When hinges creak in doorless chambers...

[hatchethanging]

 
 

 

 
 







Welcome, foolish mortals,
to the Haunted Mansion.



Watch your step on the way in, please.

 

Comments

[hatchethanging]

Once they continue on, most of the dancers fall back into step, albeit not quite as in sync as before. A few keep watching the Host and Noah until the banister hides them from view before they disperse. A wandering mortal is a concern, and finding him and telling him off for messing up the party is time well-spent.

Why a few extra spirits rattled Noah so is beyond the Host's understanding. Something to think on for the future. If nothing else, this disaster of a tour is certainly a learning experience.

"Constance Hatchaway is the lady of the house, and for whom it was built. She is often reasonable...for who and what she is: a black widow. Or a serial killer, as I've been lead to believe is the modern term."

The Attic is deeply cluttered. Dozens of spaces between ancient wardrobes, rotting chests, hatboxes, dusty tables, wedding portraits, wedding banners hanging from the ceiling, piles of flowers strewn about, are all perfect for a mortal to duck into if so inclined. The Host hesitates a few steps in, asking the silent question of whether or not the other mortal is here. Sometimes, the Mansion can give an answer. The entire room, though unmoving, thrums with the sound of a heartbeat.

The nearest portrait is of a young bride and groom, with the fresh-faced young man wearing a bowler hat and seemingly uncomfortable with his suit. Before long, the head in its entirety disappears, leaving a gaping space in the suit's collar where his neck had been.

"Her husbands are still around, of course."

[cookswithspite]

Noah’s still feeling mildly ill after that attack of social anxiety but fortunately it seems the Haunted Mansion is just full of distractions. If he wasn’t in a hurry to find Cameron, Noah might stop and gape over this latest tidbit of information he has to put up with, but since time is of the essence he multitasks by walking and gaping.

“...And do we have to talk to this Ms. Hatchaway?” Noah is fully expecting the answer to be “Yes,” but hope springeth eternal, even as he heads up into a creepy-as-fuck attic and takes a look around.

And ohhhh he does not like this place, it looks like the sort of place where a machete wielding maniac will jump out of a wardrobe once you’re too far in to easily find the exit. And when did the sound of his heartbeat get so loud? Or is it… something within the attic making the sound? Noah’s eyes dart back and forth in a feeble attempt to figure out the source of the sound, before landing on the portrait.

There’s something weird looking about the people in it, and Noah’s not sure if it’s just the nature of old photographs or if it’s the unsettling truth he’s been told about it. But before he can mull it over much, the groom’s head disappears. Noah gasps, sounding far too loud to his own ears, and jerks back. Once he hears the Host, Noah hurries in the direction of the man’s voice.

“As in here, in this attic, or just. More ghosts?” Noah whispers.

[hatchethanging]

"A complete conversation may not be required. Ignoring her entirely, however, would be rather more rude than necessary or sensible."

There is, indeed, a presence in this room there should not be. The reversal of a mortal sensing a ghost; warmth instead of chill, breath in place of whispers. His voice lowers as he follows it. Like anything in the Mansion, it isn't an exact science.

"Why, both. They come and go as they want. At least two are here now; particularly the one whose once-living visage you were just admiring." Around that portrait, an invisible Ambrose Harper gives a soft, tired-sounding laugh.

The next figure they come across is not a husband, a bride, or a lost mortal. A be-hatted and rather skeletal gentleman steps out of the woodwork (not quite literally), tapping over the wooden floor with his cane. This earns a small noise of pleasant surprise from the Host. "So you've decided to drop in again, hmm?"

The Hatbox Ghost offers a nod in return. The sight of Noah catches his interest more than the Host's words, and his head vanishes with a flicker of spectral smoke from his shoulders. He isn't a tall spirit, forced into a slight stoop, and he lifts his hatbox higher just to get a better look.

"Yes, yes, I invited him in. You haven't seen another mortal nearby, have you?"

[cookswithspite]

The Ghost Host is probably correct but Noah still privately likes his own idea of not talking to a serial killer. He won’t ignore her if they run into one another, of course, but he’ll still cherish his dreams of not having to meet her at all.

