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rainbowfic2021-07-05 08:52 pm
thisbluespirit) wrote in rainbowfic2021-07-05 08:52 pm
Candy Green #9 [Divide & Rule]
Name: Summer Haunting
Story: Divide & Rule/Heroes of the Revolution
Colors: Candy Green #9 (Saltwater taffy)
Supplies and Styles: Graffiti (June Challenge) + Eraser + Pastels (also forgenprompt_bingo square “Character Death” and hc_bingo square “Haunted”) + Tapestry
Word Count: 1672
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Mentions of death.
Notes: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves; Ghost AU (another one from the giant list I have).
Summary: Edward hires a seaside cottage for the season, but it comes with complications.
***
Edward was woken by the early morning sunshine shining in through the flimsy white curtains – and a strange young woman sitting on the end of his bed staring at him intently.
He blinked, then yelled and sat up sharply in shock, clutching at the bedclothes. “What the hell –?”
“Oh!” she said, pulling back. “You can see me.”
“How could I not see you? What the hell are you doing? Who are you?”
She sighed. The temperature dropped sharply. “Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? Most people can’t, and if they do, they ignore me or decide they’re mad. Some run away screaming. Sometimes they even faint. They never stay in the house very long.”
Edward was not awake enough yet for this. He wished she would go away. He’d have to complain to the estate agent – she hadn’t warned him about strange women breaking in. “What?” he managed. “Why?”
She sighed again, and then waved her fingers through the bedpost. “Don’t you understand, silly? I’m dead. I’m a ghost.”
“This isn’t funny,” said Edward. “Please just go –”
She leant forward and put her hand straight through his shoulder. He felt only a sudden chill, without and within. His jaw dropped. She really was a spectre of some kind.
“Oh, God,” he said eventually. “I’ve gone mad.”
She drew back. “Yes, that’s what most people say. Hold on.” She looked around the room, then screwed up her face and knocked a china candlestick from the dressing time. It smashed on the white painted floorboards. She turned her head and the bedside lamp flew up, hitting the ceiling and plunging back down to the floor, its shade bent and base cracked. “See, something real to prove I’m here. You didn’t do that.”
“Do you mind?” said Edward. “I have to pay for breakages.”
She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Aren’t you scared?”
“Should I be?”
She shook her head. “But people usually are, and I can’t honestly blame them. If I’d seen a ghost when I was alive, I’d have thought I was going mad, too.”
“I’m not at my best in the mornings,” he said, and put a hand to his head. “Go away and let me get up – come back when I’ve had some coffee, thanks.”
Edward sat down to his breakfast and glanced about him with unease. The cottage looked every bit as charming as it had appeared on first viewing – plenty of old world character, but newly plastered and modernized and in good repair. The one thing that had bothered him was the cheapness of the rent. A bargain, yes, but it clearly meant that the place had some important flaw he hadn’t detected yet. Now he knew what it was – if he hadn’t been hallucinating earlier.
She reappeared, sitting opposite him at the small table, watching him eat Wheatabix with great interest. The air cooled again and, with the light from the window behind her, there was a translucent edge to her otherwise perfectly human, even attractive, form. She was fair-haired, wearing a soft pink dressing gown around a long, fussy nightdress of the sort only people’s grandmothers favoured these days. She didn’t look terrifying.
“I’m Julia Graves. I was murdered, by the way,” she announced, straightening herself. “You’re the first person who’s listened in ages, so I want you to help me. Find out who did it, that is.”
Edward swallowed his last mouthful of cereal, and raised his eyebrows. “Murdered? When? How?”
“1957,” she said. “Late June. I don’t know what happened precisely; it was all very confusing, and I don’t remember. But it was murder.”
Edward took a sip of coffee. The conversation was rapidly beginning to feel strangely normal. “I see. Any idea why?”
“I had a rich uncle,” she said. “Probably something to do with him. Of course, someone might have just hated me, but I don’t think so. I knew some people who might say cutting things or forget one’s name, but they wouldn’t go in for murder.”
Edward took another sip of coffee. “Perhaps you were the unlucky victim of a seaside serial killer?”
“It’s possible.” She leant back and then, after a brief pause, frowned. “Are you poking fun at my tragic death?”
