Spook_me 2020 - Haunted - Chapter 15

[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.

Jack's breath ghosted in front of his face in the chill autumnal air, obscuring his view. He could smell the smoke rising from the chimney and settling over the house and surrounding landscape. It was quaint, just not exactly his cup of tea, if for no other reason than he had no idea who the neighbours were and whether they were friendly. They were about to find out that the latest occupants of Abercrafen House were not the kind that liked to be messed with. If they wanted to be the welcome wagon they could bring a plate of fresh eggs.

“We've got triangular flags.” The saying popped into Jack's head without him consciously being aware of it. It was something Ianto said - an obscure movie reference for which Jack had never bothered to get a full explanation - but had something to do with football and Cardiff. The basic sentiment was "don't mess with us because we're from Cardiff". That was good enough for Jack.

He leant against the gnarled bark of a large tree at the edges of the woodland, leaning out to peer around it. As much as he wanted to storm the gates, guns blazing, he'd opted for caution. His team were still inside the house, capable but unarmed. He didn't want to do anything hasty or stupid that might get them hurt. He wanted to get a good look at who was out there and how many of them there were. Any thoughts that this was anything other than simple human intervention abandoned him. Their equipment had registered absolutely nothing so that only left humans to blame. He just hoped they weren't the same kind they'd run into before. This time he wouldn't show the same kind of mercy.

He slipped the torch into his coat pocket, letting it weigh heavily at his side. With his freed up hand he reached for his gun, pulling back on its safety with a practised thumb and keeping it low at his side as he surveyed the house from his position.

He had to strain his eyes to make out the shapes that covered the space between him and the back of the house. Tall headstones cast unusual shadows that served to confuse. He couldn't tell if half those shadows belonged to stones jutting up from the ground or something else. He watched each one of them for several minutes, looking for the faintest traces of movement.

Leaves on the trees rustled as a breeze kicked up from nowhere, breaking up the direction of any other sounds. It vexed him, not being able to tell them to be quiet. It was then that he came upon a realisation. Up until now there'd been no other sounds. Not the howl of a fox or the hoot of an owl. Not even the chitter of small nocturnal creatures moving between the trees. He tried to remember if he'd heard any birdsong when he'd been out walking with Father Michael. The abandoned vegetable garden should have had crows picking over its remnants, sparrows and minors tweeting in the trees, the cellar teeming with rats in search of food but he hadn't seen or heard any of them. This whole place was devoid of life.

He stepped out from the tree line, moving cautiously, picking his way over the uneven ground. Headstones and grave markers littered the sloping verge, some easy to spot, others still lying face down where they'd fallen, or hidden in foot long grasses, providing additional challenges. He kept his eyes fixed on the back kitchen door, waiting for someone to make a move, either entering or exiting.

There was a sound - laughter - and he automatically dropped to his haunches, concealing himself behind a tall headstone. Had they seen him? He waited for the sound again but this time it came from a different direction. He couldn't pinpoint it or see any movement.

A shiver ran through his body. It wasn't fear. He wasn't afraid. It was just a genuine sensation of being cold. So cold. His breath suddenly puffed out in front of his face in a thick white cloud. The temperature dropped so sharply and so suddenly that Jack's teeth began to chatter. He clenched them as tightly as he could to stop their movements.

He jolted at the sound of a whispered voice almost right behind him. He swung around, gun gripped between both hands. He was about to yell "don't move!" but there was nothing there. He made a slow circle, his gun still held high. Whispers tugged at him from all directions until he'd turned three hundred and sixty degrees, facing the house once more.

This time he did see something. The silhouettes of people standing by the windows of the house. No. Not black silhouettes against a backdrop of light. Silhouettes of light against a backdrop of black. There were no lights on in the house, yet the blurred outlines of them glowed from every window.

‘What the hell?’ he murmured. He tried to count them all. Too many. Beings made of light pressed to the glass and he knew they were watching him.

‘What do you want?’ he called out. The sound of his own voice was flat, like the air had stolen it away. He wasn't even sure they'd heard him.

Something hit his foot and he jumped involuntarily. His own gun had dropped from his hands. They were pale and almost frozen. Numbness had made him drop the gun. He could barely wrap them back around it to pick it up and holster it. He tucked them under his armpits as his breath became a thick impenetrable fog. It was getting colder and colder. The tips of his ears and nose burned from the cold. The air he breathed in was so icy it was painful. It was unnatural and a little scary.

‘We… We don't…’ Jack struggled to form the words. The air turned his throat drier than a desert and his lips were numb and immovable. His whole body shook violently from the cold. His mind could scarcely focus on anything else.

The house. He had to get back inside. It didn't matter what was in there. Out here he was going to die from the cold, he knew that. And he had to find Gwen and Ianto. His legs would barely move, numb and leaden. He forced them to take one clumsy step and then another. Both felt like they were impossibly exhausting - that he'd been out here in the frigid conditions for hours and not merely minutes. It sapped his strength and muddled his conscious thoughts. The house might have only been twenty yards away but it might as well have been twenty miles.

He hunched into the smallest shape he could, slowly trekking one step at a time. He gave up trying to fight off his body's reaction. Teeth chattered so hard his head rattled and the whispers started up again, filling his head with a cyclone of nonsense. He just had to get to the house. That was all that mattered. It became dark again as the figures in the windows disappeared. They were behind him now, filling the gardens and the graveyard, still watching him. They made no attempt to converge on him. The thought struck him that they appeared curious.

By some miracle he finally reached the green painted kitchen door. He extracted his hands out from under his armpits which trembled along with the rest of his body. They wrapped clumsily around the ice cold brass knob but when he pulled at it he found it locked. No! his mind screamed out. He was so close it was cruel. He threw his elbow through the glass, forgetting completely that he had the heavy torch in his pocket. Glass tinkled down onto the slate floor as he forced enough broken shards out of the frame to slip an arm through.

The bolt latch on the other side was almost too much for his numb fingers, but he could feel the warmth inside the house already radiating up his arm. He fiddled desperately with it until finally he gripped it tight enough to pull it back, releasing the bolt. He just about fell through the door before slamming it back shut and sliding the bolt back in place. Through the broken hole in the glass he saw the figures of light fading. One by one they blinked back out of existence, like they'd never been there at all.

Jack let out a ragged breath and slid down against the door and onto the floor. There was a fire in the sitting room where he could warm himself back up but he couldn't find the strength to move any further. Just being inside was making all the difference, returning feeling to his shaking, frozen limbs. Whatever this was, they were all in danger, but he just needed a moment to rest. He didn't even notice his eyes droop shut.

Next chapter...