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“See,” Mycroft walked through the old abandoned house confidently. “No ghosts.” Greg dragged Mycroft along to explore the supposedly haunted house on Halloween night.
“My brother said,”
“Of course he made you do it,” Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Your brother…” the floor beneath Mycroft gave way with a sharp crack. Mycroft’s cry echoed as he vanished into darkness.
“Mycroft!” Greg shouted, shining the torch down to the hole. “My?”
“Alive,” came the strained answer, followed by a cough. “Stay back, you wouldn’t want to fall as well.”
“Where are you?”
“Cellar I think.”
“See any doors?”
“I see nothing, my torch’s broken—and my phone as well. Mother will be pleased,” he sighed.
“Priorities, love,” Greg lay on the floor, inching towards the opening. The ancient floorboards creaked ominously under his weight. “Are you injured?”
“Left arm broken. Cuts, bruises and possibly concussion.”
“Shit,” Greg cursed. “I’m calling for help.”
“If you wish to spend the rest of your life grounded, by all means.”
“I don’t care,”
“You think our parents would let us see each other? Call each other?”
Greg hesitated.
“We can say I fell down some stairs,” Mycroft suggested.
Greg grunted. “Fine, fine. Let’s try that.” He backed away. “I’ll be right back. Will you be fine in the dark?”
“Oh, we’ll be perfectly fine.” He reassured Greg. There was something strange about the we, but Greg didn’t question it.
“I’ll be quick,” Greg hurried through the house, searching for a rope or ladder. He could hear Mycroft’s muffled voice and laughter drifting up from below. It made him uneasy—he should have called for help.
“I’ve got a ladder.” Greg announced at last, covered in dust and cobwebs.
“You were quick,” came Mycroft’s amused voice.
To Greg it felt like eternity.
“I guess time flies in good company,”
“Company?” Greg frowned. He carefully lowered the ladder, hoping the floor wouldn't break again. “Can you climb up?”
“Not without help,” Mycroft sighed.
“All right, I’m coming down.” Greg began his descent to the musty cellar, he was nearly at the bottom when someone hit his backside.
“Oi! Mycroft!”
“Here,” Mycroft called from the far wall, pale, covered in dust, one arm clutched to his chest.
“You…”
“You were right,” another voice joined in, Greg could feel breath against his ear. “He does have a magnificent back side,”
Greg yelped, nearly losing his balance. Mycroft only chuckled.
“Hands off, Tom,” a second voice chided. “You’ll scare him.”
“Awww, you are jealous, honey,” Greg felt something brush past him.
“Mycroft,” Greg whispered.
“Gregory, meet Henry and Thomas.” Mycroft gestured towards the empty air beside him.
“You’re joking.” Greg was covered in cold sweat.
“I rarely do.” Mycroft’s expression was deadly serious.
“Bloody hell,” Greg rubbed his eyes. “I should have called for help,” he hurried to Mycroft’s side. “Come on. We’re getting out of here. Now!”
“We will,” Mycroft pushed himself up with a grunt. “But first,”
“No buts,”
“I made a promise,” his whole body was trembling. He took the torch from Greg and swept it slowly around the cellar.
“What are you talking about!” Greg snapped.
“Stay quiet!” A terrified voice spoke next to Greg. “They’ll hear you and…”
“Don’t worry, Tom.” The second voice was more reassuring. “No one cares about us,”
“Lovely,” Greg’s voice shook, tears welled in his eyes from fright. “I’d expect this from my brother but not from you. Mycroft…”
“This is the spot,” Mycroft fell to his knees and started to dig with his good hand. “Help me, please.” Greg sighed, he could never say no to Mycroft.
“What are we looking for?”
“Keep digging,”
Greg felt the presence of someone leaning over his shoulder as he worked. It didn’t take long to uncover a small wooden box.
“All that’s left of us.” the calmer voice said.
Greg looked up sharply. Behind his boyfriend stood a pale young man with hollow eyes. Greg looked up, hovering above him was another.
“My,” his voice was shaking.
“As I said, Thomas and Henry.”
“Right,” Greg dropped the box as if it burned.
“Don’t worry, Gregory.” Henry said gently. “It’s just a time capsule.” he knelt next to him.
“Henry made me do it.” Tom sat next to his boyfriend. “He said we’d open it once I’m cured. Cancer.” He answered the unasked question. “Obviously never made it. And my idiot boyfriend,” he leant against Henry. “Instead of living a full life went and got himself killed.”
“It was an accident.”
“You were drunk.”
“Can you blame me!”
“Guys,” Greg cut in. “Could we hurry up, Mycroft needs help,” he looked worse by the second.
“I’m fine,”Mycroft muttered, though his face turned grey.
“Could you open the box, Gregory.” Henry asked.
“But do not read the letters!” Tom cut in. He was blushing, if that was possible for a ghost.
“Sure,” Greg did as told, he placed the unfolded papers in front of the ghostly lovers. He crawled to Mycroft’s side, cupping his face. “You okay?”
Mycroft nodded faintly.
“They said there is a door at the far end, the lock is old— easy to open.”
“You believe them?”
“Of course. They must have come down here to bury the box.”
“True,” Greg turned around but didn’t see them.
“They are gone,” Mycroft said quietly, reaching for the letters.
“What’s in them?”
“We are not reading it.” Mycroft crumpled them up.
“Not curious?” Greg helped him up carefully. Mycroft leant on him heavily as he walked.
“No,” he sighed. “I’m in pain and tired and cold,”
“Right. Door,”
*
“How many days they must have spent here,” Greg sat on Mycroft’s hospital bed. They made up a story about a dog chasing them, hiding on a tree and Mycroft’s unfortunate fall. Luckily no one really questioned it.
Mycroft took Greg’s hand. “Those were their happiest days, as hard as it is to believe. And now, thanks to you, they can rest in peace.”
“Did you believe in ghosts?”
“Me?” Mycroft chuckled. “No.”
“Yeah. It’s still hard to believe what happened tonight,” Greg mumbled. “Do you see ghosts?”
“No.” Mycroft shook his head, he looked a bit sad. “You?”
Greg glanced around. “Thanfully not. You think my brother really saw one?”
“Doubt it.”
“Maybe my brother was behind it. Messing with us,”
Mycroft shook his head, he showed Greg an old article about Henry’s car accident. “It was after the funeral. They were real,”
“I don’t question that but maybe…”
“When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
“A simple yes would have sufficed," Greg grumbled.
Mycroft chuckled.
“I heard you helped the gays,” a voice murmured by the window.
Greg’s eyes grew wide, by the window stood a young man in a hospital gown. Pale and uncertain.
“What is it Gregory?” Mycroft looked at him with concern.
Greg pointed at the young man, Mycroft followed his gaze, then looked back at Greg.
“You see another one?”
“Don’t you?” Greg stumbled back from the bed.
“No,” Mycroft tilted his head.
“So” the young man walked through the bed. “Can you help me?” he asked pleadingly.
Greg swore under his breath.