“Oh.” Noah glances briefly back at the portrait, wondering if he should say something (“Sorry about your head?”) but he can’t think of anything that seems not-stupid and then it’s out of sight again as it’s back to picking his way through old furniture and wedding paraphernalia. Hopefully the erstwhile husband isn’t offended.

When the next ghost shows up, Noah actually notices the sound of the ghost’s cane tapping before he actually sees the spirit, which helps him keep his surprised noise at a reasonable volume. (Albeit considerably less pleased than the Host’s.) He tries to correct himself by greeting the new spirit with an oh-so-polite “Hello- gaaaaah.”

Can nobody keep their head on their shoulders up here? Noah’s almost tempted to keep a hand on his own head, just in case it starts to vanish.

Still, Noah perks up a bit when the subject of Cameron is brought up. “It, uh, any help would be appreciated,” he says, seconding the Host’s question. “He’s my friend.”

[hatchethanging]

It's just so easy to lose one's head in such an unusual situation.

The Hatbox Ghost's eyes narrow with a hint of derision. Mortals. So meddling and cowardly. He doesn't know why the Host wants to bother with them in the first place.

Perhaps he would've kept glaring for long enough to become outright awkward, but the Ghost Host is in a bit of a hurry. At an invisibly impatient gesture, a skeletal hand lifts the cane and points with the end of it.

"...Thank you," he murmurs, softer than he's been so far.

The thieving mortal's gone towards the way to the balcony. The balcony where Constance tends to keep herself, surveying the grounds and the spirits that celebrate there. With pride or jealousy, the Host doesn't know, and will likely never ask. There is no guarantee she's there, but he knows better than to be hopeful.

"This way," he says grimly, and once again leads Noah onward.

[cookswithspite]

Brief as it is, Noah swallows nervously under the weight of the Hatbox Ghost’s glare. Damn it, he’d been trying to be polite. Why is he always so bad with people, living or dead?

But at least the ghost has answered their question. Noah gives him a nod and hurries in the direction indicated- the Host doesn’t need to tell Noah twice to get a move on!

...Of course, it would help if he actually had a bit more to go on than a single direction, cluttered and unfamiliar as the attic is. He can’t go fast without risking knocking over a table full of flowers or a stack of gift boxes or tripping over a piano. And it’s dark, and the dust makes him sneeze a few times. Once again, it’s reminding himself that somewhere in this mess there’s Cameron that keeps Noah from doing what he really wants, which is to curl up in a ball and whimper.

Needless to say Noah doesn’t talk much, except for the occasional quiet question-slash-comment like “This way?” to make sure he’s not getting himself lost. Or been left alone up here.

Eventually the moonlight on one end of the attic starts to properly filter through the junk and then, quite suddenly, Noah can see someone standing in a doorway.

“Hello?”

Someone tall, fair, holding a book open in his hands but peering warily out into the gloom of the attic.

“Cameron!” Oh God, the sight of him makes Noah almost cry with relief. Forgetting the presence of the Host or anyone else in the attic for that matter, Noah hurries forward. Cameron clasps one hand on Noah’s shoulder (the Host might notice he’s still keeping the book open with the other hand).

“Noah!” Cameron looks startled, definitely, but not upset. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t show up after work, and you weren’t picking up your phone, and then I ran into Mali and she said you’d gone here, so I went to find you, but then I ran into this ghost-” Noah breaks off, embarrassed at his own rambling and the inanity of what he’s saying (even if he’s reasonably sure at this point that Cameron won’t disbelieve him), as well as it occurring to him that the Host might want to get a word in edgewise.

“Anyway,” he finishes lamely, “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am. Are you okay? You sound terrible.”

[hatchethanging]

There he is. Cameron, the cause of so much trouble!

...Yes, very much in the works next: a plan to keep better track of multiple guests. And for more reasonable specters to keep an eye out.

Noah is drawn to Cameron; the Host is drawn to the book. No matter how touching a reunion this could play out to be, he has greater responsibilities to focus on. For the Mansion and these foolish, foolish mortals.

"Mister Noah is right as rain," he says from his new place directly above Cameron's head. Frigid air crashes down onto them both, rattling flowers in their vases and those vases on their tables. "Or he was near enough--'til his cousin decided to play petty thief, hmm?" He so punctuates this by snapping his grip around the edges of the book and yanking straight upwards.

