The Line

1

Hugh's arm hits Steve's chest just as he sees the girl.

The girl with the blonde hair and nice, blue dress. The girl Luke was always telling them about. The girl everyone was pretty sure was just a figment of the kid's imagination, and to be honest, Steve hasn't ever been sure if he actually witnessed her coming to the house for a sleepover that night . Abigail. She stares at them from the base of the spiral staircase through the iron bars. She's what most people would imagine when hearing of a 'little ghost girl.' Generally sweet looking, if it weren't for the lifeless expression she maintains highlighted by a haunting gleam in her eyes. He expects something to happen if he's judging by the dead look on her face. What do ghosts do? Scream, charge at you, disappear? He doesn't know. The anticipation is almost worse than the strange sight.

When he does hear something, it's not from Abigail. It's a slow tapping sound, splitting through the otherwise erie silence. And it's coming from behind him. It takes a half second to realize it's the Tall Man's cane guiding his levitating figure past him.

Fear and terror are two different things.

Fear is something instinctual. It resides in the gut. He was afraid when Nell didn't pick her phone back up. When they were dropping Luke off at rehab for the first time. When he confessed to Leigh why they'd never be able to have kids together.

Now, his heart is beating so fast and hard he can feel each pound reverberate through his body. He can't breathe right. He can't get enough air into his lungs. Despite his lungs constricting and begging for air he can't seem to breathe properly enough to suffice the ache. His hand grabs for Hugh's arm, still locked over his chest. Just something to ground him. To hold onto. Breathe, Steven. Breathe. Dad's here. Dad's here. Dad's here.

Now, he's terrified.

"Look at me," his father whispers as the Tall Man passes.

Steve hasn't felt this kind of terror since Hugh carried him out of his room that night when he had no clue of what was going on. But now he sees it.

Out of his peripheral vision, the Tall Man stops. And turns around. And bends over. And his face, cold and dead and blue, is a few mere inches from Steve's. He stares with white eyes.

Steve's wide eyes are fixed onto his father's. Unblinking. Frozen. He thinks they may be tearing up, but he can't concentrate enough to tell. It goes on for what seems like hours. Agonizing, far too quiet, and too uncertain.

"Look at me," his father says, again.

If only he could be as brave as him. Hugh looks so authoritative, so confident. He knows what to do. He's not even acknowledging the elephant in the room, for fuck's sake. His sole priority is making sure Steve is safe. If only Steven had done that for his siblings. That was his job.

His heart rate speeds up. If he doesn't get a hold of his breathing, he'll hyperventilate. Lose control.

So he holds his breath and waits. Longer than he's sure he's ever held his breath. After what was probably just a few seconds, the Tall Man turns and begins to move away, his cane clacking along with him. He lets out his breath — and it's so much louder than he anticipated.

The tapping of the cane stops and his father closes his eyes in defeat. Steve's breath hitches again. Hugh's eyes snap open as the clacking resumes and he wants to assume that the Tall Man's carried on but the fear passing over his father's face begs to differ.

"Steve—" he says, louder and more frantic than he's spoken in a while, but the warning's cut short as something big and solid and heavy knocks the breath out of him; he's thrown back down the hall. His head explodes in pain for an instant before everything's black.