Ghosts One Shots

Captain : Hidden Beneath (pt 1)

The slightly-off-rhythm of the gunfire from the first war echoed in his mind. The wails of the people around him- in pain- sighing, crying, dying. He held tight to his gun, in the trench, away from the front. Mud encased most of him. His socks had been wet – well, that hardly mattered when there were some people getting shot- but it definitely made everything worse.

And then his face. John. His love. As the Captain – or, rather, the young man, no more than 19 at the start of the war in 1914 - peered over the mud wall, a rat crawling across his foot, he saw the man with the kindest heart, Major John Hussey fell to his knees, red seeping around his chest. And nobody else noticed or cared.

It was John's kindness that he had seen again, then 27 years later in 1941, in his Lieutenant. Lieutenant Havers. Lieutenant William Havers.

William.

"Cap?" Pat asked, snapping the Captain back to reality. "Uh, you there..? -Ah yes, hello! Well, it's just, I thought I'd ask if you wanted to talk about your past. Tomorrow. Or later today if you want, but it is Julian's talk tonight of course. You know I do ask every year."

"Uh, yes, Patrick, I had recalled." The Captain cleared his throat, straightening the baton across his legs. "Well, I shall have to think about it." And he would. But he heavily doubted that he would actually do it.

Pat straightened up slightly. "Thanks, mate. Remember to get back to me by tomorrow, you know. Got to know whether I actually need to remember my bit for food club."

"Of course. Now, if you don't mind, it's time for my brisk stroll of the grounds."

With that, the Captain got up, straightened his back, turned on his heel and marched off, baton under his arm.

----

Should he tell them? What would they say? None of them had had the trauma of fighting in a war, and to his knowledge, none of them had had the fear of being killed for loving in the way that he did either. Or maybe they had. But not in the same way.

Maybe they already knew. After all, was he really that subtle? No, they couldn't know. They mustn't know that his head wasn't turned by women, but rather the opposite.

So that decided it then. He wouldn't say anything. He'd keep it quiet for another year, and another, and another, lingering as a ghost for years, decades, perhaps millennia. Wandering the lonely confinement of Button House and its surrounding environment.

You know, it had never seemed small before he died. But before then, he had Will- Havers. He had Lieutenant Havers. But now he knew every turn, every blade of grass. He carefully watched the ant colonies, attended Pat's scheduled meetings and clubs, and waited until finally he may be released from whatever this was. Being a ghost.

Regime, a sense of never-ending rhythm, was all he'd ever needed in life. And death. But now it had been nigh on eighty years since he had-

Since he'd died.

Thank god for Michael and Alison, he thought occasionally. Something could actually happen. He could be almost a person again. Although, all the people he'd known and loved in life had died, all the world - save for the relatively small patch of land that was owned by the inhabitants of Button House – was closed off from him, and what was left he couldn't interact with. He was isolated.

Of course, he could speak to Alison. He could properly interact with Pat and Julian and Kitty. Thomas and Fanny. Humphrey and Robin. But was that enough?

He found himself arriving back at the house. Through the window, he could see the others starting to gather. Talking about something pointless, he presumed. Those lot would never understand how truly trivial their conversations were compared to his. Everything had to be brisk, swift, to the point. That was how he got to his rank, after all. He did his work in the straightforward way it was meant to be done, never distracted, always accepting the moral consequences and implications calmly, unbiased. A good soldier. Well, except for when it came to Havers...

The temperature didn't appear different to him as he walked through the door, since he was a ghost, but still something took the chills away from him.

The Captain strode into the living room, trying to walk with a sense of purpose again. If there was one thing he'd learnt that he wouldn't let go, it would be how to keep whatever was ailing you to yourself. To not distress others with information they didn't need weighing their chest down. After all, how would they have won the war if the people didn't have hope?

"Oh, look who it is," Julian jeered. It was always lighthearted but he often sounded like he was making fun of anyone who walked in.

"Oh, Captain," Alison said, turning. "I think there's a new war documentary on the BBC later. It might be at nine-"

"Oh, good," Julian interjected, "no missing my speech today, eh, Captain?"

The Captain almost smiled, though why he was not sure. "Euhh, no, no of course not. What was the topic today, again?"

"Well I was thinking of discussing my long history of..."

The Captain zoned out slightly, gunshots still ringing in the back of his mind, as they always did on this day. His death day. The one that nobody dared talk about to him.

All that took him out of that state was a nudge on the arm from Patrick, beside him, and a mouthed 'You Okay?'