Fic: Dresden Hollows 4/7
Four.
The lights flicker to life as Blaine is holding onto one of the bedposts and toeing off his shoes. The ornate light fixture on the ceiling stays illuminated for a handful of seconds before distinguishing again. As Blaine's eyes are readjusting to the gloom, he catches a new burst of light from out of the corner of his eye. A candle is burning on a table against the far wall. He doesn't remember the candlestick having been there when he left the room before dinner, or even when he returned with Kurt afterwards.
He removes his sweater vest and bow tie, folds them and places them neatly on the bed before crossing the room.
The flame is wavering gently, blowing slightly to one side when he comes to rest next to the table. The candlestick looks antique, but not well restored like the other objects that adorn the house. It's black-spotted silver with a wide bottom, tapering upwards, and is covered in different colours of melted and dried trails of wax. The candle is a creamy white and burned down to its last two inches, a melted pool of wax beneath the flaming wick as though it has been burning for quite some time. As Blaine watches, a stream of wax breaks through the hardened rim of the candle and slips down the side to join the many other trails. Sitting on the table at its base is Blaine's razor, and there are a few small, hardened spots of wax on its side.
He decides to leave it where it is this time. Whether it's the staff or the ghosts who are attempting to frighten him, they've done their job and he's not going to make it easier for them by hiding it away again. Even still, his hands are shaking as he changes into his pyjamas.
It gets hot during the night. Blaine feels like someone cranked up the heat, but he's too tired and groggy to get up and check, so he just peels off his pyjama top and flings it to the bottom of the bed. He drifts off again quickly, and doesn't wake back up until he hears a loud booming sound which he at first assumes is the thunder outside.
It takes him a while to become coherent enough to realize that someone is pounding on the door to his room.
It's Artie.
“Blaine, come quick! Something is going down, man.”
Blaine is too groggy to argue or even ask questions. He steps back into his room and gropes through his suitcase until he finds a t-shirt. He doesn't even pull it on before following Artie out into the hall.
“What's going on?” Blaine mumbles, rubbing a hand through his messy hair and over his face. He can see the moon outside the window. The sky is clear, the moon bright and about half full. He wonders what time it is and is relieved to see that it seems to have stopped raining. Even still, a moment later he hears a low rumble of thunder. He realizes that Artie is speaking to him, his hands waving excitedly in the air, so he turns away from the windows and tries to focus on him. He wipes his eyes again and stifles a yawn.
“- the music, Blaine. Didn't you hear it? When I came out here, the hall downstairs was lit up with the lights coming out of the ballroom. It was like a damn Gatsby party and now it's just stopped like it was all my imagination. But you know me better than that. I don't imagine stuff like that.”
“I, um, no,” Blaine answers.
“You don't know me better than that?”
“No... I didn't hear any music. I was asleep.” He yawns hugely again. “Don't tell me the great sceptic, Artie Abrams, is now a believer.”
Artie snorts a laugh and waves his hand through the air. “No way, man. That was totally set up, I'm telling you. It's phony as hell, but that phony shit is golden. I gotta catch it on tape. So it got me thinking- I came up here to debunk all this crazy ghost stuff, but what if, instead, I end up making the next Blair Witch Project or Paranormal Activity? No budget, film student gold.”
“Uh huh.” Blaine is trying very hard to be supportive, but he really just wants to go back to bed and sleep until the sun is actually up.
Kurt comes stumbling out of his room just as Artie wheels himself to the head of the stairs, his fingers out in front of him, framing the shots in his head.
“Did you hear it?” Kurt asks, voice high pitched with either excitement or nerves. Blaine can't make out his features clearly enough to figure out which.
“No, I-” Blaine catches Kurt's stare and realizes he never did put on the shirt that he'd grabbed. Flushing, he tugs it on over his head.
“The party sounds?” Artie asks, turning excitedly and wheeling towards Kurt.
“Yeah. The music was so loud it was shaking the floor of my room. It was definitely jazz, too. A phantom jazz-era party,” Kurt says. He wraps his arms around himself and looks nervously down the stairs.
“Dude, relax,” Artie tells him. “It's a set up. The people who run this place are playing us for fools.”
“I don't know,” Kurt says, shaking his head and teetering back and forth on his heels. “Before I came out I was in my bathroom looking in the mirror.” He gives Blaine a quick, almost embarrassed look before glancing back at Artie. That's when Blaine notices how perfect Kurt's hair is. Did he fix himself up in the off chance that he would run into Blaine in the hallway? He grins to himself, but it falls away quickly as Kurt's eyes flit nervously around. “I saw someone reflected in the mirror, and it wasn't me. And there was no one else in the room. They would have been pretty hard to miss.”
“I'm telling you, they can do tricks with mirrors and light, and don't even get me started on trap doors and secret passages.”
Kurt abandons his fear, his arms dropping to his sides as he rolls his eyes. “This isn't an episode of Scooby Doo, Artie,” he grumbles. “And there are no people in disguises who are gonna call us a bunch of meddling kids when we uncover their clever ruse.”
Blaine laughs, garnering him a glare from his roommate. “Kurt's right, Artie. We may be cheap knock-offs of the Scooby gang, but Jan doesn't seem like the type of person who would purposely terrify her guests. And besides, as much as I might not want to admit it, I've seen some pretty unexplainable things myself since we arrived.”
“Sure Jan is a sweet old lady, but don't let that fool you. It's always the sweet old ladies. Look at the original Friday the 13th.”
“You keep telling yourself that, Wheels, but the lovechild of Sesame Street's Bob and Mr. Hooper over there is right.” Santana motions to Blaine with her head. She looks dishevelled, and she gives Kurt a lascivious eyebrow waggle as she wipes the back of her hand across her mouth. He grimaces and looks away, and satisfied that she has grossed him out, she turns back to Artie. “Me and Britts saw some crazy shit downstairs earlier, interrupted our christening a broom closet. There was a damn party going on and nobody born after the turn of the last century got an invite.”
“Oh please.” Artie leans his head against the back of his chair and looks up at the ceiling.
“Truth, Stumbles. I could hear the beads on their old timey dresses clacking together and their chattering about gin and dancing and speakeasies. It was weird. I could feel the heat from the lights and the speakers shaking the place with that boring ass music, but when we turned the corner, there was nobody there.”
“Maybe you scared them away,” Kurt says. Santana purses her lips and shrugs one shoulder.
“I can get my Ouija Board,” Brittany says, breaking her contemplative silence. “If you guys want to get invited to the party.”
“I don't think that's such a good idea.” Kurt looks petrified at the very thought. “In a house like this? You said yourself that the spirit might be malevolent.”
“I did?” Brittany asks. She pumps her fist in the air. “Awesome.”
“Come on, Kurt, it's not real,” Artie says. “And it'll be perfect for my film. Get it, Britt.”
Artie goes with her across the hall to her room and Santana stalks like a tigress towards Kurt, a smirk on her full lips.
“It's all good, Raspberry Tart. What's the worst that could happen? If you start snivelling like a kindergartner maybe Prince Eyebrows will snuggle you. He seems like the chivalrous type.” She winks at Blaine. “And besides, he looks pretty cute without his grandpa clothes and the hairdo of a circa 1950s dweeb.”
Kurt shuts his eyes for a moment before looking directly at Blaine. He mouths, I'm so sorry. Blaine shrugs. Kurt can't be held responsible for his friend's remarks, and Santana seems to hand out the same sort of backwards compliments to everyone, so he doesn't take it personally. Still, he tries to be stealthy when he lifts a hand to his hair and tries to flatten down his bedhead. He hopes his curls aren't completely unruly.
“Fine,” Kurt says. “But if we're doing this, I'm getting Rachel.”
“You might not want to do that,” Santana says, picking at her nails. “But whatever. I don't care enough to argue with you.”
Kurt rolls his eyes and flicks on a flashlight before wandering down the hall.
Santana spends the next minute staring out the window and ignoring Blaine's presence. She doesn't look around again until Kurt comes rushing back. “She's not there!”
“Who's not where?” Artie asks, rolling out of Brittany's room with a lap full of unlit candles.
