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Sasappis is the first to catch on (as usual) to the fact that something’s wrong.
He’s been around for five hundred years, and in all that time has never seen anything like this. A Living - an adult Living - who can see them. After what? Hitting her head? (Was that really all it took?) He paces outside the master bedroom, considering. Maybe its more common than it seems, its just that this place is too isolated for them to ever see it or hear about it firsthand. Maybe.
But the implications of this… Sasappis shakes his head as though to rid his mind of those thoughts. He has a job to do. Talk to her. Convince her ghosts are real. The other’s approach to it was a little more… crude, but then again they didn’t have Sass’ power. He could tell she wasn’t as confident as her husband that the ghosts were just hallucinations, but she was too scared to accept the truth. She just needed one little push (well, one more push) to really understand what was going on and he was more than happy to help her with that.
He phases through the master bedroom door. The Livings lay in their bed, limbs tangled together. Sasappis involuntarily rolls his eyes. Gross. He crosses over to the woman’s side of the bed, and takes a look. Her brow furrows, eyes crinkling, lips downturned; all evidence of a dream. And it doesn’t seem to be a particularly pleasant one either. Yeah. He supposes that her past couple days - weeks - haven’t been exactly pleasant.
But dreams are fickle things, and only last so long before the dreamer either stops dreaming or wakes up. So if Sasappis wants to go into her mind and convince her about ghosts he’s gonna have to do it sooner rather than later. He raises a hand to her head, closes her eyes, and activates his power.
He’s not sure what to expect - the human mind is a very strange place and he’s seen so many things he wishes he could unsee. But Sam seems like pretty happy-go-lucky person, so he sorta expects her dreams to be as bright and neon as the canary yellow paint she chose.
That’s not what he gets.
He doesn’t get anything, actually. He frowns, pulling his hand back. Sam’s eyes flicker beneath their lids. He knows that she’s dreaming. He can feel it, like water running against his hand, thoughts and shapes are swirling in her mind just below the surface, just out of reach. Why can’t he see them?
He steps back considering, thinking. This feels familiar somehow, like that time he tried to enter Thor’s nightmares, if just to see what they were about, or out of morbid curiosity and boredom attempted to see why Flower was making those weird noises in her sleep. But no matter how hard he tried he could only enter the dreams of the Living; never the dead.
But Sam isn’t dead. … Right?
The thought hits him like cold water, as he stares at the body before him, and in the darkness he’s suddenly not sure if her chest is rising and falling at all. The longer he stares at her, the greater the panic in his chest mounts until it threatens to suffocate him all the way in an inexplainable terror. He can’t help it. Sasappis turns around and runs.
(Later he comes back to make sure that she actually wakes up but he never tries to enter her dreams again. He doesn’t think he wants to know. But no matter how long its been since that night, sometimes he’ll look at her and he can’t even tell what she is.)
Alberta’s had to learn to be perceptive. It wasn’t just the two-timing bootlegger boyfriend but rather just existing as a black woman in the 1920s; she had to keep on her toes if she wanted to stay alive. But that last part tends to get everyone down so she usually just says it’s because of the bootlegger boyfriend.
So she notices pretty quickly that there’s something up with Sam.
She means aside from… everything else. The girl can see dead people, which is a little strange, but Alberta is a dead person, so she’s not too fazed about it. She does kick herself for noticing sooner though, but things have been so chaotic she thinks that she can be excused.
It’s during as something as mundane as their weekly D&D session that it happens. Sam had (begrudgingly) allowed this to become a regular thing, and agreed to facilitate the conversation between the players and their DM. It was more fun than she had expected really - Pete had tried to get them into it maybe thirty years ago, but none of them had been too enthusiastic and without a dice, it hadn’t really gone well. Plus with the fact that Jay couldn’t see them she had been skeptical about this. But after that first little bump, things had been going really well, and Alberta found herself looking forward it every week.
Alberta’s analyzing the map that Jay’s put in front of them, trying to figure out how to get over the lake. Sasappis is considering the dice carefully and Sam is translating a conversation between Pete and Jay, that she isn’t really listening to. Not until it starts to happen.
