Haunted

It was still dark when Eric woke up again
- someone had opened his window, and he could
see the misty, star-spangled night sky. He
sighed and rolled over, looking for a clock.
He'd forgotten to set up his digital one and
had to get up and turn on a lamp.

Three a.m.

He groaned, knowing he wouldn't get any more
sleep tonight. He was hungry, too. That half a
slice of pizza hadn't been nearly enough. He got
up, changed from his jeans into a pair of loose
cloth pants. Someone - Pete, probably - had taken
most of his jewelry off. It lay in neat rows on
the bedside table. He was glad - the few times he'd
slept with it on, he'd woken to a tangled, painful
mess.

He eased his door open, having already learned that
it creaked if it was pulled too quickly. The hallway
was dark but moonlight made it just possible to make
out the outlines of the furniture that lined the walls.
He walked down it slowly, a little nervous about reaching
the stairway landing and the bay window. He wasn't sure
if he wanted to talk to his ghost again or run out of
the house screaming.

*His* ghost? Where had that come from?

Well... it didn't matter. He wasn't there, so there
was no use worrying about it. For a moment he paused,
stepped over next to the window seat where his... *the*
...ghost had stood and stared out the window, trying to
see what he saw. Could ghosts see outside the houses
they haunted? Did the boy see the view of the road and
the shabby station wagon, the unkempt lawns and towering
trees? Or did he see what the yard must have looked like
when he was alive - that had to be a long time ago, his
clothes were so old-fashioned. There must have been
servants here, a gardener who kept the yard perfect and
had flowers growing everywhere, a proud horse and shiny
carriage to take the owner where he wanted to go.

Eric shrugged and stepped back to the landing. Maybe if
he didn't freak the next time he saw ghost-boy he'd ask
him. Maybe he'd answer. Maybe Eric was going insane and
had imagined the whole thing.

Well, he was imagining again - halfway down the stairs he
realized the glow in the lower hall wasn't coming from
moonlight. His ghost was floating in front of the grandfather
clock, his head moving slightly with the motion of the pendulum.
He didn't look like he did earlier - he had color before, but
now he was all white, white hair and skin and clothes and he
glowed with his own light. His legs didn't fade into nothing
- they were obscured by a billowing cloud of mist.

He was beautiful.

Light shone from him, surrounded him, dripped from his fingers
and tangled in his hair. Soft, soothing white light, that made
Eric feel oddly serene, made him wish he could sink into that
light and rest. His own legs felt suddenly weak, and he grabbed
the banister for support. He wanted to run down the steps to
his ghost - was sure his legs would give out and he would fall
and kill himself. He ended up holding on so hard that his knuckles
turned white.

The old wood creaked in protest.

And his ghost jerked around, wide eyes gazing up, the light
swirling and moving with him. Eric expected him to come floating
toward him, the same mixture of curiosity and trepidation as before
in those beautiful eyes. Instead, he saw them widen with sudden
intense anxiety - and his ghost vanished.

Just wasn't there anymore, like a switch had been flicked.

"No!" Eric cried, not caring if his aunt and uncle heard him.
Strength came back to his limbs and he rushed down the stairs
to the clock, whirling around, spreading his arms in an unconscious
gesture of trust. "No, it's all right, come back! Talk to me!
Caleb!" He kept his voice low, now - he remembered Sally and
knew what she'd be like if she found out he'd seen his ghost again.
He wanted him to come back, wanted to see those sweet eyes, *did
not* want to list every detail of what he'd seen in a stupid
notebook or sit through more of those damn stupid tests!

There was no response to his continued calls. No return of
the white light of his ghost, no frail, transparent figure in
the bay window when he ran back upstairs to check. He tried
stopping the clock, and the pendulum stayed still, motionless.
He didn't know why he was suddenly so desperate, and he didn't
care. He just wanted his ghost.


