Fic: Dresden Hollows 2/7
Two.
When Blaine wakes up it is still dark and he is shivering violently. He hadn't kicked off the blankets during his sleep, and yet he is freezing. The air in the room is frigid and he can see his breath like he's outside on a January morning. He tries to ignore it, pulling the covers up to his chin and attempting to get back to sleep, but it is not to be had. After fighting the cold and becoming more and more alert by the minute, Blaine heaves a frustrated sigh and kicks off the covers. The floor is not cold on his bare feet, however, and he sighs again, this time in pleasure, as it warms his toes. He grabs a set of clothes and heads into the bathroom for a nice, hot shower.
After he gets out, happily thawed and feeling very awake, he sets to work on getting his razor and shaving cream and everything out of his kit. He massages in the preshave lotion, his other hand fumbling through his bag in search of his folded up straight razor. But he can't find it anywhere. He remembers packing it- knows for a fact that he did- and yet, it isn't there. Frustrated, he rinses off his face and studies the stubble there. In another couple of days he'll be sporting a beard, and just when he met a guy he'd like to make a good impression on, too. With brow furrowed, he steels himself to re-enter his cold room.
But it's no longer cold. It's pleasantly warm and the curtains are open, the early morning sun shining through the dew on the windows.
##
There are still low patches of fog drifting across the fields as Blaine wanders between the crumbling out buildings and the workers' sheds, his camera heavy around his neck.
The clouds are beginning to roll in, large and grey and puffy, and Blaine wonders if the rain predicted the day before by the guy with the mohawk is indeed coming, regardless of the weather report issued by trained meteorologists which had promised sunny skies and above seasonal temperatures.
He dodges around a few dips in the ground, left behind by previous rain storms, holding his camera to his eye to get a shot of a noisy raven high on the peak of an old barn. It caws at him three times in increasing volume before flying off, so he lowers his camera and wanders inside the barn.
It smells musty and damp, piles of cast-off boards rotting under the glassless windows. Blaine photographs the windows, the rolling hills beyond visible through the empty frames, then turns towards the ladder leading to the barn's loft.
He sees something out of the corner of his eye, a movement, quick and fleeting and his heart picks up speed, though his rational mind knows that it's likely just another bird. They are probably nesting inside the building, with no door or windows to keep them out. He swallows his discomfort and takes another step forward, his eyes registering something strange before his brain completely puzzles out what it is. There is colour. The rest of the place is drab and beige and brown, but this is a bright, vibrant red. It's on the other side of the barn, something on the wall, and even with his heart nearly in his throat, Blaine continues his approach, though the colour and the splash of it brings only terrible things to mind.
It's paint, he realizes with a sense of relief that embarrasses him, as he draws close enough to see it properly. A single word sprayed and dripping down the wall: BeDLaM.
He lifts his camera, thinking he'd like to show it to Artie if nothing else, but just as he's about to press the shutter, he hears footsteps behind him and jumps, dropping the heavy metal camera body. It knocks painfully against his chest and pulls the strap around his neck, digging in and chafing the tender skin beneath it.
“Dude, relax.” It's the mohawk guy, Puck. Blaine takes a gulp of air. He quickly finds himself warming in embarrassment.
“Sorry. I thought I was the only person up at this hour,” he explains. He motions to the graffiti on the wall. “Probably some kids did that, huh?”
Puck gives him a crooked, condescending sort of smile. “You keep telling yourself that, dude. Whatever helps you get to sleep while you're here.” He pauses for a second, half turned as though about to leave, then thinks better of it and turns back. “You should get a picture of it while you can, though. 'Cause it wasn't there twenty minutes ago when I was last in here, and it'll probably be gone if you decide you're gonna come back searching for it later with your buddies.”
He does turn completely this time, looking over his shoulder to warn Blaine that the rain is going to start falling soon, then he's gone back out into the fresh air of the morning.
Blaine hurriedly takes two quick snaps of the wall before following after him. The air outside the mouldy barn is heaven to his lungs.
Behind the vast house there is a beautifully tended garden, its hedges high and green. There are vines winding and climbing up the delicate trellis at the entryway, some small, whitish grapes still suspended between the leaves. At the centre of the garden is a wide fountain, water spraying from a statue of a woman and all of the small creatures that are nestled around her feet. She smiles benevolently down upon them with her grey, pupil-less eyes. Blaine has always hated the eyes of statues since, as a child, Cooper had convinced him they were real people dipped in cement and their eyes were the only parts of them that could still work. Ever since he's always felt as though he was being watched while in their presence.
He comes in close despite his misgivings, studying the serene tilt of her lips, the moss growing on her shoulder. He plays with the dials and settings of his camera, for the clouds have gotten thicker and there is less light than there had been even five minutes before.
“It's her.” Blaine startles again and turns. It's Kurt. He looks soft this morning, less angular than he had the night before at dinner in his crisp suit. He is infinitely huggable in his lumpy blue knit sweater and jeans, and instead of feeling more on edge, Blaine finds a sort of calm descend over him. He feels safer with Kurt there in this strange, eerie place. Even under the watchful eyes of the marble woman and her legion of forest creatures.
Kurt smiles up at the statue. “It's Evelyn Parker. I'd read that after her horrible death, Jack Dresden had a statue of her commissioned by a French sculptor. It's breathtaking, isn't it?”
“Yes,” Blaine agrees, still watching Kurt and not looking at the statue as he probably ought to be. Kurt notices where Blaine's attention lies after a moment and turns that perfect shade of pink. Blaine smiles at him and shrugs, sheepish, before finally looking back up at Evelyn Parker. Well, her likeness at least, carved in marble to forever hold court in this garden. “Do you know much about her? Evelyn Parker? About this place?”
