A/N: Hi, (waves hand) long time no see! I completely lost my mojo for awhile, I had a couple of WIPs, but no inspiration to finish. I started this story in I *think* 2018/2019 as my attempt at NaNoWriMo. I never finished it, (still haven't) but I think I got some good stuff.
What finally got me out of my writing block, was lunch with MyrtleGroggins, who I follow on Twitter (it'll never be X). We live in the same area but had never gotten together until this year. We talked for 3 hours about Castle. It was the most fun I've had in a long time. Just that conversation got me back on my computer and pulling up what I had been working on. I wrote over 1000 words in the next couple of days, and it's coming along. I want to actually finish that one before posting.
I pulled this one up after hearing about the #CastleHalloweenBash and decided to work on it. It's not done, but I've decided to start posting anyway.
There is a major character death in this fic, we don't see it, but you'll understand when you start reading.
This fic is set in 2018, but it's completely AU. You'll recognize nods to certain things that happened on the show, but the timeline is completely different to the show.
I don't recall where I got the prompt for this – probably Pintrest:
"He had lived his entire life in this house, but he was standing in a hallway he had never seen before."
I'll shut up now, and let you read. I hope you enjoy!
Haunted
Chapter 1
He had lived over half his life in this house, but he was standing in a hallway he had never seen before. He'd known about the locked door at the top of the stairs for years but had never thought anything of it he's always been told that the attic wasn't in use. That the house was too big for the two of them as it was. There was plenty of storage room in the main part of the house, so there really was no point in having an attic at all.
But now…
Now the door was open, and he was facing a long hallway.
This was no mere attic.
The hall was pristine; no dust or cobwebs as he would have expected, not a speck of dirt anywhere.
What was this place?
Did his mother know about this? He wouldn't be surprised if she didn't, but she owned the house, how could she not know? This was an entire floor with rooms off to the side of the hall.
Why was the door open now?
Rick gingerly slid his foot across the threshold.
"Richard!"
He jumped back at the panic in his mother's voice.
"Mother?"
Martha was staring at the hallway in shock. Maybe she didn't know about this after all.
"What is this, Richard? Why did you open the door? How did you open the door?"
"I-I-I don't know," he stammered, staring back to the hallway. "I just came upstairs, and it was open. You don't know about this?"
"No. When I bought the house, the previous owners said the key had been lost."
Why didn't you – or they – ever call a locksmith do get it open?" Rick asked.
Martha stood a moment in silence. She didn't have a good answer.
"The way they acted when they said the key was missing. It was …furtive," she finally said. "As if they knew something, but were afraid to tell me." She seemed to come to a realization. "That's why the house was so cheap."
She looked at her son.
"They knew. Whatever this was, they knew."
"So why didn't you call a locksmith?" Rick asked.
"Well, look around, Richard. There's more than enough room for us, there was no reason to open this door." Her cheeks turned pink.
Martha Rodgers, blushing?
"I should have, I know. I never should have bought the house without knowing, but I was desperate." She looked down as if she was embarrassed that she didn't do due diligence. "And perhaps that furtiveness made me nervous. I wanted some stability for you, and the price was amazing." She looked Rick in the eye. "Perhaps I was stupid, but we've lived here 17 years with no mishaps. Do you think someone has been here this whole time?" She paused. "Laughing at my naïveté?
Rick eyed his mother. He didn't think she was naïve, and honestly, even if the door had been open, they probably wouldn't have used this area – as she said they had plenty of room.
"I doubt anyone has been hiding here as long as we've been here," he replied. "But I think it's time we found out if someone has broken in recently and why the hallway was locked in the first place. Do you still have the name of the former owners?"
Martha frowned as she thought.
"I believe I do. Let me call the bank, I'm sure the papers are in the safe deposit box."
She turned to go back downstairs.
"Should I shut the door?" he asked.
"If you can," she replied, cryptically, continuing down the stairs.
Rick looked back at the hallway. The door opened inward, so once again he warily slid his foot inside and reached for the door.
