Ghostie Bois Inc

Chapter Five: Coming Up The Path

   "I have another table," Fundy cut him off again, and walked away from their booth. Dream watched him go and blew a raspberry, running a hand through his hair. Out of all the things he could have chosen to branch off of with that, of all the things he could have said. 

   "Well...um," Tommy said, and glanced at Tubbo for word support. He wasn't all too sure what had just happened. "That wasn't awkward at all."

   "No, that was really awkward," Tubbo whispered to him. "But it's okay! It's alright, sometimes, uh, stuff. Happens, and it's awkward," he blubbered for some sort if response.

   "That's true, but, it's alright," Dream told them. "Sorry you sat through that, though I appreciate that you guys didn't take off running," He said. He took a moment to straighten himself out, looking at the table in thought for a moment before nodding. "Right, where were we--ghostly communication."

   "Does that actually work?" Tubbo asked.

   Dream nodded. "Yeah, with the proper equipment, you can usually make out snippets of the dead, or at least, what they're trying to communicate with you about," He explained. "Sometimes they try to leave signs, or they prefer their own version of body language--which is pretty much making themselves known through slight apparitions." 

   Without hesitation Tommy looked to Tubbo. "Wait, wait, wait--does that mean they can pop up in haunted swords and cursed bathrooms?" He asked. 

   Tubbo gave him a confused look. "Now the bathroom is cursed as well?" 

   Tommy shook his head. "Ignore the cursed part--if I saw a dude that wasn't really there staring at me in reflection-y stuff, does that mean that I 'talked' to a ghost?" He asked. 

   Dream considered it a moment, leaning over to grab his book. "Well, I'd say so. Unless that's a normal thing for you, then you might wanna get that checked out. But other than that, it sounds like some form of first contact with the undead," He said, and excitedly started flipping through the pages of his book. 

   From what Tubbo could see, the pages had been lined with thick ink sketches and scribbled notes, a fat journal obviously stuffed with time and effort. It looked decently impressive for sure. "Tubbo, Tubbo, you hear what he said? Our house is haunted, I knew it," Tommy told him, nudging his arm. 

   "I know, I know--that actually probably explains a couple of things," Tubbo said, nodding his head. "That...I don't really know what to do with this," He admitted. What were they supposed to do with that knowledge. 

   They were living with a family of ghosts. 

   "Well, one ghost and a haunted house are two very different things," Dream said. "The ghost could just be stopping by there for a minute and then moving on into the afterlife."

   Tubbo shook his head, messing with the ends of a napkin. "I don't think that's the case," He said, and glanced around the diner as though someone might be listening. "We think there might be more ghosts," He said.

   "And they're certainly not just passing through," Tommy shook his head and snorted. "Unless the line to get into the afterlife is like, friggin' five years long," He said.

   Since they'd begun explaining, Dream had since stopped flipping through his journal. He close the pages and studied the two boys, eyes darting between the two of them as he thought. "You boys aren't from around here," He noted. "Where're you staying?" 

   "The Watson house," Tubbo told him. "We're staying for the summer."

   Dream's face shifted into another expression, an odd mixture of shocked surprise, and something else. Hope. "And you said that you...saw a ghost?"