Ghost Hunt 
by No. 13


Disclaimer: Not mine.

Further warnings: focused entirely on Fuji and Tezuka

Author is no native English speaker (always glad to accept corrections)

Angst

Please enjoy!


5. Toccata

Cold, lifeless hands clutched at Tezuka’s throat, cutting of his air supply and he found his vision growing hazy. With black spots dancing the room grew dimmer, noises disappeared and darkness was closing in.

Soon.” The female purred, “Soon.”

Soon that choking sensation would be gone, Tezuka dazedly thought, soon the pain in his chest would be far, far away. He felt reality fading away, already. Slipping from his mind, the burning of his lungs so far removed from himself – maybe it was happening to somebody else. And if he only closed his eyes, he could rest.

Rest from this nightmare, rest and…

And never wake again.

With a choked scream Tezuka wrenched himself out of the ghost’s grasp, throwing his body sideways. Gasping for breath, his vision hazy and blurred he barely heard the upset hiss, nor the high-pitched screech. Blindly dashing for the door, he felt tendrils of gray scratching his cheek, their clammy coldness immediately replaced by the warmth of blood. Stumbling into the corridor, he was just dimly aware of the enraged roar behind him, of the poor lightening heralding the onset of evening, of the wind howling outside.

His heard was pounding and the only thought on his mind was how close it had been, how he had almost forsaken everything. How he’d almost cast away his life carelessly, forgotten to put up a fight – he’d been facing certain death and he couldn’t calm his heart, or his mind’s frantic plead for escape.

He didn’t want to die; not here, not at that thing’s hand, not because he’d foolishly gotten himself into a situation he didn’t understand.

Something clattered from the ceiling, smashing into a thousand tiny pieces upon impact, barely missing his head. Breathlessly he ran forward, not daring to look back, to scared of what he might find. This wasn’t tennis, this weren’t the ever so familiar courts. Hell, this wasn’t even a game with known rules, this wasn’t some petty robber after his money.

This was him, on his own in an unfamiliar, remote mansion, running from a vengeful ghost out for his life and Fuji lying abandoned and lifeless, fate unknown, in a small, darkening chamber.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening!

He sprinted down the stairs, taking three at once, noting how temperatures dropped, the wind picked up and fixed his eyes at the front door. The strewn papers were rising, the ground trembled softly – a ghostly roar building up. There’d be no help once that thing descended - he had to get out first.

Death. He didn’t even dare looking back, didn’t dare to tear his eyes from the front door, that uncertain promise of safety – so terribly, terribly uncertain, yet the only one he could cling onto.

But what if it didn’t work? Would we stumble outside, only to be killed underneath a cloudy November night sky? Would he die here, far removed from friends, family, a seemingly accidental death?

A gray tendril sneaked past his shoulder. Eyes widening dramatically, he acted purely on instinct and tossed his book bag into the ghost’s general direction. The sound of an impact, far too close for comfort. For a short moment the terror abated, before a horrifying, enraged screech tore through the building.

Tezuka wrenched the door open and tumbled down the short staircase, landing in an ungraceful, breathless heap on worn tiles.


With a gasp, Fuji Yumiko shot up from where she’d dozed off over her psychology textbook. Pain throbbed through her head as the glaring lights from the kitchen lamp assaulted her eyes, and for a moment the world blurred again.

Then her eyes managed to focus and the chaos in her mind cleared. Heart beating rapidly she recalled the pictures she had seen. It might have been a nightmare…

You’re too late.”

Shadows danced as the wind raged on outside, bending trees and creating patterns on dark marble tiles. The candles flickered eerily, white markings glowing red on the floor. Her brother motionless in the center, barely more than an unmoving bundle of clothes. Tezuka Kunimitsu present, too.

It’s already been done.” the ghost announced, having approached the circle wherein Fuji’s pale form rested.

No, Yumiko shook her head decidedly, that hadn’t been a nightmare. No matter how much she prayed, it hadn’t been. Hopefully though nothing had happened yet…

You’re too late.”

Uneasiness befell her. A sense of foreboding crept through her entire being, making her insides contract painfully. Something wasn’t right, something…

She couldn’t remain seated here. Not, when her brother was out there in the rain, somewhere. Maybe she’d never been able to prevent a vision… but, perhaps it wasn’t too late yet.

Perhaps she could still…

You’re too late.”

Biting her lip to stifle the confuse jumble of thoughts, she concentrated on the taste of blood instead. Trying to ward of the unbidden memories, the bitterness and fear, she pushed back the chair decidedly. Grabbing the car keys and nothing else, she ran out of the door with only one destination in mind.

You’re too late.”


The first thing to register in his mind was the endlessly falling rain. Then all the little aches set in, one by one – the burning scratches, the hot trail of blood dripping down his cheek, a throbbing cursing through his right elbow from where he must have banged it against a wall. Scrapes and abrasions on his knees and shins from the hasty retreat.