XXXXXX
Martha had just finished dialing the phone when she heard the slamming door. She chuckled to herself, thinking her adult son had quickly slammed the door as he had as a child running up the stairs from his grandparents' basement. Always running from ghosts and monsters she thought. Maybe that's what made him such a brilliant author. He still let his imagination run away from him.
The call connected.
"Hello? This is Martha Rodgers… Yes, I'd like to come down and open my safe deposit box… Oh, good… Yes… Perfect, I'll be over in about 15 minutes… No, thank you."
She hung up the phone, then called out to Rick, surprised he hadn't come back downstairs.
"I'm going over to the bank, Richard. We can go over the house paperwork when I return."
Surprised again when he didn't answer, Martha shrugged and found her purse.
XXXXXX
Rick looked around in shock. He still wasn't sure what had happened. One second he'd been reaching for the doorknob, and the next he was grabbed by something that wasn't there and pulled into the hallway.
It was freezing in here and the cold surrounded him.
Rick felt like it would be warmer just a few feet ahead of him, but he couldn't move his legs. Something (someone?) was keeping him in his place. He was able to raise his arms, however, and he did so, pushing against the resistant freezing air. He could almost feel something there, but couldn't see anything except the white hallway.
Like Mulder, he had always wanted to believe, but faced with something that was really supernatural, his mind denied it.
"Let me go," he said tentatively. He didn't want to anger the… apparition? Ghost? Evil entity? Electromagnetic thingy set up by possible intruders? But he certainly didn't want to stay frozen in place.
The grip on him tightened a moment, then loosened. The cold moved away a few feet.
Rick turned toward the door, but the cold air rushed around him, stopping him from reaching for it.
He felt rather than heard the NO. It reverberated through him and around him. He reached for the door again.
"I am not staying here, whatever you are," he said with a bite. "I know this is a trick, I know you're not real, I refuse to be frightened by you."
The thought that this was a prank by his mother popped into his mind.
"Mother, I don't know what you're playing at, but it really isn't funny."
The cold air gripped his arms this time and the phrase Not your mother, and you are staying coursed through his body. This time he was able to break the grip, and he finally took hold of the knob to wrench the door open.
It didn't budge.
"Unlock this door!" Rick was angry now. "Let me go!"
No, you stay. I need you.
That intrigued him. Maybe it's not an intruder – a physical intruder anyway.
"Why?" he asked. "Who or what are you? I won't help you until you tell me."
The cold lessened and moved behind him.
Turn around. The door stays locked. It only unlocked for you to come in.
"Once my mother finds out I'm missing, she'll have the door removed."
She won't.
"She'll knock it down."
She won't succeed.
"Could you not talk through me? I mean, I can feel your words, but I'd rather hear them."
The timbre of the voice changed. It was now outside him.
Turn around.
This time he heard it.
He spun, hoping to catch the thing off guard, but instead it was he who was caught.
It was a woman.
She was about the same age as he was, maybe a little younger. Long brunette hair floated around her face as she stared at him.
She was gorgeous.
You stay. I need you.
"Who are you?"
Were.
Rick felt like Ebeneezer Scrooge when he asked, "Who were you then?"
The apparition gazed at him with some humor.
Well, in life I was never your partner, but my name was Kate Beckett. I was a detective.
"A reader too, it seems."
Well, 'A Christmas Carol' is the original 'Nightmare Before Christmas', the ghost (?) replied with a smirk.
"Oh, I love you…" Rick began.
The apparition disappeared, the door opened with a bang, and Rick was thrown with no small force out of the hallway. He slammed against the banister and nearly went over, but he was caught by an unseen hand. He was dropped on the floor and the hallway door slammed shut again.
"Damn it, what did I say?" Rick shouted. He could see a faint glow coming through the bottom and sides of the door, but thought that just meant the ghost was still there. He strode to the door and tried opening it again.
Only to be thrown back again with a strong shock. The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was a voice echoing through his head.
If you tell your mother about me, worse will happen to her.
