A/N – Whoo, another update on this story. I'm on a roll this weekend. I had more time. Well, no sense in dragging it out – thanks a bunch for being awesome readers!

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Chapter 12

Hiccup pulled his work boots over his pajama bottoms. One of the breakers had gone off, and half the house had been plunged into darkness. The breaker box had been added on inside a little shed attached to the back of the house; it's also where Hiccup had planned on storing the lawn equipment when he got around to buying said equipment.

He reached the door to the shed; with a clap of thunder, the shed vanished. Rain drizzled down from thick gray clouds. His boots squished in the mud.

He glanced around; at the far end of the property, near the tree line, a crowd of black-clad people were gathered. Hiccup made his way down the muddy lawn to where they stood, wet and miserable. It didn't take him long to figure out what had happened.

At first, he thought it might be a funeral for Willie, but Hiccup spotted his grave a few stones over. Grass had grown over it. A fresh grave had been dug out and a plain wooden coffin lay inside. The headstone read Jacob K. Hofferson, 1819 – 1870.

The entire family stood outside, despite the rain that drizzled, along with people that Hiccup didn't know, while they buried him. Astrid stood in black next to her mother, also in black. Both looked dazed as people often do at sudden funerals. Randal looked as stoic as a man could, stony faced in his suit and tall hat. A preacher said a few words of vague comfort and eternity, the first shovel of dirt landed with a hollow plop on the coffin door, and the crowd slowly dissipated back toward the house for a meal prepared by others.

Hiccup disliked funerals, but not as much as he hated hospitals. There was something strangely melancholy and humbling about it all; it reminded everyone how quickly a life can end, how short they really are, and renew a sense of life in those still living.

Hiccup fell in with the black and gray clad crowd. He felt morbidly out of place in his plaid pajama bottoms and work boots. He kept out of sight from Astrid. He didn't want to 'haunt' her uncle's funeral. Or, possibly, her father's funeral. There was no way to know for sure.

Hiccup stayed out of the way as the somber funeral meal took place; Astrid picked at her food, as did her mother; Randal barely spoke. At long last, the people trickled out of the doors with many repetitive farewells and well-wishes.

"That's it then," Mrs. Hofferson said, her throat hoarse and her voice weak. "It's just the three of us."

"As it should be," said Randal.

The coldness in his tone made Hiccup feel even more unwelcome that he had before. Randal started up the stairs, and Hiccup jumped from his place near the top. Even though Randal couldn't see or hear or feel him, he didn't want to chance it.

Randal neared the top of the stairs and paused at the top. Hiccup held his breath; Randal glanced down the hallway, his eyes scanning where Hiccup stood.

Could he see him?

No, he looked at all the shadows, not just the one where Hiccup stood. He stood there for a long while, looking at nothing, searching. He wore an exhausted expression, but his eyes were alert, wild even, and Hiccup desperately did not want to be seen by him.

After a long moment, Randal continued to his bedroom and closed the door. Hiccup let out a breath of relief.

With the exhalation, he returned to his own hallway, in his house. The door to the master bedroom stood open, just as he'd left it. The lights were still off.

"Hiccup?" Fishlegs called from downstairs. "Where is the breaker box? I've looked everywhere!"

"Out back," Hiccup called down. He started back down the steps… someone had left dirty specs up and down the stairs. He followed it. The trail of dirt led to the backdoor. Hiccup glanced down at his feet. He'd worn his boots, which had brought in dirt from outside. Lucky he hadn't brought back mud from 1870.

The lights in the kitchen flickered, then those that had been off came back to life. In a moment, Fishlegs came back in through the backdoor.

"I found it," he said. He glanced down at Hiccup's boots. "Oh, sorry, I beat you to it."

"That you did," he said. He shook off his boots and reached in the closet for the electric sweeper his parents' had given him when he'd gone to college.

After sweeping up the dirt, Hiccup replaced it in the closet. He turned to find Fishlegs standing in the door to the foyer.