“Oh, yeah,” Kurt says. “Probably more than is healthy,” he adds a moment later with a trilling laugh. “She was a huge up and comer on Broadway in the '20s. And Broadway was booming then, but she was a stand out. She made one film before she died in 1928, a silent picture called Delicate Glass. It never got much attention, but my friend Rachel and I found a copy of it online. She was very lovely.” He nods towards the statue. “It's a striking resemblance. The sculptor was very good.”
“I'm afraid I'd never heard of her before, not until my friend Brittany told us she'd found a haunted house for Artie's film. And even after, my knowledge goes no farther than what was written on the Dresden Hollows website.”
Kurt's eyes go wide and he smiles in an excited way that is more than a little adorable. “Well I can certainly fill you in,” he says. “I am a marvellous raconteur when the mood strikes me.”
Blaine grins. “I'm sure you are.”
Kurt walks to the side of the fountain to join him, and he and Blaine begin to stroll around the garden, Blaine's camera all but forgotten as he listens to the lilt of Kurt's very lovely and unique voice. They pause in front of a sprawling rose bush, still brown and sparse from the winter, though the rose hips stand out, a dark pink amongst the drabness of the sleeping foliage. Kurt runs his long fingers over the curve of one of a particularly deep fuchsia and watches his thumb sweep away the curl of a dead and dried leaf.
“So, you're a Tisch man?” Kurt asks.
“Yes. I started at NYU initially, but I really wanted to study acting, so I applied after my freshman year and was luckily accepted.”
“I'm sure luck had nothing to do with it.” Kurt gives him a flirty look, one eyebrow raised and a smile lifting the left corner of his mouth.
Blaine smiles back and shrugs one shoulder, his fingers reaching out near Kurt's to find a neighbouring rose hip. “Well, I may have had an in with one of the teachers on the board.”
Kurt laughs. “Not what I meant, silly,” he says. “Tisch is a great school and they don't let just anyone in. You must be really good.”
“And you,” Blaine tells him. “NYADA? Don't they only take, like, twenty musical theatre students a year?”
“Twenty-five,” Kurt corrects him with a little wink and Blaine laughs again.
He forgets himself, watching the smile on Kurt's face, the twinkle in his eye, and he's soon sucking in a breath and crying out in pain, a sharp sting on the tip of his finger and shooting up his wrist. He pulls his hand up to find a perfectly round drop of crimson blood stark against the pale tip of his index finger.
Kurt reaches for his hand, making a low, cooing sound. “Oh, there are still thorns, honey,” he says. Blaine wants to grin and laugh at the unconscious endearment, but Kurt seems as though he's just realized what he said and looks like he wants to slink away and never come near Blaine again, which is definitely the opposite of what Blaine wants.
“I kind of call everyone that,” Kurt says after an awkward few moments of silence. “Everyone I like anyway.”
Blaine tilts his head to catch Kurt's avoiding eye. “Well I've never been more pleased to be liked,” he says, and Kurt shakes his head fondly.
“We should get you a Band-aid,” he says.
Blaine touches the tip of his thumb to the prick and presses, stopping the drip of blood and smearing both fingertips with red. “Nah,” he reassures. “It'll be fine.”
Kurt releases his hand then. “If you're sure. At least you didn't drop to the ground and go into a deep sleep,” he says with a smile. “Then I would have had to carry you back into the castle before it starts to rain.”
“I'm sure you could have found some old, clichéd way of waking me up.”
“I'm sure,” Kurt agrees, smirking, and then a huge, fat drop of rain falls onto his nose and he crosses his eyes to look at it.
“Guess that rain is starting now,” Blaine says with a giggle, and the sky opens up at his words, sheets of rain drenching them in seconds.
“Shit!” Kurt shrieks, and then Blaine grabs for his hand and they run, laughing, towards the house.
The nearest door is one neither of them have used before, but it is luckily not locked when Blaine turns the knob and pushes, and they tumble inside.
They right themselves and Kurt gasps, Blaine turning quickly, thinking Kurt had seen something strange. “Your camera!” he exclaims instead. “Is it ruined?”
Blaine reaches down to lift it. It has some water beaded on the body and lens filter, but seems fine otherwise. He's just about to tell Kurt so when he rucks up his sweater, pulls his t-shirt from his jeans and begins using the soft fabric to dry the camera. Blaine swallows, catching sight of Kurt's taut stomach above the waistband of his jeans, his bellybutton dipping in enticingly. And Blaine does not think, not for one solitary second, about how much he would love to run his tongue over and around and inside. Nope. Not even a little bit.
“I hope it's all right,” Kurt says with a worried little hum, and lets his shirt and sweater fall back to cover the strip of skin. Blaine tears his eyes away and nods his thanks.
Kurt grins and slides his arm around to link with Blaine's. “Shall we explore on our way to dry clothes?”
“We shall,” Blaine answers, and they start off down a narrow hall with low ceilings, quite unlike the rest of the house.
“This is definitely the servants' quarters,” Kurt says as they hurry down the hall. The last thing they want is to disturb the staff in their living area. It feels so rude.
As they round a corner, Blaine can swear he sees another flash like he had in the barn- something rushing away, moving in the corner of his vision. He must hesitate or give some sense that he's seen something, because Kurt squeezes his hand around Blaine's wrist and bites his lip. “I saw it, too,” he says, then pulls Blaine along more quickly down the dark, oppressive hallway and out through a heavy door.
