FellPoth Short Stories and One-Shots

Fright Night: Chapter 1

Chapter Warnings: Swearing

***

"So the name of the ghost we're looking for is...?" Palette asked, checking the zoom on his camera by the shelf holding their supplies.

"Helen Smith," Goth supplied, fussing with the video camera attached to Palette's hat, "but try not to say the name out loud too much."

"Helen Smith, Helen Smith, Helen Smith," the tallest of the group taunted into the device in his hand, grinning victoriously at the long-suffering groan Lotus released.

"Why do I even try?" Goth sighed, pressing his holed palm against his face.

"This isn't some stupid little slumber party game, Rurik," the black-clad skeleton huffed, shoving a journal into his companion's chest, "we're dealing with a potentially violent ghost here. I knew it was a mistake to let you handle the spirit box..."

"I'm the only one willing to ask the hard-hitting questions," Rurik asserted, grabbing the book before it could fall and flipping through the pages; after a dozen or so pages of miscellaneous scrawling, he finally came upon the blank ones.

"More like you enjoy pissing off the ghosts. In any case, let's make sure we got everything before we go in," Lotus said, pocketing one of the crucifixes and addressing Rurik, "We all have our headsets and flashlights, you have the journal and the spirit box; I've got the EMF reader and a crucifix in case things go south."

Rurik chuckled, "Heh, scared to go in without it?"

"I'd rather be safe than sorry," Lotus shot back with a glare.

"I'll take the thermometer," Palette interjected into the squabble by reaching between them to grab the object that looked like a radar gun, "and I already have a photo camera, too."

"Thanks, Palette," Goth sighed, picking up the remaining object, "that leaves me with the UV light, then." Humming in thought, he bent down to the lowest shelf and grabbed a salt canister, "I'll see about using this to track her movements as well; maybe even trap her."

"No problem, you know I'm always happy to help," Palette grinned, juggling the items into one hand to free the other for a hug. A bright blush covered Goth's face as he mumbled something unintelligible, sinking into his scarf a bit.

"If you two are done, can we get a move on already?" Rurik rolled his eye lights, hopping out of the truck and strutting down the walkway of the property, "I wanna find the ghost and get paid." The pair broke off the impromptu hug as everyone followed him down the path to the worn stoop.

"Wait, hold on!" Palette grabbed Rurik's arm as he reached for the door.

"What now?" the disgruntled skeleton glowered.

Palette up the camera and stated, "We should take a group photo!"

Rurik glared, "Why the hell-!"

"Quit kicking up a fuss and let him take the damn picture," Lotus chided in exasperation, "It'll take maybe ten seconds, then we'll go inside."

Though he looked like he wanted to argue, Rurik huffed in resignation, "Whatever..."

"Great! Everyone get in close," Palette pulled Rurik beside him, much to their chagrin, and angled the camera facing them as Goth and Lotus stood in front of the two. "Smile!" the skeleton instructed two seconds before the flash went off.

The moment the picture was taken, Rurik broke away with a grumble and went for the handle again. The aged wood door slid open with a squeaky groan, revealing a dusty foyer and a hallway cloaked in inky darkness; the eerie silence produced a shiver from the smallest in the group, "Hey Goth, are you sure we shouldn't get one of our dads involved or something?"

"Between the four of us, we should be able to handle whatever's here; besides, dad's really busy and I know how you feel about hunting with your dad," Goth reasoned with a sympathetic look on his face.

Lotus grimaced, his eye light shifting toward the ground, "Right..."

"Let's go," Rurik urged, crossing the threshold as the others slowly poured in behind him.

Flicking the light switch on to brighten the hallway, Goth reminded the group with a pointed look at Rurik, "Make sure to stay in pairs; no one should be wandering off alone."

"Yeah yeah..." Rurik sighed, tossing the journal onto a console table across from the staircase and clicking the spirit box on, "Hey, anyone here...?" He looked thoroughly unimpressed with the stretch of silence and the 'nothing detected' notification that met him.

"The reading isn't going lower than thirteen point seven degrees Celcius no matter where I point it," Palette sounded disappointed as he surveyed the living room.

"I guess this room isn't the ghost's favorite haunt, then," Goth chuckled from where he was scattering salt across the doorway; he grinned when the pun earned a snort from his companion. Standing up again, he watched Palette carefully step over the salt barrier, "We'll just have to go room to room until we find one in the single digits."

"Okay," Palette chirped, following along.

The walkie-talkie clicked to life on Goth and Palette's shoulder harnesses as Lotus's voice said, "No readings in the dining room."

"Not talking to me either," Rurik huffed shortly after.

"I'm getting twelve degrees even, but that's still not much," Palette relayed, peeking into the utility closet.

"Aaand no fingerprints as far as I can see," Goth sighed, sweeping his light carefully over the light switches and doors.

"We'll check upstairs," Lotus suggested, doubling back into the foyer to head up the stairs; Rurik checked the journal on his way past, finding it was still blank as he followed the smaller.

"Hey Helen, do you have a nice ass?" Rurik chuckled into the spirit box, "or were you just an ass?"

Lotus paused at the top of the stairs, hissing at his companion, "Rurik, you're going to make her mad!"

"Good," Rurik shot back as he traversed the last few steps and passed the smaller to peer into the rooms to their right, "we need evidence, and activity is the best way to get it; to do that, we need to piss it off."

"Rurik, no...," Lotus groaned, trailing behind Rurik with the silent EMF reader, "we don't have to make her mad to communicate."

"But it's quicker," the monster countered, returning to the hallway and lifting the box up once more, "You heard me; get your dead bitch-ass out here, Helen Smith."

"Leave."

***

Word Count: 1,066