Chapter Text
He ran away like a coward after the ambulance carried Jon away. They put him on the stretcher and drove as fast as they could through the smoke and fire, leaving Eduardo’s arms cold and Mark hyperventilating on a side walk. Eduardo stood up and ran. He just ran and didn’t look back.
He feels bad about leaving Mark by himself like that: A sobbing mess on that cracked cement. But he had to get away. He left it all behind, Mark, their destroyed home, that town, and took a train to his grandmother’s cabin. He has been here ever since. For two years. He wonders how Mark has been coping with Jon’s death. Hopefully much better than Eduardo has.
He wants to pick up the phone and give his friend a call badly but his guilt stops him. The cabin is quiet and cold. He only goes out when he needs to get groceries from the town but the rest of the time he remains in isolation.
In mourning.
In grief.
For two years.
He prays that Mark will forgive him one day. He was never good at comforting people. He can’t even comfort himself. He barely eats and spends most of his time in bed crying and praying to god for forgiveness. Hoping that the message will be passed to Jon. There are no neighbors to check on him. No Edd to motivate him to do something. It is miles from an underpopulated town and as far as he knows, his family is the only one who has property here. This little cabin is just as lonely as the person who inhabits it.
Tonight he is lying in bed, watching a spider crawl along the ceiling. He won’t kill it. He can’t stand anymore death. It’s just trying to look for a warm place to stay. It is winter again. Jon’s favorite season. The cabin creaks and the power goes out often. A draft flows through at times despite all the windows being shut. Sometimes it sounds like footsteps are going down the hall when he attempts to sleep at night.
There is no TV. He occupies his time staring at walls and gathering wood for the fire place that his grandmother brags was built with her own hands. He hasn’t called his grandmother in a while either. He hasn’t had a real conversations since he begged Jon to say something.
A loud bang echoes through the cabin as something slams against the floor of the hallway. He gets up and checks to see his shampoo bottle spilling its contents on the hallway floor. The bathroom door is wide open and the faucet is running on full blast.
He is the only one in this cabin.
Surrounded by miles of forestation and snow.
Not even the grocer, whom he politely greets on his trips to town, knows where he lives.
~
The sound of things falling onto the floor, in various parts of the cabin, keep waking him up in the middle of the night. He’ll quickly throw on his robe and step into the cold hallway. He’ll find picture frames of family moments experienced a long time ago, thrown far away from the wall where they originally hung. Containers and bottles will be open and spilt across the floor in patterns. The faucets will be on and on full blast. The worst that has happened is when a picture of himself actually hit his head, waking him instantly. The picture was one that sat on a little table in the living room.
He decides to lock his bedroom door and ignore the sounds. It has to be all in his head. A side effect of depression. The result of a mind going unstimulated for so long; Without conversations or the distraction of media to entertain it.
It has to be.
He never believed the ghost stories his grandmother used to tell him and he’ll be damned if he starts believing them now. It seems that locking the door and ignoring the noises work. Everything is calm again and he can at least to attempt to sleep. The memory of Jon dying play over and over again in his nightmares.
The peace goes on for a while.
However, an incident happens on one night that sends a chill down Eduardo’s spine.
He lays on his side that night, curled in on himself and reminiscing on the times that Jon used to sneak into his room to cuddle him. He took that boy for granted. Sometimes he would fiercely insist that he hated the other’s presence in the late hours. But if Jon went to Mark, Eduardo would throw a fit. Why couldn’t he just let himself be happy. Why did he push them both away like that and yet at the same time cling to them tightly. He feels like he alienated them.
The door handle makes a creaking noise.
Eduardo lifts the covers a bit to look over at the door that faces the end of his bed. The handle moves slowly at first, as if testing the waters. Checking to see if it’s really locked. His heart stops. It has to be all in his head. All the caffeine. All the depression and anxiety. The handle slowly returns to position before repeating the action. He watches with his eyes wide open. A cold sweat takes over.
After the third turn, the handle remains still.
He stays up all night watching the brass and even when daylight breaks he refuses to sleep.
~
Objects are moving again but now it happens in broad daylight. The second he takes his eyes off of something is when it happens. Today, he finally washes the dishes after weeks of neglecting the task. He used to yell at Jon for not doing them when he was asked to. He used to yell at his forgetful friend for a lot of stupid things like that. He stacks the plates neatly, like Mark used to do, in the cabinet before closing it and moving on to the next task of bathing: Another chore he’s neglected to do for a while. It’s been hard taking care of himself.
As he turns to leave the kitchen, he hears a rattle and and the cabinet hinges squeak as the little door flings open. He turns back as fast as he can and all the plates tip out of the cabinet. They shatter into pieces across the floor, one by one, and clatter loud enough to make Eduardo flinch each time.