The end up next to a smaller staircase that they assume will lead them to their rooms, but they pass it by and continue on to the front of the house. To the left of the staircase, there is a library with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the walls of the garden they had just vacated, and they hover in the doorway, Blaine taking a few photos of the tapestries and tall shelves of books before retreating. The floor is covered with a large, expensive looking area rug which they decide they would rather avoid dripping on.
They soon find the ballroom. It's to the right of the main staircase, and Blaine is shocked that he didn't notice it upon initially entering the house. The doorway is high and open, and inside the room is cavernous. There are more floor to ceiling windows taking up the better part of the walls, with small, stained glass shapes in between them- diamonds and flowers and crosses. The room is full of light despite the gloom outside the windows and the sheets of rain that are still falling from the heavens. The many chandeliers are all lit, a cascade of glittering light illuminating the assorted furniture and polished, marble floor.
Blaine shares a glance with Kurt and they both grin before rushing inside to investigate. They sink onto an ornate iron bench near the solid wood bar. Through the windows they have a perfect view of the hills and the storm, the trees thrashing in the wind and the rain. A bolt of lightning lights up the sky, and not a second after it has disappeared there is a loud crack of thunder from overhead.
They sit and chat there for so long that their clothes dry. The alarm goes on Blaine's watch and he sighs. He doesn't want to stop talking to Kurt, but it's almost time for him to help Artie work on his film.
“I have to go help my friend soon,” he says. “But before that, would you accompany me to the dining room for breakfast?” It's not much of a date, but it's all he can really do at the moment. Kurt seems very pleased with the meagre offer anyway; he gives Blaine a radiant smile.
“I would be honoured,” he says, and they link arms again as they walk towards the dining room to the sound of the booming thunder.
# # #
“On record we have Rachel Barbra Berry, of Bushwick, New York. She would like me to state that she is an avid Broadway enthusiast and has studied the history of the golden era, as well as the sad story of Evelyn Parker, who died at, and is notoriously haunting, the estate of Dresden Hollows, where this filmmaker and his crew are currently staying to gather evidence on the existence of ghosts. Or perhaps only the tricks one needs to pull off the appearance of just that.”
“Oh, there are ghosts.” Rachel interrupts Artie's monologue and Blaine is secretly relieved. Artie tends to be long-winded and Blaine wants to get back to Kurt before he has to dress for dinner. “I mean, Evelyn Parker has been seen and heard by hundreds of people over the years. They've even witnessed the phantom projections of the famous jazz-era parties that the Dresdens threw here while she was visiting the estate in the summer of 1928.”
“And what do you know of the relationship Miss Parker had to the Dresden family?”
“Well that's the juiciest part, isn't it? Evelyn was the secret lover of Jack Dresden, the youngest in the family and only son. The Dresdens were old fashioned and well, sexist if you ask me, because he was the sole heir to their fortune, being the only male in the family. That's why he and Evelyn had to keep it a secret. She was butcher's daughter from Pittsburgh, and Jack's family would never have accepted her as their son's bride. She was only invited that summer because she was friends with a rich debutante from Manhattan, who the Dresdens were hoping to set Jack up with. Little did they know, but their fantasy daughter-in-law was in on the whole thing, and introduced Jack to Evelyn months beforehand in New York after one of Evelyn's shows.”
“And how do people have access to this information, if it was all a secret?” Artie asks.
“It all came out later during the trial,” Rachel informs him, smiling into the camera. “Jack was charged with Evelyn's murder. The trial was a sensation- in all of the papers. But of course he didn't do it.” She shakes her head and reaches up to wipe away a tear that Blaine is sure isn't actually there. “He loved her so. It was just like Romeo and Juliet.”
“How can you be so sure?” Artie asks. “Maybe he snapped? Lots of people do.”
“No.” Rachel shakes her head adamantly. “He was running up the stairs to save her after the household staff heard her scream. They were cleaning up after the party while the rest of the house was sleeping, so they were the only witnesses. And to say they weren't reliable witnesses just because they were servants? That's just classism.” She sniffs daintily and fingers at the ruffle on her dress. “Anyway, the real proof for me is Jack himself. He lost his mind with grief afterwards, the poor man. Some people say he never spoke another word in his life, only to open his mouth and utter Evelyn on his death bed almost fifteen years later.”
Blaine hears Artie sigh audibly when Rachel works up a single tear and lets it trail dramatically down her cheek.
# # #
Blaine doesn't see Kurt again until dinner that evening, and is delighted when Kurt slides into the seat next to him. He is dressed in an absolutely stunning pinstriped suit with a white shirt and ascot, the entire ensemble fitting him so well that it should be illegal. After a moment, Blaine decides to lean in and tell Kurt just that, and is rewarded for his truthfulness with a gorgeous pink flush high on Kurt's cheeks and a smile that's just on the fun side of naughty.
Constance spends most of dinner regaling the group with tales of her many dogs while Woofer nips at everyone's ankles under the table. Jan had left early that morning to meet her wife in town, and so their party is another person short. She was meant to have returned with Liz before dinner, but Puck, who has taken up Jan's seat at the head of the table, says the phones are out and he has no way of contacting her.
“That's all very convenient,” Artie says. His comment sounds more conversational than accusing, though Blaine knows that's precisely how he means it.
Just as Puck, brow low over his eyes, opens his mouth to retort, the lights flicker and then die. The room is shuttered in silence just as quickly as it had descended into darkness.
“Kurt, where are you?” Blaine hears Rachel's shaky voice ask from the other end of the table.
“I'm right here, Rachel. It's fine.” Kurt, as much as he's trying to reassure his friend, sounds faintly nervous in his own right, and Blaine reaches over to rest a hand on his arm just as Woofer takes a bite of his bare ankle bone. He kicks out on instinct and hears the dog yelp from under the table.