"Yes?" Hiccup asked.

"We've got a late lunch with Heather, remember?"

"Oh!" Hiccup had forgotten. He didn't count the minutes to when he saw Heather like Fishlegs did. "Right…uh, give me a few minutes to change. Ten tops."

Fishlegs wandered around downstairs while Hiccup changed out of his pajamas. He quickly washed his face and threw on the first thing in his dresser and dashed out of the door. Fishlegs volunteered to drive, again, as he had before, even though Hiccup had offered.

"Do you think you'll… you know, like… go back, when you're not in the house?" Fishlegs asked, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

"I don't know," Hiccup said. "I'd like to say that I won't, but I don't know how these things work."

"Well, I for one think it's good for you to get out of the house," Fishlegs said.

They drove into town talking of the normal: paranormal. Hiccup and Fishlegs talked about the one thing they'd been throwing around for several years; they wanted to host a convention. Neither knew a thing about starting one, so they'd been pushing it onto the backburner.

"It won't have to be a big one," Fishlegs said. "We can use the hotel in town. Ask a few guest speakers to do some lectures. We'll need a caterer. We can have a tour of the haunted parts of the city."

"If we have it in town, they'll want to come visit the house," Hiccup said. He frowned. "I don't want hundreds of strangers trampling through my house. Haunted as it may be, it's still my house. I live there."

"True," Fishlegs said. "I suppose… how does St. Louis sound? It's a central location, and there are plenty of old hauntings. Any big city is bound to have plenty of them."

"Uh-huh," Hiccup agreed. "St. Louis sounds like a nice starting point. We could drive there in a day or less."

"And they've got plenty of other attractions so we wouldn't have to constantly hold events."

"I haven't been to the zoo in ages," Hiccup said. The last time he'd gone had been on a field trip in grade school. His father had been a chaperone.

"We could have an afternoon at the zoo!"

Hiccup laughed; it reminded him of how long it had been since he'd laughed. "Sure. I think I like where this is going."

They named other things St. Louis had to offer as they drove into town. By the time they stopped at Heather's office, they'd started a list that would last them through a week-long convention. Heather appeared through the office door. She got into the backseat.

"Hey, guys," she said. "I'm starving. I skipped lunch today to catch up on my query folder. American sounds fantastic."

"Where do you recommend?" Fishlegs asked.

"Gigi's," Heather said. "It's a bit of a hole in the wall, but the food is amazing! Go straight here and take a left on Fourth Avenue."

As Heather directed them to Gigi's, Hiccup and Fishlegs filled her in on their newest plans for a convention. The talk continued after they'd gone inside, sat down, and ordered.

"That sounds great, guys," Heather said. "I mean, it'll boost your popularity and give your fans a chance to meet each other in person. I'm all for it."

"That's great," Fishlegs said.

"Do you have a date in mind?"

"Next year at least," Hiccup said.

Heather gasped, and said, "We can use the convention on your book's opening weekend!"

Hiccup laughed nervously, and said, "Sure."

"Why not have it here in town, then?"

Hiccup quickly explained his reluctance to have strangers ogling and coming to his house.

"You know, Hiccup, when the books launches, you'll have people coming to see it anyway."

"Yeah, but not all at once," Hiccup said. "I can keep track of a few visitors, not a hundred."

She nodded in agreement, and said, "I'll have to talk to our legal guy about adding a disclaimer advising people not to show up unannounced. We had another writer co-write a documentary about that old sanitarium in Kentucky… what's the name? It's something creepy… Waverly Hills. Well, it's always been a hot spot, but when this article came out, people flocked to it. It's off limits to the public, so of course there was an upsurge of trespassing. Some idiot fell and hurt himself and now wants to sue the owners. It'll get thrown out, of course, but it's still a headache to deal with."

"Ouch," Fishlegs said. "Uh, maybe we should change the name of the house to something else?"

