Chapter Text
Boy A: You guys know about that old house on the edge of town?
Girl A: The one that everyone says is haunted?
Boy A: It’s haunted too?
Boy B: You don’t even know if you’re both on the same page yet…
Girl A: I was talking about that big house on the hill.
Boy A: Same. Didn’t know it was haunted too.
Girl B: Then what did you think was strange about it?
Boy A: I heard there’s a witch living there.
Girl B: …That’s an old story, slowpoke. It’s not even scary.
Girl A: How do you know it’s not scary? Did you check?
Girl B: No, my mom tells me not to go out that far.
Boy B: Ours too.
Boy A: Hey, ****, How about you find out if it’s scary or not?
Girl B: Yeah, I dare you!
Boy B: …
The old house was infamous throughout Faraway. Tons of rumors sprang out for reasons he doesn’t know, or forgot. It’s hard listening to boring stuff, and everyone’s story was different anyway. Like:
“That house is haunted.”
“It’s the site of a murder”
“A witch lives there.”
“It’s been abandoned for ages.”
The first sounds sketchy. Wouldn’t ghosts get bored hanging around the same spot for decades? He couldn’t even sit at home for one afternoon without losing his mind.
The second is probably fake. The police would have recorded a murder, so there’s no way it could be a rumor.
The third is…what he was set to find out.
The last is a total lie.
One look at the old house makes it easy to see where the rumors started. Even in the Summer, the trees were withered and sick. The sunflowers were pretty, but they’re still just weeds; Growin’ with as much care as the owner showed the lawn. (none)
The vines clinging to the outer walls made the building look ancient.
You’d think the inside would be a hot mess, but the 2-story building’s interior was well-kept. He’d sooner find a needle in a haystack than a stain on those white walls, and he might even see his reflection on the tiles if he tried. Maybe.
The old clock ticks loudly. The working hands announced the time: 4:45 PM on a school day. It’d be normal for everyone to be out of the house, but he expects at least one person to be home. She might be the only one living here for all he knew.
He sneaks forward until the base of the staircase is in front of him.
A glance to the right of the stairs shows a sealed door with light peeking out from under the crevice, as expected.
There was a very good reason he knew she would be here. It was hard not to hear the echoes of that piano as soon as he stepped foot in the house.
She must like the piano a lot - With those thoughts in mind, his bandaged arm grips the rails as he quietly moves upstairs. At the end, he glances left and right.
While there were technically three doors, therefore three options, it's a known fact that only cowards start with the middle road.
He reached into the pocket of his dark pants and pulled out a silver dollar.
The coin flipped into the air and landed on his open palm.
If heads, he goes right.
Tails and he goes left.
It lands on Heads, just before slipping and falling. The racket of the coin dropping was just loud enough to attract attention. Luckily for him, the music doesn’t stop.
“Whew. Safe.” He collects his charm and picks the door on the right. He’d never gotten this far before.
The knob turns and the frame slowly opens. His head peeks inside to find a plain room. It’s big enough for two to share, going by the beds. They’re separated by a desk and a lamp and are colored pink and gray, respectively. The book on the white bed catches his attention. It might’ve been what he was searching for.
Unlike his room, the floor isn’t littered with clothes. Maybe he ought to have considered cleaning up once in a while.
“It’s so nice on the inside. I wonder why the front is so dirt-” Hazel-colored eyes grow wide with wonder after finding the PC on the desk. “I’ve never seen one this old. Does it still work?” The screen lit up at the press of a button, but that was all. After 2 minutes of waiting, he considers that it might have stalled completely. Along with his enthusiasm. “Someone should tell her that hoarding junk’s a bad habit.”
Now back on track, he motions to the green book on the bed.
“Basil’s Memories” was the title. He traced his finger over the edges. The sides were worn from age and wear like they’d been opened and closed a thousand times over the years.
Turning the page made it clear that this was less a book and more an album.
The first picture is a snapshot of a dark-haired boy playing the violin. His eyes were closed, which was normal for extra concentration.
There's a description below the photograph.
12/25 - Christmas
My first photo! It’s my best friend, Sunny, trying out his new violin. He’s starting to take lessons again so he can play at recitals with his sister, Mari. So exciting!