“I told you, it's a he,” Brittany says exasperatedly.
“Rachel. Her room's empty. Her bed hasn't even been slept in.”
Brittany giggles.
“Strawberry Shortcake's fine, calm your designer boots,” Santana says. She gives Brittany a little wink and Brittany giggles again.
“You know where she is?” Kurt asks.
“Yep. But she asked me not to tell you, so I'm not getting into it.”
Kurt scrunches up his face. “Why?”
“I don't know,” Santana answers with a roll of her eyes. “Maybe because you'll go all Judge Judy on her.”
Kurt looks seriously offended and maybe a little bit hurt. Blaine moves towards him, dodging around Artie and Brittany who have checked out of the conversation and are setting up a circle of candles on the floor near the top of the stairs. “When do I judge?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don't judge.”
“Seriously? This coming from the guy who once threatened to buy a paintball gun and shoot us off the fire escape if we dared go out wearing something you hadn't approved of?”
Kurt huffs. “Other than poor clothing choices,” he says. “When else do I judge?”
“Oh, I don't know... Brody?”
Kurt's arms drop from their protective position and fall to his sides and his hands ball into fists. “Me?! You're the one who thought he was a drug dealer!”
“You agreed with me.”
“Only after you presented such a stellar argument,” he says with a sniff.
“Oh. Well thanks, Ladyface. I took my time putting that together.” She nods at Kurt and he nods back. It's the strangest and quickest end to an argument Blaine has ever witnessed. He'd thought they were quite upset with each other, but they seem perfectly friendly again.
Brittany has set up her Ouija Board on the floor in the centre of the circle of candles and she and Artie are waiting there, looking over, the candles casting a golden glow on their faces.
Santana throws an arm around Kurt's waist and gives him a squeeze before moving away to sit next to Brittany. Blaine and Kurt move in close and watch as Santana helps Brittany light the last of the candles.
Kurt still seems worried, glancing over his shoulder towards their rooms, towards Rachel's room in particular. Blaine doesn't think Santana would tell Kurt that Rachel is fine if she didn't know it to be a fact. He decides to try and lighten the mood, even with what they're about to do.
“The threat of paintball?” he teases, poking Kurt lightly in the side. “Now I'll be worried every time I choose an outfit during our stay.”
Kurt turns his watchful gaze away from the hallway and smiles at Blaine. “I didn't bring it with me- you're safe,” he says and laughs. “And you'd be safe anyway, Blaine. You're perfect.” He looks into Blaine's eyes, his hand reaching up to finger at one of the curls that's hanging down onto Blaine's forehead. Blaine feels warm and tingly and he wants nothing more than to lean forward and up and press his lips to Kurt's. He can tell that Kurt is thinking the same thing, but then his expression changes and he tilts his head to one side, looking Blaine up and down. “Although, I was thinking earlier... do you have anything in the red family? I imagine red would be absolutely spectacular on you.'
“Oh, um, red.” Blaine nods stupidly, trying to tear his gaze away from Kurt's lips. “I will keep that in mind.” And buy a whole new wardrobe of nothing but.
“Baaaarrrfffff,.” Santana says with a groan, getting to her feet. “Fashion flirting. Be more stereotypically gay, boys. Come on, Wheels, let's go get your camera shit and get this show on the road so I can resume getting my orgasm on with Britt instead of summoning some ghost chick with a Hasbro toy.”
Blaine feels uneasy sitting in the circle, his knees touching Kurt's on one side and Brittany's on the other. Artie is on the outside with his camera at the ready, giving them direction as to how frightened they ought to look.
“Don't go over the top,” he warns. “This needs to look legit on film. Keep your expressions of terror subtle and try not to knock over a candle unless the tension breaks and you need to run away from the board. I need all the light I can get.”
Brittany instructs them all to put one finger on the planchette and quiet their minds, opening them up to the spirit world. Blaine isn't quite sure what she means by that, but it doesn't seem like the smartest idea to him. What sort of spirits might they contact? He's never done anything like this.
Kurt shifts next to him, leaning more weight against Blaine's knee. Blaine looks over at him and tries to smile. Kurt smiles back and winks, and then Brittany is asking if anyone is there and Blaine feels his arm move as the planchette slides across the board, taking his finger with it.
The pointed end of the plastic device comes to a rest on the YES in the top left hand corner of the board. There is a sun and a moon, both with creepy, grinning mouths, in the between the YES and the NO in the other top corner, and underneath them, the twenty-six letters of the alphabet and the numbers 0 to 9 in elaborate black printing. There is fancy scrolling around the board, offset with smiling cherubs and frowning devils, and at the very bottom, the word GOODBYE. Blaine stares at the word, a chill running down his spine. It seems ominous, that word, as well as the iciness he feels and Brittany's disconnected, monotone voice speaking next to him. She sounds so far away, but he can feel the heat of her knee pressing tightly against his own.
“Are we invited to the party?” Brittany asks, and Blaine has the sudden and unexpected urge to laugh at her ridiculous question. He feels a little giddy in his nervousness.
The planchette slides across the board over the sun and moon and stops on the NO.
Brittany sticks her lip out. “I wanted to dance the Charleston,” she says with a sigh.
Before she can ask another question, Kurt speaks up from Blaine's other side. “Where is Rachel?” he asks.
Santana scoffs from across the circle and Brittany giggles again as the planchette begins to journey down the board towards the alphabet.
It stops on the letter S first, and Brittany says it aloud. Next it swings up to E, and then down to R, V, A, N, T and finally back to S.
“Servants?” Kurt sounds puzzled. “What the hell does that mean?”
Santana cackles and Brittany joins in with an airy laugh. “You moved it,” Kurt accuses.
“Did not,” Santana says.
“Come on, guys,” Artie chastises from the sidelines. “I'm gonna have to edit this all out.”
“Fine,” Kurt says and sniffs. “I'll find out about Rachel later.” It's quiet for a moment, and then Kurt speaks up again. “Is this Evelyn Parker?” he asks. “I loved your film,” he adds when the planchette doesn't move for several seconds. “I wish I would have had the chance to see you on stage.”
“It's not a girl,” Brittany tells him when the planchette continues to remain perfectly still over the S.
“Right,” Kurt says with a nod. “Sorry,” he adds, leaning in towards the board to offer his apologies. He looks around the room after he sits back up, covering all of his bases.
The smile at Kurt's adorableness slides off of Blaine's face very quickly, for the room has suddenly become cold again. He shifts more in Kurt's direction on instinct- he seems calm, whereas Brittany has gone stiff on his other side.
The planchette begins to move finally, though no one has asked another question.
It shifts to the N and then the O, then pauses for a long moment before quickly spelling out A-C-C-I-D-E-N-T.
“No accident,” Kurt says out loud, his voice little more than a whisper. “Did you jump like they say?”
The planchette moves quickly this time, shooting up the board so fast that Blaine's finger nearly slips off. It goes to the top right, to the word NO. But instead of resting there this time, it swings back and points at the word over and over. If a small piece of footed plastic can be angry, this one sure is. After the dozenth time it has all but yelled the word no, it finally stops on the image of the creepy, grinning moon.
They sit in silence for a few minutes. Blaine breathes in the scent of the melting wax and readjusts his position on the floor, for his arm is beginning to feel cramped in the weird, outstretched position he's had it in for so long.
He thinks maybe they should stop, for it's getting cold again and he doesn't like it, doesn't like the way it makes him feel and how it makes his heart race for no earthly reason. He's never been superstitious, has never believed in things he couldn't see with his own two eyes, but this feeling is something he cannot explain, and that in and of itself makes him very nervous.
Santana clears her throat before she speaks, and from there on out, Blaine finds, everything seems to speed up as though someone hit fast forward. “So you were murdered after all,” she says.
The planchette moves so swiftly this time that Blaine's finger slips off the plastic and he knocks his elbow against the corner of the board. Kurt, Brittany and Santana manage to keep their fingers on until it reaches the word GOODBYE at the bottom, but they all lose their grip then, and Blaine watches, wide eyed, as the planchette shoots off the board and flies between his body and Kurt's. He can hear the dull clacking as it hits marble over and over, tumbling down the stairs.