There’s a lag between what Pete is saying and what Sam is saying of course, and it’s a little annoying to have to hear. She doesn’t quite register from when it goes from that to their voices layering on top of each other, Sam’s voice still the main one, Pete’s buried somewhere below; but she doesn’t look up until it starts to get louder. Well, maybe 'louder' isn’t the best term.
When it starts to echo. It reminds her of her own power, the sound not just coming from Sam or even Pete’s mouth anymore, but instead coming from everywhere, as though the house itself is speaking. It’s strange too, her voice surrounded by electricity, like she’s talking through a cheap, broken microphone. It doesn’t sound quite that real.
Sam doesn’t seem to notice it though, just carries on speaking. Pete, too, shows no sign of recognition of what’s happening, oblivious. It’s strange, the lag is coming from him now; because his mouth is moving but its not until Sam speaks that Alberta can hear it.
Her eyes dart to Sass but he just keeps staring at the dice, not acknowledging what’s happening. He won’t meet her eyes.
And then its as over, as quick as gunshot, when Jay starts speaking in one, normal voice as though nothing has occurred. Afterwards the game carries on and no one says anything about what happened that Alberta could almost believe she was just hearing things.
(It happens a few more times after that, never really a rhyme or reason as to why. When it happens on stage during Anything Goes, the audience just assumes it was good special affects and Sam laughs. Alberta forces a chuckle out too, for the girls’ sake.)
If Isaac hadn’t been so goddamned distracted with the book and the B&B and Nigel then he would have noticed a lot sooner. He would have. But he doesn’t. It goes on for a year right under his nose and it’s not until he’s on the brink of losing everything that he sees it.
It’s after his speech, about appreciating those around you before it’s too late that everyone else co-opted that it happens. One of his better speeches he believes, after all it is a little closer to the heart. He wasn’t sure what exactly was happening with the sugar and the boiling water and all, but the idea that Samantha would stop seeing them - that he would lose her - scared him.
And didn’t those emotions scare him even more? The fact that he’s become so attached to her and Jay’s presence after only a year? It took him several to just get used to the other ghosts; how had they managed to get so close to him so quickly? Perhaps it was that for the first time in so many years he was starting to feel alive, because of them and now it’s all about to be ripped away. He doesn’t want to die again.
He doesn’t quite understand what they’re talking about when they say the word ‘curse’, but then Samantha turns to look at him and he thinks he does.
She says thank you, and looks directly at him and then it happens. A light flickers over her eyes, not unlike what happened to the light bulbs when Thor set the gazebo ablaze on Halloween, there’s a flash, a surge in power as the almost-ghostly white light overtakes them, pupils disappearing being the glow. It feels like he’s looking into the sun; burning. And then — its gone.
Isaac doesn’t look away, doesn’t glance furiously at the others to see if they too saw what he did, no, he can’t. Because what if he looks away and then next time that Samantha looks for him she can’t see him?
But that’s not what happens. She puts the sugar down and says she won’t do it. Isaac thinks of the flicker in her eyes. And that’s the end of that - he does not ask the others, and no one else says anything and perhaps Isaac could believe that emotions were running high and it was just a trick of the light. Perhaps.
(It happens a few more times. He thinks. He’s not entirely sure. He doesn’t want to bring it up.)
Pete’s not sure how he missed it. He likes to think that he knows his friends well, that he pays attention to them and notices when something is wrong (and he doesn’t want to say especially when it’s Sam because he loves all his friends equally, but he’ll admit that he’s a little extra protective over Sam. She’s just so young) but somehow he didn’t see this for over a year.
Dying in the middle of summer didn’t prepare him well for the New York winters, especially considering that Woodstone Manor was just the family’s summer home; there was no reason for them to heat the mansion when there wasn’t anyone there. Well, when there wasn’t any Livings there. So he always enjoyed the weather turned for the better, and tried to spend as much time in the sun as possible.