He shook his head, although he feared he was, to some extent. Having a ghost in the house was so incredible, that perhaps he shouldn’t cavil at anything after accepting that, but he didn’t believe her. “June 1957,” he said, as he put down the empty coffee cup. “I tell you what – I’ll go into town today and hunt up the old newspapers. Bound to have them on microfilm. Shouldn’t be too hard.”
The air around him froze. The windows behind her swung open and banged in a non-existent breeze. Julia vanished and then reappeared in the window seat.
“Would they really have things like that?” she asked, sounding uncertain.
Edward picked up his breakfast things and carried them into the kitchen, Julia following. She flickered in and out of existence rather than walked or floated, and then stopped, leaning right through the kitchen worktop and unit beside the sink.
“They usually do,” he said, as he turned on the tap. “I’m Edward Iveson, by the way. I came down here to try and write a book. Ironically, I was thinking of a detective novel.”
Julia waved a hand and the blinds rattled about against the window pane. “Oh, well, then you’ll be too busy for old murders. Don’t worry – I’ll wait for somebody else.”
Edward walked back in later that afternoon, with a folded up print out from the microfilm in his jacket pocket. “Julia?” he said. He thought about her being from 1957 and tried again: “Miss Graves?”
“Oh, hello,” she said, materialising at his elbow. He jumped. “Did you find anything? You probably didn’t, did you? That’s the problem with successful murders. Nobody notices they even happened.”
Edward crossed back to the table and smoothed out the sheet of paper. “Actually, there was a fairly detailed account of the coroner’s inquest. I could show you –”
The paper blew away, onto the floor. Edward didn’t attempt to retrieve it. He’d read it on the microfilm reader and twice again since he’d printed it out. She’d died alone and unattended here during the influenza epidemic that had reached England in June that year – her case had been severe and led to complications with pneumonia. Even so, if she’d called in the doctor, the account had said, she probably would have pulled through. There had been no mention of close relatives or friends present at the inquest. “I’m sorry.”
“I expect they exaggerated for the newspapers,” she said, raising her chin. “It was only a silly run of events that started with me hiding from my uncle. Which, given what happened, probably wasn’t a good plan, but I didn’t want anything from him. He never liked my mother – he was always awful to her, and I couldn’t bear it.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. He probably shouldn’t have told her he knew the truth when she could whip up a storm in the house if upset, but it had seemed only fair. “I’m still sorry, though. But you should have gone to the doctor.”
Her expression darkened and the whole room seemed to lose light along with her face. “Well, I would have done, if I’d known it was going to be that bad, but it seemed silly. I thought I’d feel better soon, and by the time I was feeling dreadful enough to think it might be worth calling him in, there was no phone – and, oh, I don’t know. I think I was rather feverish.”
“Not silly,” he said, sitting down at the table. “A crime, I’d say. Just not murder. You couldn’t have been taking very good care of yourself.”
“Well, thank you for that amazing insight. I suppose now you’ve solved that little mystery, you can go jaunting off about the countryside and ignore me like everyone else does. Well done you!”
Edward bent down to pick up the paper and put it away, out of sight. “I have every intention of going out from time to time, yes, but I’m here to write –”
“You know, I was here to type up somebody’s manuscript for them,” she said. “It is a shame I can’t still do that. I’d be useful for a wonder.”
He decided not to explain to her about his laptop yet. “Anyway, the point is, whatever I’m doing, ignoring you seems impossible. Besides, I don’t want to. I’ve never met a ghost before and I’d like to know more.”
“Oh,” said Julia. She seemed less see-through now.
“How does it work? Do you ever get the chance to move on? If I could help in anyway – not have you trapped here forever –”
She evaporated and then reformed on the chair opposite him. “Oh, of course, you want to be rid of me!”
“No,” he said. “But I’ve only rented the place for two and half months. What then?”
Julia settled in the chair. “I don’t know. They don’t give out manuals about the afterlife. You wake up and find your body’s over there and hope it won’t be too many days before somebody comes to look for you. No angel comes down from on high and tells you why you’re stuck here, or what you have to do to be free.”
Edward instinctively put out his hand to cover hers, but felt only cold air on his fingers. “I can see I’ll have to go back to the library again – they must have something on supernatural phenomena.”
“What about your book?”
“I suppose it might turn out to be more of a ghost story instead,” he said, and he smiled. “Not a murder after all.”