"We've already advertised it as the Hofferson House," Heather said grimly. "Otherwise I might agree with that. That's the problem with the paranormal nuts. They're more nuts than the normal nuts."

"At least they don't wear aluminum helmets," Hiccup said calmly.

They laughed; it had been a reoccurring joke since they launched the website.

Their food came and they ate in moderate silence. With refilled drinks, Heather brought the conversation around to something lighter.

"So, Hiccup," Heather said, swirling her light beer. "I've got this friend…"

"Is it you?"

Smiling, she said, "No. I've got this friend I'd like you to meet."

"Oh."

"Don't look go glum about it," Heather said. "She's an editor in the fantasy side of things. She's a bit of a nerd, slender, cute, intelligent… she's a real catch. Natural blonde, too."

"I don't know," Hiccup said. The idea of a date made him feel a bit woozy.

Heather and Fishlegs looked at one another. Secret, unspoken information passed between them.

"Hiccup," Heather said firmly. "We're all planning a weekend away. We're going down to Baton Rouge for a few days. We would like you to come along. Get away for a while."

Hiccup sipped his beer and glanced at Fishlegs. Had he said something to Heather? Fishlegs kept his own eyes on his Long Island Ice Tea.

"Are you inviting your editor friend?"

Heather blushed a bit. "I might be."

Hiccup sighed. "I don't know."

"Hiccup, it'll be fun," Heather said. "We can go see Snotlout and the twins and see what mess they've made for themselves."

Hiccup half-laughed. Snotlout, Ruffnut, and Tuffnut had been childhood friends. Snotlout had married Ruffnut right out of high school and moved down to Baton Rouge. Tuffnut, who'd managed to ban himself from every job within a hundred miles, moved with them. For all Hiccup knew, he'd managed to find something he was good at. Last he knew, Tuffnut was working as a haunted tour guide, (as in he led the tour of haunted places, not that he himself was haunted while he gave a tour).

"It won't have to be a date," Heather said. "She's a fun girl. Her name is Rosy Williams. Check her out on Facebook. If you can't find her, she's one of my friends. Send her a message. I've told her about you. Not to make it a deal, but she's a bit of a fan."

Hiccup chuckled. "That's the last thing I need."

"And, Baton Rouge as plenty of haunted places," Fishlegs said. "We might get some work done, like a special article for the site, or maybe even your next book."

"Possibly," Hiccup said. "When are you planning this?"

"We haven't set a date yet," Heather said. "Finding time when Rosy and I can both get off has been a bit of a challenge. We're saving up our vacation days."

Truth be told, Hiccup loved travel, but he hated the thought of leaving the house. What if he left and the trans-time crossings stopped? What if he never found out the truth?

"Hiccup?" Heather asked as she accepted the bill. She refused to let Fishlegs pay. Of course, she made a bit more than either of them.

"I'm just… maybe later. I'd rather work on this book before I lose the mojo, you know?"

Heather and Fishlegs both frowned.

"What?" Hiccup asked.

No one spoke as they returned to the car. Hiccup took the backseat. He buckled himself in, but Fishlegs didn't start up the car. He and Heather sat with looks of utmost seriousness.

He knew at once they'd been talking about him.

He asked, "What's wrong?"

"Hiccup, you need to get out of that house for a while," Heather said.

"Did Fishlegs tell you?"

"He told me that you've been too deep in this," Heather said. "No, he didn't give me any more details than that because he promised not to. Hiccup, what is going on? It's like you've been doing drugs or something. You're secretive. You refuse to go out. You're shut up in that house. You're distant."

"I'm focusing," Hiccup said defensively. "The house has an interesting history."

"Is that all?" Heather asked.

"I'm not doing drugs," Hiccup said.

"Sometimes the paranormal acts like a drug," Heather said. "Are you sure you haven't bitten off more than you can chew? Should we look into an exorcist?

"No," Hiccup said, rolling his eyes. Heather knew his thoughts on those people. They ranked somewhere along seances and psychics. He might was well dab fish oil behind his ears. "I'm fine, Heather, really. I'm eyeball deep in this mystery. I'm close to figuring out what happened to Astrid."