There is a high, disgruntled shout, and soon Rachel appears at the top of the stairs holding the planchette in her hand, Puck following close behind.
“Who threw this at me?” she asks, irritated.
No one answers her. They all just stare at the object in her hand, stunned into silence.
The cold is gone.
# # #
“Emma Pillsbury, head of staff at Dresden Hollows for the past five years.”
Emma sits up very straight in her chair and looks directly at Artie, her hands folded primly in her lap. Her eyes are wide and she looks nervous. Blaine wonders why she had agreed to be interviewed by Artie when the entire situation clearly makes her uncomfortable.
“Have you seen anything in this house that you considered to be otherworldly?” Artie begins.
She bobs her head up and down at a rapid pace, her hands twisting more tightly together. “I have,” she says, then goes quiet again.
“What sorts of things?' Artie prompts.
Emma glances towards the door of the room and back to Artie again. She swallows audibly. “There have been many instances of, um, well, my things being moved from place to place. My work things. My cleaning products. No one has access to my closets but me. But occasionally, my keys go missing here and there. They are always returned, but not always in their proper place, which I'm not overly fond of.”
“But how can you be sure that it's not a real, live person messing with your supplies?” Artie asks.
“Because I've, um, I've seen things. Heard things too. Objects floating through the air, faces in my mirror, music and voices and-” She stops mid-thought and her mouth quivers. The thin, nervous hands in her lap are twisted so tightly together that it looks painful.
“And what, Miss Pillsbury?” Artie coaxes. Blaine finds that he is on the edge of his seat waiting for her response. She seems as though she knows things, has since he'd first talked to her upon their arrival. It feels like weeks ago now.
“Sometimes things are left for me. Things that soon after disappear and I never see them again.”
“What sorts of things?” Blaine finds himself asking. He can feel Artie's eyes on him, but he doesn't look away from Emma. He knows he's not meant to interfere with Artie's work, just stay quiet and helpful in the background, but he needs to know.
“Notes and letters. Newspaper clippings. Photographs.” She shifts in her chair, recrossing her ankles and flattening her skirt with the palms of her hands before twisting them together once more. “I tried to ignore them at first, but they never go away until I've looked at them. Read them.”
“What do they say?”
“I, um...” She looks like a frightened animal again, her eyes flitting nervously around the room, stopping for a noticeable beat on each exit. “The pictures aren't all personal ones. Some are professional glossy photographs signed by Evelyn Parker herself. Then there are ones of her with Jack Dresden here at the house at a party, or dressed for dinner. The letters are between them, sent back and forth from here and New York City before she came to visit for the summer. And the notes... Well, I'm not sure whether I should talk about those.”
Artie is leaning forward, a look of excitement on his face. “Oh please do,” he says. “If whoever is leaving these things out for you wanted them kept secret, then why bring them to you in the first place? They must want the information known. Maybe they're hoping you can piece together the clues and solve the mystery. Or they just need someone to sympathize with them?”
Emma nods slowly, considering. “You're probably right, I just- They seem a little personal to me, those notes. They were written at this house while she was staying here. It seems that she and Jack would meet up on the roof at scheduled times each night, after the house was mostly asleep. They wanted privacy to discuss their secret plans. You see, Evelyn had made a movie the previous year, and she was being offered a deal in Hollywood to star in several more. And Jack, he didn't want her to go at first, but then decided he would run away with her, that they would elope and settle out west. He didn't care about being disinherited. All he cared about was Evelyn.” She pauses for a moment, seeming shocked that she's spit it all out, barely taking a breath. “And that was the gist of the notes, I guess.”
“Can I ask you a somewhat personal question, Miss Pillsbury?”
She nods a little hesitantly.
“Do you trust your employers?”
Her brow furrows, her large eyes narrowing slightly. “Completely,” she answers. “If you're suggesting that they would set out to torment me in that manner, then you are out of line. They are like family to me.”
“I apologize. I only wish to examine every possible explanation.”
Emma rises from her seat and gives Artie a curt nod. As she's leaving, she looks over at Blaine. In her eyes he sees the same warning he had before.
# # #
“My new dog is traumatized by the sound of his old name because of the mean lady who gave it to him,” Brittany informs everyone, the dog in question seeming perfectly fine and in good spirits, licking her chin, tail wagging a mile a minute. “So I need everyone's help coming up with something new. I'm taking suggestions in a box in my room. Please submit them anonymously; I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. At least I don't want to know whose feelings I'm hurting when I tell you your name ideas suck.”
They are seated in the lounge, having just eaten lunch. Kurt seems on edge, has since the night before. Blaine isn't sure if it's because of the Ouija Board session or due to the argument Blaine had overheard between Kurt and Rachel that morning. Blaine wants to ask him about it, thinking he might feel better if he talks it out, but he's not sure if that would be overstepping. Although it feels as if he's known Kurt for ages, it has only been a few days, and he doesn't want to stick his nose in if his help isn't wanted.
Puck comes tromping by the door, cursing under his breath, Emma hurrying after him carrying something large and bright yellow. He waves her off, and Blaine can hear her sweet voice speaking quickly to him, though he cannot make out her words. A second later the front door of the house slams shut and Emma walks past the door to the lounge again, still carrying the yellow object, which Blaine suspects is a rain suit.
“Miss Pillsbury!” Rachel raises her voice to catch her attention, jumping out of her seat next to Santana and rushing towards the door. “Where is Noah going?”
“Noah?” Kurt whispers in Blaine's ear. He shivers at the sensation of Kurt's warm breath and nearly forgets to answer.
“That's his first name.”
“Ah.” Kurt nods. He opens his mouth and leans in to whisper something more just as Emma steps into the room with a solemn look on her face. Kurt pauses, his mouth still only inches from Blaine's ear, and watches her. Blaine can't help but keep his eyes on Kurt; as close as he is, Blaine can make out the myriad of colours in his eyelashes and each tiny freckle in the smattering across the bridge of his nose.
“Mrs. Russell is having heart issues,” she says. When everyone's face shows mostly confusion, she clarifies. “Constance. The lady who has the- who had the dog.”
Brittany holds Woofer up and kisses his nose. “The dog who still needs a name,” she says.
“Yes, well, she's been complaining that her heart is racing and skipping beats, so Noah has gone out to see if he can get past the washout and to the main road to go for help.”
Rachel places one hand dramatically over her open mouth, the other over her heart. “That's so unbelievably brave!” she exclaims.
“Yes.” Emma looks uncomfortable with Rachel's theatrics. “He's in charge when his aunts aren't here, after all,” she says. “I only wish he would have taken the rain suit. He's opening himself up to a host of germs and he'll end up with pneumonia. And drag all manner of water and muck into the house.” She shudders, calling over her shoulder to ring the bell if they need her for anything as she leaves to go check on Constance.
Blaine feels terrible. He wishes there was something he could do to help. He and Kurt share a look as they walk back and forth in front of the windows in the ballroom, where the group had decided to move in order to have a better view of Puck on his return. The move had been spearheaded by Rachel, who has pulled up a seat in front of the centre window and is wringing her hands while she sits and waits. Kurt stops pacing to pat her on the shoulder every few minutes, but it's mostly Santana who comforts her, which surprises Blaine.
“She's been spending a lot of time with that Puck guy,” Kurt tells Blaine in a quiet voice when their mutual pacing takes them to a far corner of the room. “I got angry at her for hiding it from me, then she accused me of not paying her any attention anyway, and- I guess I feel a little guilty for yelling at her now. I think she really likes him.”
“He'll be fine.” Blaine smiles and tries to sound reassuring, but just then there is a loud gust of wind that rattles the windows in their panes and sends a sheet of rain hammering on the glass. It nearly drowns out his words and kind of defeats their purpose anyway.
Over an hour passes before Blaine makes out the glow of a headlight through the mist outside. He hears the buzz and rumble of Puck's motorbike a handful of seconds after.
Rachel jumps up out of her seat and takes the two remaining steps to the window. “He's doesn't look right,” she says.