“Oops,” he whispers in Kurt's ear, and Kurt snorts a laugh.
“I got this,” Puck tells everyone. “Happens all the time. Stay put and I'll bring candles.”
“Jesus, Berry, that was my tit you just groped,” Santana growls. “My no good, absent doctor daddy paid good money for that.”
“Money well spent,” Brittany says, and then there is a bright light being carried into the room.
After dessert is served and eaten by candlelight, Constance orders Toby to take her and Woofer upstairs to bed and the others all move to the ballroom where the large windows will give them the best view of the light show outside. The storm is spectacular- lighting up the whole sky and reflecting off the pouring rain, which is making a racket bouncing off the windows and roof, echoing all over the house.
At half past ten, Puck lifts Artie up the stairs to his room, as the elevator is out of commission, and the others all decide to follow suit. Kurt carries a candelabra, lighting Blaine's way as he and Brittany tackle Artie's chair. Once they've got their friends all safely in their rooms, Kurt walks Blaine to his door.
“Goodnight, Blaine,” he whispers, the light from the candles flickering fetchingly across the planes of his face. “If you have a fright during the night, my room is two doors down on the left.” He gives Blaine a flirtatious smirk, then hands over a single candlestick and turns away down the hall. Blaine stands there, leaning against his door until Kurt and his candelabra have disappeared inside his room and he has heard the distinct sound of the lock being turned over.
Blaine goes through his own door and locks it behind him, then places his candle down on a table in order to get undressed. The curtains are still wide open, and the lightning illuminates the room every couple of minutes, always trailing closely after is the rumbling thunder.
Once undressed, Blaine heads into the bathroom to brush his teeth, bringing the candle with him. As he's brushing away, studying his own eerie reflection in the mirror, he notices something thin and small sitting on the side of the bathtub. He knows he left nothing there, so he turns, assuming the maid must have forgotten something when she came in earlier to tidy.
On the edge of the tub sits his straight razor, unfolded with the blade facing towards him. He drops his toothbrush in the sink and lifts the razor, gently closing it, and takes it back into his room and locks it away with his laptop and camera.
##
He is awoken in the middle of the night by a piercing scream.
His first instinct is to burrow under his blankets, because he feels sluggish and it sounded like something from a movie. He tells Artie to turn it down, only to realize that he is not in their apartment in Brooklyn and Artie isn't here. Artie. Blaine jumps out of bed and rushes towards Artie's room to make sure he's all right, only to find him already wheeling himself through the hall. The door to the last room stands open, a bustle of activity around it. When Blaine and Artie arrive, Blaine sees Kurt setting down a candle as Rachel practically tackles him, and a dishevelled and irritated looking Santana stands next to them and rolls her eyes.
The room feels cold, and not cold like a day in the winter, but cold like the feeling of someone watching you from the shadows. Blaine shivers and shares a glance with Brittany, who nods at him.
“It was her, Kurt! Evelyn Parker! She was standing over me-”
“It's not a her, it's a him,” Brittany says, chewing on her cuticles next to the door. “He totally stood next to my bed for, like, an hour last night when I was trying to go to sleep. I told him it was rude to stare and he went away after that.”
“Come on, you guys,” Artie says. “There are no actual ghosts. It's all atmosphere. Which, I will admit, is pretty freaking amazing, but it's atmosphere all the same.”
“Argue it all you like, but I know what I saw,” Rachel says with a sniff. “And I want to sleep in Kurt's room.” She snuggles back into Kurt's arms and Blaine feels a stab of something like jealousy.
Kurt looks dejected for a moment, and then his expression brightens. “But we should stay in here in case she comes back. Artie will want to catch it on tape if she does. Right, Artie?”
“Amazing idea, Kurt,” Artie says.
“He's not coming back,” Brittany says.
“It was a she- Evelyn Parker-”
Brittany shrugs and cuts Rachel off. “Whatever. It's not cold in here anymore. It's been getting warmer since we got here.”
“Of course it is, Britt,” Artie argues. “There are six people in this small room. Our body heat is causing a rise in temperature.”
“No, it's not the same, the cold before. The cold he brings with him is different.” She looks over at Blaine. “You know it. You noticed.”
Blaine doesn't want to admit that he'd felt strange upon entering the room, like cool liquid was being dripped down the back of his neck, all the way down his spine. It still makes him feel a bit unsteady, and admitting to it will do nothing to help. And yet, he doesn't want to leave Brittany hanging, especially when she's looking at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Maybe. I'm not sure what it was. Maybe just adrenaline.” Kurt meets his eye from over Rachel's shoulder and tilts his head to one side. Blaine can't make out his expression in the shadows.
With Rachel back in her bed, Santana and Brittany on either side of her, Kurt is free to pull up a chaise lounge from under the windows. He turns to Blaine with a shy smile. “Care to split a chaise?”
“I would love to.” Blaine returns Kurt's smile and pulls a throw off of the end of the bed for them to share.
And so they settle in together and wait for the ghost to reappear, Artie across the room with his camera ready. Blaine wants to ask Kurt whether or not he believes Rachel, as it seems to him that she is prone to dramatics and might have imagined it, but he waits longer and longer and soon his eyes are heavy and the warm, steadiness of Kurt next to him lulls him to sleep.
When Blaine wakes up for the second time that morning, the bed is empty and Artie is long gone from the room as well. There is a soft, warm weight draped across his chest and whatever his head is resting upon is lifting up and down as it breathes.
He moves his head off and back to see Kurt's pale eyes watching him, his face warm and flushed. “Um... good morning,” Blaine greets.