A total of 7 plates are destroyed before it ends.
The silence of the aftermath is welcomed but does little to ease Eduardo’s nerves.
He stares at the mess before slowly going to retrieve the broom and pan.
It has to be all in his head.
~
It is not in his head.
This can’t be in his head.
He tries to sleep again. He won’t look at the door handle even when the turning starts to become violent and frequent. Soon, something is trying to get into his room. Something is banging against the wood and hitting the door with all its might. Eduardo is much too frozen in fear to do anything but watch as the door trembles with each collision. It’s almost being ripped off its hinges by the sheer force of whatever is trying to bust it open.
He yells, “Stop that!”
And it does so.
Every thing is quiet now.
He curls back into bed and sings a gospel to himself. The one that Jon used to sing to himself.
“I used to go to church a lot,” is what Jon would tell him.
~
He calls his grandmother.
“How have you been?” She asks.
“Abuelita, did anyone die in this cabin?”
She remains silent and he lets out a frustrated sigh as he responds the way she wants him to, “I’m fine. How are you?” He can feel her smile that warm smile that she would give him as a child even when he didn’t get the best score in the class or win 1st place. He realizes just how much he misses her after all this time.
“I’m fine. When are you coming to visit?”
His brain is at a stand still. He’s forgotten the social etiquette of speaking. He used to be able to talk to his grandmother for hours but now he wants nothing more than to end this conversation. “I don’t know yet…” he pauses “…I’ve been feeling under the weather as of lately.” His grandmother ‘tsks' and he rolls his eyes. “You wouldn’t be so sad if you at least called me like you used to,” she chides.
“I’m in the cabin,” he cuts in before she can continue.
“Oh! I haven’t been there in years! How’s the old girl doing?” she waits patiently for his response. He doesn’t know how to answer though. He feels like he shouldn’t tell her about the strange things that have been going on. “It’s fine,” he opts for a lie, “a little chilly but she’s holding up pretty well.”
“That’s good to hear,” she gives a little hum and Eduardo decides to ask again, “Abuelita, has anyone died in this cabin?”
“Not that I know of,” she sounds genuine and that bothers Eduardo. “What do you mean ‘not that you know of?’ who else has been here?” He doesn’t mean to be snippy but after a week of no sleep he can’t help it. His grandmother doesn’t mind though and responds, “I’m not sure. I didn’t even know you were there.Your papa and brother have a key too.” He remembers his brother Ernesto fondly but his father wasn’t the nicest man in the world.
His grandmother lets out a hum of contemplation. Always humming, this woman. He hasn’t spoken to his brother since the other moved out. He hasn’t liked his father since the day he exited the womb.
“Por qué?” She asks.
Should he tell her about the noises? The objects moving? The thing that tries to get into his room at night?
“It’s nothing,” he lies.
You could always tell when Jon was lying by the amount of times he would unconsciously tug his ear. Eduardo wonders what he does when he’s trying to lie. Could Jon tell? When he lied about hating him?
~
He hears whispering as he sits on the couch and stares into the nothingness. He hears it when he tries to lie in bed for as long as he can in the morning. He hears it when his stomach growls after neglecting to eat for the day. He hears it while staring at the blank canvas before him in the guest bedroom he’s designated as his study. He’s taken a liking to painting. As much as he thought comic books were his passion, there is a greater sense of pleasure he feels in using acrylic or oil. After two years, he likes to think he’s getting better but in the end it feels like it’s just for him and him alone. There is no internet to update his art portfolio and no Edd nearby to compete with.
What is Edd doing right now? Is he okay?
Eduardo feels guilty for wishing that it was actually Tom instead of Jon who was the one lying on the ground when the smoke cleared that day. He feels absolutely horrible.
The whispering starts back up and he can barely make out what it is. What is it trying to tell him? He notices that the whispering stops whenever he gets up to do something productive. When the whispering starts in the morning, it will stop when he gets up. It stops when he showers and does the dishes. It stops when that brush touches the canvas and when he does laundry and eat. He almost thinks the thing is trying to encourage productivity.
Wouldn’t that be silly.
~
He goes through his grandmother’s basement on a day where he has the sudden urge to clean something. Among the dust covered boxes and racks of musty fur coats, he finds a ouija board. There is no planchette, however. He puts it to lean against a little door that is probably an access to the plumbing system and tries to tidy the basement as much as he can. Unfortunately, there is no amount of motivation that could possibly help him go through with it. His grandmother must have had a hoarding issue because nothing in the basement is worth organizing. The kayaks have holes and the boxes are full of badly taken photographs.