XXXXXX
When Martha returned from the bank, her son was still nowhere to be found.
Where could he be? she thought.
Rick had told her earlier that he was planning on spending the afternoon writing, but he wasn't anywhere in the section of the house they'd remodeled as an apartment for him.
She looked around the kitchen, both his and hers. No note. Where could he have gone? This was not like him; he always left a note when he was leaving. That combined with the fact that he didn't answer her when she called to tell him she was leaving for the bank, led her to believe that something happened with the unlocked door. Hearing a loud thump from upstairs decided her. She warily looked up the stairs and began climbing.
"Richard!"
Rick was sitting on the floor, staring groggily at the door.
"Richard, are you all right?" Martha was halfway into a panic as she rushed to his side. "What happened?"
"I'm fine, Mother," he didn't elaborate further.
"You look as if you've had a shock," she replied skeptically.
"I'm fine," he repeated. He didn't want his mother seeing the faint glow around the door and investigating, so he just said, "Let's head downstairs."
XXXXXX
Martha went into the kitchen to get them both some water. Rick stayed in the living room staring up the stairway. He stood and walked to the stairs. Maybe he could try again before his mother returned.
Rick walked upstairs again, thinking to once again try the door. Maybe try to sneak in when she wasn't paying attention.
'Which 'she'?' he asked himself. 'Mother or Kate?' He wasn't sure.
Damn. The door still had a faint glow surrounding it. Not wanting another shock, he turned and made his way back down.
"Richard, what is going on?"
Jumping at his mother's voice he let out a little shriek.
"Geez, Mother, don't do that!"
"Do what, Richard? Scare you? What do you think you're doing to me?"
"Mother…"
"Don't 'Mother' me, Richard Castle. You were in that hallway and you've been acting strangely since. I've got the previous owner's information, we should call them now."
"Mother, I have a plan to get back in. I just need a little time."
"You want to get back in? Martha was more than a little exasperated. "How did you get in in the first place? What's your plan?"
Rick sighed, but said nothing.
"That's what I thought. Let's go."
"Mother, please," Rick began.
Martha turned back and spoke more sharply than she ever had.
"No, Richard! I didn't ask more questions when I bought the house because I was so desperate to get you some stability – but I should have. It's time. It's past time."
She stalked into the living room, not waiting for him to join her.
He didn't join her.
XXXXXX
Once again, Rick bypassed the living room and his mother, going instead to the former bedroom he used as his office.
Turning on his laptop, he began Googling.
"Kate Beckett, detective," he murmured to himself. He assumed NYPD, but realized that wasn't a given. The house wasn't in New York City proper, why would she haunt a place in the suburbs if she was from the city? Maybe she lived here as a kid?
He shook himself.
"Let's find the real story before you start making stuff up about her," he reprimanded himself. She may or may not have been NYPD, but it was a place to start. He started typing.
XXXXXX
Kate Beckett. Cate Beckett. Kate Becket. Kathy Beckett. Cathy Becket. Katie Beckett. One T, two T's, K or C. Why was nothing coming up? Maybe she wasn't NYPD after all.
He ran his hands through his hair then mentally slapped himself.
"Kate is a nickname for Katherine, you doofus." He rolled his eyes at himself for not recognizing the obvious.
"Katherine Beckett, NYPD," he spoke aloud while typing.
There she was – front page of the Times.
LATEST SNIPER VICTIM IS A POLICE DETECTIVE
Katherine H. Beckett, NYPD, was the latest victim in the ongoing sniper rampage through the city.
The detective was a member of one of the teams tracking down the sniper. It is unknown at this time whether the sniper knew she was on the hunt for him or if she was a random victim.
An NYPD spokesman spoke of Detective Beckett in glowing terms, saying she was one of the best and brightest young detectives the NYPD had ever had. He reiterated that the search for the sniper would continue.
"We will not back down from this," he stated at the press conference, speaking to the sniper. "The NYPD will continue to work just as hard to find you and bring you to justice for all the victims – not just one of our own. You won't get away."