[cookswithspite]

Noah yells and flinches, bringing his arms up over his head at the blast of cold. At the same time he feels Cameron’s hand slip from his shoulder, leaving an immediate sense of bereftness. The sound of the foliage rustling and furniture rattling in the gust rings in his ears. Damn it, he was hoping they could just talk this over-

And then of course he hears Cameron, speaking almost as cheerfully as if this was just an everyday meeting.

“Oh, it’s you! Sorry I didn’t say hello but-”

Noah lowers his arms just enough to squint at his cousin from behind his own swishing hair. Cameron’s smiling, utterly serene except for the alarming death grip he has on the spellbook that seems equally determined to shoot upwards.

Noah’s stomach lurches. “Cameron-!” he tries saying, but Cameron is still ignoring him in favor of wrestling with the Host.

“I didn’t-”

Noah tries again: “Cameron, what are you doing?”

“See you-!” Without sparing his cousin a glance, Cameron adds. “Noah, I’m a little busy right now!”

And all Noah can do is stand uselessly on the wayside, torn between the instinct to help Cameron and his feeling that doing so would be a terrible idea.

[hatchethanging]

"I need no greetings," the Host returns, cold in tone and physicality. "Only stolen goods returned." There's no strain in his voice--moving physical objects as a spirit is unlike muscles of the living--but the book isn't being torn from Cameron's grip as easily as he could. He doesn't want to damage it more than it already has been, age and now oily mortal fingers taking its toll on the pages.

He doesn't want Noah to get in the way. Or to grab the spellbook himself. Yes, stay there, please, and the air picks up into the start of a whirlwind around the battle of the book.

spell nabbed from some random wiccan angelfire website

[cookswithspite]

Shivers run up and down Noah’s spine as he cowers off to the side, battered by stray flowers and bits of paper, unable to tear his gaze away from the bizarre game of tug-of-war going on in front of him.

“Well that’s unfortunate,” Cameron says simply. He shifts his feet, keeping his grip stubbornly on the book- for a moment, his sea green eyes glint in the moonlight and then he takes a quick breath and begins to recite:

“By the power of earth, by the power of air, by the power of fire, by the power of water,”

Noah gapes. Oh God, why is Cameron suddenly babbling nonsense-?

“By the life in the blood that liveth,” Cameron continues, “Be thou host-spirit stopped!”

Then Noah puts two and two together. It’s not nonsense that’s being babbled, it’s a spell. Cameron’s actually reading from that damned book.

“Return thy evil to whence it cometh, have thy words and deeds return to thee, as thou-”

Noah isn’t what anyone would call spiritually adept. No second sight to speak of- his first sight is poor enough to need glasses- no interest in the occult and before today, no belief to speak of. But despite this, he’s sure that no good can come of Cameron completing that spell, and so...

“STOP IT!”

...and if the sudden shout from the previously silent Noah wasn’t enough to interrupt Cameron’s reading, the way Noah clumsily throws himself at the book, between the two fighting over it, certainly is.

[hatchethanging]

Hellfire--the Host's been so out-of-touch with literal mortality, worry of banishment hadn't struck him as a possibility.

And now it is. Greatly. Literally. For the first time in well over a century, a weight slams into his chest, grows inside him, his limbs, his--his bones, a horrific sensation of solidness. It's pain that keeps the book in his grip after, memory of muscles convulsing--

Noah's unexpected interference is enough to knock the book away from the Host's hands.

Spell interrupted, the wind reaches a crescendo, and the heartbeat of the room is drowned out by a howl of agony wrenched from the Ghost Host's being.

[cookswithspite]

There’s a horrible moment where Noah can’t stop his own momentum and he tips partway over the railing. An expansive graveyard and the distant black grounds of the mansion fills his vision, just at the same moment that the agonized howling of the Host splits through his skull like a hatchet.

Oh God, Noah thinks, I’m really going to die here.

But before he can make the fatal drop a pair of arms wrap around him and Noah is hauled backwards. He stumbles to the floor of the balcony, legs buckling into an ungainly heap alongside Cameron. And the Host is still screaming.

