Ghostie Bois Inc

Chapter Eight: Why

   With that, everyone watched him disappear back into the house below. Techno stuck his head through the floor, just in time to see his friend rush out the door, in a hurry as always. It kind of...hurt, he supposed, to have just that little bit of familiar interaction gone so soon after it had come back in his life. But, Dream had promised to come back. And maybe, he'd believe him on that. 

   He'd pulled his head back into the attic after hearing Tommy give one of his sharp awkward laughs. "Well..." the teen trailed off, and clapped is hands together once. He looked at Tubbo and shrugged his shoulders. "I have no idea what I'm supposed to say to dead people Tubbo." 

   Tubbo nodded in agreement, he felt just about the same way. "Well...we are, really, really sorry to hear about your possible-murders," he said. 

   "And all around, the dying part of your life," Tommy added. 

   "Yes, we're also very sorry to hear about that," Tubbo said, nodding his head enthusiastically to agree with Tommy. 

   They waited for some sort of answer...before realizing that even if the Watsons were responding to them, they'd have no idea. 

   Tommy's eyes widened and he leaned over to the entrance of the attic. "Oi! Dream! You still--" he started, before noticing that the man was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was the small black box sitting on the coffee table downstairs. Even from up there, Tommy could tell that Dream had left his spirit box. 

   "He left his box," Tubbo noticed from over Tommy's shoulder, and began heading down the stairway to get it. Tommy and the ghosts watched him go down, walking all the way almost out of sight to retrieve the box. 

   "What're you gonna do with that?" Tommy called, leaning forward to try and see Tubbo more. He felt a chill on his shoulder, something holding him firm from falling over. He looked over, and half expected to see a dead man standing there beside him. But there was nothing but empty, chilling air. 

   "I wanna see if we can talk to the ghosts!" Tubbo answered, already walking back up the staircase with the box in hand. The screen wasn't on, and the ever present crackling had seemingly stopped. He didn't really seem to notice as he climbed back up the ladder, holding the box out for Tommy to take so he himself didn't fall over. 

   The room only seemed to dip in temperature, getting slightly colder by the second as Tommy tried to turn on the box himself. Admittedly, he hadn't really been paying attention when Dream had done it, and was now only slightly regretting it. "Have you tried turning it off and then on again?" Tubbo suggested.

   Tommy gave himself a break from assaulting the box and gave his friend a deadpan stare. "No, Tubbo. I haven't tried that, on the off machine that I can't turn on." 

   "But the button's right here," Tubbo said and leaned over, flicking a small switch on the side of the box. "The wires are all still plugged in and stuff," He explained as the machine began to hum to life. 

   Tommy watched the box begin to crackle, the screen waking up to show the reading dial. "I knew that!" He said, only somewhat defensively. "I knew exactly what I was--" he started. 

   He was cut off by the sound of crying. The box was pulsing with the staticky sound, the dial jumping up to signify that it was hearing something. Both Tommy and Tubbo looked at the box, neither of them were expecting that. 

   "It's okay," They could hear. Phil was comforting whoever it was on the other side, which at least meant that the ghosts were still inside the room (not that the cold alone couldn't tell the boys that). The crier sniffled in response, trying to keep themselves quiet.