He was rather lucky, he contemplated, turning so that he starred up through dead branches at a darkening clouded sky, he could have been killed. He could have fallen down that staircase, broken his neck and nobody would have been the wiser.

They’d explain it as an accident. Unusual, yes, but certainly not impossible. Like a suffering a stroke at fourty-seven.

Had his uncle known? Had he purchased the mansion knowing what wandered its halls or had he only suddenly come to face it – and everything had been over far too soon for him to even realize what transpired?

Tezuka Kunimitsu might never have met said great-uncle of his, still he bout of sympathy sparked in his heart as he know considered this man’s tragic fate.

Wetness from mossy tiles slowly soaked through his coat and school uniform, cold and clammy against his back, while raindrops drenched his chest, rolling over his face and uselessly upturned hands. He was going to catch a cold if he stayed like this any longer, he realized, if not pneumonia.

But his body ached and –

And there was Fuji. Fuji whom he left for dead up there and … and … and to be honest, he had no idea how to help. There was one malevolent spirit out for his blood between him and the first floor chamber. And the last time he’d seen his friend, he hadn’t been himself. Who knew what …

Tezuka’s heart clenched painfully at the possibilities, as he sightlessly starred upwards, where an autumn fog begun gathering. There had to be a way to help his team mate. Staying outside couldn’t be all he could do… But marching up spelled plain suicide. Hell, he had no problem with risking his life – as long as he had a chance of reaching the ends.

The fog thickened and began drifting away, out of the garden and onto the street, undisturbed by rain and wind.

Wide-eyed, Tezuka sat up, forgetting about aching muscles and sore abrasions on his body. He was a novice to the world of the ghosts and demons, but if logic meant anything in those realms, than this hadn’t been an ordinary fog. There had been those grey tendrils hanging in the house, too – humid air from the outside, everybody had thought. But perhaps…

Those tentacle-like, undefined arms that had reached for his throat had been a darker fog’s shade of grey. What had scratched his cheek so badly had looked no more solid than air…

If all was true, then the ghost had just left the mansion.

Tezuka had no clue, whether this was actually possible. He’d heard rumours about ghosts being bound to areas or buildings, he’d sometimes heard of wandering spirits, too. And even if he read the situation correctly, it might still be a hidden trap.

Like the ghost expecting him to return for his friend and…

Shaking his head, Tezuka pushed himself energetically to his feet. For a second he saw stars in front of his eyes, but the dizzy spell abated fast. Normality had resumed, there was nothing but the sheer endless rain, the empty trees and houses and the ever-growing darkness. Night was going to fall soon – he should hurry.

So what if he was rushing head over heels into an unknown situation, lacking both a clear understanding and a plan? Not to speak of weapons. Luck would either be with him tonight or condemn him to failure and death. No matter what it was going to be, he wouldn’t sit by idly, when a friend’s life was on the line. If he walked out there while Fuji died, maybe, just maybe dying would be a better option than a lifetime full of guilt.

Taking one more deep breath and wondering whether it would be his last, Tezuka opened the door. Sensations didn’t fade the moment he crossed the threshold. The aches remained, the uncomfortable wetness of clothes weighted down by the rain, the hectic drumming of his heart. He felt alive.

Rushing up the stairs, he couldn’t hide his elevation at tonight’s first success. Now, if everything else could just work out too…

He’d never climbed a staircase that fast and reckless. Torn down a corridor quite like this, footfalls heavy and loud, banging against corners, slamming his full body weight against a door. It flew open with an explosive bang, admitting him into the small chamber, now almost completely submerged in darkness.

Fuji’s body was still on the floor, exactly as it had been when Tezuka had fled the scene. No movement disturbed the penetrating tranquility and he found himself holding his breath as he approached. Hopefully, hopefully he wasn’t too late yet.

Sinking to his knees breathlessly, he reached out a trembling hand towards a thin neck.

“Fuji…” he whispered, voice choked with emotions.

Seigaku’s tensai didn’t stir. Eyes remained peacefully closed as if in sleep, white face relaxed, vulnerable and unguarded – like dead. But Tezuka’s hand found a pulse underneath delicate skin. Faint, but very much there. So very, very much there and alive.

Tezuka blinked away the tears burning in the corner of his eyes and shook his friend’s unresponsive form gently, calling out to him. Fuji’s eyes remained closed however – but he was alive, Tezuka reminded himself, and that had almost been more than expected. Not after the ghost’s ill intentions, not after everything that had happened.

But the feeling of his friend’s warm body in his arms left his hands trembling with relief. Even if unconscious, holding onto something alive and real was the best sensation he had felt all night – no cold, shapeless hands, no disembodied voices, no drifting fog. Just a touch of normality, a hint of ordinary life outside of this nightmare – a promise that things could still end well. That escape was a possibility. That they could walk out here and never come back again. Sell that cursed building, or let it rot – whatever – cast it out of their minds and get on with their actual lives.

