When Cavendish had first moved into his house, he hadn't thought there was anything unusual about it. It was old, and the large rooms seemed to accentuate how empty it was, but it was nothing that he couldn't handle. He hadn't even considered that there was something more, but then the nightmares had started.
He still vividly remembered the first one. He hadn't even remembered going to sleep. It had just felt like life was going on as normal. In his nightmare, he had gone out on a midnight walk, to get some fresh air. It had been very pleasant and calm. It hadn't turned into a nightmare until the very end, when he'd lost his footing near the river bed.
Cavendish had fallen into the cold water, hitting his head on a rock at the bottom of the river. It dazed him and knocked all the air out of his lungs. The current flung him around like a doll. He tried to orient himself, to swim to the surface or the shore, but he was all turned around. He tried to avoid trying to breathe in, because there was no air for him, but he couldn't avoid his instincts forever. All too soon he tried to take a breath, and water began to fill his lungs. It was agony.
And then he woke up in his bed.
The nightmare had made him feel uneasy all day, but Cavendish eventually shook it off. It was just a dream. Something conjured from his mind.
Life went on as normal after that, though the days tended to blur together. He remembered the nights though, because that was when he had his nightmares.
Every single night, without fail, Cavendish would have a horrifying dream about his own death, and it was different every time. In one dream he was working in his garden outside, only to trip and fall, landing on his shovel that was angled in just the wrong way that it pierced his throat. He would fall off the roof. He would be hit by a car, or a train, or once, a crashing plane.
Accidentally strangling himself. Falling down the stairs. Accidentally slitting his wrists when he was working in the kitchen. Electrocuting himself. Having something fall onto his head.
The dreams were all so real and vivid, but the most disturbing ones were those that happened outside his home. They weren't the most embarrassing or traumatizing deaths, but they always hurt so much more. The pain always lingered with him the next day.
Cavendish had long since lost track of how many gruesome nightmares he had, though they were all somewhat different. He could never remember going to bed, but he always woke up right as he died in his dreams. It had been frightening at first, but now it was more of a nuisance than anything.
One dream of this nature was terrifying. Two or three in a row was a coincidence. Countless nightmares about dying, one right after another, meant something more, and Cavendish intended to find a solution.
When Cavendish woke up one morning and found an intruder in his house, thought he saw just what was plaguing him.
Cavendish lived in an old house, and like many old houses, it had a reputation in town of being haunted. He hadn't believed any of those rumors when he had moved in. He hadn't even seen anything to indicate something supernatural was happening.
There were no odd creaks or moaning as the house settled. The lights didn't turn off or on by themselves. There was no slamming of doors. Cavendish never even got the sense that something was watching or following him when he was in the house.
But Cavendish knew without a doubt that his house was haunted, because he saw the ghost.
He had come out of nowhere, just showing up one day, and refusing to leave. Cavendish threatened to call the cops on him. The man had just smiled, told him "Good luck with that," and then he got started making breakfast.
Cavendish had every right to kick him out, and call the police, but something held him back. He felt like he couldn't. That no matter what he tried, this new stranger wouldn't leave, so what was the point in even trying.
The man's name was Vinnie Dakota, and at first Cavendish had thought that he was just an innocent squatter looking for a dry place to sleep. When he woke up the next morning after having dreamed about getting stuck under his mattress and slowly suffocating to death, Dakota was right there, watching him, looking as though he'd been waiting for him.
"Are you okay?" Dakota asked. "That seemed kinda scary."
"It was just a nightmare." Cavendish scoffed as he got out of bed. Dakota gave him an odd look, like he knew something. "I've had worse."
Dakota frowned, nodded, and left Cavendish to his thoughts. It was only after Dakota had left did Cavendish realize how odd it was that he'd had known about his nightmare.
If it was just the one time, Cavendish would have brushed it off, or told himself that Dakota had been talking about something else other than his nightmare. But the same thing kept on happening. Every morning when Cavendish woke up, Dakota would be right there waiting for him, and he would mention something about the dream that he'd just had.
So Dakota knew about his nightmares. He had come to Cavendish's home, and he clearly had no intention of leaving. There was this aura about him that made Cavendish want to have him around, even though more often than not he couldn't stand the man.
