Despite the season, the house turns ice cold and boiling hot at the same time. Like a purgatory without the afterlife for the inhabitants, the wrath of a ghost being called nothing fills the cracks of the hallways in heatstrokes and blizzards.
It can't be chalked up to isolation or leaks, not with the constant shifts.
No place is safe from it.
The lights constantly flicker in different rooms. Cables snap like whips, lines falter, plaster and stucco crack in walls.
Just a few glimpses of angry black eyes and skin turning dark grey in the flickers show the culprit.
If he stays in the closet, he doesn't come out.
The loss of light mostly rages in charges uncontrolled, but a slight increase of bursting lightbulbs, trails of destruction, follow especially his mother around.
Maven takes the harrowing new events and violent outbursts with a sense of understanding because the idea of being ignored or dismissed in nothingness is insulting and painful.
It also holds a certain sense of irony of his mother just ignoring the events. She decides to stay out longer and away. It isn't as if he isn't used to the absence of his father, but his moither not hovering anymore, that is new. It is almost welcome.
Glass breaks. Furniture shuffles around and moves, even more, the more she returns and dares to even take one step through the hallways.
"Perhaps the house is cursed," he offers to her. The chilly feeling of fingers touches his back, a hand that grabs his shirt a moment before disappearing without any trace.
She acknowledges that with a ridiculous look of narrow blue eyes. "This isn't a time to try and humor me, Maven."
Why not? He thinks.
Then again he hates Thomas' behavior at the very same time with something that fills his stomach like the weather raking through the house.
It is because he ignores Maven. The rejection stings nasty.
After the last hits, getting in contact with the girl from all the videos and hints is not easy but also not impossible. Alive Thomas was thorough with his trails and long traces in public, and the dead one showed him the name as well.
He manages to get a sign of activity, at least, and decides to push to meet, outside, where he can't be studied from a shadowy crack in a wall.
The signs of anger get more obvious.
The cold and hot swirls, a chair gets kicked over in his room.
A mirror in the bathroom cracks.
Flitting through the hallways like the first days, Maven gets sick of chasing around and seeing Thomas in the corner of his eyes.
"I know you are here, you can't fool me. I am the only person that sees you."
Thomas doesn't look at him, standing still as a shadow man, apparated in a threshold, some sort of insect flurrying up with heavy wings when he makes a low sound, a statue from a horror movie.
They're both pale. At least one of them breathes and moves in motion. The other is an apparition with little to no real similarities with the warm grinning image.
"I tried to play nice. Just be a little spooky. I got enough now. This feels great, actually. I should have been angry before. I ain't no one Maven."
He doesn't disagree with the notion.
"Do you realize," Maven decides to say, putting as much of his own anger in it. He doesn't care if anyone hears him. "If you just chase everyone off, I could potentially be moving out?"
YOU ARE READING
Boo-Ya
FanfictionImagine you are sleep-deprived and there was a ghost boy following around all of a sudden that could also clearly just be a hallucination. And after a while, you decided he even was cute. In which Maven gets haunted. Kind of. (A nonsensical...