However the evening wasn’t over yet. And the ghost could return any moment now.

Scooping up the surprisingly light body carefully, Tezuka hurried out of the chamber and through the corridor, eager to leave the penetrating darkness. Even the faint lantern light would be better than this. Climbing down the stairs faster than what could be considered prudent, he reached the front door in record time. Torrents of cold rain greeted him outside, but he welcomed them, tilting back his head, enjoying a sense of liberation. Of escape.

So what if he was going to catch a cold? At least he was alive. Had evaded an evil spirit, brought him and a team mate to safety – who cared if he got drenched in the process? The scratches on his cheek burned far worse than the rainwater’s cold bite, and Fuji’s dead weight in his arms screamed for immediate attention.

Who ever would have thought that the best course of action with a sick friend to take would be running out of a building into a dreary November evening? Tezuka felt tempted to laugh, but reined the hysterics in.

Fuji showed no sign of awakening, so the best course of action would be to call either his or Fuji’s parents to pick them up. Or directly call an ambulance, Tezuka thought, noting the shivers cursing through his friend’s light body.

Their cell phones, however, rested within their respective book bags. Which had remained in the building.

Together with train tickets, IDs, homework and money. Lovely, in other words, just like this weather. And this area was definitely lacking in helpful neighbors, Tezuka realized, as he turned to look at the surrounding houses.

No lights shone from empty windows, even as night slowly set in. Not even the flickering of a television screen lightened a single window. Nothing. They were completely alone.

Tezuka gently set Fuji’s limp body down, leaning him against a tree in a valiant, but helpless attempt to keep him out of the rain. He would have gladly abandoned his coat for his friend, but seeing that it was completely soaked, he feared it would only worsen Fuji’s constitution.

Carefully he reached out, brushing a few stray strands of light brown hair out of a face damp with cold sweat. Dimly he recalled always having wondered whether Fuji actually bleached his hair, but he pushed that aside and rested his palm on Fuji’s forehead.

His friend felt abnormally warm, yet – if Tezuka dared to believe his feelings – not dangerously so. A slight fever, but no reason to panic. Yet.

So, he’d have to get hold of a cell phone first of all. Annoying, but…

Suddenly the door behind his back slammed open; the noise an explosion in the quiet rain. Ice cold air hit his back like a thousand tiny needles and Tezuka’s heart stopped. Hadn’t …

Hadn’t he just deemed the nightmare over? Hadn’t he just believed the escape successful? Their lives saved for the time being? And now, just when his heart had begun to calm, when he’d gathered hope, when things started looking up for the first time – had it all been for naught? Would he turn only to face death in form of colorless gray?

Was this all? Was this the end to all his efforts?

Foolish children.” he heard a deep, scathing voice speak.

Ice crawled through his veins, lungs constricting and brain frozen – he dared not to turn around. This couldn’t be happening, couldn’t, shouldn’t, not when he’d just gotten them outside, not when he’d just deemed the situation safe.

But he recognized the voice, had heard it only once before, when gray, unshaped hands had reached for his throat, when he’d seen his life beginning to flash before his eyes, when…

Did you think you would escape that easily? You can run away, foolish child, run away as far as your feet carry you, but you will never escape. There is no escaping inevitability.”

Without even knowing what he was doing, Tezuka whirled around, almost loosing his balance in the process. Wide-eyed, he beheld the upright figure posing in the doorway.

A sense of surreal grayness filled the air around the man, his eyes glowed a deep, charcoal black. His clothes were blood-splattered, some older, some glowing an eerie, fresh red in the lantern light.

So have you faced death yet, child?” ,he asked in that condescending voice that had the hair on the back of Tezuka’s neck stand, “Ignorance won’t safe you, nor will running away, that I promise.”

The ghost stepped bodily out of the door, proudly looming over the overgrown lawn, a menacing silhouette in the darkness. Foreboding laughter rang in that distorted voice.

Consider your lives spared for tonight. Consider yourself safe and this gift as a reminder…

And with those words the ghost tossed two book bags down the stairs. One landed with a dull thud a mere half meter from Tezuka’s incredulous eyes. He couldn't logically process what was happening, had long lost feeling within his frozen fingers - only the rapid pounding of his heart bound him to reality. Why those words, why no actions, why no sudden, unexpected death? Why could he still dimly feel the water running over his face, soaking through his clothes, the unnatural warmth radiating from Fuji?

Just a word of warning to you. If you value your life, don’t interfere. Don’t ever come back here!” ,the ghost warned, smirking down on the tennis captain – the powerful, immortal entity towering over a mere mortal.

One last gleefully evil look cast over a gray shoulder at the two Seigaku players, leaving a soaked Tezuka, kneeling on the ground desperately clutching Fuji’s lifeless form to his body, with a dark promise.

I’ll have what is rightfully mine.”


Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it and if you have suggestions or comments, please share them with me.

 


On to Chapter 6~