Noah slams his hands over his ears, barely noticing when Cameron lets go of him in order to retrieve the spellbook and slip it into his jacket.

By mutual unspoken agreement, both of them scramble to their feet and run like hell.

It shouldn’t be simple, the place is dark and cluttered, but somehow adrenaline and terrified instinct keeps them moving through the dusty furniture, and then up and down random stairs and passageways, darting through doorways and abandoned rooms. At some point they grab one another’s hand and Noah can’t remember if it was him or Cameron who reached out first but he’s glad of it, in spite of the slick sweat on their palms.

No matter how far away they run he still feels the Host’s screams ringing in his ears.

[hatchethanging]

The Host sinks to the floor. Through the floor. Into the Mansion's darkness.


The mortals flee where no mortals should ever be.

The corridors are smothered in cobwebs to the point of hiding doorways and windows. Almost no candelabra passed is lit. The air is damp, heavy, smothering. Lacking in portraits and sometimes wallpaper, eyes still flicker to life and follow their wild path through the Haunted Mansion. From the Grand Hall even now, strains of the Organist's tune echo from unexpected twists and turns.

Of all things, it seems to be raining again. At least, that's probably what that distant drumming coming from somewhere above them is.

Sooner or later, they'll strike a dead end. A bedroom, in fact, domineered by an oak bed with ragged sheets and a dusty vanity.

We open the curtain on Act 2 with: words words words words

[cookswithspite]

If there’s one thing adrenaline can’t make a pair of teenage boys run through, it’s a very solid bedroom wall.

And now that they’ve stopped running, Noah doesn’t know if he’ll be able to run again in his life. His chest and legs are burning from the strain, and the thickness of the air and dust isn’t helping him catch his breath. He’s able to let go of Cameron’s hand and slink over to the bed, where he collapses into a more or less sitting position, but even that feels like a Herculean effort.

Cameron sits next to him a few moments later, fishing out his phone. “Still no signal,” he says, in between breaths, “But it... should give us some more light.”

Technically it does, but the electronic glow of the phone’s screen just makes the rest of the room feel darker in comparison, the shadows of all the furniture being cast into sharper relief. And the sound of Cameron panting is setting Noah on edge. Cam’s never this out of breath, or at least- technically Noah has seen Cam out of breath before, usually after a P.E. class or sneaking out of someone’s bedroom or some other misadventure, but he never sounds tired, not like this.

“Where…” Noah pauses for a breath before continuing, “...are we?”

“Beyond the obvious?” Cameron says, shining the light at the bed posts. “...Hm. No idea. We shouldn’t stay here too long though… Best not to get trapped in a dead end if anything comes after us… He was very loud.”

That was the understatement of the century. It occurs to Noah that he has no idea if the Host is… “alive” is obviously wrong, so he mentally settles for “alright.” It would probably be better for them if the Host wasn’t, of course, but… it had sounded like he was in a lot of pain, for someone without a body.

“What was that thing you were reading? That… spell, I mean,” Noah gestures vaguely at Cameron’s jacket.

“The one about the earth and air and whatnot? Some banishment spell or other. I figured odds were somebody was going to notice the book was missing sooner or later, and might have a problem with it, so that was the first thing I looked up in the index. And that one was the simplest looking one, so I flipped to it as soon as I heard someone coming.” Cameron grins, a little shakily, at Noah. “I can’t believe you actually managed to follow me all the way into the attic, by the way.”

“I can’t believe you stole a spellbook from a decapitated woman in a crystal ball, yet here we are.”

Cameron laughs but oddly, it doesn’t make Noah feel any better. “Amazing, isn’t it?” Cameron says. “All of this has been right here for so long, and we had no idea.”

“I wish we still had no idea!” Noah buries his face in his hands. “Why did you even come here? And why did you take that stupid book?”

“...It wasn’t exactly planned, you know. We- Mali, Dillon, Adrian, Leilani and me- we all had some time to kill, and I was the only one willing to go in further than the porch, once we saw the lights were on.”

“Mali didn’t mention the part about the lights,” Noah mutters.

