Chapter Text
Remind Stanley to never drive halfway across Britain in an open-top car ever again. Halfway through the drive it had started raining and now not only were the seats ruined, so was the stuff he had brought with him. In better news, he himself had dried out, and his succulents- which were buckled up in the passenger’s seat beside him- had gotten a nice watering. In worse news, his hair was tangled (it took hours to get those knots out), and he was starting to regret dropping everything to move to his great-aunt’s old house. For one, he had left his job for this, and now he had to find a new one. For two, he knew no one in the area, and that meant having to actually go out to social gatherings and talk to people; two things that Stanley didn’t do often.
Third, holy fuck was this place larger than he remembered. The gate alone towered over his car, and he had had to get out of it to pain-stakingly push the damn thing open. Never again, he vowed. He’d never open that gate like that again. When he finally got inside- having lugged his recently-dried suitcase in over the course of two whole minutes - he noticed the layer of dust that had settled over the sheets that covered the furniture. God, that would also be a pain. He’d either sneeze to death or have to go out and buy a duster and he didn’t quite want to do either if you ask him, mate.
So, for now, Stanley settled on putting his suitcase down. He’d lug that upstairs to the master bedroom later. Preferably much later. No way was he straining his weak-arse arms more than once in one day. Speaking of which, he really needed to sit down right about now.
His eyes landed on a sheet-and-dust-covered couch, positioned in the middle of what looked to be the living room. Dammit. Well, he’d have to suffer sneezing at least a little bit if he wanted to sit down. Resigning himself to his fate, Stanley trotted over to the couch and prepared to lift off the sheet.
“What in the world do you think you’re doing?!”
Stanley whirled around, instinctively raising his hands. Obviously, someone hadn’t gotten the legal documents or someone was strangely overprotective of this sheet on this couch. He was sure he could explain it away.
That is, if there had been someone there in the first place.
Huh, Stanley had thought. That was strange. He could have sworn he had heard someone talking to him. Maybe they were really fast. Or maybe they had been outside. But no, he swore that voice had come from behind him. Stanley looked around the room, trying to spot this strange mystery person.
“I said, what in the entire bloody world do you think that you’re doing, you- you bracket-faced man?!”
Stanley had no clue what ‘bracket-faced’ meant. Maybe ‘square-jawed’? It didn’t really matter to Stanley; obviously, this strange voice was talking to him. Maybe he really had finally cracked. He always thought he would one day. Again, Stanley looked around the room, then pointed to himself.
“Yes, you, who else would I be talking to?”
Okay, so this delusion or auditory hallucination was Stanley’s after all. Huh. He really had gone mental. Apparently, his new ‘friend’ couldn’t shut his- it sounde* like a ‘he’, but Stanley couldn’t really be sure -trap either.
“Speak, man, state your business in this house! Or else leave this place for the rats and spirits”
What in the old-timey bullshit was this voice on? Shakespeare? Stanley had never heard anyone talk like that in his whole life, at least not people he knew. Sure, he had seen plays and tv shows where people used that sort of speech, but those were all period pieces. And spirits? Stanley had grown out of believing in ghosts- at least fully believing in them -a while ago. This voice really was strange. Stanley could only hope that it knew BSL.
[me move here. Mine this house.]
There was a silence, in which Stanley sighed. Yet another thing that couldn’t understand him. Go figure. He would have reached for his notepad, but guess what got ruined in the rainstorm on the way over? The notepad.
“Wait.” The voice said, in a tone that was very unlike its previous sentences; all quiet and hesitant. “Wait a moment.”
It wasn't like Stanley was going anywhere, so he just rocked on the balls of his feet, waiting for the voice to do whatever it was meaning to do. A chill ran down his spine, but he shook it off. Nothing out of the ordinary. Body re-calibrating, that’s what he called it. On second thought, was it colder in here? Maybe one of the windows was open.
“Stanley?”
Huh what.
Stanley blinked. The voice knew his name. The voice knew his name. After a brief moment of shock, Stanley brushed it off. Of course it would know his name if it was in his head. That’s just how it worked, right?
But the voice just kept talking.
“Oh, goodness, it is you. You’re much taller than I remember you being.”
Okay, now this was getting confusing. This voice said it remembered Stanley? But if it was a new thing, then how would it remember him? That just wasn’t possible, was it?
“Although, that does make sense, the last I saw you, you were what, eighteen?”
Even more confusing. The last time he had been to this house, he had been eighteen. It was where he had held his graduation party before he had gone to uni. A pretty normal party. He hadn’t known that it would be the last time he would see his great-aunt.
Stanley shook the thought from his mind. Now wasn’t really the time to wallow on that, especially since the voice had stopped talking. Now Stanley could finally get the sheet off the cou-
“Stanley?”
Apparently he had spoken too soon. This thing just didn’t go away, did it? Always yammering on about something or another. But now it sounded a bit sad, which was strange. Stanley didn’t think he had done anything to make the voice sad, besides maybe trying to move the sheet covering the couch.
“Do…Do you not remember me?”
Woah. Now that was a loaded question, and one Stanley wasn’t exactly fit to answer at the moment. He had just decided not to wallow in his memories.
“Your…your old friend? Well, at least I like to think that we were friends.”