*


/I have to stay away./

Caleb watched the beautiful boy from the shadows at the
far end of the hall, using the form he knew couldn't be
seen by anyone, *ever*, psychic or medium or funny equipment
- none of them could tell where he was like this. It had
astonished him that the boy saw him in his White form.
He'd never before seen a person who could see more than
one form of a ghost. Most saw the Plain form - a grey
version of the drifting figure in the bay window that he'd
unwittingly shown to this boy earlier. A few saw the Life
form - the color version that looked the most like he did
when he still knew how it felt to draw breath.

A very, very special few could see the White form.

And none, *ever*, saw more than one.

This boy - they called him Eric - this boy was different.
He could ‘see' in a way that no one had ever... he sighed,
wistfully. There had been psychics here, and mediums. Lots
of them, over the years - Miss Grace had been fond of the
supernatural. Most of them had been fakes. The few who had
been real he had accidentally frightened. Or they had
summoned up Him.

He preferred them frightened.

But... there had always been limits before. Either they
saw, and could not hear - or they felt, and could not see
- or they heard, but could not understand. This boy could
see, hear... gods, he had called him by his name! No one
had *ever* called him by his name since the day he died.
How could they?

No one knew he was here.

They thought he was little Lucy, who had drowned in the
pond, or the maid who had hung herself after one of the
Tripper boys had gotten her ‘in trouble.' Or they thought
he was Him - that idea made him shudder. No one had ever
guessed the truth. Even now, this boy didn't know it.
Just knew he was Caleb, not Lucy or the maid. Or Him.

That was enough.

Enough to make him want to take on a viewable form again,
to fling himself at the boy and wrap his essence around him.
Never let him go.

/Oh, *that* would be such a good idea./

He could see the terror in Eric's eyes now, if he tried that.
It didn't matter that he seemed to want him to come back -
from what Caleb had seen and heard this family enjoyed ghosts.
Very odd, but it wouldn't be enough to keep from scaring him
so badly they'd leave. He didn't want them to leave. He was
lonely...

...and he had hope. After all these years - he had long
since lost count of how many - to have someone here who
could - just possibly - *help* him... It made him want to
cry, but the boy might hear that. His laughter was audible
to almost everyone, his sobs weren't. Except to the few
psychics and mediums who were real. They had heard his lonely,
hopeless tears. He didn't let himself cry often - it hurt too
much and sometimes He heard, so he held it in. His father had
always told him, anyway, that boys don't cry. It was unmanly.

Huh.

He'd seen his father cry, the day they had come here... and
lots of other men, big strong *manly* men, over the years,
who'd allowed themselves to cry. Suitors Miss Grace had turned
down - Miss Grace's brother, when his first child was born in
one of the rooms upstairs, had wept like any girl. One of the
men who had bought the house had wept when his lover had declared
it was the house or him. He'd chosen his lover and sold the place.

Caleb still felt a little sorry about that. He had rather liked
the man, too bad it had been such fun to tease his lover.

He realized suddenly that he'd let his attention wander - not
surprising, since he hadn't had anything worth focusing on in
years - he was badly out of practice when it came to staying on
one subject. He'd let the night slip away. It was morning,
thin grey light straggling in through the high hall windows.
He looked to see where the boy was.

Eric was curled up on one of the antique settees that stood
against the wall, his streaked blond hair a vivid contrast to
the faded pinkish-colored velvet. Caleb drifted over and gazed
down at him, slid his fingers along a lock of hair and wished he
could feel it. He sighed, turned to the clock and started it
gently ticking again. A noise on the stairs made him turn.

The man - Peter? Yes, Peter - was coming down, worried eyes
fixed on his nephew, looking straight through Caleb in a way
that reassured him. He'd been half-afraid that the rules had
changed, that everyone could see him now. Peter walked over
and stood almost right beside him, shaking Eric's shoulder gently.

"Hey, kiddo. Wake up - why are you sleeping in the hall?"

Eric blinked sleepy blue eyes and sat up, looking around. Caleb
had stayed in what he called his Blank form and the blue eyes
stared straight through him.