He does look unsteady on the bike. It shifts under him as he rounds the corner too sharply, and then he disappears from view. They make their way to the front door as a group, Rachel in the lead. She throws the heavy wood open to find Puck limping his way towards them. Santana and Brittany make it to him first, and each grab one of his arms to help him the rest of the way inside.
“Twisted my damn ankle,” he grumbles, wincing as Rachel wraps her fingers gently around his injury. “Couldn't get past the end of the driveway. The road is in real bad shape.”
Emma appears as though summoned. “Mrs. Russell is feeling much better,” she tells Puck, kneeling down to look at his ankle. “But I would still feel better if we could speak to Jan or Liz. We need to get her out of here as soon as we can.”
“I'd be in a rush to get the old broad outta my hair too, if I were you,” Santana mutters.
“I went down instead of up. No idea if there's cell service at the top of the hill. After I'm feeling a little better, I'll hike up there-”
“You will not, Noah,” Emma says. “This ankle is very likely sprained. I'll get gauze and ice packs and that set of crutches we found last year.”
“Yes, Miss P,” Puck agrees with a hang-dog look on his face. Her expression softens as she stands and reaches out as though to pat him on top of the head. She grimaces and retracts her hand after a moment, probably realizing that Puck is soaking wet and there is mud splashed all over him.
“I'll be right back,” she says instead, and hurries away.
Puck tries to move as soon as her footfalls have died off. He winces and curses, then takes a deep breath and rests his head back against the wall. “I need to go check on a signal,” he grumbles to himself. “That old lady might have a damn heart attack or somethin'.”
“I'll go,” Kurt offers. Blaine and the others all look at him and he lifts his chin into the air and ignores them in favour of Puck. “Just point me in the right direction.”
“I'll go with you,” Blaine says. There is no way he would allow any of these people to go hiking in the storm alone. And so what if the others are all smirking at him. It's the truth.
Kurt smiles. “Thank you, Blaine,” he says. “I would appreciate the company.”
They head to their rooms to change into casual clothing, agreeing to meet back up with Puck in the lounge for instructions. Kurt was smart enough to power down his phone when they arrived in the valley, so he still has a full charge, whereas Blaine's own phone had died the night before. And so Kurt is clutching it in his hand when he descends the grand staircase just after Blaine, and what he is wearing sets Blaine immediately to laughing.
It's the bright yellow rain suit he had seen Emma trying to coax Puck into wearing earlier before he went out in the storm.
“Something funny?” Kurt asks, reaching behind him to straighten his shiny plastic hood.
Blaine shakes his head, more laughter gurgling up his throat. “Not at all.”
“Uh huh. Well, at least I am prepared for all manner of inclement weather on this outing. Unlike some people.”
Blaine looks down at his own jeans and hoodie and sneakers and grins up at Kurt. “You're right. And I do love a well-prepared man,” he says and winks, then offers Kurt his arm, which he graciously accepts.
With phone numbers for Jan, Liz, and all sorts of emergency personnel deep in their pockets and very detailed directions from Puck, Blaine and Kurt set off up the hill.
When they first leave the house the wind is gusting so strongly that they are forced to walk sideways, for it keeps blowing them off course. As they distance themselves from the house, however, it begins to die down, making it easier to climb their way to the top of the hill. The rain even lets up a little, just to where it no longer stings when it hits them in the face, the only part of Kurt besides his hands that isn't wrapped in plastic.
Blaine can see the top, can see the L-shaped tree that Puck had described to them, complete with red emergency tape wound around its wide trunk. He's about to point it out to Kurt when Kurt speaks himself, his words nearly swallowed up as the wind picks up again.
“What is that?” is about all he can make out, and Kurt motioning off the path and up.
He's pointing at another tree about twenty feet off of the beaten path. It has long, gnarly limbs covered in moss, and at the base of these limbs there is a small structure, like a rudimentary box without a lid, attached to the trunk. It doesn't belong there- trees do not grow boxes- and before Blaine can wave it off as nothing of importance, Kurt tugs him by the hand and they're trudging over the squishy ground in its direction.
It has been nailed to the trunk of the tree. Blaine can see the heads of the two nails used to secure it, each one rusted, the orange bleeding over onto the wood around it. “Who do you think put it there?” Blaine asks as Kurt moves closer, poking a finger into the box and running it along the inside.
Kurt shrugs his shoulders and stands back upright. “It's creepy,” he says, still studying the box on the tree, his head titled to one side. “Why would someone put it there in the first place?”
“Maybe it's the base for something else that broke away,” Blaine suggests.
Kurt shrugs again. “Regardless, I suppose we should do what we came out here for,” he says, turning away from the tree. His foot catches in the roots and he pitches forward. Blaine reaches out to catch him, but he's too late. Kurt falls to the muddy ground, his body making a squelching sound when it lands.
“Are you all right?” Kurt turns himself over and looks up at Blaine with his eyes narrowed, a streak of mud across his cheekbone and a glob filling the divot in his chin. He looks so mildly irritated that Blaine can't help the snort of laughter that comes out of him. The snort turns into a chuckle, and then erupts into hearty guffaws.
“A gentleman would have helped me up before laughing at me, at the very least,” Kurt grumbles from the ground. “Are you having fun laughing at me up there?”
“Yep,” Blaine says and giggles again. “What are you gonna do about it?”
“I dunno.” Kurt sucks on his bottom lip as though milling it over. And Blaine should have known. He really should have. “Probably this,” Kurt says, and he reaches over in a flash and takes Blaine's ankle in his hand and tugs, pulling him down next to him in the mud.
Blaine lets out an oof, and erupts into another fit of laughter, raindrops falling onto his eyelids and into his open mouth. He's already soaked through from the rain, but now he feels disgusting, reams of wet, squelchy mud up his back and in his shoes.
“Now how do you feel about well-prepared men?” Kurt asks in a smug tone.
Blaine turns onto his side in the mud and grins at him. “Oh, I don't know. Still pretty good, I dare say.”
Kurt is smirking at him, the rain streaking the mud on his face and plastering his hair to his forehead. Blaine thinks he's never seen anything more tempting in his life. He leans forward and gives in to that temptation, taking Kurt's bottom lip into his mouth and sucking gently, tasting the rain, before kissing him more chastely, a simple press of lips.
Kurt is watching him with wide eyes and a flush high on his cheeks. “Well then,” he says, voice breathy. And Blaine finds his face being grabbed forcefully with cold, muddy hands, and Kurt is kissing him passionately there on the side of a muddy hill in the middle of the woods, in the middle of a rainstorm.
Blaine forgets all about the rain and the muck and wind and the fact that they're meant to be trying to make a phone call. Kurt pulls away and reminds him all at once, and he wishes he could dive back in and forget for another few minutes. Or hours.
He can still taste rainwater and the light sweetness of Kurt's mouth as he helps Kurt to his feet. Kurt catches him licking his lips and gives him a flirty smile. “Later,” he says, and hauls Blaine back in the direction of the path.
The view from the top of the hill by the red taped tree is spectacular. Blaine only hopes that the rain stops before they leave and he and Kurt can climb back up with his camera next time.
Blaine loses focus on the surrounding beauty when Kurt begins unzipping his rain suit. “Are you taking that off?” he blurts out.
Kurt pauses to glance up at him and huffs a laugh. Then he begins shimmying his hips and humming striptease music as he slowly undoes the long zipper on the front of the rain suit. He stops after a moment and grins. “No,” he says, and reaches a hand inside of his top, pulling out his cell phone.
Blaine watches as he fiddles with the phone, wiping off the splatters of rain with his sweater before pressing the top button to turn on the screen. His brow furrows after a moment and he presses the button again, and again and again. He shakes the phone and swipes his finger across the screen and tries the power button once more. “It's dead,” he says. He looks over at Blaine and shakes his head. “I had a nearly full charge, Blaine. I charged it just before we lost the power and it's been turned off ever since until I tried it in my room before we left. It was still full.”
Blaine moves closer and glances down at the black screen of the phone in Kurt's hand. “Maybe the battery drained because it was constantly searching for a signal?”