“Maybe she was trying to trick you, or trying to trick herself. Anyway. You can probably guess the rest- I’m not sure how much of the tour the Host gave you, but he started showing off all sorts of things. A gallery with moving walls, paintings that changed-”

“Yeah, all that,” Noah interrupts. “We were just outside of Madame Leota’s room when he found out what you’d done.”

“-I see. Well, he left me unattended while we were in the ballroom and while it was all very interesting, I hadn’t gotten as good a look at everything as I’d wanted. So I backtracked a bit and when I got to the seance room I noticed the Madame seemed pretty distracted and well… There was an opportunity, so I took it.”

At this point, Noah finally removes his face from his hands just so he can shoot Cameron his best annoyed look. “So you stole it on some sort of whim?”

Cameron, of course, merely raises his eyebrows. “You make it sound like I got dared to lift some candy bars.”

“No, I mean- You stole something, first off, which is bad, obviously- but then of course you’ve seen how insane this place is and you decided ‘Oh, you know what will be fun? Messing with all of it!’ What if that spell had, had banished you or something?!”

“It shouldn’t have, considering I specified the Host in the right place.”

“That’s-!”

“-Besides, if I hadn’t risked that spell he would have just taken the book from me and then we’d have been defenceless, right?”

Noah actually has to take a moment to think about this. Obviously the Host had been terrifying him all evening, but… “It wasn’t like he was going to kill us. I mean, I talked to him and the Madame, they agreed that if you just gave the book back we could get to go home and everything would go back to normal.”

Cameron laughs again, but this time it’s obviously forced. “How generous! And then I suppose we’d never have anything to do with ghosts or anything remotely unusual ever again?”

“...Ideally, yeah.” Noah huffs. “Are you even hearing yourself right now? There could be real consequences for all of this! We, we don’t know how any of this works so just- How do you think your Dad would feel if you never came home again?”

Cameron goes quiet.

Noah hopes, desperately, that maybe that’s a sign that Cameron’s reconsidering things- his cousin’s expression seems thoughtful, but it’s hard to read in the gloom. And then it gets even harder to read when Cameron casually swings his phone so the light is shining right into Noah’s eyes.

Noah flinches, having to turn away. “Jesus, watch where you point that thing!”

“I assume he’d be very, very sad,” Cameron says calmly. “My turn to ask a question. I’ve been wondering, why did you follow me here in the first place?”

“What-? What kind of question… I mean, you didn’t show up when you said you would, and I thought you’d get into some sort of trouble… which you did, by the way…”

“So? You don’t have to follow me everywhere, all the time. You could’ve just gone home.”

Noah stiffens. Why does Cameron have to phrase it like that? He wants to turn his head to glare at Cameron, but of course his cousin’s still holding that stupid light up. “I told you,” Noah says, “You were in trouble-”

“Of course I was,” Cameron says. “You did lead the Host right to me. Not to mention interrupted the banishment spell, even when you had no idea what it even was.”

“I didn’t lead him to you! And look, I had a bad feeling about that spell-”

“You have a bad feeling about everything.”

“I do not!” And even Noah has to cringe at how blatantly childish his own response is. There’s just something about the way Cameron is talking that is flustering him even worse than normal. That maddeningly even tone of voice, like he’s being oh-so-reasonable, and then there’s Noah flying off the handle, having no idea what he’s doing or talking about.

“I’m just saying,” Cameron continues, “It’s a bit irritating having you moaning about everything when I never asked you to come get me in the first place.”

Noah can’t even say anything to that, not at first. The only thing that comes out is an angry little noise. He’s “just saying?” Somehow, it feels like a punch in the face would have been kinder. His stomach keeps twisting up, it takes several attempts before he can spit out: “You selfish- You- You complete and utter prick.”

Cameron finally moves the light away, but Noah doesn’t bother to try and look up.

“Look,” Cameron says, standing up. “Forget it. Let’s just go before anyone else finds us.”

Noah remains seated. “...Why don’t you just find your own way, if I’m such a nuisance?”

There’s another pause, before Cameron says, “Sure, why not? I bet the ghosts will be happy to help an upstanding guy like yourself out of here.”

“I do have that whole didn’t-steal-their-fucking-spellbook-thing going for me, don’t I?”