Rick closed his eyes. He scanned the rest of the story, but it just went into a recap of all the victims. He added 'obituary' to his search parameters, and there it was. He almost didn't want to read it; it was too depressing. But he needed to know. Damn him and his need for the full story.
Katherine H. Beckett
November 17, 1979 – April 18, 2009
Katherine (Kate) Beckett, detective with the New York City Police Department, was killed in the line of duty April 18, 2009.
Katherine Houghton Beckett was born November 17, 1979, to James Beckett and the late Johanna Beckett in New York City.
Katherine was a graduate of Stuyvesant High School in NYC and began pre-law at Stanford University in California.
After her mother's death, Kate transferred to NYU and majored in Criminal Justice, spending one semester in Kiev, Ukraine studying Russian literature. After graduation Kate joined the Police Academy. She excelled there, winning many awards and setting records that still stand today. Awards given include the Academic Award, the Driver Award, and the Distinguished Fitness Award, among others.
Kate shone as an officer, quickly moving up the divisions, making detective at age 26, the youngest woman to achieve that rank. She and her team – Detectives Javier Esposito and Kevin Ryan achieved the highest case closure rate in the NYPD's 12th precinct multiple years running.
She had many varied interests, including yoga, playing guitar, reading the aforementioned Russian literature, as well as crime fiction. A favorite weekend activity for Kate was visiting various art galleries in the city. She had a great affinity for modern art and took any opportunity to see an exhibit, including traveling to other cities on her motorcycle – another hobby she enjoyed, much to the dismay of her parents.
Katherine is survived by her father, James Beckett and many friends and colleagues in the 12th precinct and the NYPD as a whole. She was preceded in death by her mother Johanna Beckett.
Funeral services will be held at Grace Church, 802 Broadway. Kate will be buried with full honors at Woodlawn Cemetery 517 E 233rd St, Bronx, NY. She will be laid to rest next to her mother.
Rick sat, lost in thought. Somehow reading the obituary made it all real. Kate Beckett really was a ghost. Kate Beckett really was dead.
Damn.
She was angry with him, and would probably be even more pissed if she knew he was digging into her death, but he didn't care. He was going to do his best to get back in that room and help her whether she wanted it or not.
He didn't notice that his mother had come to find him when he didn't join her in the living room. She stood and watched for a few moments as he looked something up on the internet and read what he'd found. She was a little upset he'd blown her off, but then she saw him open a new document and began writing.
Good, she thought, moving away. If he wasn't going to talk to her, at least he was writing. Maybe this crazy story he'd come up with would help get rid of his block.
XXXXXX
An hour or so later Rick went outside to stare at the house. Any neighbors noticing him probably thought he was crazy. He didn't care.
He went around to the side where the hallway should be. That hall had to be a physical part of the building. He'd never noticed – he'd never needed to notice, living on the ground floor, but the hallway had to show from the outside. And if he could see it, maybe there was a window. And if there was a window, maybe Kate wouldn't have electrically charged it. And if Kate hadn't charged the window, maybe he could climb in that way.
Of course, she could probably toss him right back out the window, but she needed him.
He had to keep that as a mantra. And even if she ultimately decided she didn't need him he still felt like he deserved to know why she'd kicked him out so violently.
Yes. There. That had to be it. He cursed himself for not paying more attention when he was inside the hallway, but the window he was seeing now had to be what he was looking for.
Did they have a ladder? Hmmm... No, he didn't think so. They'd always called professionals when anything needed to be done on the house.
He could ask a neighbor, Rick thought, but he didn't want to answer any questions about why all of a sudden he wanted one. He knew people talked about them never doing their own repairs and things around the house. Both he and his mother had explained that neither had any knowledge about it, so instead of trying to kill themselves, they'd get someone who did know what was what.
Time to head for the local hardware store… Maybe he could come back after dark. He wouldn't have to answer any questions that way.
He didn't notice his mother watching him drive away through the living room window.