A/N: Trigger Warning- Mentions of/implied suicide. This is not meant to be a story which focuses on that, though.
In other news, we've nearly reached 500 reads. I find that amazing. Thank you all.
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There's a boy in my closet.
He's about my age, but he scares me. He doesn't speak often, and I think I might scare him too. He's taller than me, and paler, with darker hair and eyes. He usually tries to hide them, like he's ashamed, but I also know he has long gashes in each arm from his wrist to his elbow. I think they're the scariest part of him, along with the blood dried all over him and at the bottom of my closet. He's not... mean, I think. He's shy, and not that bad for a ghost.
Sometimes I open my closet and he's not there, and over time I've begun to accept it, but at first it would make me relieved. I think I may have upset him with that, and I feel guilty looking back. He always returned, whether it was days or weeks or months later, he always returned and looked more gaunt than ever.
He used to hide from me, but it's hard to hide in the closet of a teenage boy. There's usually not much in there.
-/-/-/-/-/-
I opened my closet door and didn't look down, though I became chilled very quickly by the atmosphere. Because of the temperature that accompanied him, I'd begun to call him Chilled in my head.
I saw him shift while I grabbed a jacket, uncomfortable and backing into the wall like he'd been doing in the months since I'd first seen him. A frustrated feeling rushed over me and I tossed the jacket back onto my bed, then shut my closet door with me inside.
He jumped and scrambled to his feet across from me, but I sat down against the opposite wall and stared up. There wasn't much room, and my socked foot sat in one of the larger bloodstains, but I managed. I watched him with as much patience as I could gather while his widened, owlish eyes took me in. This was the first time I'd acknowledged him in at least a month, so I guess I could cut him some slack.
"You can still see me?" He asked in a quiet, nervous voice as he lost some of his tension. I nodded; it wasn't the first time he'd spoke, but it was the first time he'd spoke to me directly. Of all reactions I'd expected, him groaning in irritation and sliding to the ground across from me was not one of them.
"... Damn it."
My widened eyes and peaked curiosity were hard to keep under control, so I didn't.
"Do you not want me to see you?" I questioned, furrowing my eyebrows. He nodded after a second, and I felt irrationally bad for seeing him. "... Why?"
He snorted, turning his gaze to the back wall of the closet. At first I thought he was ignoring me and had shut down any want for communication, but then I saw his lips move like he was trying to find words, so I waited.
He sighed, and looked at me with surprising depth in his eyes. "Don't make me say the answer to that. Just look at me, why do you think?"
I knew what he meant, even though his arms were folded over his knees and I couldn't see the worst of it, there was still blood everywhere. I still had issues looking past it.
I wanted to say something, what I wasn't sure, but suddenly my mom opened the closet door and gave me an expression of confusion and frustration.
"Steven, we have to go, I've been calling for you for five minutes! What are you doing in here?"
I muttered something about not having a reason, standing up and leaving the closet which my mother shut behind me.
-/-/-/-/-/-
From then on, I spoke to him more often. I found out his name was Anthony, but I had issues with not accidentally addressing him as Chilled. He thought the nickname was funny, and let me use it.
He told me he was fifteen, two years older than me, and that this was his house before it was mine. He didn't leave the closet a lot, but he described how his room had looked before it was mine. The next day I reorganized my room so it more fit the image while he watched me, and teased me for it. I brushed off his teasing without much effort, and left it because I could see that it made him smile sometimes to look around.
I found out quickly I was the only one who could see him; beyond my mother completely overlooking him that one day, my dad gave me strange looks more than once if he passed my room while I was talking. I didn't have a good excuse for him at any point, so I tried to keep my voice down or talking to a minimum if I wasn't home alone.
-/-/-/-/-/-
"Why are you a ghost?"
It was a question that slipped out before I could stop it. It was months later and I was approaching fourteen, but Chilled didn't age. I had wondered before if our friendship would change when I surpassed him in physical age, but I didn't like those thoughts. Chilled had climbed his way up into the slot of 'best friend' quicker than I had ever anticipated, and I didn't really want that to stop.
He frowned, a sight I didn't like because it didn't seem to fit his face and his eyes didn't look right either. I was shut inside the closet on a Saturday, while my parents were out a few hours to do some errands. The closet was comfier than it should have been, maybe because I was in it so often. I watched his face anxiously, preparing to take the question back. Some questions, Chilled refused to answer. Some questions made him upset. I never addressed those questions again.
"I have no idea," he said bitterly, and though the bitterness wasn't directed at me I still flinched. He saw the motion and his expression softened immediately. I'd made him feel bad I think.
I opened my arms after a second, the gesture clear, and he hesitated before rotating himself and letting me hug him. He wasn't perfectly corporeal, and if I put too much force on him I could pass limbs through. He said it was the worst feeling because it seemed like it should hurt, but instead he just felt motion inside him and it was unnatural. I was careful to keep my grip on him light.
"Sorry, was that a bad question?" I asked, wince evident in my tone. He shook his head, a smile lighting when he acknowledged my worry over his emotions.
"No, just... a question I want answers for, too."
-/-/-/-/-/-
I spent two months researching, which for a newly fourteen year old was highly impressive if I do say so myself.
I looked back on information on my house, finding that a fifteen year old boy and his parents had in fact been the previous owners of this house, until the son had died and parents had decided to sell. It was hardly that I hadn't believed him, but I'd needed some form of physical evidence that Chilled had been real and existed. Was real, and did exist.
