Chapter 1
The house was old. Its windows were cracked and layers of eaten away cobwebs covered them. The grey paint was flaking and cracked, and the piles of dusty beige tarp littered on the porch only further added to the rundown image that was going on.
“Straight out of a cheesy halloween film,” James said as he stepped out of his car. He walked around to boot and popped the hood. He took out a suitcase and a backpack, slamming the door closed as he did.
The dark haired young man turned back to the house and let out a deep sigh. “This is going to be a long summer,” he muttered beneath his breath.
~~
The figure looking out the front window rolled its eyes, “It sure will be, you fucker.”
~~
James Potter was a struggling writer, flower enthusiast, and failed wine taster. A little less than a week ago he had been in his crusty cubicle, writing a fluff piece about the newest celebrity brat that had popped pills, when he got a notification from his [lawyer]
His late grandfather’s will had finally been opened and James had been given a run down house in the middle of nowhere. He hadn’t wanted to actually go there, it was so secluded from the real world, and his slightly pitiful life.
James had avoided looking at pictures of his new house, he ignored the letters and emails from the realtor. He didn’t really know why, but there was a lingering feeling of unease when he thought about living in his dead grandfather’s summer home. He also felt terrible about selling it, it had been in the family for ages.
So instead of looking at it, he woke up in his pencil box flat, and left at 6 in the morning for a styrofoam surrounded cubicle. He would return at 10 in the night, and collapse onto his squeaky bed. He fell asleep to the sound of his screaming neighbours, woke up and repeated the process.
It continued like this for nearly 8 months before he woke up one morning cheek to the damp linoleum floor of his bathroom. It was 2:46 pm on a Tuesday afternoon, and he had missed half of his appointments and meetings. He had also missed a half dozen calls from his publicist.
His head was pounding and his limbs were shaking so hard that he couldn’t lift himself up. He fell back onto the floor, and slipped back to sleep.
He woke up three hours later, tongue lolling out and dried spit crusted to the side of his face. He cracked his eyes open and his head erupted into a flash of colours. James groaned and squeezed his eyes closed. Even that smallest movement caused the pressure in his head to increase.
He hoisted himself up onto his forearms and slowly crawled his way towards the sink. Once he was on his feet he limped to his bed, guarding his face against the dingy fluorescent lights and collapsed onto the stiff mattress.
He reached for his phone and answered the many texts and calls he had received from his coworkers.
Yes he was fine. No he didn't purposely skip out on Janice’s team building presentation.
After two days of feeling like shit, not being able to sharpen pencils because his hands shook too much, and feeling like his head was in a misty haze, he finally booked an appointment with his doctor.
~~
That appointment had changed his life. Well, his life already sort of sucked so it hadn’t been altered too much.
James had been diagnosed with generalised late stage epilepsy. His doctor handed him a note that told him to inform his superior, and a promise that his prescription would be filled out soon.
The minute James had mentioned epilepsy to Janice, another note, giving him paid leave of absence, had been shoved into his hands. He barely had time to take a surprised breath before he had been pushed out of her office.
Jesus! Was epilepsy a fucking contractible disease?
He marched right back into her office and demanded permission to work remotely and arranged for accommodations. Once they had been arranged, he called up his realtor and asked for the address to his new home.
By the next weekend he had packed up all of his belongings, swept them into the car and set out to find his new place of residence.
~~
The ghost, Regulus, was pissed
His old tenant had been an absent minded old man named Henry, who always excused Regulus’ appearances as mirages, or tricks of the eye.
He hadn’t minded when Regulus moved cups or jars to suit his needs, and he really didn’t put up much fuss when the old ghost bullied him into taking his meds and drinking water.
This new lad looked very similar to Henry, dark skin and dark curly hair creeping into his face. His hazel eyes hidden behind wire framed glasses. His raggy long sleeve shirt dragged below his thighs, and his grey trench coat was beyond wrinkled and creased.
Obviously someone had never heard of a dry cleaners.
Regulus sighed as he watched his new human struggle up the driveway with his boxes.
~~
The house was as shittily old on the inside as it was on the outside.
All the furniture was covered with dust grey sheets, a cliché. James had peaked underneath some of them, and the ebony wood couches and velveteen armchairs were nice. Like really nice. Nice to the point that if he spilled yoghurt on them, he wouldn’t be able to afford to clean them.
Wallpaper was peeling off the walls, and humid air blew in from the cracked windows. It was unnaturally cold for the summer, and the slight warm breeze was the only thing warming the house.
James gratefully collapsed onto the cushy bed, the only piece of furniture that was dust free.
He would have to thank the realtor later.
Almost immediately, his eyes dropped shut almost forcefully, and he fell into the deepest sleep he’d ever had.
~~
Regulus had been around the man for half an hour and he had already picked out three potentially harmful traits.
His eye circles were so dark, they predicted many late nights and no eternal rest for Regulus.
He had left his box of either a) weights, b) bricks, or c) paperweights in the middle of the stairs, and Regulus couldn’t lift it out of the way.
His trousers were just a little too tight for comfort, it was impossible not to stare.
It was going to be a long summer, but not for the reasons he had initially thought.