Something shuffles behind him.
As he turns a box tips overs and a photo album falls out. He picks up and squeezes the leathery cover momentarily before opening it. It’s full of pictures of him and his brother as a child. Ernesto was his older brother. He hasn’t seen him in years. Jon used to tell him that he should call his sibling.
“Family is important,” he used to say despite that fact that Jon’s own family disowned him for being gay….
Maybe Jon was talking about Eduardo and Mark. Maybe they were what Jon meant by family. Maybe that’s why Jon stuck around despite all the years of abuse.
Eduardo hugs the book to his chest and tells himself the tears are from all the dust in his eyes.
~
The place is starting to feel…better. The whispering has not ceased but it doesn’t bother him as much anymore. It almost feels like it’s try to help him. It reminds him to shower and eat and sometimes it starts when he feels like calling his grandmother and stops when he does so. He’s painting a landscape in the guest bedroom again, the windows are finally clean enough for him to see the forest without opening it.
He hears a rattling down the hall. As is something is hitting against the inside of a ceramic bowl. A high pitched clinking in something hollow.
He ignores it but it start to become more erratic. He keeps ignoring it until the whispering starts back up. It grows louder and louder until Eduardo drops his paint brush and covers his ears.
“ALRIGHT ALREADY!” he screams and stands up to storm down the hall. His eyes frantically search the living room for whatever is making the rattling. When they land on a little porcelain container on the sofa table is when everything silences.
The whispering and the rattling cease and Eduardo lifts the lid to find a planchette.
He goes back into the basement to see the ouija board sitting neatly on a stack of boxes. He distinctly remembers shoving it to the side. The wood of the planchette and board match and he doesn’t know why but he sets them both on the coffee table.
He sits on the sofa and merely stares at the board in contemplation.
He doesn’t believe in ghosts. He believes in demons and god and aliens but not ghosts. He believes in curses and Santeria and the chupacabra (he has a scar from being attacked by one when he was 9 on his left leg) but not ghosts. His grandmother used to say that their grandfather was always watching over them but he would roll his eyes every time.
However, he’s seen enough horror films.
He brushes off the eerie feeling and goes to make himself some coffee. As the kettle is boiling he hears some whispering coming from the living room. “Nope,” he says to the unknown source of it, “Not messing with that.”
The sound of wood scratching against wood starts up.
He rolls his eyes, “I’d let it go if I were you.”
‘It’s all in your mind’ he tells himself.
The kettle feels like it’s taking too long and he nervously taps his fingernails against the kitchen table. The whispering does not get louder but it feels like it’s growing more insistent. He once watched a horror movie about a ouija board that frightened Jon so much that he slept in Eduardo’s bed for 3 nights.
He lets out a sigh, “fine” and gets up to go and at least examine the board. It sits patiently on the little table. He picks up the planchette and turns the cold wood over in his hand. The whispering still hasn’t stopped. It is not until he sits on the floor and places the planchette in the proper position that it quiets again.
Is there something you’re supposed to say? A ritual or spell? Shouldn’t one be in the dark for this? He asks aloud, “Is anyone here?”
He waits a few seconds but nothing happens.
He asks again, “Is there a spirit in this cabin?”
He feels stupid. He’s only ever seen this done in the movies, and even then, they were apparently inaccurate. Mark used to point out all the flaws in every horror movie because his favorite kind of literature was in the occult section of the bookstore. Mark was actually really smart.
He finds himself missing the guy.
Just as much as he misses Jon.
Jon would have looked at this board and screamed. He would have begged Eduardo to burn it and then never sleep in his own bed again.
The planchette moves in his hands and he tries to remain calm when it moves over the faded printed words, “Yes.”
He stares at the word.
He feels like he wants to laugh but its trapped in his throat.
Mark would say that the movement was usually coincidental.
All in the mind.
Eduardo gulps audibly before asking, “Have I gone off my rocker?”
The planchette shifts under his fingers and he follows it to the “no” on the opposite side.
The kettle screams and he rips his hands away and rushes to shut it off. His entire body is shaking as he pours the boiling water into the mug. “Maybe it’s all the caffeine?” he asks himself as he adds 4 teaspoons of instant coffee. With his drink in hand, he slowly walks out of the kitchen. He peeks his head out first and looks at the board. It’s still on the “no.”
On his way to the coach, he nearly trips over the rug. He doesn’t fall but the contents of the mug jump out and burn his hand. He grits his teeth and bears through the pain. He hears the planchette scrape across the wood. When he looks down, it’s over the “O.” He sets the mug down and wipes his hand on his shirt. He cautiously sits back down and hovers his fingers over the little piece of wood. Should he keep going? Isn’t this a bad idea?