“Right, and if the goodness of their hearts isn’t enough to compel them, I’m sure they’ll get bored of you before too long.”

“And maybe they’ll finally get so sick of you being such a self-centered dick that even the axe murderers will want you out of here!”

“And when they chop my head off you can tell everyone how you knew this would happen all along!”

“Just get OUT, Cameron!”

Noah’s expecting Cameron to offer some blithe retort or another, but the only thing he hears is a moment of silence, followed by the shuffle of Cameron’s feet. The light from Cameron’s phone drifts across the room, before disappearing entirely along with the sound of the door shutting.

Noah blinks back his tears, pretending that his eyes are only watering from the light that had been pointed at him.

[hatchethanging]

Their desperate flight away wasn't quiet, and neither was their conversation after. A few curious haunts followed the steps and the sounds, lingering just out of sight in the walls and the ceilings. Cameron himself nearly brushed his hair against the floating heels of one of the Waltzing Dead from the ballroom--one that disperses himself into floating, flickering lights, and begins to follow again. The Host had asked to carefully contain before.

While the bedroom itself would have been a perfect opportunity, a few ghosts have trouble letting go of some lifetime qualms. Trapping young men in a lady's bedchambers is one of them.

"My goodness. What a terribly rude young man," the lady in question huffs from the other side of the bed.

Noah may or may not recall the young woman he'll turn to see seated daintily across from him--one from the stretching room's portraits, the lady who met her end at the teeth of an alligator, as the many terrible teeth-marks puncturing through her stomach show. Her parasol is folded up now, resting across her lap.

She hadn't been there the entire time. Not in that spot, anyway. She'd been watching from the vanity. Perhaps he hadn't seen her due to the dust in the reflection. Or the emotions of the pair. More likely that, she concludes, staring past Noah at the shut door.

[cookswithspite]

Noah doesn’t merely turn around at the sound of the lady’s voice, but springs right off the bed like a cat that’s been sprayed by water and presses himself against the wall opposite. For a moment he just stands there squinting at her (Why does she look familiar…?) before he attempts to formulate an actual response.

“Who- How- What- How-”

It does not go very well, and it’s anyone’s guess if the redness in his face is from exertion, embarrassment, or the tears he’s not doing very well at hiding, but he eventually settles on “How long have you been here?” as a first question.

[hatchethanging]

This ghost, at least, has the grace to look abashed. Slightly. She doesn't much sound it, though, when she answers.

"Long enough. You two were loud enough to wake the dead!" Her laugh's a high twitter. She stands, stepping through the bed to stand a bit closer to Noah. "--This is my room, you see. I'm Sarah Slater, but please, call me Sally!"

She sticks the hand without a parasol out. She's wearing gloves, though they blend in with the pallor of her ghostly skin fairly well.

"...Oh! And if you're afraid, nobody is going to chop anyone's head off. ...But I know that one's going to tempt a few if he keeps being so snotty. Really, a trespasser has no right to be acting like that!" she insists, shifting quickly from comforting to annoyed.

[cookswithspite]

At the laugh, Noah slumps, sliding partway down the wall. He can’t say he’s surprised that she heard all that, but...

“Oh. Well, that’s just perfect,” Noah says. Sarcastic as it is, there isn’t much venom in that comment. Especially since he punctuates it with a quiet sniffle.

“...Noah,” he mumbles. “...but you probably already got that.” He’s polite enough to take her hand, intending to shake it, but when he does her hand is so cold that he has to stifle a noise (“Ngh-!”) and immediately drops it, along with a full body shiver.

“Uh. Thanks?”

He still wants to defend his cousin even after the argument, and that realization makes him feel extra pathetic. Although the reassurance that nobody’s going to behead anyone does make him feel less scared, even as he tries to remind himself this is coming from a dead woman with several gashes through her.

At any rate, Noah can’t help but say “...You think he’s snotty?”

[hatchethanging]

"Oh! I'm sorry, I forgot mortals don't do well in contact with us." She pulls her hand back and hides them both behind her back, parasol point poking out. "I haven't had a chance to see someone like you up close in ages!"

Other ghosts are better at having a fun time, but anything new is exciting! Even if it clearly went wrong with these living people so far from where they should be.