He’d better find out some way of helping before he had to move out here. Leaving her to her lonely fate didn’t bear thinking about.
***
Story: Divide & Rule/Heroes of the Revolution
Colors: Candy Green #9 (Saltwater taffy)
Supplies and Styles: Graffiti (June Challenge) + Eraser + Pastels (also for
genprompt_bingo square “Character Death” and hc_bingo square “Haunted”) + TapestryWord Count: 1672
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Mentions of death.
Notes: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves; Ghost AU (another one from the giant list I have).
Summary: Edward hires a seaside cottage for the season, but it comes with complications.
***
Edward was woken by the early morning sunshine shining in through the flimsy white curtains – and a strange young woman sitting on the end of his bed staring at him intently.
He blinked, then yelled and sat up sharply in shock, clutching at the bedclothes. “What the hell –?”
“Oh!” she said, pulling back. “You can see me.”
“How could I not see you? What the hell are you doing? Who are you?”
She sighed. The temperature dropped sharply. “Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? Most people can’t, and if they do, they ignore me or decide they’re mad. Some run away screaming. Sometimes they even faint. They never stay in the house very long.”
Edward was not awake enough yet for this. He wished she would go away. He’d have to complain to the estate agent – she hadn’t warned him about strange women breaking in. “What?” he managed. “Why?”
She sighed again, and then waved her fingers through the bedpost. “Don’t you understand, silly? I’m dead. I’m a ghost.”
“This isn’t funny,” said Edward. “Please just go –”
She leant forward and put her hand straight through his shoulder. He felt only a sudden chill, without and within. His jaw dropped. She really was a spectre of some kind.
“Oh, God,” he said eventually. “I’ve gone mad.”
She drew back. “Yes, that’s what most people say. Hold on.” She looked around the room, then screwed up her face and knocked a china candlestick from the dressing time. It smashed on the white painted floorboards. She turned her head and the bedside lamp flew up, hitting the ceiling and plunging back down to the floor, its shade bent and base cracked. “See, something real to prove I’m here. You didn’t do that.”
“Do you mind?” said Edward. “I have to pay for breakages.”
She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Aren’t you scared?”
“Should I be?”
She shook her head. “But people usually are, and I can’t honestly blame them. If I’d seen a ghost when I was alive, I’d have thought I was going mad, too.”
“I’m not at my best in the mornings,” he said, and put a hand to his head. “Go away and let me get up – come back when I’ve had some coffee, thanks.”
Edward sat down to his breakfast and glanced about him with unease. The cottage looked every bit as charming as it had appeared on first viewing – plenty of old world character, but newly plastered and modernized and in good repair. The one thing that had bothered him was the cheapness of the rent. A bargain, yes, but it clearly meant that the place had some important flaw he hadn’t detected yet. Now he knew what it was – if he hadn’t been hallucinating earlier.
She reappeared, sitting opposite him at the small table, watching him eat Wheatabix with great interest. The air cooled again and, with the light from the window behind her, there was a translucent edge to her otherwise perfectly human, even attractive, form. She was fair-haired, wearing a soft pink dressing gown around a long, fussy nightdress of the sort only people’s grandmothers favoured these days. She didn’t look terrifying.
“I’m Julia Graves. I was murdered, by the way,” she announced, straightening herself. “You’re the first person who’s listened in ages, so I want you to help me. Find out who did it, that is.”
Edward swallowed his last mouthful of cereal, and raised his eyebrows. “Murdered? When? How?”
“1957,” she said. “Late June. I don’t know what happened precisely; it was all very confusing, and I don’t remember. But it was murder.”
Edward took a sip of coffee. The conversation was rapidly beginning to feel strangely normal. “I see. Any idea why?”
“I had a rich uncle,” she said. “Probably something to do with him. Of course, someone might have just hated me, but I don’t think so. I knew some people who might say cutting things or forget one’s name, but they wouldn’t go in for murder.”
Edward took another sip of coffee. “Perhaps you were the unlucky victim of a seaside serial killer?”
“It’s possible.” She leant back and then, after a brief pause, frowned. “Are you poking fun at my tragic death?”
He shook his head, although he feared he was, to some extent. Having a ghost in the house was so incredible, that perhaps he shouldn’t cavil at anything after accepting that, but he didn’t believe her. “June 1957,” he said, as he put down the empty coffee cup. “I tell you what – I’ll go into town today and hunt up the old newspapers. Bound to have them on microfilm. Shouldn’t be too hard.”