The second his fingers touch the planchette, it moves to the “K” and then the “A” and then the “Y.”
OKAY
“Okay?” He says out loud, “What does that mean?” It takes him a second and his eyes travel to the red mark that’s blooming on his hand. “You asking me if I’m okay?”
The planchette moves to the “yes.”
“Uhm…” He doesn’t know how to respond. He should be running out the cabin and getting as far from this board as possible. Instead, he finds himself just merely…surprised. Maybe that’s what having no real communication with other living people will do to you after two years.
“Yeah,” he says out loud, “I’ve dealt with worse.”
The planchette moves again to the “I” before pausing and then to the “K…N…O…” and stopping at the “W.”
I KNOW
Eduardo doesn’t want to push this any further.
~
When it wants to tell him something, he’ll hear the incoherent whispering. He’ll go the board and ask, “What is it now?” Today, it interrupts him in the middle of another landscape.
EAT
“I will, I’m just not hungry yet. I’ll eat when I’m done.”
PLEASE
“Fine!”
He makes himself a sandwich before sitting back in the living room to fiddle with the board. He takes a bite before placing his fingers on the planchette, “Have you got a name?”
It says nothing.
“How long have you been here?”
A WHILE
“Ah…” he nods his head. He takes another bite before asking with his mouthful, “So are you like trapped or something?”
It doesn’t respond.
“If you don’t answer, then I’m going to assume this is just me loosing my mind.”
SORRY
SHY
“That’s no excuse,” Eduardo bites into the sandwich again. He actually waits until after he swallows before going on, “Y’know, it’s just me here. No need to be bashful.” He smiles and the planchette moves.
ALWAYS BEEN JUST YOU
ALONE
Eduardo narrows his eyes, “What’s that suppose to mean?” The planchette moves again.
YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN
He finishes his sandwich and stands up, “Don’t patronize me.”
He puts the plate in the sink to wash later and goes back to his painting.
~
He has a dream that night.
He wakes up to the light pouring in through the cracks of the window. The room is cold but the bed is warm and someone is lying next to him. He opens his eyes to see Jon sleeping peacefully. Instead of going back to sleep, his vision moves across Jon’s face. He studies every freckle and counts all his long lashes. He moves over the soft curve of Jon’s brows before going down the slope of his nose to rest on the cupid’s bow of Jon’s thin lips. They are curled in a smile which means that Jon is having a nice dream.
Eduardo reaches a hand out to cup Jon’s cheek. The smaller man’s eyes flutter open. One of the many things that Eduardo misses are those warm browns. Jon gives him an affectionate smile. Eduardo feels his heart swell at the sight. He’s in love.
Then he hears the scrape of wood.
Jon gasps and the smile dies in an instant. “Jon, what’s wrong?” Jon sputters before coughing up red. Eduardo shoots up and lifts the sheet to reveal themselves to be lying on grass and a giant hole, gushing out blood, in Jon’s chest. Mark is crying somewhere but he can’t see him. He picks Jon up and screams. He keeps screaming even as he wakes from the nightmare.
It takes him a second to realize that two years have past and that he’s in his grandmother’s cabin in the middle of nowhere. He curls into a ball and lets out a broken sob. Every thing feels cold. He wants Jon so bad right now. He wants this entire thing to be a dream and Jon to be alive. He wants to tell Jon that he didn’t mean anything he said and that he loves him.
Something crashes in the living room and whispering is calling him.
He gets up and rushes out so fast that he forgets his robe and goes to the ouija board. A picture frame has fallen off the wall but he doesn’t bother going to pick it up. He puts his fingers on the planchette and it moves immediately.
ITS OKAY
IM HERE
The blanket he keeps on the couch is thrown over him and he lets out a sob. He curls in on himself and cries. The whispering becomes low and quiet and he could swear that the gospel he sung to himself was being lowly sung back.
After 10 minutes he finally calms down and uses the corner of the blanket to wipe his tears. The whispering lowers into silence. He shakily touches the planchette and it moves in an almost comforting manner.
IM HERE FOR YOU
I LOVE YOU
He feels the blanket actually be pulled tighter around him and he thinks about how Jon used to try and make him feel better after every failure. After every breakdown. Jon used to hug him in comfort even though he knew Eduardo would eventually push him away.
The planchette moves.
ILL NEVER LEAVE YOU AGAIN
That’s a strange thing for even a living person to say. A sudden thought comes into Eduardo’s mind and it takes a turn into realization. He asks aloud, “Who are you?”
The planchette only spells out
I LOVE YOU
and Eduardo feels his heart skip.
“Jon?”
There is no response.