“In twenty minutes? No. Something weird is going on.” He looks at the tree with the red tape around its trunk and down over the valley in the direction of the house. “Somebody doesn't want us going anywhere.”
previous next
The lights flicker to life as Blaine is holding onto one of the bedposts and toeing off his shoes. The ornate light fixture on the ceiling stays illuminated for a handful of seconds before distinguishing again. As Blaine's eyes are readjusting to the gloom, he catches a new burst of light from out of the corner of his eye. A candle is burning on a table against the far wall. He doesn't remember the candlestick having been there when he left the room before dinner, or even when he returned with Kurt afterwards.
He removes his sweater vest and bow tie, folds them and places them neatly on the bed before crossing the room.
The flame is wavering gently, blowing slightly to one side when he comes to rest next to the table. The candlestick looks antique, but not well restored like the other objects that adorn the house. It's black-spotted silver with a wide bottom, tapering upwards, and is covered in different colours of melted and dried trails of wax. The candle is a creamy white and burned down to its last two inches, a melted pool of wax beneath the flaming wick as though it has been burning for quite some time. As Blaine watches, a stream of wax breaks through the hardened rim of the candle and slips down the side to join the many other trails. Sitting on the table at its base is Blaine's razor, and there are a few small, hardened spots of wax on its side.
He decides to leave it where it is this time. Whether it's the staff or the ghosts who are attempting to frighten him, they've done their job and he's not going to make it easier for them by hiding it away again. Even still, his hands are shaking as he changes into his pyjamas.
It gets hot during the night. Blaine feels like someone cranked up the heat, but he's too tired and groggy to get up and check, so he just peels off his pyjama top and flings it to the bottom of the bed. He drifts off again quickly, and doesn't wake back up until he hears a loud booming sound which he at first assumes is the thunder outside.
It takes him a while to become coherent enough to realize that someone is pounding on the door to his room.
It's Artie.
“Blaine, come quick! Something is going down, man.”
Blaine is too groggy to argue or even ask questions. He steps back into his room and gropes through his suitcase until he finds a t-shirt. He doesn't even pull it on before following Artie out into the hall.
“What's going on?” Blaine mumbles, rubbing a hand through his messy hair and over his face. He can see the moon outside the window. The sky is clear, the moon bright and about half full. He wonders what time it is and is relieved to see that it seems to have stopped raining. Even still, a moment later he hears a low rumble of thunder. He realizes that Artie is speaking to him, his hands waving excitedly in the air, so he turns away from the windows and tries to focus on him. He wipes his eyes again and stifles a yawn.
“- the music, Blaine. Didn't you hear it? When I came out here, the hall downstairs was lit up with the lights coming out of the ballroom. It was like a damn Gatsby party and now it's just stopped like it was all my imagination. But you know me better than that. I don't imagine stuff like that.”
“I, um, no,” Blaine answers.
“You don't know me better than that?”
“No... I didn't hear any music. I was asleep.” He yawns hugely again. “Don't tell me the great sceptic, Artie Abrams, is now a believer.”
Artie snorts a laugh and waves his hand through the air. “No way, man. That was totally set up, I'm telling you. It's phony as hell, but that phony shit is golden. I gotta catch it on tape. So it got me thinking- I came up here to debunk all this crazy ghost stuff, but what if, instead, I end up making the next Blair Witch Project or Paranormal Activity? No budget, film student gold.”
“Uh huh.” Blaine is trying very hard to be supportive, but he really just wants to go back to bed and sleep until the sun is actually up.
Kurt comes stumbling out of his room just as Artie wheels himself to the head of the stairs, his fingers out in front of him, framing the shots in his head.
“Did you hear it?” Kurt asks, voice high pitched with either excitement or nerves. Blaine can't make out his features clearly enough to figure out which.
“No, I-” Blaine catches Kurt's stare and realizes he never did put on the shirt that he'd grabbed. Flushing, he tugs it on over his head.
“The party sounds?” Artie asks, turning excitedly and wheeling towards Kurt.
“Yeah. The music was so loud it was shaking the floor of my room. It was definitely jazz, too. A phantom jazz-era party,” Kurt says. He wraps his arms around himself and looks nervously down the stairs.
“Dude, relax,” Artie tells him. “It's a set up. The people who run this place are playing us for fools.”
“I don't know,” Kurt says, shaking his head and teetering back and forth on his heels. “Before I came out I was in my bathroom looking in the mirror.” He gives Blaine a quick, almost embarrassed look before glancing back at Artie. That's when Blaine notices how perfect Kurt's hair is. Did he fix himself up in the off chance that he would run into Blaine in the hallway? He grins to himself, but it falls away quickly as Kurt's eyes flit nervously around. “I saw someone reflected in the mirror, and it wasn't me. And there was no one else in the room. They would have been pretty hard to miss.”
“I'm telling you, they can do tricks with mirrors and light, and don't even get me started on trap doors and secret passages.”
Kurt abandons his fear, his arms dropping to his sides as he rolls his eyes. “This isn't an episode of Scooby Doo, Artie,” he grumbles. “And there are no people in disguises who are gonna call us a bunch of meddling kids when we uncover their clever ruse.”
Blaine laughs, garnering him a glare from his roommate. “Kurt's right, Artie. We may be cheap knock-offs of the Scooby gang, but Jan doesn't seem like the type of person who would purposely terrify her guests. And besides, as much as I might not want to admit it, I've seen some pretty unexplainable things myself since we arrived.”
“Sure Jan is a sweet old lady, but don't let that fool you. It's always the sweet old ladies. Look at the original Friday the 13th.”
“You keep telling yourself that, Wheels, but the lovechild of Sesame Street's Bob and Mr. Hooper over there is right.” Santana motions to Blaine with her head. She looks dishevelled, and she gives Kurt a lascivious eyebrow waggle as she wipes the back of her hand across her mouth. He grimaces and looks away, and satisfied that she has grossed him out, she turns back to Artie. “Me and Britts saw some crazy shit downstairs earlier, interrupted our christening a broom closet. There was a damn party going on and nobody born after the turn of the last century got an invite.”
“Oh please.” Artie leans his head against the back of his chair and looks up at the ceiling.
“Truth, Stumbles. I could hear the beads on their old timey dresses clacking together and their chattering about gin and dancing and speakeasies. It was weird. I could feel the heat from the lights and the speakers shaking the place with that boring ass music, but when we turned the corner, there was nobody there.”
“Maybe you scared them away,” Kurt says. Santana purses her lips and shrugs one shoulder.
“I can get my Ouija Board,” Brittany says, breaking her contemplative silence. “If you guys want to get invited to the party.”
“I don't think that's such a good idea.” Kurt looks petrified at the very thought. “In a house like this? You said yourself that the spirit might be malevolent.”
“I did?” Brittany asks. She pumps her fist in the air. “Awesome.”
“Come on, Kurt, it's not real,” Artie says. “And it'll be perfect for my film. Get it, Britt.”
Artie goes with her across the hall to her room and Santana stalks like a tigress towards Kurt, a smirk on her full lips.
“It's all good, Raspberry Tart. What's the worst that could happen? If you start snivelling like a kindergartner maybe Prince Eyebrows will snuggle you. He seems like the chivalrous type.” She winks at Blaine. “And besides, he looks pretty cute without his grandpa clothes and the hairdo of a circa 1950s dweeb.”
Kurt shuts his eyes for a moment before looking directly at Blaine. He mouths, I'm so sorry. Blaine shrugs. Kurt can't be held responsible for his friend's remarks, and Santana seems to hand out the same sort of backwards compliments to everyone, so he doesn't take it personally. Still, he tries to be stealthy when he lifts a hand to his hair and tries to flatten down his bedhead. He hopes his curls aren't completely unruly.
“Fine,” Kurt says. “But if we're doing this, I'm getting Rachel.”
“You might not want to do that,” Santana says, picking at her nails. “But whatever. I don't care enough to argue with you.”
Kurt rolls his eyes and flicks on a flashlight before wandering down the hall.
Santana spends the next minute staring out the window and ignoring Blaine's presence. She doesn't look around again until Kurt comes rushing back. “She's not there!”
“Who's not where?” Artie asks, rolling out of Brittany's room with a lap full of unlit candles.
“I told you, it's a he,” Brittany says exasperatedly.