And then there were these odd dreams themselves, which had come out of nowhere. They had to be connected, because Cavendish refused to believe in coincidences.
When Cavendish remembered the stories he'd heard about his home being haunted, he knew that he had found his answer. Dakota was a ghost, and he was haunting Cavendish. It explained why he knew things about him, and why he refused to leave the house, even to just go for a stroll. And it explained why he was plagued by dreams.
It even explained why Cavendish's nightmares were far more painful when he left the premises. Every time, Dakota practically begged him not to leave. He would come up with any reason to convince Cavendish to stay in the house.
Perhaps Dakota's spirit was confined to this house, and he was lonely. Cavendish felt bad for him, but he couldn't stay in one place for the rest of his life. He needed at least a little bit of freedom, even if that freedom translated to very painful nightmares.
Cavendish had been angry with Dakota at first when he learned the truth. Why was this spirit haunting him so? As time went on, and Dakota's presence became just another constant in Cavendish's life, he came to pity the other man. As a ghost, there must be something keeping him here. Something he couldn't move on from.
Yes, Dakota was haunting him, but Cavendish suspected that he didn't truly want to. Dakota seemed genuinely concerned after Cavendish woke up from his nightmares, and he got particularly distressed when, in his dreams, Cavendish wanted to go into town. Dakota didn't want him to go through a painful death.
It was actually rather sweet of him.
Cavendish wished there was something he could do. Dakota's soul was trapped here, and he deserved better than that. And Cavendish deserved better than to experience a traumatizing death every single night.
Cavendish tried to encourage Dakota to move on. There was far better waiting for him outside of this old house. Whenever Cavendish brought it up, Dakota would just smirk and say that there was nowhere else he would rather be.
Cavendish would break him down eventually, but in the meantime he would enjoy the company. He had never had many friends, and Dakota had forced his way into that position.
Cavendish hummed slightly to himself, feeling rather relaxed. His nightmare last night had been one of the tamer ones. He'd just been hit on the back of the head. He hadn't even seen it coming. He'd just been walking down the hall, he heard a thump, felt a brief dull pain, and then he woke up. The sudden deaths were much better than the slow, painful ones.
Cavendish picked up a book and settled on a chair in the sitting room. Dakota was lounging on the couch, looking like he was about to fall asleep. It was odd how lazy and tired Dakota was all the time. Cavendish hadn't thought that spirits could feel fatigue.
He felt bad about disturbing him, but Cavendish felt an intense desire to get out of the house. He needed a little space, and it was such a good day. He didn't want to waste it by staying inside.
"I heard there was a festival in town today." Cavendish said. Dakota hummed noncommittedly to show that he was listening. "I know it's not my usual sort of affair, but I was thinking of going for myself and seeing how it is." That got Dakota to sit up.
"A festival?" Dakota frowned. "With lots of people? I'm not sure if that's the best idea."
"Dakota, we've talked about this." Cavendish set his unopened book aside. "I can't stay in this house for all eternity."
"I know, I know." Dakota said. "But it gets so much worse when you leave the house. You know it does. If you want company, why don't you just stay here for the day? We can do something fun, just the two of us."
Cavendish's expression softened. It was difficult to stay annoyed with Dakota when he was so genuinely concerned. "You know I enjoy spending time with you. Why don't you come with me? You might enjoy it." He knew that Dakota was perfectly capable of leaving the house. For ghost reasons that Cavendish didn't understand, he just didn't like to.
Dakota actually seemed to think about it for a long moment. Whether he was tempted because he too was getting tired of being in this stuffy house, or if he wanted to go out of concern for Cavendish, it was unclear. After a long moment Dakota sighed and laid back down.
"I know I can't stop you." Dakota said, his voice full of regret. "But I can't go with you either." And Cavendish understood. When Dakota had first shown his face, he had followed Cavendish everywhere. He'd gone into town with him, even in his nightmares, which meant that he'd been right there to witness the dream deaths.
Watching a friend die, even if it was only temporary, would be a traumatizing experience for anybody. Cavendish could only imagine how much worse it might be for someone who perhaps hadn't processed their own deaths.
"I won't be long." Cavendish said. "And if I'm currently dreaming and don't know it, then I'll see you when I wake in the morning."