"I thought she killed herself?" Heather asked.

"No, I don't think she did," Hiccup said.

Heather and Fishlegs shared a glance, and Fishlegs started up the car. They drove back to Heather's office in silence.

Hiccup knew he should feel bad about shutting his friends out, but they didn't understand. No one could; how was he supposed to explain how he felt about the house? About Astrid? He knew things about her, about her family, that the books hadn't mentioned. He was, quite literally, discovering history. It was thrilling… almost, as Heather had suggested, like a drug. He had to find out. He needed to go back.

Fishlegs drove back to the house – after a pit stop for groceries – and Hiccup unloaded them in the kitchen. Their stores had been a bit low. As he stuck the bag of chips into the cabinet, he began to wonder – Fishlegs had been here a while. Not that he minded, he was his best friend and co-founder, but did he linger for other reasons? Was he watching Hiccup? He was closer to Heather here, Yes, that was it.

"I've got some new tech I want to try out," Fishlegs said, coming down the stairs. I disemboweled that remote control airplane I got to make this!"

He held out what looked like a Frankenstein's Mini-Helicopter. It had what appeared to be a three hundred and sixty degree camera on the bottom, along with microphones on top.

"Visual and audio," Hiccup said.

"That's right! It can be flown like a remote control plane, or stationary. I've devised a rig to hold it onto any light fixture that will support it's ten pounds," Fishlegs said. "I want to test it out in the living room."

"Be my guest," Hiccup said, motioning toward the living room. He followed.

Fishlegs, by way of a kitchen chair, attached the new device to the ceiling fan. It dangled below the lights.

"It's wireless," Fishlegs said, remote control in hand. "It transmits a signal right to my computer."

"So… I shouldn't walk around naked?"

"No… I'd greatly appreciate it if you didn't. Come on upstairs. I want to see the picture."

Hiccup and Fishlegs, like with any new equipment, ran upstairs to the guest room. Fishlegs had made himself at home – he'd made the room look lived in. He'd scattered his work about the room, equipment parts, lenses, bits of wires, motherboards, RAM discs, jump drives, and all manner of electronic bits and pieces. He stepped carefully to the laptop on the antique bureau and clicked into one of the many icons on the desktop.

He brought up the camera feed.

The living room appeared as an entire picture, distorted, but the new camera didn't leave any space unseen.

"Nice," Hiccup said. "This'll come in handy during investigations."

"I've already taken the liberty of listing some of the more popular hauntings in town and around. We haven't done a livestream in a while, or a new episode since you moved, and our fans are getting restless. I've used almost all the old footage to bide us some time. I've picked out this old brewery. It's about fifty miles, but I think it'll be well worth it. I've already spoken to the owner. He's keen on it, too. We just need to set up a time."

"Right," Hiccup said. The thought of leaving the house filled him with a strange sense of dread. "Well, we'll need time to get ready. I'll need to do research on it first. What's today… how about the last week in October? It can be a Halloween special, too."

"That works," Fishlegs said. "I'll get this over to the owner and we can start preparing. Oh, I'm so excited to get back into the game!"

"Me, too," Hiccup said, although he didn't feel as much as Fishlegs showed.

Fishlegs was talking; a silvery something entered the living room. Hiccup spotted her at once. On camera, she didn't look nearly as clear. She appeared as a ghost, misty and shadowy. Fishlegs stopped talking and gasped; he'd seen the screen.

"She's downstairs," he whispered.

Astrid stood in the doorway a while and then glided into the room. She spotted the camera and glided toward it, face a misty mask.

Fishlegs held his breath.

Astrid glided out of view and into the kitchen.

They were ghost hunters, Hiccup reminded himself. Evidence like that should be worthwhile, and yet it didn't feel like it had before.

"Oh, shit," Fishlegs spat. "I wasn't recording!"