“I, ah... good morning to you, too.” Kurt lifts his arm from around Blaine's body and Blaine feels sadness at its loss.
previous next
When Blaine wakes up it is still dark and he is shivering violently. He hadn't kicked off the blankets during his sleep, and yet he is freezing. The air in the room is frigid and he can see his breath like he's outside on a January morning. He tries to ignore it, pulling the covers up to his chin and attempting to get back to sleep, but it is not to be had. After fighting the cold and becoming more and more alert by the minute, Blaine heaves a frustrated sigh and kicks off the covers. The floor is not cold on his bare feet, however, and he sighs again, this time in pleasure, as it warms his toes. He grabs a set of clothes and heads into the bathroom for a nice, hot shower.
After he gets out, happily thawed and feeling very awake, he sets to work on getting his razor and shaving cream and everything out of his kit. He massages in the preshave lotion, his other hand fumbling through his bag in search of his folded up straight razor. But he can't find it anywhere. He remembers packing it- knows for a fact that he did- and yet, it isn't there. Frustrated, he rinses off his face and studies the stubble there. In another couple of days he'll be sporting a beard, and just when he met a guy he'd like to make a good impression on, too. With brow furrowed, he steels himself to re-enter his cold room.
But it's no longer cold. It's pleasantly warm and the curtains are open, the early morning sun shining through the dew on the windows.
##
There are still low patches of fog drifting across the fields as Blaine wanders between the crumbling out buildings and the workers' sheds, his camera heavy around his neck.
The clouds are beginning to roll in, large and grey and puffy, and Blaine wonders if the rain predicted the day before by the guy with the mohawk is indeed coming, regardless of the weather report issued by trained meteorologists which had promised sunny skies and above seasonal temperatures.
He dodges around a few dips in the ground, left behind by previous rain storms, holding his camera to his eye to get a shot of a noisy raven high on the peak of an old barn. It caws at him three times in increasing volume before flying off, so he lowers his camera and wanders inside the barn.
It smells musty and damp, piles of cast-off boards rotting under the glassless windows. Blaine photographs the windows, the rolling hills beyond visible through the empty frames, then turns towards the ladder leading to the barn's loft.
He sees something out of the corner of his eye, a movement, quick and fleeting and his heart picks up speed, though his rational mind knows that it's likely just another bird. They are probably nesting inside the building, with no door or windows to keep them out. He swallows his discomfort and takes another step forward, his eyes registering something strange before his brain completely puzzles out what it is. There is colour. The rest of the place is drab and beige and brown, but this is a bright, vibrant red. It's on the other side of the barn, something on the wall, and even with his heart nearly in his throat, Blaine continues his approach, though the colour and the splash of it brings only terrible things to mind.
It's paint, he realizes with a sense of relief that embarrasses him, as he draws close enough to see it properly. A single word sprayed and dripping down the wall: BeDLaM.
He lifts his camera, thinking he'd like to show it to Artie if nothing else, but just as he's about to press the shutter, he hears footsteps behind him and jumps, dropping the heavy metal camera body. It knocks painfully against his chest and pulls the strap around his neck, digging in and chafing the tender skin beneath it.
“Dude, relax.” It's the mohawk guy, Puck. Blaine takes a gulp of air. He quickly finds himself warming in embarrassment.
“Sorry. I thought I was the only person up at this hour,” he explains. He motions to the graffiti on the wall. “Probably some kids did that, huh?”
Puck gives him a crooked, condescending sort of smile. “You keep telling yourself that, dude. Whatever helps you get to sleep while you're here.” He pauses for a second, half turned as though about to leave, then thinks better of it and turns back. “You should get a picture of it while you can, though. 'Cause it wasn't there twenty minutes ago when I was last in here, and it'll probably be gone if you decide you're gonna come back searching for it later with your buddies.”
He does turn completely this time, looking over his shoulder to warn Blaine that the rain is going to start falling soon, then he's gone back out into the fresh air of the morning.
Blaine hurriedly takes two quick snaps of the wall before following after him. The air outside the mouldy barn is heaven to his lungs.
Behind the vast house there is a beautifully tended garden, its hedges high and green. There are vines winding and climbing up the delicate trellis at the entryway, some small, whitish grapes still suspended between the leaves. At the centre of the garden is a wide fountain, water spraying from a statue of a woman and all of the small creatures that are nestled around her feet. She smiles benevolently down upon them with her grey, pupil-less eyes. Blaine has always hated the eyes of statues since, as a child, Cooper had convinced him they were real people dipped in cement and their eyes were the only parts of them that could still work. Ever since he's always felt as though he was being watched while in their presence.
He comes in close despite his misgivings, studying the serene tilt of her lips, the moss growing on her shoulder. He plays with the dials and settings of his camera, for the clouds have gotten thicker and there is less light than there had been even five minutes before.
“It's her.” Blaine startles again and turns. It's Kurt. He looks soft this morning, less angular than he had the night before at dinner in his crisp suit. He is infinitely huggable in his lumpy blue knit sweater and jeans, and instead of feeling more on edge, Blaine finds a sort of calm descend over him. He feels safer with Kurt there in this strange, eerie place. Even under the watchful eyes of the marble woman and her legion of forest creatures.
Kurt smiles up at the statue. “It's Evelyn Parker. I'd read that after her horrible death, Jack Dresden had a statue of her commissioned by a French sculptor. It's breathtaking, isn't it?”
“Yes,” Blaine agrees, still watching Kurt and not looking at the statue as he probably ought to be. Kurt notices where Blaine's attention lies after a moment and turns that perfect shade of pink. Blaine smiles at him and shrugs, sheepish, before finally looking back up at Evelyn Parker. Well, her likeness at least, carved in marble to forever hold court in this garden. “Do you know much about her? Evelyn Parker? About this place?”