/Good./

"I - I came down to get something to eat." Eric suddenly
didn't want to tell his uncle about the beautiful white
shade he'd seen in the hall - it was special, he wanted
to think about it for a while before he was faced with
Peter's eager questions. "I stopped the clock - I wanted
to see if it would do it again. You know, start? I guess
I fell asleep, waiting."

Both men turned to look at the quietly ticking Grandfather
clock. Peter shrugged. "I guess it did start." Eric looked
relieved, then wiped any look from his face as Sarah came
downstairs and went to the kitchen, not speaking to either
of them. He didn't like Sarah anytime, but before her coffee
she was an absolute zombie who'd rip your head off as soon as
look at you. Both of the Gaines men had learned silence was
the best option. Peter went off to make breakfast, leaving
Eric with the clock.

He smiled at it. "I'm glad I didn't totally scare you away."
He said, darting his eyes around the hall and towards the
kitchen to make sure his relatives didn't come back. He didn't
need them knowing he was talking to the ghost. They'd either
be thrilled or lock him in some institution. "I'm sorry that
I freaked out. Just never met a ghost before. Especially not
so close - just... just take it a little slower next time, huh?"

‘Please let there be a next time.'


*


/Next time?!/

Caleb would have paced if his Blank form had any legs. He
didn't even really feel like he was drifting in this form.
He had retreated to the attic, taking comfort in the big, sawdust-
smelling place he'd played in when he was alive, coming here
with Henry Tripper for games of pirate and soldier. This part
of the attic had always been left empty for them, only containing
toys stacked against the wall. To this day, he shoved away things
that were placed here, until the occupants learned to leave well
enough alone.

It was his retreat now, the place he went when he had serious
thinking to do, and wanted no distractions for his admittedly
short attention span. The boy had spoken of a next time - did
he really want it? Should he risk it?

"If he can help me...?" He spoke the words in a soft question.
No one answered, of course, but he felt better sometimes for
speaking aloud. If the boy *could* help him, could set him
free...

"Set me free to what?" Caleb didn't know the answer to that
question any more than a living person. He knew what he had
been taught while he was alive - but that had included the fact
that ghosts didn't exist.

Some fact.


He would have run his fingers through his hair in frustration
but - "But I don't have any fingers right now. Or hair." He
was almost distracted into listing the things he couldn't do
in this form but brought himself firmly back to task - whatever
the task was.

Oh, yes.

"Do I show myself to him again, or not?" It was driving him
mad - madder - that he couldn't decide. He went back and forth
from one side of the empty space to the other, torn with indecision.
He didn't notice, at first, that the shadows in the corners were
beginning to lengthen, to stretch out tendrils of black towards
him. It shouldn't have happened - the sun was pouring through
the skylight as strongly as ever.

He was becoming so annoyed with himself for being unable to
decide that he slipped out of the Blank form and into the Plain,
a drifting grey shadow of himself. The Blank form took
concentration his subconscious decided it couldn't spare.
He continued his restless motion, turning over options in
his mind - until he came face to face with a pillar of shadow,
struggling to take on a human form.

/Run!/ His mind shrieked, while he froze in place like a
rabbit, dark eyes wide with terror. "Oh, no, no..." He
moaned aloud, realizing what he had done. He knew better
- knew better! - than to let himself get so emotional in
an unprotected place. Now he was going to pay the price,
unless he could -

His quick dart for escape was countered, a wall of shadow
thrown up to block his path, and misty tentacles of black
wrapped around his waist, around his arms and legs and
began to pull him back towards the pillar of darkness.
It was rapidly taking a familiar form and he couldn't stop
himself.

He screamed.


*


Downstairs, all three people jerked with surprise and
fear when an unearthly shriek ran through the house.
Eric was helping his uncle wash the breakfast dishes
and he dropped a glass, letting it shatter on the floor.
No one noticed - the shrieks were continuing and Sarah
and Peter ran for their equipment. Eric ran, too - straight
upstairs. He could tell the screams were coming from higher
up and he was suddenly desperate to find his ghost again.
He knew - didn't know how he knew, but he knew - that Caleb
was the one screaming. All he heard was terror in those cries
and he was going to help.

He had no idea how.