eye. A shift in his vision. He glanced toward Astrid's door. In front of it stood a fuzzy gray-white shadow.
"Astrid?" Hiccup whispered. "Don't mind Fishlegs, he's get really excited about this sort of thing. If he makes you uncomfortable in any way, just let me know, I'll talk to him."
The air shifted, and Astrid vanished through her bedroom door.
X
Hiccup offered Fishlegs one of the upstairs rooms for the night, and he graciously accepted. Like many ghost nerds, he salivated at the idea of sleeping in a haunted house. While Fishlegs washed up in the master bath, because Hiccup hadn't gotten around to cleaning or fixing the second bathroom, Hiccup sat down to work on that first chapter he'd promised Heather.
He came up with a title, simply, "The Hofferson House." Admittedly, he hated making up titles.
He inserted page numbers to the document, his name, and the title. And then…stared at the blinking cursor.
Where to start? With him buying the house? With him hearing about the house? Or a spookier opening of him meeting Astrid for the first time?
Hiccup sighed and slouched over, elbows on the desk. Normally, writing came easily for him. He'd written his second book in about three days. The first draft, anyway. He hadn't slept much in those three days, or eaten, or anything else besides write. Heather helped with most of the editing stuff.
Astrid. His mind kept returning to Astrid. She was the main attraction in the house, the wayward soul of a young woman. How could he possibly put her into words? She wasn't like the other ghosts. She was…something else.
Hiccup heard a gentle sound from the other side of the living room. A step, maybe, or a memory of a step. He'd been hearing more and more residual type hauntings. Footsteps. Doors closing.
When a ghost responded, the hauntings always picked up. Every time. He didn't know why, but they did. He didn't mind. No other spirits had joined them, and he didn't want them to. He wanted to focus on Astrid.
Hiccup returned to the screen. He typed several different openings, but he kept returning to Astrid's name.
Movement by the stairs caught his eye. He glanced up, but saw nothing.
A moment later, movement came by the foot of the stairs. He saw nothing.
Hiccup clicked out the document and into the camera feed. He'd spied Astrid walking a few times; on camera, the light shifted ever so slightly around her, a mild distortion that he'd learned to see.
He didn't see her on any of the cameras, however, she could have been in her room. He might be seeing a residual ghost of her coming down the stairs.
Movement on the stairs.
Hiccup glanced up, and this time, the creaks of the stairs accompanied the movement. A white-gray shadow, a distortion of the air, gently came down the stairs. Hiccup forgot the computer and watched.
It's Astrid, he knew.
Even as a ghost, she walked with the grace of a lady rarely seen in the modern world. Had she learned to walk with books teetering on her head?
Astrid hesitated in the doorway to the office.
"It's all the technology, isn't it?" Hiccup said.
She gave no semblance of an answer.
"I know it's probably strange to see all this," he said. "It's my work. This is what I do for a living. It's not a high-class job, but I enjoy it. I-I'm trying to write." Hiccup pointed toward the shelve where his previous books sat. "I've written books about helping people like you move on."
Astrid slowly came into the office and to the books. An arm, maybe, reached up. He imagined her running a graceful, slender finger down the spine.
"I write because I enjoy it, and because I want other people to see that ghosts aren't bad or scary. They're just people with a different kind of problem."
Astrid faded in and out of his sight, but he knew she lingered in the room. She glided to the corner, to the old chair that had come with the house, that had probably sat in one of the rooms when she'd been alive, and stayed there.
Hiccup didn't have to keep glancing in her direction to know; he could feel the electric buzz her ghost brought to the air.
He started to write. He started with Astrid, the lovely young woman ripped prematurely from life, supposedly by suicide, although she doesn't remember dying.
It was a strange comfort to write with her in the room. He didn't feel compelled to check the cameras or listen for her movement. He knew if he glanced to the left, he'd see her. His ears didn't perk up at every 'haunted house' sound. Her company felt nice, too.
In what felt like no time at all, he emailed the first chapter to Heather.
"And, done," Hiccup said, mostly to Astrid, and leaned back in his chair.
"What's done?" Fishlegs asked as he came down the stairs in his pajamas; his wore a shirt with their logo on it.
"Oh, I finished my first chapter," Hiccup said. "I sent just it to Heather."
Fishlegs's face when a bright pink. "Right, Heather…are you going to see her anytime soon?"
"I saw her a few days ago. I won't go in until she calls."
"Oh," Fishlegs said. His entire body seemed to slump.
"But, I'm sure she'd love to see the house first hand," Hiccup said, gesturing to the house.
"Yeah, I bet she would," Fishlegs said.
Hiccup wanted to laugh, but kept from it. Fishlegs had it bad for Heather, had ever since they'd first met at the launch party for his second book. From what Hiccup gathered, they kept in touch via email and the occasional phone call. They both led busy lives and didn't have the time to spare for an afternoon date.
"Anyway, I'm off to bed," Fishlegs said. "See you in the morning!"
"Night," Hiccup said.
He listened to Fishlegs's steps up the stairs, to each creak they made. Astrid's ghostly steps had made almost identical sounds, but not as heavy. Fishlegs walked down the hall and to the newly appointed guest room, and closed the door.
Hiccup saved his files, shut down his computer, and headed to bed himself. After making sure to close the bathroom door, he showered. He'd brought his pajamas in with him to prevent any awkward encounters.
Hiccup left his bedroom door open; he always had. He crawled underneath his blankets with a sense of exhaustion he hadn't felt ten minutes before, and laid on his back. Despite his exhaustion, he found trouble sleeping.
Hiccup closed his eyes and hung his arm over them. The pressure felt good. An aftereffect of staring at a too-bright computer screen in a too-dark office.
Halfway into the daze of sleep, a pressure on the bed brought him back to consciousness.
Someone had sat down on the bed, he was sure of it. He kept his arm over his eyes, and listened. Between his heartbeat and the blood gushing through his ears, the blankets rustled.
He felt the difference in the air. Like just before a lightning strike.
Had she?
Hiccup lifted his arm from his eyes. They'd adjusted to the night time light. His room appeared in dark blues. He turned his head to the side of the bed from which he'd heard and felt another person, but he didn't see anyone.
He whispered, "Are you here?"
No one answered, but he didn't need her to answer. He knew.
She brought the same sense of comfort she had in the office. With her there, he didn't have to worry about a ghost wandering the halls at night. With her there, he could sleep sound. And he did.
X
Hiccup rolled over in the morning to a dull, overcast sky.
Had the weather called for rain?
Sitting up, the world became clear; he no longer sat in his bed in his room. His sparse decorations had been replaced by dainty antiques and pictures of people he didn't know. People rustled downstairs. Voices talked, male and female. Outside, thunder rolled, low and threatening.
He'd somehow done it again. He was having a trans-time crossing.