“Oh, yeah,” Kurt says. “Probably more than is healthy,” he adds a moment later with a trilling laugh. “She was a huge up and comer on Broadway in the '20s. And Broadway was booming then, but she was a stand out. She made one film before she died in 1928, a silent picture called Delicate Glass. It never got much attention, but my friend Rachel and I found a copy of it online. She was very lovely.” He nods towards the statue. “It's a striking resemblance. The sculptor was very good.”
“I'm afraid I'd never heard of her before, not until my friend Brittany told us she'd found a haunted house for Artie's film. And even after, my knowledge goes no farther than what was written on the Dresden Hollows website.”
Kurt's eyes go wide and he smiles in an excited way that is more than a little adorable. “Well I can certainly fill you in,” he says. “I am a marvellous raconteur when the mood strikes me.”
Blaine grins. “I'm sure you are.”
Kurt walks to the side of the fountain to join him, and he and Blaine begin to stroll around the garden, Blaine's camera all but forgotten as he listens to the lilt of Kurt's very lovely and unique voice. They pause in front of a sprawling rose bush, still brown and sparse from the winter, though the rose hips stand out, a dark pink amongst the drabness of the sleeping foliage. Kurt runs his long fingers over the curve of one of a particularly deep fuchsia and watches his thumb sweep away the curl of a dead and dried leaf.
“So, you're a Tisch man?” Kurt asks.
“Yes. I started at NYU initially, but I really wanted to study acting, so I applied after my freshman year and was luckily accepted.”
“I'm sure luck had nothing to do with it.” Kurt gives him a flirty look, one eyebrow raised and a smile lifting the left corner of his mouth.
Blaine smiles back and shrugs one shoulder, his fingers reaching out near Kurt's to find a neighbouring rose hip. “Well, I may have had an in with one of the teachers on the board.”
Kurt laughs. “Not what I meant, silly,” he says. “Tisch is a great school and they don't let just anyone in. You must be really good.”
“And you,” Blaine tells him. “NYADA? Don't they only take, like, twenty musical theatre students a year?”
“Twenty-five,” Kurt corrects him with a little wink and Blaine laughs again.
He forgets himself, watching the smile on Kurt's face, the twinkle in his eye, and he's soon sucking in a breath and crying out in pain, a sharp sting on the tip of his finger and shooting up his wrist. He pulls his hand up to find a perfectly round drop of crimson blood stark against the pale tip of his index finger.
Kurt reaches for his hand, making a low, cooing sound. “Oh, there are still thorns, honey,” he says. Blaine wants to grin and laugh at the unconscious endearment, but Kurt seems as though he's just realized what he said and looks like he wants to slink away and never come near Blaine again, which is definitely the opposite of what Blaine wants.
“I kind of call everyone that,” Kurt says after an awkward few moments of silence. “Everyone I like anyway.”
Blaine tilts his head to catch Kurt's avoiding eye. “Well I've never been more pleased to be liked,” he says, and Kurt shakes his head fondly.
“We should get you a Band-aid,” he says.
Blaine touches the tip of his thumb to the prick and presses, stopping the drip of blood and smearing both fingertips with red. “Nah,” he reassures. “It'll be fine.”
Kurt releases his hand then. “If you're sure. At least you didn't drop to the ground and go into a deep sleep,” he says with a smile. “Then I would have had to carry you back into the castle before it starts to rain.”
“I'm sure you could have found some old, clichéd way of waking me up.”
“I'm sure,” Kurt agrees, smirking, and then a huge, fat drop of rain falls onto his nose and he crosses his eyes to look at it.
“Guess that rain is starting now,” Blaine says with a giggle, and the sky opens up at his words, sheets of rain drenching them in seconds.
“Shit!” Kurt shrieks, and then Blaine grabs for his hand and they run, laughing, towards the house.
The nearest door is one neither of them have used before, but it is luckily not locked when Blaine turns the knob and pushes, and they tumble inside.
They right themselves and Kurt gasps, Blaine turning quickly, thinking Kurt had seen something strange. “Your camera!” he exclaims instead. “Is it ruined?”
Blaine reaches down to lift it. It has some water beaded on the body and lens filter, but seems fine otherwise. He's just about to tell Kurt so when he rucks up his sweater, pulls his t-shirt from his jeans and begins using the soft fabric to dry the camera. Blaine swallows, catching sight of Kurt's taut stomach above the waistband of his jeans, his bellybutton dipping in enticingly. And Blaine does not think, not for one solitary second, about how much he would love to run his tongue over and around and inside. Nope. Not even a little bit.
“I hope it's all right,” Kurt says with a worried little hum, and lets his shirt and sweater fall back to cover the strip of skin. Blaine tears his eyes away and nods his thanks.
Kurt grins and slides his arm around to link with Blaine's. “Shall we explore on our way to dry clothes?”
“We shall,” Blaine answers, and they start off down a narrow hall with low ceilings, quite unlike the rest of the house.
“This is definitely the servants' quarters,” Kurt says as they hurry down the hall. The last thing they want is to disturb the staff in their living area. It feels so rude.
As they round a corner, Blaine can swear he sees another flash like he had in the barn- something rushing away, moving in the corner of his vision. He must hesitate or give some sense that he's seen something, because Kurt squeezes his hand around Blaine's wrist and bites his lip. “I saw it, too,” he says, then pulls Blaine along more quickly down the dark, oppressive hallway and out through a heavy door.
The end up next to a smaller staircase that they assume will lead them to their rooms, but they pass it by and continue on to the front of the house. To the left of the staircase, there is a library with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the walls of the garden they had just vacated, and they hover in the doorway, Blaine taking a few photos of the tapestries and tall shelves of books before retreating. The floor is covered with a large, expensive looking area rug which they decide they would rather avoid dripping on.