“Rachel. Her room's empty. Her bed hasn't even been slept in.”
Brittany giggles.
“Strawberry Shortcake's fine, calm your designer boots,” Santana says. She gives Brittany a little wink and Brittany giggles again.
“You know where she is?” Kurt asks.
“Yep. But she asked me not to tell you, so I'm not getting into it.”
Kurt scrunches up his face. “Why?”
“I don't know,” Santana answers with a roll of her eyes. “Maybe because you'll go all Judge Judy on her.”
Kurt looks seriously offended and maybe a little bit hurt. Blaine moves towards him, dodging around Artie and Brittany who have checked out of the conversation and are setting up a circle of candles on the floor near the top of the stairs. “When do I judge?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don't judge.”
“Seriously? This coming from the guy who once threatened to buy a paintball gun and shoot us off the fire escape if we dared go out wearing something you hadn't approved of?”
Kurt huffs. “Other than poor clothing choices,” he says. “When else do I judge?”
“Oh, I don't know... Brody?”
Kurt's arms drop from their protective position and fall to his sides and his hands ball into fists. “Me?! You're the one who thought he was a drug dealer!”
“You agreed with me.”
“Only after you presented such a stellar argument,” he says with a sniff.
“Oh. Well thanks, Ladyface. I took my time putting that together.” She nods at Kurt and he nods back. It's the strangest and quickest end to an argument Blaine has ever witnessed. He'd thought they were quite upset with each other, but they seem perfectly friendly again.
Brittany has set up her Ouija Board on the floor in the centre of the circle of candles and she and Artie are waiting there, looking over, the candles casting a golden glow on their faces.
Santana throws an arm around Kurt's waist and gives him a squeeze before moving away to sit next to Brittany. Blaine and Kurt move in close and watch as Santana helps Brittany light the last of the candles.
Kurt still seems worried, glancing over his shoulder towards their rooms, towards Rachel's room in particular. Blaine doesn't think Santana would tell Kurt that Rachel is fine if she didn't know it to be a fact. He decides to try and lighten the mood, even with what they're about to do.
“The threat of paintball?” he teases, poking Kurt lightly in the side. “Now I'll be worried every time I choose an outfit during our stay.”
Kurt turns his watchful gaze away from the hallway and smiles at Blaine. “I didn't bring it with me- you're safe,” he says and laughs. “And you'd be safe anyway, Blaine. You're perfect.” He looks into Blaine's eyes, his hand reaching up to finger at one of the curls that's hanging down onto Blaine's forehead. Blaine feels warm and tingly and he wants nothing more than to lean forward and up and press his lips to Kurt's. He can tell that Kurt is thinking the same thing, but then his expression changes and he tilts his head to one side, looking Blaine up and down. “Although, I was thinking earlier... do you have anything in the red family? I imagine red would be absolutely spectacular on you.'
“Oh, um, red.” Blaine nods stupidly, trying to tear his gaze away from Kurt's lips. “I will keep that in mind.” And buy a whole new wardrobe of nothing but.
“Baaaarrrfffff,.” Santana says with a groan, getting to her feet. “Fashion flirting. Be more stereotypically gay, boys. Come on, Wheels, let's go get your camera shit and get this show on the road so I can resume getting my orgasm on with Britt instead of summoning some ghost chick with a Hasbro toy.”
Blaine feels uneasy sitting in the circle, his knees touching Kurt's on one side and Brittany's on the other. Artie is on the outside with his camera at the ready, giving them direction as to how frightened they ought to look.
“Don't go over the top,” he warns. “This needs to look legit on film. Keep your expressions of terror subtle and try not to knock over a candle unless the tension breaks and you need to run away from the board. I need all the light I can get.”
Brittany instructs them all to put one finger on the planchette and quiet their minds, opening them up to the spirit world. Blaine isn't quite sure what she means by that, but it doesn't seem like the smartest idea to him. What sort of spirits might they contact? He's never done anything like this.
Kurt shifts next to him, leaning more weight against Blaine's knee. Blaine looks over at him and tries to smile. Kurt smiles back and winks, and then Brittany is asking if anyone is there and Blaine feels his arm move as the planchette slides across the board, taking his finger with it.
The pointed end of the plastic device comes to a rest on the YES in the top left hand corner of the board. There is a sun and a moon, both with creepy, grinning mouths, in the between the YES and the NO in the other top corner, and underneath them, the twenty-six letters of the alphabet and the numbers 0 to 9 in elaborate black printing. There is fancy scrolling around the board, offset with smiling cherubs and frowning devils, and at the very bottom, the word GOODBYE. Blaine stares at the word, a chill running down his spine. It seems ominous, that word, as well as the iciness he feels and Brittany's disconnected, monotone voice speaking next to him. She sounds so far away, but he can feel the heat of her knee pressing tightly against his own.
“Are we invited to the party?” Brittany asks, and Blaine has the sudden and unexpected urge to laugh at her ridiculous question. He feels a little giddy in his nervousness.
The planchette slides across the board over the sun and moon and stops on the NO.
Brittany sticks her lip out. “I wanted to dance the Charleston,” she says with a sigh.
Before she can ask another question, Kurt speaks up from Blaine's other side. “Where is Rachel?” he asks.
Santana scoffs from across the circle and Brittany giggles again as the planchette begins to journey down the board towards the alphabet.
It stops on the letter S first, and Brittany says it aloud. Next it swings up to E, and then down to R, V, A, N, T and finally back to S.
“Servants?” Kurt sounds puzzled. “What the hell does that mean?”
Santana cackles and Brittany joins in with an airy laugh. “You moved it,” Kurt accuses.
“Did not,” Santana says.
“Come on, guys,” Artie chastises from the sidelines. “I'm gonna have to edit this all out.”
“Fine,” Kurt says and sniffs. “I'll find out about Rachel later.” It's quiet for a moment, and then Kurt speaks up again. “Is this Evelyn Parker?” he asks. “I loved your film,” he adds when the planchette doesn't move for several seconds. “I wish I would have had the chance to see you on stage.”
“It's not a girl,” Brittany tells him when the planchette continues to remain perfectly still over the S.
“Right,” Kurt says with a nod. “Sorry,” he adds, leaning in towards the board to offer his apologies. He looks around the room after he sits back up, covering all of his bases.
The smile at Kurt's adorableness slides off of Blaine's face very quickly, for the room has suddenly become cold again. He shifts more in Kurt's direction on instinct- he seems calm, whereas Brittany has gone stiff on his other side.
The planchette begins to move finally, though no one has asked another question.
It shifts to the N and then the O, then pauses for a long moment before quickly spelling out A-C-C-I-D-E-N-T.
“No accident,” Kurt says out loud, his voice little more than a whisper. “Did you jump like they say?”
The planchette moves quickly this time, shooting up the board so fast that Blaine's finger nearly slips off. It goes to the top right, to the word NO. But instead of resting there this time, it swings back and points at the word over and over. If a small piece of footed plastic can be angry, this one sure is. After the dozenth time it has all but yelled the word no, it finally stops on the image of the creepy, grinning moon.
They sit in silence for a few minutes. Blaine breathes in the scent of the melting wax and readjusts his position on the floor, for his arm is beginning to feel cramped in the weird, outstretched position he's had it in for so long.
He thinks maybe they should stop, for it's getting cold again and he doesn't like it, doesn't like the way it makes him feel and how it makes his heart race for no earthly reason. He's never been superstitious, has never believed in things he couldn't see with his own two eyes, but this feeling is something he cannot explain, and that in and of itself makes him very nervous.
Santana clears her throat before she speaks, and from there on out, Blaine finds, everything seems to speed up as though someone hit fast forward. “So you were murdered after all,” she says.
The planchette moves so swiftly this time that Blaine's finger slips off the plastic and he knocks his elbow against the corner of the board. Kurt, Brittany and Santana manage to keep their fingers on until it reaches the word GOODBYE at the bottom, but they all lose their grip then, and Blaine watches, wide eyed, as the planchette shoots off the board and flies between his body and Kurt's. He can hear the dull clacking as it hits marble over and over, tumbling down the stairs.