The air around him froze. The windows behind her swung open and banged in a non-existent breeze. Julia vanished and then reappeared in the window seat.
“Would they really have things like that?” she asked, sounding uncertain.
Edward picked up his breakfast things and carried them into the kitchen, Julia following. She flickered in and out of existence rather than walked or floated, and then stopped, leaning right through the kitchen worktop and unit beside the sink.
“They usually do,” he said, as he turned on the tap. “I’m Edward Iveson, by the way. I came down here to try and write a book. Ironically, I was thinking of a detective novel.”
Julia waved a hand and the blinds rattled about against the window pane. “Oh, well, then you’ll be too busy for old murders. Don’t worry – I’ll wait for somebody else.”
Edward walked back in later that afternoon, with a folded up print out from the microfilm in his jacket pocket. “Julia?” he said. He thought about her being from 1957 and tried again: “Miss Graves?”
“Oh, hello,” she said, materialising at his elbow. He jumped. “Did you find anything? You probably didn’t, did you? That’s the problem with successful murders. Nobody notices they even happened.”
Edward crossed back to the table and smoothed out the sheet of paper. “Actually, there was a fairly detailed account of the coroner’s inquest. I could show you –”
The paper blew away, onto the floor. Edward didn’t attempt to retrieve it. He’d read it on the microfilm reader and twice again since he’d printed it out. She’d died alone and unattended here during the influenza epidemic that had reached England in June that year – her case had been severe and led to complications with pneumonia. Even so, if she’d called in the doctor, the account had said, she probably would have pulled through. There had been no mention of close relatives or friends present at the inquest. “I’m sorry.”
“I expect they exaggerated for the newspapers,” she said, raising her chin. “It was only a silly run of events that started with me hiding from my uncle. Which, given what happened, probably wasn’t a good plan, but I didn’t want anything from him. He never liked my mother – he was always awful to her, and I couldn’t bear it.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. He probably shouldn’t have told her he knew the truth when she could whip up a storm in the house if upset, but it had seemed only fair. “I’m still sorry, though. But you should have gone to the doctor.”
Her expression darkened and the whole room seemed to lose light along with her face. “Well, I would have done, if I’d known it was going to be that bad, but it seemed silly. I thought I’d feel better soon, and by the time I was feeling dreadful enough to think it might be worth calling him in, there was no phone – and, oh, I don’t know. I think I was rather feverish.”
“Not silly,” he said, sitting down at the table. “A crime, I’d say. Just not murder. You couldn’t have been taking very good care of yourself.”
“Well, thank you for that amazing insight. I suppose now you’ve solved that little mystery, you can go jaunting off about the countryside and ignore me like everyone else does. Well done you!”
Edward bent down to pick up the paper and put it away, out of sight. “I have every intention of going out from time to time, yes, but I’m here to write –”
“You know, I was here to type up somebody’s manuscript for them,” she said. “It is a shame I can’t still do that. I’d be useful for a wonder.”
He decided not to explain to her about his laptop yet. “Anyway, the point is, whatever I’m doing, ignoring you seems impossible. Besides, I don’t want to. I’ve never met a ghost before and I’d like to know more.”
“Oh,” said Julia. She seemed less see-through now.
“How does it work? Do you ever get the chance to move on? If I could help in anyway – not have you trapped here forever –”
She evaporated and then reformed on the chair opposite him. “Oh, of course, you want to be rid of me!”
“No,” he said. “But I’ve only rented the place for two and half months. What then?”
Julia settled in the chair. “I don’t know. They don’t give out manuals about the afterlife. You wake up and find your body’s over there and hope it won’t be too many days before somebody comes to look for you. No angel comes down from on high and tells you why you’re stuck here, or what you have to do to be free.”
Edward instinctively put out his hand to cover hers, but felt only cold air on his fingers. “I can see I’ll have to go back to the library again – they must have something on supernatural phenomena.”
“What about your book?”
“I suppose it might turn out to be more of a ghost story instead,” he said, and he smiled. “Not a murder after all.”
He’d better find out some way of helping before he had to move out here. Leaving her to her lonely fate didn’t bear thinking about.
***
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