I forgot to post yesterday, but I did write, which is the important part after all. Anyway, enjoy two scenes, whatever hypothetical person is reading this (if you are, by the way, please tell me. I’d be delighted to know.) Also, a note: I realized a character’s name was wrong. So Brooke is now Byron.

1. It is a ghost story, after all.

Wilson stretched his back over the back of his grandmother’s old wooden dining chair and felt a satisfying pop. 

“Too many hours in a row again?” Byron’s voice drifted toward him from the dark kitchen. He started and turned toward the sound. He felt a sense of Byron’s body moving toward him for a moment before he actually became visible in the warm light from Tita’s hanging lamp. Byron held out Wilson’s faded “silence = death” mug, which was perfectly fill of what appeared to be- “I actually used your stupid coffee maker, so it’s fresh.” Byron placed the mug on the table and a kiss on Wilson’s forehead, “Just do some… desk stretches once in a while, or something.” Byron dissapeared into another segment of the circle of darkness toward their bedroom. 

“I love you.” Wilson called after him, after a moment of being slightly stunned. There was a moment of silence, then Byron’s voice, dripping with faux-boredom.

“I know…” 

Wilson smiled and turned back to the table, sipping the coffee and starting a list. They needed more affadavits from people who had lost things. He knew Jack and Rhianne would be ok if he went and took them through the process himself—


Wilson’s head snapped up to the corner the sound had come from, directly across from his spot at the table. He glanced around at the rest of the darkness, then turned back to the list.


Closer. Further left. His eyes found the spot immediately. It was a fairly small space, and he could have circled the floor on the spot it was coming from, in the middle of the coffee table. Another long silence. 

“Byron?” he yelped.

“What? What’s wrong?” More silence.

2. The Form

Wind whipped against and across the side of their building as Wilson and Byron settled into a strange opposite of their usual morning routine. Byron was up first, straight to the kitchen popping the kettle and a pot on the stove, then bustling down past the bedroom again to the bathroom. Wilson smiled hearing him pass. Now he’ll know what a pain he can be. Allowing himself a few extra minute lie-in to fully wake up, Wilson did eventually slump into the kitchen in search of coffee. He glanced around and saw his French Press, used, in the dirty dish pile. That would be a problem. Normally. he chuckled. But not today. He pulled it from the pile and felt almost like he was in slow motion as Byron whirled around and across him while he just emptied, cleaned, and reassembled the Press. While he just re-boiled the kettle, measured coffee, poured once to warm, emptied, poured coffee, poured twice, timed, swirled, poured the rest, waited. 

Steaming mug in hand, Wilson found his way to the exact centre of Byron’s cyclone, the eye of the storm, the round kitchen table. Coffee down, he started going through the stacks of notes, articles, and documents that had taken over the table. Sorting them either by category, or by case (if one existed to directly apply them to.) Before long, the wind carried Byron out the door with a quick “I love you” passed both ways, but Wilson remained with the energy of the morning around him as he sorted and started making new notes. They had to find a way to be proactive—


Fuck. There it was again. Come on, fucker.


A blast of light as Wilson switched the flashlight under the table on and pointed it at the spot. A shadow appeared on the wall of a vaguely human form, and the light beam could almost be seen bending around the same form in 3 quite large dimensions, though nothing actually seemed to be in the room casting it. The form started to move, then seemed to notice the light, at which point the flashlight, as well as every electronic device in the house, started to flicker light, sound, or both. Then, the form seemed to notice him


The image I used for this post is “Gaysper,” which was designed by an artist named baiily and has a TRULY WILD UNREAL TRUE STORY behind it involving queer memes, Spanish neo-fascism, and the Lord of the Rings

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