There is a high, disgruntled shout, and soon Rachel appears at the top of the stairs holding the planchette in her hand, Puck following close behind.
“Who threw this at me?” she asks, irritated.
No one answers her. They all just stare at the object in her hand, stunned into silence.
The cold is gone.
# # #
“Emma Pillsbury, head of staff at Dresden Hollows for the past five years.”
Emma sits up very straight in her chair and looks directly at Artie, her hands folded primly in her lap. Her eyes are wide and she looks nervous. Blaine wonders why she had agreed to be interviewed by Artie when the entire situation clearly makes her uncomfortable.
“Have you seen anything in this house that you considered to be otherworldly?” Artie begins.
She bobs her head up and down at a rapid pace, her hands twisting more tightly together. “I have,” she says, then goes quiet again.
“What sorts of things?' Artie prompts.
Emma glances towards the door of the room and back to Artie again. She swallows audibly. “There have been many instances of, um, well, my things being moved from place to place. My work things. My cleaning products. No one has access to my closets but me. But occasionally, my keys go missing here and there. They are always returned, but not always in their proper place, which I'm not overly fond of.”
“But how can you be sure that it's not a real, live person messing with your supplies?” Artie asks.
“Because I've, um, I've seen things. Heard things too. Objects floating through the air, faces in my mirror, music and voices and-” She stops mid-thought and her mouth quivers. The thin, nervous hands in her lap are twisted so tightly together that it looks painful.
“And what, Miss Pillsbury?” Artie coaxes. Blaine finds that he is on the edge of his seat waiting for her response. She seems as though she knows things, has since he'd first talked to her upon their arrival. It feels like weeks ago now.
“Sometimes things are left for me. Things that soon after disappear and I never see them again.”
“What sorts of things?” Blaine finds himself asking. He can feel Artie's eyes on him, but he doesn't look away from Emma. He knows he's not meant to interfere with Artie's work, just stay quiet and helpful in the background, but he needs to know.
“Notes and letters. Newspaper clippings. Photographs.” She shifts in her chair, recrossing her ankles and flattening her skirt with the palms of her hands before twisting them together once more. “I tried to ignore them at first, but they never go away until I've looked at them. Read them.”
“What do they say?”
“I, um...” She looks like a frightened animal again, her eyes flitting nervously around the room, stopping for a noticeable beat on each exit. “The pictures aren't all personal ones. Some are professional glossy photographs signed by Evelyn Parker herself. Then there are ones of her with Jack Dresden here at the house at a party, or dressed for dinner. The letters are between them, sent back and forth from here and New York City before she came to visit for the summer. And the notes... Well, I'm not sure whether I should talk about those.”
Artie is leaning forward, a look of excitement on his face. “Oh please do,” he says. “If whoever is leaving these things out for you wanted them kept secret, then why bring them to you in the first place? They must want the information known. Maybe they're hoping you can piece together the clues and solve the mystery. Or they just need someone to sympathize with them?”
Emma nods slowly, considering. “You're probably right, I just- They seem a little personal to me, those notes. They were written at this house while she was staying here. It seems that she and Jack would meet up on the roof at scheduled times each night, after the house was mostly asleep. They wanted privacy to discuss their secret plans. You see, Evelyn had made a movie the previous year, and she was being offered a deal in Hollywood to star in several more. And Jack, he didn't want her to go at first, but then decided he would run away with her, that they would elope and settle out west. He didn't care about being disinherited. All he cared about was Evelyn.” She pauses for a moment, seeming shocked that she's spit it all out, barely taking a breath. “And that was the gist of the notes, I guess.”
“Can I ask you a somewhat personal question, Miss Pillsbury?”
She nods a little hesitantly.
“Do you trust your employers?”
Her brow furrows, her large eyes narrowing slightly. “Completely,” she answers. “If you're suggesting that they would set out to torment me in that manner, then you are out of line. They are like family to me.”
“I apologize. I only wish to examine every possible explanation.”
Emma rises from her seat and gives Artie a curt nod. As she's leaving, she looks over at Blaine. In her eyes he sees the same warning he had before.
# # #
“My new dog is traumatized by the sound of his old name because of the mean lady who gave it to him,” Brittany informs everyone, the dog in question seeming perfectly fine and in good spirits, licking her chin, tail wagging a mile a minute. “So I need everyone's help coming up with something new. I'm taking suggestions in a box in my room. Please submit them anonymously; I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. At least I don't want to know whose feelings I'm hurting when I tell you your name ideas suck.”
They are seated in the lounge, having just eaten lunch. Kurt seems on edge, has since the night before. Blaine isn't sure if it's because of the Ouija Board session or due to the argument Blaine had overheard between Kurt and Rachel that morning. Blaine wants to ask him about it, thinking he might feel better if he talks it out, but he's not sure if that would be overstepping. Although it feels as if he's known Kurt for ages, it has only been a few days, and he doesn't want to stick his nose in if his help isn't wanted.
Puck comes tromping by the door, cursing under his breath, Emma hurrying after him carrying something large and bright yellow. He waves her off, and Blaine can hear her sweet voice speaking quickly to him, though he cannot make out her words. A second later the front door of the house slams shut and Emma walks past the door to the lounge again, still carrying the yellow object, which Blaine suspects is a rain suit.
“Miss Pillsbury!” Rachel raises her voice to catch her attention, jumping out of her seat next to Santana and rushing towards the door. “Where is Noah going?”
“Noah?” Kurt whispers in Blaine's ear. He shivers at the sensation of Kurt's warm breath and nearly forgets to answer.
“That's his first name.”
“Ah.” Kurt nods. He opens his mouth and leans in to whisper something more just as Emma steps into the room with a solemn look on her face. Kurt pauses, his mouth still only inches from Blaine's ear, and watches her. Blaine can't help but keep his eyes on Kurt; as close as he is, Blaine can make out the myriad of colours in his eyelashes and each tiny freckle in the smattering across the bridge of his nose.
“Mrs. Russell is having heart issues,” she says. When everyone's face shows mostly confusion, she clarifies. “Constance. The lady who has the- who had the dog.”
Brittany holds Woofer up and kisses his nose. “The dog who still needs a name,” she says.
“Yes, well, she's been complaining that her heart is racing and skipping beats, so Noah has gone out to see if he can get past the washout and to the main road to go for help.”
Rachel places one hand dramatically over her open mouth, the other over her heart. “That's so unbelievably brave!” she exclaims.
“Yes.” Emma looks uncomfortable with Rachel's theatrics. “He's in charge when his aunts aren't here, after all,” she says. “I only wish he would have taken the rain suit. He's opening himself up to a host of germs and he'll end up with pneumonia. And drag all manner of water and muck into the house.” She shudders, calling over her shoulder to ring the bell if they need her for anything as she leaves to go check on Constance.
Blaine feels terrible. He wishes there was something he could do to help. He and Kurt share a look as they walk back and forth in front of the windows in the ballroom, where the group had decided to move in order to have a better view of Puck on his return. The move had been spearheaded by Rachel, who has pulled up a seat in front of the centre window and is wringing her hands while she sits and waits. Kurt stops pacing to pat her on the shoulder every few minutes, but it's mostly Santana who comforts her, which surprises Blaine.
“She's been spending a lot of time with that Puck guy,” Kurt tells Blaine in a quiet voice when their mutual pacing takes them to a far corner of the room. “I got angry at her for hiding it from me, then she accused me of not paying her any attention anyway, and- I guess I feel a little guilty for yelling at her now. I think she really likes him.”
“He'll be fine.” Blaine smiles and tries to sound reassuring, but just then there is a loud gust of wind that rattles the windows in their panes and sends a sheet of rain hammering on the glass. It nearly drowns out his words and kind of defeats their purpose anyway.
Over an hour passes before Blaine makes out the glow of a headlight through the mist outside. He hears the buzz and rumble of Puck's motorbike a handful of seconds after.
Rachel jumps up out of her seat and takes the two remaining steps to the window. “He's doesn't look right,” she says.