Then, I looked up as much lore on ghosts as I could find, and as you can imagine there was a lot. Some people claimed they were stuck because they'd chosen to be; some said they remained as long as there was something for them in the mortal world; some said if they killed themselves or died violently they'd be stuck forever. I ignored the last one to the best of my ability.
Chilled saw me research a lot of this and regularly advised me to stop, stating I wouldn't find anything. I ignored him too.
-/-/-/-/-/-
It was midnight, and I was sitting inside the closet with a pillow behind my head, a blanket over my legs, and a book on my lap. Chilled watched me as he usually did, since he didn't have much else in the way of entertainment unless I gave him a comic, which I hadn't done. He'd read them all anyway.
After I yawned for about the fifteenth time in half as many minutes, he leaned over and shut the book with so much force his fingers stuck through. My drowsy mind made my body flinch in surprise, but he didn't falter.
"Steven, go to sleep. You shouldn't be staying up this late every night."
"Thanks, mom," I said thickly, not noticing a strange discoloration on his cheeks in response. Truth was, I'd been unable to read and comprehend for a few minutes now, and I didn't see a reason to continue like this. I was so tired that rather than grabbing my things and getting out, I turned off my flashlight and curled onto my side with my pillow and blanket. Chilled gave off a light glow that allowed me to see him and him to see me in this enclosed space, so I leaned over and hugged him. "Night."
"Night," he said back, though he didn't sleep. He scooted over and sat next to my head, and I made some sleepy joke about him watching over me. He laughed and said always.
-/-/-/-/-/-
My research didn't yield much else and I leaned towards the violent death/suicide theory, despite how upset that made me. I didn't share it with Chilled. I had a feeling he already guessed that, anyway.
I stopped looking those things up and before I knew it I was fifteen, and the same age as Chilled had been. It was strange to wake up and look at him and realize how young he'd actually been when he died, and how sad it was. I'd told him those thoughts once and found myself crying over it, but he'd hugged me and told me it was his fault and his idiocy, not anything that somebody should be sad over. I told him he wasn't an idiot, but he didn't believe me.
Fifteen came and went, and on to sixteen. Chilled told me I was getting old, and I laughed. I also found myself unable to spend as much time with him anymore. I brought a girl over one afternoon and he disappeared for weeks, even though I tried to tell him I didn't plan on seeing her again.
He came back a couple weeks before I turned seventeen, with me having slept in the closet almost everyday since he had disappeared. My eyes had opened at the familiar cold and I had apologized and cried, though I didn't know what I was apologizing for. He assured me he wouldn't go that long ever again, and that he was sorry too.
Age seventeen was weird. I was suddenly aware of the age gap between Chilled and I, and that it was the same distance it had been when I'd first seen him. I had wondered if it would be weird to see myself age and not him, and the answer was 100% yes. I didn't notice any quirks that implied he was mentally fifteen, though he was a bit moody. I figured that might just be him.
When I turned eighteen I had a big party, after which I slept in the closet. Adulthood wasn't something I was looking forward to as much as I had expected, and I wanted to do something I had done as a child to remind myself this one extra year didn't change much. Chilled had stroked my hair and we talked about nonsense until nearly three in the morning, when I finally drifted off.
-/-/-/-/-/-
It was a week before I left for college.
I'd be staying on campus, since it was about an hour from home, and I was a bit excited to leave and be in my own place, even if it was just a dorm room. My parents had asked me if I'd really feel comfortable sharing a room with someone, and I had laughed quite a bit. But that laughter had led me to sitting on my bed and preparing myself, even though I could see Chilled in the open closet. He knew something was up and had questioned me more than once, but I'd been putting everything off as well as I could until then. Finally, I pushed myself to my feet, walked into the closet, and shut the door behind me.
Chilled jumped at the sudden action, and I found myself remembering the first time I had spoke to him with a fond light. I looked at him, prepared to explain, but stopped in horror when I felt liquid running down my face. I was crying, without even realizing it.
He hugged me to him and I wanted to cling to him, but I knew I'd slip through so I sat my arms over his back with as much control as I could manage. I cried like a little kid, and when I dropped to the ground he came with me and held me. I realized we were the same height now and wanted to point it out, but I remembered I was crying and that would be strange.
I understood then that I didn't want to leave Chilled, ever. I also understood that I loved him, and I found the whole situation so screwed up I began to laugh loud and bitter, an action which caused Chilled to slacken his grip on me. I saw the concern on his face when he watched my red eyes, trying to decipher what was causing me problems. I smiled at him, a broken expression. I felt out of control, my body and words acting in a way that I shouldn't allow but happened anyway.
"I'm going to college," I told him, smiling and laughing and crying. "Next week. And then, I won't be around you."
I felt his already freezing hands still over my back, and his concern fade away into terror. That wasn't what I expected, I never seemed to expect what Anthony did.
"I- I- no!"
He held me tight enough for his fingers to dip into my back, and though I shivered I found myself not caring, and I fell asleep to him rocking me and whispering nonsense and kissing my forehead.
-/-/-/-/-/-
When the morning came, he wasn't there.
I didn't see him the entire remaining week, even when I slept in his closet and cried, pathetic. I didn't see him when the final day came. I didn't see him when I finished packing. I didn't see him when I brought my boxes downstairs, and to the car. I didn't see him when I gave my room one final look.
I didn't even see him when I closed myself in his closet, and told him goodbye. Told him I'd never forget him. Told him I loved him.
I left the house and choked back familiar tears the entire car ride.
There's a boy in my closet. He's kind of shy, but he's covered in blood which makes him look a little frightening. Despite that, he is my best friend. I think about him daily, holding my promise to not forget anything.
Yet, I can no longer see him.