They soon find the ballroom. It's to the right of the main staircase, and Blaine is shocked that he didn't notice it upon initially entering the house. The doorway is high and open, and inside the room is cavernous. There are more floor to ceiling windows taking up the better part of the walls, with small, stained glass shapes in between them- diamonds and flowers and crosses. The room is full of light despite the gloom outside the windows and the sheets of rain that are still falling from the heavens. The many chandeliers are all lit, a cascade of glittering light illuminating the assorted furniture and polished, marble floor.
Blaine shares a glance with Kurt and they both grin before rushing inside to investigate. They sink onto an ornate iron bench near the solid wood bar. Through the windows they have a perfect view of the hills and the storm, the trees thrashing in the wind and the rain. A bolt of lightning lights up the sky, and not a second after it has disappeared there is a loud crack of thunder from overhead.
They sit and chat there for so long that their clothes dry. The alarm goes on Blaine's watch and he sighs. He doesn't want to stop talking to Kurt, but it's almost time for him to help Artie work on his film.
“I have to go help my friend soon,” he says. “But before that, would you accompany me to the dining room for breakfast?” It's not much of a date, but it's all he can really do at the moment. Kurt seems very pleased with the meagre offer anyway; he gives Blaine a radiant smile.
“I would be honoured,” he says, and they link arms again as they walk towards the dining room to the sound of the booming thunder.
# # #
“On record we have Rachel Barbra Berry, of Bushwick, New York. She would like me to state that she is an avid Broadway enthusiast and has studied the history of the golden era, as well as the sad story of Evelyn Parker, who died at, and is notoriously haunting, the estate of Dresden Hollows, where this filmmaker and his crew are currently staying to gather evidence on the existence of ghosts. Or perhaps only the tricks one needs to pull off the appearance of just that.”
“Oh, there are ghosts.” Rachel interrupts Artie's monologue and Blaine is secretly relieved. Artie tends to be long-winded and Blaine wants to get back to Kurt before he has to dress for dinner. “I mean, Evelyn Parker has been seen and heard by hundreds of people over the years. They've even witnessed the phantom projections of the famous jazz-era parties that the Dresdens threw here while she was visiting the estate in the summer of 1928.”
“And what do you know of the relationship Miss Parker had to the Dresden family?”
“Well that's the juiciest part, isn't it? Evelyn was the secret lover of Jack Dresden, the youngest in the family and only son. The Dresdens were old fashioned and well, sexist if you ask me, because he was the sole heir to their fortune, being the only male in the family. That's why he and Evelyn had to keep it a secret. She was butcher's daughter from Pittsburgh, and Jack's family would never have accepted her as their son's bride. She was only invited that summer because she was friends with a rich debutante from Manhattan, who the Dresdens were hoping to set Jack up with. Little did they know, but their fantasy daughter-in-law was in on the whole thing, and introduced Jack to Evelyn months beforehand in New York after one of Evelyn's shows.”
“And how do people have access to this information, if it was all a secret?” Artie asks.
“It all came out later during the trial,” Rachel informs him, smiling into the camera. “Jack was charged with Evelyn's murder. The trial was a sensation- in all of the papers. But of course he didn't do it.” She shakes her head and reaches up to wipe away a tear that Blaine is sure isn't actually there. “He loved her so. It was just like Romeo and Juliet.”
“How can you be so sure?” Artie asks. “Maybe he snapped? Lots of people do.”
“No.” Rachel shakes her head adamantly. “He was running up the stairs to save her after the household staff heard her scream. They were cleaning up after the party while the rest of the house was sleeping, so they were the only witnesses. And to say they weren't reliable witnesses just because they were servants? That's just classism.” She sniffs daintily and fingers at the ruffle on her dress. “Anyway, the real proof for me is Jack himself. He lost his mind with grief afterwards, the poor man. Some people say he never spoke another word in his life, only to open his mouth and utter Evelyn on his death bed almost fifteen years later.”
Blaine hears Artie sigh audibly when Rachel works up a single tear and lets it trail dramatically down her cheek.
# # #
Blaine doesn't see Kurt again until dinner that evening, and is delighted when Kurt slides into the seat next to him. He is dressed in an absolutely stunning pinstriped suit with a white shirt and ascot, the entire ensemble fitting him so well that it should be illegal. After a moment, Blaine decides to lean in and tell Kurt just that, and is rewarded for his truthfulness with a gorgeous pink flush high on Kurt's cheeks and a smile that's just on the fun side of naughty.
Constance spends most of dinner regaling the group with tales of her many dogs while Woofer nips at everyone's ankles under the table. Jan had left early that morning to meet her wife in town, and so their party is another person short. She was meant to have returned with Liz before dinner, but Puck, who has taken up Jan's seat at the head of the table, says the phones are out and he has no way of contacting her.
“That's all very convenient,” Artie says. His comment sounds more conversational than accusing, though Blaine knows that's precisely how he means it.
Just as Puck, brow low over his eyes, opens his mouth to retort, the lights flicker and then die. The room is shuttered in silence just as quickly as it had descended into darkness.
“Kurt, where are you?” Blaine hears Rachel's shaky voice ask from the other end of the table.
“I'm right here, Rachel. It's fine.” Kurt, as much as he's trying to reassure his friend, sounds faintly nervous in his own right, and Blaine reaches over to rest a hand on his arm just as Woofer takes a bite of his bare ankle bone. He kicks out on instinct and hears the dog yelp from under the table.