Sunny. He had a name to the face now, and two others he didn’t recognize. Maybe he’ll find out more-
“What are you doing?” A jolt runs through his body as he spins around. At some point, the music had stopped. The reason was standing in front of him in a plain white dress.
“I’m instigating.” He confessed.
Her hair wasn’t messy or long enough to hide the annoyance creeping on her face. If she was better at playing cool, she might’ve reminded him of a huge doll. “...Is this what passes for fun with kids these days?”
“Can’t lie. It’s kinda fun.” It was too late by the time he realized that was the wrong answer.
“Wait-” The sides of his cheeks were pinched and stretched.
“That’s what this kind of fun gets you.” His tormentor released him. “Didn’t your parents teach you not to enter a stranger’s house?”
“No? Everyone does it.” He rubbed his face. Course, that meant he had to put the book down first.
“What were you doing with that?” She asked.
“The book? I saw it on the bed and-”
‘Thought you could read it without my permission.” She interrupted, visibly unimpressed. “Let me guess, you don’t have many friends, do you?”
The reactionary gasp was loud even to his ears. “I’ve got friends! They’re why I’m here, and why I’ve got to uncover the truth.” His declaration didn’t seem to faze her. Nope, her attention hangs on the computer.
“Did you turn that on?”
He nodded, now seeing that the PC had finally booted up to…barely any apps. “Is that Solitaire?”
She ignores his question, “This room is off-limits. Get out.”
He can’t even get a word out before he’s lifted by his hoodie and dragged outside the room, where he’s promptly dropped like a sack of bricks.
The door shuts and there’s the faintest sound of it locking.
...
“Scary.” He scuttled to his feet. There probably was a secret hidden there. Too late to check it now though. “Hmmm.” Fingers rake through unruly brown hair.
She said that room was off-limits, but doesn’t that mean everywhere else was free game?
The room on the near left beckoned him. On close inspection, it’s an ordinary bathroom. No really, everything inside could be made out by the wide mirror.
Two toothbrushes inside a cup.
A bath covered a plain blue curtain.
A clean toilet.
And two towels hanging on opposite sides of the wall.
There’s nothing else to see.
“Onto the next one.” To his confusion, behind door number 3 is…just another bedroom. With the bed so neatly made, he couldn’t tell whether anyone had slept in it. He guesses, from all the belongings carefully placed about, that it probably wasn’t a guest room. Did that mean 3 people were living in this house?
“She never said that the other room was hers, so maybe it’s this one.” The outfits stored inside the closet checked out as distinctly girly. Unless the owner was a cross-dresser.
He hadn’t seen anyone like that though.
He hadn’t seen anyone else, period.
He sinks to his knees and searches underneath the bed. As a callback to his habits, he hid anything he didn’t want others to see there.
“Nothin’.” He murmured, thinking this was starting to get weird. The underside was practically spotless.
“Isn’t this house a little too clean?” Contrary to his own words, the boy goes out of his way to brush the imaginary dust off his prized jacket; an orange, sleeveless hoodie that he wore over the school uniform. “Aw damn, my tie’s loose.” He noted, before adjusting the striped, blue accessory. “Better.” His appearance at least. His search was nearing a dead-end.
All that stood out in this room was the PC next to the stack of papers on the desk. It was hooked up to a wide external monitor and *looked* new enough. Newer than the (way more interesting) fossil in the other room for sure. Easier to boot up to. This one reaches the lock screen in 5 seconds flat, and, just like the name, it was locked behind a password.
He groaned. “This is a bust.” He finally snuck upstairs and still found nothing. Nothing except that picture book.
Then again, “There’s the backyard of this place. If she was hiding anything, it could be there right?” Unless he missed a trap door or something. And if he started thinking like that, he’d be here forever.
He travels downstairs, then to the sliding door at the back of the house. There’s a whole forest to explore out there.
He smiled like he was moments from unwrapping presents on Christmas Day.
The door handle was just slightly out of reach before he heard the sound of footsteps descending from the staircase. His host doesn’t notice him at first.
