Spook_me 2020 - Haunted - Chapter 10

[m_findlow]

Title: Haunted
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack, Gwen, Ianto, OCs
Author: m_findlow
Rating: M
Length: 50,847 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for spook_me 2020 Prompt - Ghost
Summary: The team investigate rumours of a haunted house in rural Wales.

‘One of these days...’ Ianto muttered with a small amount of well-meaning bitterness. When he was in charge of Torchwood he was going to make sure he capitalised on every opportunity to have either Gwen or Jack do his dirty and menial work, just to see how they liked it. He was capable of far more than just making coffee and snogging the boss, even if he excelled in both, in his own humble opinion.

It was of course madness to think of himself ever being in charge. Jack was immortal and wasn't going anywhere. Even if he did tire of the responsibility and the endless red tape, life threatening danger and heartbreaking decisions that the job entailed, Gwen was surely next in line to take over the mantle. She had that sort of commanding presence needed for leadership. If he had to step up, he probably could. He'd been in plenty of scrapes in this job, having to tell other people what to do in a crisis - even if most of those people had been innocent bystanders. So long as nobody ever found out what a pushover he was when faced with his sister, everything would be just fine. For now though, he'd just have to content himself with making the best damn coffee on the planet.

He grabbed the empty kettle off the stove top and walked it over to the sink, filling it and setting it back on the stove. He was going to need more wood to get it going again and knew they'd left a few spare chocks in a metal basket down in the cellar next to the boiler. He didn't want to have to go outside and fetch more from the pile by the side of the house.

The door down to the cellar was hanging open, even though he was sure he'd shut it earlier. He fumbled in the semi-dark, knowing there was a chain just inside the door, wrapped a hand around it and gave it a tug. A single light bulb hanging over the stairs came on, lighting the way down.

It wasn't much of a cellar, he'd decided. For one, it didn't host any bottles of wine or other vintage bootlegged moonshine of any description. He somehow imagined that a man living here on his own for years, with his own edible garden outside, would be just the sort of dab hand at concocting his own alcohol and jars of preserve. It would certainly help pass the time, both the making and the drinking.

Mostly, the space down here was dusty and full of cobwebs, and stacked with old broken furniture that nobody could find the time or inclination to repair. The boiler sat in the far corner, underneath a tiny window that poked up above ground level for just a few inches to let in light during the day.

As he approached the small bin of kindling he noticed that the boiler, whilst making an assured sound of burning, was emanating very little heat. It should have been positively toasty down here and yet it was as cold, if not colder, than the rest of the house. It needed more wood, that was all. After being off for so long it was no doubt chewing through fuel just to get everything heated back up. He tugged open the flap and pushed a few more solid looking woodblocks inside, leaving the smaller ones for the stove. This place wasn't so bad, really. Run down for sure, a little too empty, and a little too much morbid artwork that needed to be removed. You might even get used to the idea of having a cemetery in your backyard. A place one might retire to if they survived Torchwood to pension age.

He bundled the wood in his arms and headed up the steps. At the top the door was shut again even though he'd left it open. There was a fleeting sense of panic, thinking he'd been shut in, but when he pulled at the edge which actually wasn't shut all the way, it came open easily. Just a wayward draught tugging it open and shut of its own accord. A simple doorstop would have fixed that. He pulled it back shut behind him and worked on getting the stove lit.

It wasn't Torchwood coffee of the standard he was accustomed to producing, since it lacked the proper machine to get the water to just the right temperature and to froth the milk, but the beans were still good and even longlife milk couldn't ruin it too badly.

‘I thought we were going to have to send out the Welsh Twelfth Regiment to look for you,’ Jack teased when he finally returned.

‘Great things take time,’ he said, carrying in the first two mugs and setting each down by its respective owner.

‘Thank you, sweetheart,’ Gwen said, cupping the mug gratefully. At least someone appreciated him. He never got a “thank you, sweetheart” from Jack. Although Jack did have more inventive ways of showing his gratitude… when it suited him, of course. There were no pet names however, unless he counted “sexy” and “gorgeous”. Hell would have to freeze over before he heard Jack say something like “honey, do you remember where I left the car keys?” And Jack was forever misplacing the car keys.

Ianto retrieved the last mug and the packet of biscuits, carrying them out and settling himself back down on the sofa next to Jack. ‘Did I miss anything while I was gone?’

Jack reached over and immediately relieved Ianto of the packet of biscuits.’ Just Gwen trying to shake the corporate equipment apart. You break it, you bought it,’ he warned her.

‘Well, maybe I wouldn't have to if we could get some bloody internet out here.’ There was a heavy sigh of annoyance. ‘Top of the range and able to connect to just about anywhere on the planet and I can barely get five minutes of signal. Are we sure there's not a black hole hiding out here somewhere that we missed?’

Ianto smirked over the rim of his mug. ‘It's rural Wales. That's pretty much the definition of a black hole.’ National pride only stretched so far. Basic human rights such as good coffee and a half decent internet connection trumped most Welsh allegiances. ‘Any serial killers buried out in the backyard we should know about?’

Gwen readjusted the laptop. ‘I couldn't find much at all to be fair. Most of it says “digital records not available”. I presume that means they're all still in a box somewhere in good old fashioned paper and ink. A few bits and pieces from old newspapers and local council permits, but that's it.’

He was quietly relieved that Gwen's search turned up nothing on the people who were buried out behind the house. It was unsurprising yet it gave him some comfort. There really wasn't anything out here, no disturbed spirits from long ago. Perhaps it really was just a case of eating the mushrooms out in the garden that they shouldn't.

‘D'you know what's weird?’ Gwen asked, balancing coffee and computer simultaneously.

‘Ladies who still think perms are fashionable?’ Jack offered, casting his gaze up at some of the ghastly hairdos on the women in the portraits hanging on the wall.

There was a toothy smile. ‘Apart from that.’ She turned her attention back to Ianto. ‘The man who killed himself? Thomas Morgan? I can't find anything. No death certificate, no will, not even a mention in the local papers. It's like they didn't want him to exist.’

‘They probably didn't. Just more strange happenings in a house that nobody in the town wanted to own up to. The less said the better. What about our equipment? Anything yet?’

Jack looked equal parts bored and disappointed. ‘Not so much as a quark out of place.’

‘So, not a single lead on what might be happening here.’ Was it too much to hope that it was just creaking floorboards or draughts caused by gaps in the brickwork? Subsidence had always been Jack's go to explanation for things.

‘I'm going into town tomorrow,’ Gwen declared. ‘I want to see what records they've got for the people who lived here. The digital archives are almost nonexistent, but someone around here must have a paper trail for the people that have lived in this town.’

Jack nodded. ‘Father Michael should be able to help us on that front. If there's anything in the old parish records he should know where they're kept. I'm starting to wonder if you're not right that there's something more going on. I would have thought that by now our equipment should have picked up something. We should take it out further afield tomorrow, see if we can't get a bead on whatever is lurking around here. Could be it's not actually in the house but only comes to visit.’

‘There's woodland and rolling hills for miles,’ Ianto observed. ‘Anything could be out there.’

Jack nodded. ‘Exactly. First we confirm there's nothing in here to account for it, then we start looking outside.’

‘Should've packed my hiking boots.’ Cannibals in the countryside were a distant memory yet one that refused to budge from his consciousness. That was something he wasn't keen to repeat. This time he'd shoot first and ask questions later.

Next chapter...