He does look unsteady on the bike. It shifts under him as he rounds the corner too sharply, and then he disappears from view. They make their way to the front door as a group, Rachel in the lead. She throws the heavy wood open to find Puck limping his way towards them. Santana and Brittany make it to him first, and each grab one of his arms to help him the rest of the way inside.
“Twisted my damn ankle,” he grumbles, wincing as Rachel wraps her fingers gently around his injury. “Couldn't get past the end of the driveway. The road is in real bad shape.”
Emma appears as though summoned. “Mrs. Russell is feeling much better,” she tells Puck, kneeling down to look at his ankle. “But I would still feel better if we could speak to Jan or Liz. We need to get her out of here as soon as we can.”
“I'd be in a rush to get the old broad outta my hair too, if I were you,” Santana mutters.
“I went down instead of up. No idea if there's cell service at the top of the hill. After I'm feeling a little better, I'll hike up there-”
“You will not, Noah,” Emma says. “This ankle is very likely sprained. I'll get gauze and ice packs and that set of crutches we found last year.”
“Yes, Miss P,” Puck agrees with a hang-dog look on his face. Her expression softens as she stands and reaches out as though to pat him on top of the head. She grimaces and retracts her hand after a moment, probably realizing that Puck is soaking wet and there is mud splashed all over him.
“I'll be right back,” she says instead, and hurries away.
Puck tries to move as soon as her footfalls have died off. He winces and curses, then takes a deep breath and rests his head back against the wall. “I need to go check on a signal,” he grumbles to himself. “That old lady might have a damn heart attack or somethin'.”
“I'll go,” Kurt offers. Blaine and the others all look at him and he lifts his chin into the air and ignores them in favour of Puck. “Just point me in the right direction.”
“I'll go with you,” Blaine says. There is no way he would allow any of these people to go hiking in the storm alone. And so what if the others are all smirking at him. It's the truth.
Kurt smiles. “Thank you, Blaine,” he says. “I would appreciate the company.”
They head to their rooms to change into casual clothing, agreeing to meet back up with Puck in the lounge for instructions. Kurt was smart enough to power down his phone when they arrived in the valley, so he still has a full charge, whereas Blaine's own phone had died the night before. And so Kurt is clutching it in his hand when he descends the grand staircase just after Blaine, and what he is wearing sets Blaine immediately to laughing.
It's the bright yellow rain suit he had seen Emma trying to coax Puck into wearing earlier before he went out in the storm.
“Something funny?” Kurt asks, reaching behind him to straighten his shiny plastic hood.
Blaine shakes his head, more laughter gurgling up his throat. “Not at all.”
“Uh huh. Well, at least I am prepared for all manner of inclement weather on this outing. Unlike some people.”
Blaine looks down at his own jeans and hoodie and sneakers and grins up at Kurt. “You're right. And I do love a well-prepared man,” he says and winks, then offers Kurt his arm, which he graciously accepts.
With phone numbers for Jan, Liz, and all sorts of emergency personnel deep in their pockets and very detailed directions from Puck, Blaine and Kurt set off up the hill.
When they first leave the house the wind is gusting so strongly that they are forced to walk sideways, for it keeps blowing them off course. As they distance themselves from the house, however, it begins to die down, making it easier to climb their way to the top of the hill. The rain even lets up a little, just to where it no longer stings when it hits them in the face, the only part of Kurt besides his hands that isn't wrapped in plastic.
Blaine can see the top, can see the L-shaped tree that Puck had described to them, complete with red emergency tape wound around its wide trunk. He's about to point it out to Kurt when Kurt speaks himself, his words nearly swallowed up as the wind picks up again.
“What is that?” is about all he can make out, and Kurt motioning off the path and up.
He's pointing at another tree about twenty feet off of the beaten path. It has long, gnarly limbs covered in moss, and at the base of these limbs there is a small structure, like a rudimentary box without a lid, attached to the trunk. It doesn't belong there- trees do not grow boxes- and before Blaine can wave it off as nothing of importance, Kurt tugs him by the hand and they're trudging over the squishy ground in its direction.
It has been nailed to the trunk of the tree. Blaine can see the heads of the two nails used to secure it, each one rusted, the orange bleeding over onto the wood around it. “Who do you think put it there?” Blaine asks as Kurt moves closer, poking a finger into the box and running it along the inside.
Kurt shrugs his shoulders and stands back upright. “It's creepy,” he says, still studying the box on the tree, his head titled to one side. “Why would someone put it there in the first place?”
“Maybe it's the base for something else that broke away,” Blaine suggests.
Kurt shrugs again. “Regardless, I suppose we should do what we came out here for,” he says, turning away from the tree. His foot catches in the roots and he pitches forward. Blaine reaches out to catch him, but he's too late. Kurt falls to the muddy ground, his body making a squelching sound when it lands.
“Are you all right?” Kurt turns himself over and looks up at Blaine with his eyes narrowed, a streak of mud across his cheekbone and a glob filling the divot in his chin. He looks so mildly irritated that Blaine can't help the snort of laughter that comes out of him. The snort turns into a chuckle, and then erupts into hearty guffaws.
“A gentleman would have helped me up before laughing at me, at the very least,” Kurt grumbles from the ground. “Are you having fun laughing at me up there?”
“Yep,” Blaine says and giggles again. “What are you gonna do about it?”
“I dunno.” Kurt sucks on his bottom lip as though milling it over. And Blaine should have known. He really should have. “Probably this,” Kurt says, and he reaches over in a flash and takes Blaine's ankle in his hand and tugs, pulling him down next to him in the mud.
Blaine lets out an oof, and erupts into another fit of laughter, raindrops falling onto his eyelids and into his open mouth. He's already soaked through from the rain, but now he feels disgusting, reams of wet, squelchy mud up his back and in his shoes.
“Now how do you feel about well-prepared men?” Kurt asks in a smug tone.
Blaine turns onto his side in the mud and grins at him. “Oh, I don't know. Still pretty good, I dare say.”
Kurt is smirking at him, the rain streaking the mud on his face and plastering his hair to his forehead. Blaine thinks he's never seen anything more tempting in his life. He leans forward and gives in to that temptation, taking Kurt's bottom lip into his mouth and sucking gently, tasting the rain, before kissing him more chastely, a simple press of lips.
Kurt is watching him with wide eyes and a flush high on his cheeks. “Well then,” he says, voice breathy. And Blaine finds his face being grabbed forcefully with cold, muddy hands, and Kurt is kissing him passionately there on the side of a muddy hill in the middle of the woods, in the middle of a rainstorm.
Blaine forgets all about the rain and the muck and wind and the fact that they're meant to be trying to make a phone call. Kurt pulls away and reminds him all at once, and he wishes he could dive back in and forget for another few minutes. Or hours.
He can still taste rainwater and the light sweetness of Kurt's mouth as he helps Kurt to his feet. Kurt catches him licking his lips and gives him a flirty smile. “Later,” he says, and hauls Blaine back in the direction of the path.
The view from the top of the hill by the red taped tree is spectacular. Blaine only hopes that the rain stops before they leave and he and Kurt can climb back up with his camera next time.
Blaine loses focus on the surrounding beauty when Kurt begins unzipping his rain suit. “Are you taking that off?” he blurts out.
Kurt pauses to glance up at him and huffs a laugh. Then he begins shimmying his hips and humming striptease music as he slowly undoes the long zipper on the front of the rain suit. He stops after a moment and grins. “No,” he says, and reaches a hand inside of his top, pulling out his cell phone.
Blaine watches as he fiddles with the phone, wiping off the splatters of rain with his sweater before pressing the top button to turn on the screen. His brow furrows after a moment and he presses the button again, and again and again. He shakes the phone and swipes his finger across the screen and tries the power button once more. “It's dead,” he says. He looks over at Blaine and shakes his head. “I had a nearly full charge, Blaine. I charged it just before we lost the power and it's been turned off ever since until I tried it in my room before we left. It was still full.”
Blaine moves closer and glances down at the black screen of the phone in Kurt's hand. “Maybe the battery drained because it was constantly searching for a signal?”
“In twenty minutes? No. Something weird is going on.” He looks at the tree with the red tape around its trunk and down over the valley in the direction of the house. “Somebody doesn't want us going anywhere.”
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