“I’m gonna check the back. I hope you don’t mind.” He called out.
The dark-haired woman faced him, then lifted her brows in confusion. “Why?”
“I might find some clues to prove that you’re a witch.”
“See here,” She starts, vexed. “If I were hiding anything like that, do you think I’d let you just go wherever you wanted?”
He shrugs. “Beats me, I don’t know how a witch thinks.”
Grimacing, she replies, “You’re persistent.”
“Maybe. I’d like to think I’m thorough.”
“Thorough.” She repeats, mockingly. “That’s how you justify ransacking my living room and kitchen without asking.”
“That’s a big accusio-acausat-” He pauses, and rephrases. “Miss, can you please not make me sound like a criminal?”
“Then what are you?”
“An inquestor.”
“You mean an inquisitor.” She corrects.
“Isn’t that what I said?”
“No.”
“Huh.” Weird, but if she says so. “Being fair, the first time, I thought the house was empty.”
“And the other times?” She crosses her arms, her lips forming a fake smile.
“You never told me I couldn't come back.” He answers simply. “Plus, you never lock your doors. I thought it was fine.”
“Does that mean you’d stay away if I started locking them?”
“Please don’t. I can’t go back to my friends empty-handed.” And climbing in through the windows was a pain…
Her eyes narrowed. “Those friends must mean a lot to you if you’re doing something this stupid for their approval.”
He tilts his head, confusion oozing from every pore of fair skin. “This is all for me.”
She squints. “So…you get some thrill from breaking into people’s houses?”
At this rate, she’s going to think he’s some weirdo. “I happen to like thrills…but even if I didn’t, I already accepted the dare. What am I gonna do if everyone starts calling me a liar? A man’s worth is only as good as his word.”
She sighed. “Have it your way.”
Cool. “Thanks. I’ll be off now.” He slid open the door, but only halfway. “Um, if I don’t come back by nightfall, could you come get me?”
“How will I even know where to find you?”
“It’s your lair, isn’t it?”
“...What the heck do you think a witch is, exactly?”
He doesn’t need more than a second to think about that. He’d heard it a million times from Mr. Ziegler. Whenever his neighbor got drunk and wanted to vent, he’d call his wife that, among many other colorful names. ‘Witch’ was the old man’s favorite, and he’d gotten the gist of it over time. “A woman who curses good men.”
…
…
Her gaze is almost vacant. “You’re smarter than I thought.”
“Was that a confession? If so, I’m still gonna need actual evidence.”
“Whatever you say. Just go home before evening.”
It shouldn’t take nearly that long, hopefully. “Alright, see you.”
Just as he turned around, he was stopped for a third time.
“Wait,” She calls to him. “What’s your name?”
He spins around. “I didn’t think you cared.”
“I still don’t. This is just for convenience.”
Ouch.
He thinks about his decision for a moment. “The name's Max."
Her eyebrows raised. "No, it isn't."
“How could you tell!?” He clutched the sides of temples.
“I don’t need to read minds to see how awkward you sounded…” She said with a bewildered expression.
He can accept that. He was a terrible liar, or so Sally often said. “Sorry, but there’s a chance you might curse me if I gave you my real name.”
“Unbelievable. That’s what you decide to be careful about?” She murmured. “Alright then. I’ll just call you…” She looked him over. “Mewo.”
His face soured. “Um, can you not?”
“Why? If it’s all going to be fake, it’s only fair that I choose what to call you.” That evil grin on her face didn’t make her words any less reasonable.
“That…makes sense.” He was forced to admit. “Could you pick something less…cute though?”
“No.”
She is a witch.
“Fine,” Mewo grumbled. “But if we’re talking fair, will you finally tell me your name?”
Her posture stiffens.
There wasn’t much about him to be afraid of, short and skinny as he was. He didn't know why she was always so suspicious of him.
Just when he thought she’d hang him out to dry again “I’m Mari.” Mari clutched her arm as she spoke.
“Mari.” He rolled her name off the tongue. “Welp. See ya!” The energetic youth bolted out of the house, giving Mari a clear view of a rocket design on the back of his sweater.
Mari stares until his figure fades from sight.