Stanley stopped in his tracks. Old friend? What did this strange voice mean? Stanley had never heard this voice a day in his life before this. At least, he thought he hadn’t. Apparently, the voice took Stanley’s confusion as an answer, because he heard a saddened sigh and its tone had started to wobble even more.
“Oh. Well. I suppose I don’t blame you. It has been a long time since our last adventure, hasn’t it?”
Wait. Stanley’s eyes widened; the three-and-a-half rusty cogs finally starting to turn in his brain. Adventures around Parable-Button House? Why was that so familiar? He had done that when he was young, hadn’t he? Adventured around the house with an eccentric, perfectionistic, and yet somewhat snobbish…disembodied voice as his guide.
A melancholy sort of chuckle came from the voice, unaware of what Stanley had just realised.
“Well, I suppose I’ll leave you to your couch then, Stanley.”
Holy fucking shit. It was real.
With hands that had suddenly started to shake a bit, Stanley responded.
[you real.]
“What?”
If the voice had had a body, Stanley could imagine him turning around with the most pitiful weepy face possible. So, hoping to brighten its spirits- hah, that’s funny in retrospect -Stanley repeated himself.
[you real.]
There was a shuddering intake of breath that seemed to echo throughout the room.
“You do remember me, after all, don’t you?”
Stanley could do nothing but nod. After all these years of believing the strange voice to be a fairytale, it was actually real. He felt a bit faint, honestly. It was a strangely horrifying realisation to make.
“Oh, you don’t exactly look too well.” Points to the voice for pointing out the obvious. “Perhaps you should sit down on that couch you’re obsessed with.”
It wasn’t going to have to tell Stanley twice. He just about stumbled over to the still-covered couch and plopped down on it without caring how much the dust would make him sneeze. In actuality, it didn’t make him sneeze much at all, which was a plus.
Apparently uncaring of Stanley’s plight the moment he sat down on the couch, the voice continued to speak.
“I suppose that I should explain everything, now that you’re…well, older . And seemingly wiser, although not by much.”
Stanley was happy that he was already sitting down. No doubt that voice would have told him to if he hadn’t been.
“First of all, my name.”
Stanley quirked a brow while keeping the rest of his expression as neutral as he could, considering the situation.
[have name you?]
Another, more annoyed, sigh. Yep, this was definitely that same voice from his childhood. He would know that indignant exhale anywhere from how much he had heard it before.
“Yes, Stanley, I have a name. Doesn’t everyone? And- You never wondered what my name was?”
Stanley shrugged. If this was a weird hallucination, he was going to get as much out of it as possible. Then he was going to check the carbon monoxide detectors.
[no. me call you ‘N-a-r-r-a-t-o-r’, you remember?]
Might as well give the voice its old name back, if it was going to talk to Stanley this much.
“Ah! Yes, I- I am remembering that now.” The Narrator said, rather sheepishly. “Although, I doubt I ever told you my real name.”
No, no the Narrator hadn’t. In fact, Stanley had never thought the guy had a ‘real name’. At least, not a human one.
“My name is Nicholas. Nicholas Fletcher, to be precise.”
Stanley baulked for a few seconds. Nicholas? What sort of a prissy name was that? Stanley had known a few Nicks, but no one ever went by Nicholas nowadays. Strange.
Dumbfounded, and forgetting who he was speaking to, Stanley began introducing himself.
[name mine S-T-A-N-L-E-Y.]
There was a light chuckle from the Narrator- or, Stanley guessed he should call the guy ‘Nicholas’ now.
“Yes, Stanley, I know your name. And, well…”
Stanley tilted his head. There was something more that Nicholas wasn’t telling him. He wouldn’t be this serious-sounding if there wasn’t.
“To put it plainly, this house is haunted. Badly. And-“ There was a pause. “What? No, Mariella, I- He needs time to process before-“ And then there was a sigh. “Your great-aunt says hello, by the way, Stanley.”
Okay. Yep. Yep. That was a lot to take in. Nicholas was definitely real- there was no doubt about if -but ghosts? No way. There was no way that that was true.
Stanley stood from the couch and started for his suitcase.
“Wh-?! Stanley, where are you-“ Nicholas cut himself off with a pained grunt, which Stanley was a bit too preoccupied to notice.
He really needed some rest, and he needed it now. It didn’t matter how strained his arms were, he had to lug his suitcase up the stairs and into the master bedroom. He just couldn’t sleep without his pyjamas, and dammit, he needed some sleep.
And this, dear readers, is how our story truly starts. For, as Stanley began climbing up the stairs, he noticed that he had severely underestimated how heavy his suitcase really was. So, he leaned backwards, just for leverage. In retrospect, this was an even stupider idea than moving in the first place.
“ STANLEY?!”
Stanley didn’t notice that he was falling until Nicholas called to him, and by then, it was too late.
Everything was muffled as Stanley laid on the floor, the contents of his suitcase splayed across and around his head. His vision blurred and doubled, but even through that he could see the silhouette of…someone standing over him, peering down at him with wide and cat-like eyes on a face framed by thick dark hair.
“Oh. Hello. You’re alive.”
Stanley was in no way, shape, or form in any shape to process this. So, he did the only thing he could do in this situation. Try to speak.
“Y…you’re…a weird-lookin…paramedic.”
The last thing he saw before his eyes fluttered shut was the figure’s shocked expression. Huh. Strange.