“Oops,” he whispers in Kurt's ear, and Kurt snorts a laugh.
“I got this,” Puck tells everyone. “Happens all the time. Stay put and I'll bring candles.”
“Jesus, Berry, that was my tit you just groped,” Santana growls. “My no good, absent doctor daddy paid good money for that.”
“Money well spent,” Brittany says, and then there is a bright light being carried into the room.
After dessert is served and eaten by candlelight, Constance orders Toby to take her and Woofer upstairs to bed and the others all move to the ballroom where the large windows will give them the best view of the light show outside. The storm is spectacular- lighting up the whole sky and reflecting off the pouring rain, which is making a racket bouncing off the windows and roof, echoing all over the house.
At half past ten, Puck lifts Artie up the stairs to his room, as the elevator is out of commission, and the others all decide to follow suit. Kurt carries a candelabra, lighting Blaine's way as he and Brittany tackle Artie's chair. Once they've got their friends all safely in their rooms, Kurt walks Blaine to his door.
“Goodnight, Blaine,” he whispers, the light from the candles flickering fetchingly across the planes of his face. “If you have a fright during the night, my room is two doors down on the left.” He gives Blaine a flirtatious smirk, then hands over a single candlestick and turns away down the hall. Blaine stands there, leaning against his door until Kurt and his candelabra have disappeared inside his room and he has heard the distinct sound of the lock being turned over.
Blaine goes through his own door and locks it behind him, then places his candle down on a table in order to get undressed. The curtains are still wide open, and the lightning illuminates the room every couple of minutes, always trailing closely after is the rumbling thunder.
Once undressed, Blaine heads into the bathroom to brush his teeth, bringing the candle with him. As he's brushing away, studying his own eerie reflection in the mirror, he notices something thin and small sitting on the side of the bathtub. He knows he left nothing there, so he turns, assuming the maid must have forgotten something when she came in earlier to tidy.
On the edge of the tub sits his straight razor, unfolded with the blade facing towards him. He drops his toothbrush in the sink and lifts the razor, gently closing it, and takes it back into his room and locks it away with his laptop and camera.
##
He is awoken in the middle of the night by a piercing scream.
His first instinct is to burrow under his blankets, because he feels sluggish and it sounded like something from a movie. He tells Artie to turn it down, only to realize that he is not in their apartment in Brooklyn and Artie isn't here. Artie. Blaine jumps out of bed and rushes towards Artie's room to make sure he's all right, only to find him already wheeling himself through the hall. The door to the last room stands open, a bustle of activity around it. When Blaine and Artie arrive, Blaine sees Kurt setting down a candle as Rachel practically tackles him, and a dishevelled and irritated looking Santana stands next to them and rolls her eyes.
The room feels cold, and not cold like a day in the winter, but cold like the feeling of someone watching you from the shadows. Blaine shivers and shares a glance with Brittany, who nods at him.
“It was her, Kurt! Evelyn Parker! She was standing over me-”
“It's not a her, it's a him,” Brittany says, chewing on her cuticles next to the door. “He totally stood next to my bed for, like, an hour last night when I was trying to go to sleep. I told him it was rude to stare and he went away after that.”
“Come on, you guys,” Artie says. “There are no actual ghosts. It's all atmosphere. Which, I will admit, is pretty freaking amazing, but it's atmosphere all the same.”
“Argue it all you like, but I know what I saw,” Rachel says with a sniff. “And I want to sleep in Kurt's room.” She snuggles back into Kurt's arms and Blaine feels a stab of something like jealousy.
Kurt looks dejected for a moment, and then his expression brightens. “But we should stay in here in case she comes back. Artie will want to catch it on tape if she does. Right, Artie?”
“Amazing idea, Kurt,” Artie says.
“He's not coming back,” Brittany says.
“It was a she- Evelyn Parker-”
Brittany shrugs and cuts Rachel off. “Whatever. It's not cold in here anymore. It's been getting warmer since we got here.”
“Of course it is, Britt,” Artie argues. “There are six people in this small room. Our body heat is causing a rise in temperature.”
“No, it's not the same, the cold before. The cold he brings with him is different.” She looks over at Blaine. “You know it. You noticed.”
Blaine doesn't want to admit that he'd felt strange upon entering the room, like cool liquid was being dripped down the back of his neck, all the way down his spine. It still makes him feel a bit unsteady, and admitting to it will do nothing to help. And yet, he doesn't want to leave Brittany hanging, especially when she's looking at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Maybe. I'm not sure what it was. Maybe just adrenaline.” Kurt meets his eye from over Rachel's shoulder and tilts his head to one side. Blaine can't make out his expression in the shadows.
With Rachel back in her bed, Santana and Brittany on either side of her, Kurt is free to pull up a chaise lounge from under the windows. He turns to Blaine with a shy smile. “Care to split a chaise?”
“I would love to.” Blaine returns Kurt's smile and pulls a throw off of the end of the bed for them to share.
And so they settle in together and wait for the ghost to reappear, Artie across the room with his camera ready. Blaine wants to ask Kurt whether or not he believes Rachel, as it seems to him that she is prone to dramatics and might have imagined it, but he waits longer and longer and soon his eyes are heavy and the warm, steadiness of Kurt next to him lulls him to sleep.
When Blaine wakes up for the second time that morning, the bed is empty and Artie is long gone from the room as well. There is a soft, warm weight draped across his chest and whatever his head is resting upon is lifting up and down as it breathes.
He moves his head off and back to see Kurt's pale eyes watching him, his face warm and flushed. “Um... good morning,” Blaine greets.
“I, ah... good morning to you, too.” Kurt lifts his arm from around Blaine's body and Blaine feels sadness at its loss.
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