Spook_me 2020 - Haunted - Chapter 14

[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.

When Gwen had bustled past him, hot on the heels of the source of the sound, Ianto first doubled back to the other end of the house. There was so much stuff piled on every available space that it would have been all too easy to grab something and loft it in completely the opposite direction, making them think they knew where their intruders were. There wasn't time to explain to Gwen so he just pivoted and ran back down towards the end of the hallway. He nearly forgot to stop, banking sharply left into the bathroom, ready for anything, and to throw his best right hook at anyone who stood there ready to attack.

His feet went out from under him as something slick underfoot caught him unawares. He flung his arms out to stop his descent but it was his head that connected first with the hard edge of the tall bathtub. The rest of his fall to the floor went unnoticed in a flash of pain.

His head pounded when he regained his senses, but one of them was missing. It was like someone had turned off all the lights, except there'd been none on to begin with. What had been muted shapes and shadows cast by a moonless night outside had now turned to pitch. He couldn't make out anything, not even his own hand right in front of his face. There was a terrifying moment when he'd thought he must have torn his retinas during his fall, yet apart from the aching lump on the back of his head, there was no other pain. Why then couldn't he see anything? He couldn't have been out of it for more than a few seconds. He didn't think he'd blacked out but he couldn't be sure.

There was a sound of water slapping the floor. Had one of them left the tap on, or not turned it off tightly enough? The pipes could very well have been blocked from years of poor maintenance and their sudden presence here too much for them to cope with. Still the water continued to spill over the edge of the sink from what he could tell. Why hadn't they heard that earlier, he wondered.

He'd slipped on the flooded floor and knocked himself out cold. In his head he said an expletive his mother would have been appalled by. Great. The others would never let him live that down. He blinked a few times trying to see if his vision would clear but everything was just as dark. He bit down on the urge to panic. Gwen would be back. Jack too.

He reached out a hand to push himself up off the floor. The hand that found the wet floor under him jolted back in alarm. The water was warm. It was strange as well, viscous, sticky. He raised his hand to his face and the sharp metallic tang of blood invaded his delicate sense of smell. Had he hit his head that hard? Now the scent of blood was everywhere. It couldn't be his. There was too much of it.

He reached up for the edge of the bath, pulling his elbow over its edge, so that he was holding onto something in case his feet slipped under him again on the wet floor. He reached out, trying to turn the taps to wash the blood from his hand. Nothing came out at first as the clunk of air rattled in the pipes. Then they began to flow freely, but as he ran his hand under it, he felt more of the same warm sticky liquid. He recoiled, slipping on the floor again. It was everywhere, spilling from the taps themselves which just wasn't possible. He wiped his hand on his jeans and stumbled, slipped and slid the entire way, trying to get away from the streaming taps of blood.

His foot finally gained a purchase on something - carpet from the hall - and the arrest in his momentum nearly sent him sprawling again.

‘Gwen!’ he shouted.

He fumbled in his jeans pocket for his keys, tugging them out and fiddling with the small Maglite attached to his key chain. He turned the end of it but there was no light. He shook it in case the battery was on the blink but he couldn't see anything, not even the tiniest glint of light bouncing off the metal surface of his keys. He'd used it a thousand times and it had never failed him. He pointed it straight into his face, desperate to see even the faintest blur of something bright. He couldn't see anything at all.

‘Gwen!’

He staggered down the hall, arms first finding one wall and then the other as he pinballed blindly. The sharp corner of a piece of furniture caught the side of his leg and it buckled underneath him. He swore quietly as he fell on hands and knees. His keys and torch tumbled from his hands in the fall but try as he might, he couldn't locate them again.

‘That's fine,’ he murmured to himself. ‘Couldn't see anyway. That's not a problem either,’ he tried to convince himself. ‘Perfectly normal to become totally blind for no apparent reason.’

He closed his eyes, trying to focus on his other senses. Have to find Gwen. She couldn't be far away. She'd been headed for the bedroom. Something could have attacked her. She might need his help. He felt along the wall, looking for the doorway, but his hands kept landing on empty space or cluttered furniture. There seemed to be more of it than he remembered.

He found an opening, reaching forward but it was cold tiles that met his hand. Damn it. He'd somehow gotten turned around and was headed in altogether the wrong direction. He moved back the other way and then froze as the sound of scratching returned. It was somewhere in front of him. No. Now it was somewhere overhead. Then it felt like it was behind him. He pushed himself to his feet and ran, not caring how many times he smacked into things.

The noise morphed from scratching into footsteps. Other sounds of things skittering inside the walls surrounded him from all angles as he kept fumbling as fast as he could. He should have reached the end of the hall ages ago but it just seemed to stretch on forever. A fold in the hall runner caught his foot and he went somersaulting, slamming into the wall. He knocked several items off a low table as he used it to try and pull himself back to his feet. They smashed around his feet adding broken ceramic and glass to the floor.

The disorienting darkness made it impossible to tell which direction he was facing. Noises were converging from all angles or maybe they were just echoes. He knew roughly where he should have been in relation to everything else but doors weren't where he expected them to be. He should have reached the corner of the house where it diverted right onto the main landing by now.

The scratching sound grew into a cacophony of endless static. He could have sworn he heard voices whispering subliminally underneath it but couldn't make out what they were saying. It grew louder and louder, rising up like a tidal wave.

He scrabbled blindly down the hall on his backside, feeling the rotting carpet beneath his hands as he crawled backwards, still trying desperately to see anything at all in front of him. He wasn't sure he wanted to see what kind of creature could make such a noise. He turned over onto his knees deciding that escape was more important.

Something was behind him. He could hear the voices growing louder inside the din. Louder and louder and now he realised they were calling his name. He flailed about for anything he could get his hands on. His arms wrapped around cold hard stone that, if he recalled, had been an ugly bust of some unnamed Victorian. With whatever strength he could find he pulled on it, toppling it to fall into the path of whatever was pursuing him. It wouldn't stop them for more than a few seconds if they tripped on it, but right now he'd take whatever precious seconds he could get.

He dragged himself back up onto his feet, knowing he'd be faster at a run, even if he couldn't see. He bounced off a wall and then went for it as fast as he could. For a brief few moments he propelled forward at speed without hitting anything. Then the floor beneath him disappeared and the world turned upside down.

Next chapter...