Dakota made a sound like a laugh, though he didn't look the least bit amused. "Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow." He still looked so upset, and Cavendish felt like he should say something, but he didn't know what. He wouldn't make Dakota feel any better about him going into town. And Cavendish was worried that if he tried to discuss it more, they would just argue, and that was the last thing he wanted right now.
Nodding at his friend, Cavendish adjusted his jacket, donned his hat, and left the house. He told himself that everything would be fine. It was just a festival. What could go wrong?
Dakota watched Cavendish leave, feeling his chest tighten. It was nice to see his friend, who was usually so pessimistic, continue to have so much hope. It was better than the days when Cavendish would go through the motions, lifeless and unmotivated.
But why did he have to go into town?
Dakota groaned and stood up, stretching. It was going to be a long day. It always was when Cav left the house.
His friend had no idea what he was doing, to both himself and Dakota. Cavendish said he was looking for freedom, but he was doing nothing but causing them both pain.
Well, there was no point moping about it. He wouldn't see Cavendish again until morning. He should probably take this time to report to his boss, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. His report could wait another day or two
Maybe he should care more about his work, but he was too emotionally invested in this. The fact that this was his job had become secondary to taking care of his friend.
When Dakota was a child he never would have thought that he would end up working as a ghost hunter. He still didn't really know how he'd ended up here. It just kind of happened. He liked his job, though he wasn't very good at it. That was how he had found himself at this house.
He'd messed up his previous assignment. He had thought that the ghost their company had been hunting was just a category one threat. Barely a specter. Because of his reports, the other hunters had pulled back, and when their guard was down the ghost, who was far smarter than they gave him credit for, struck.
It had taken a lot of resources and manpower to subdue the spirit, and Dakota was in trouble because of it. His rank was stripped, and he was now just assigned to recon. The agency knew from the start that the ghost in this house wasn't a real threat. It wouldn't, or possibly couldn't, hurt anybody, it just scared them.
Dakota was supposed to figure out the nature of these scares. That part wasn't hard. Four days after he'd come to this house and met Cavendish, he realized what kind of haunts were happening. Cavendish wasn't scaring people on purpose. It was like he was being haunted himself.
Cavendish had died, and now he was dying again and again. Every day he would die, and each time it was unique and traumatizing. Anybody that Cavendish had scared was someone who must have witnessed one of those deaths. Dakota had seen a fair number of them himself, and they definitely weren't pretty.
When Dakota had reported what was happening to Cavendish, he was told to find the man's original cause of death. Knowing a spirit's past could often help them to send the spirit on its way. Dakota thought he'd been able to find out about the original death, as Cavendish had told him what his first 'nightmare' had been, but Dakota didn't want to tell his boss.
Dakota had done the one thing they were forbidden to do in the agency. He'd grown attached to the spirit. He couldn't help it. Cavendish was a surprisingly fun guy. Dakota knew that he deserved to pass on, but the easiest way of making that happen was also the most painful for the spirit.
Find the body. Burn and bless it. The spirit was banished from the mortal realm. Simple, but not something that he wanted for his friend. He knew he was wasting more agency resources, but he would much rather they use their other method. A good old fashioned exorcism. Unless the spirit fought it, which he didn't think Cavendish would, it should be painless.
Exorcisms like this took a lot of expensive components, which was what Brick and Savannah had been sent to find. Dakota felt like he should be insulted that they'd been sent off, like his boss had expected him to fail this simple job. But if it meant Cavendish's spirit was able to move on painlessly, Dakota could handle being looked down on. Cav was more important than him.
It was clear that Cavendish's spirit wanted to stay at the house. He was always brought back there, and the deaths were so much worse when he was off the property.
He wished he could convince Cavendish to just stay in the house with him. Things weren't perfect. They were both more than a little lonely, but at least they had more time together, and it was a little less traumatizing.
Dakota felt like a coward, that he couldn't bring himself to be there for Cavendish as he was tormented by his own death. The very least he could do was wait for the spirit to return, and be there for him when he woke up. Cavendish deserved to move on, but at least while he was here, Dakota would do what he could to make his existence a little less torturous.
Maybe it wasn't healthy for Dakota to dedicate his life to somebody who had already lost theirs, but it was Cavendish. What else was he supposed to do?