"Of course. You were just trying to help, weren't you? That's what it sounded like. Is it true, though? He stole..." Sally leans forward, dropping her voice to a worried whisper. "...her spellbook?" There are plenty of beat-up tomes in the Mansion he could have been holding. She, one of the more uninformed, hopes that's the case.

[cookswithspite]

Noah briefly averts his gaze, embarrassed by the idea of anyone wanting to see him up close regardless of the reason. “You, uh, must not get a lot of visitors,” he mumbles. “If you think I’m that exciting.”

He was trying to help but… “try” is the operative word there, Noah glumly thinks. So far he hasn’t really helped Cameron- or the ghosts for that matter- worth a damn, has he?

“Um. Yeah. Sorry,” Noah says, slowly making eye contact again. “I don’t even know why he wants it. I guess it’s a novelty to him?” Thinking about it, his forehead furrows as he tries to work it out. “...I really don’t think he’d want to harm this place, but. He’s set enough on that stupid thing that he even tried banishing that Host guy…”

Ugh. And remembering that incident is making him feel that lurch in his stomach all over again. It’s not just the guilt over whatever happened to the Host, but if Cameron hadn’t been quick to haul him back, Noah’s sure he would’ve been a very dead mess on the ground below.

It’s just typical, isn’t it? Noah sets out to rescue Cameron from his own folly and just winds up complicating everything in the process, and then Noah has to be the one rescued. He sighs and drops his gaze, slumping further until he’s flopped into an awkward sitting position on the floor.

[hatchethanging]

"...You've stirred things up," the lady says with a touch of rue. She actually isn't sure he should be in here, with his nervousness and utterly irritating friend.

Sally's hand goes up over her mouth. "Banishing? That's--no good, not at all! You said 'tried'--did he actually do it?" She gets in a little too close, leaning down to search Noah's face. She admittedly doesn't know what happens with banishment from one of Madame Leota's spells, but something happening to the gentleman who hosts them all is definitely going to be a terrible problem!

[cookswithspite]

Noah cringes back, trying to avoid her gaze. But he’s honest when he speaks, even if he’s halting. “I. Don’t know. He didn’t finish the spell but... it sounded like the Host was in pain, somehow.” How could a ghost even feel pain?

“I don’t know what really happened,” Noah mumbles. “I don’t even know what banishment does…” Was it just supposed to kick a ghost out of a place, or was it something that could destroy them? Because it definitely sounded like the latter was going on.

“Wasn’t trying to stir anything up… I just want to go home…” To his utter mortification Noah starts tearing up again and he shuts his eyes tightly, praying that Sally hasn’t noticed.

[hatchethanging]

She presses her hand against her stomach. Sally's never heard of a ghost in pain from anything but symptoms of their own death...

She'll just have to go to Madame Leota and tell her. She doesn't know anything about this.

"Well--" she falters, too close to miss those tears. Oh no. She straightens up again, worriedly flattening her dress over her gashes. "...I can show you the way out."

[cookswithspite]

That should be reassuring, spark some kind of hope in him. It doesn’t.

Noah sniffles, curling up further.

He really does want to go home but… even if Sally’s telling the truth and he’s able to leave the Mansion behind, he can’t help but think about what’s going to happen with Cameron. Noah doesn’t know what’s going to happen with Cameron. His cousin is suddenly hellbent on throwing himself into this dangerous situation and even if Cam gets out on his own, they still had the fight about it.

Cameron at the least is irritated with Noah, and Noah doesn’t know how long that’s been coming. He’s afraid it’s been for a while. And he’s angry with Cameron too, but…

If they’re not friends after this, or if Cameron even dies- where does that leave Noah?

He has to choke back a sob.

"Sorry. I really do want... I'm just... Sorry."

[hatchethanging]

"...There's no hurry, I suppose," she replies uncertainly. "I'll let you stay in here for as long as you feel like." Her room, that is. He doesn't look like he'll be moving much on his own anyway.

But she must find out what's going on, or at least tell Madame Leota about it. Sally flattens her dress out and takes a few ballet steps towards the wall, and she's halfway through it before she thinks to pause and look at him again. "I'll be back soon! I'll...give you some time to collect yourself?" Is that a good idea?