But even he had to admit that this was getting out of hand. In nothing but shorts and a t-shirt it was so gosh darn hot, it felt like he was almost boiling. The manor was slightly cooler, but due to the size it wasn’t always easy to regulate the place’s temperature. Even then he felt like he’d be sweating if he still had normal bodily functions.
That’s why he’s worried when he sees Sam bundled up in a sweater and jeans.
He doesn't say anything at first, hoping that maybe she’ll notice and then go get changed but after a few hours she shows no sign of even feeling hot, not even sweating. Pete was an avid outdoorsman during his time alive, and consequentially he knew about the signs and dangers of heatstroke. He knew that when someone stopped sweating it was bad.
He tries to broach the subject carefully, and comes up to her as she works at her desk. “Sam?”
She looks around, to make sure that there are no guests before looking at him. “What's up?”
“It's pretty hot,” he starts.
“Yeah.” Sam grimaces. “I know the AC isn’t great but Jay said he’s gonna grab a few plug-in fans this weekend. Just hang in there.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Pete frowns.
Sam’s brow crease. “What are you talking about?”
“Sam, it’s almost 90 degrees outside and you’re wearing a sweater!” Pete says. He doesn’t mean to sound exasperated but he thinks he’s allowed to be worried.
But in response she crosses her arms and bundles up even more. “I’m not that hot.”
“That can be a sign of heatstroke,” he tells her.
“I don’t have heatstroke. I’ve been inside all day.” She retaliates.
“But you said yourself that the AC isn’t working. Why don’t you just drink some water and put something a little lighter on? Please?” Pete asks.
She huffs and closes her laptop but does go upstairs and come back wearing a t-shirt. Pete feels relieved at first, even if she doesn’t drink any water. He thinks that that’s that and it’s not until he goes back into the office a couple hours later that he sees that she’s shaking. Shivering. Arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to conserve body heat. He’s done his fair share of not-well-thought-out winter camping trips, he knows what someone looks like when they’re cold.
He doesn’t quite know what it means, but when Sam comes downstairs the next day wearing an even thicker sweater he doesn’t say anything.
(Afterwards he notices that she’ll wear sweaters year-round. That no matter how hard she blasts the heat sometimes she still shivers. That even if Jay is sweating in a t-shirt, she’ll be wrapped up in a hoodie. He’s not sure where the cold is coming from. He’s not sure if he wants to know.)
Thorfinn was trying to ignore it, actually. And he was doing a pretty good job of it too. Up until Christmas.
He hates the holiday, the cold, the reminder that he’s alone. Hates the bright lights and Samantha’s endless cheeriness and her life. But perhaps that last word wasn’t all that true.
He had never experienced a possession before, and it had been everything Isaac and Hetty had said it would be - disorienting, strange, uncomfortable. But there was something else, too. Yet he did not dare to broach the topic with them.
He could not properly describe it, nor pinpoint where exactly within Sam’s body that the feeling came from. It felt as though it was everywhere. It lingered, the entire time his soul was contained within that vessel, and he had the sense that it had been there for a while, and it would be there long after he was gone.
It was familiar in a way, and he did not wish to dwell on it yet he could not forget it. He knows it is his fault. The curse he cast upon Sam - he had not known what it would do, had not understood it. Magic was not meant for man’s hands, he should have left it to the witches. It had been too much power for him to hold, surging as he directed it against the woman - striking her with the same fury lightening smites a metal conductor; though she had done far less to deserve it.
He knows his curse caused this - knows that this is his fault. It was unpleasant, to feel the consequences of his actions, as Sam would say. And despite the fact that he could touch and eat and feel, everything that he had wanted for the past thousand years, throughout the whole ordeal a part of his soul had been screaming for nothing more than to get out of that body.
The others ask about the experience, how it felt to be in a Living. He is not honest. He does not tell them about the hunger, the cold, nor the feeling. But if he had to - if his hand was forced and he were tasked with describing it, he would say it felt akin to watching the crows pick away at his carcass, the fungi that consuming the exposed meat, the grasses that growing through his skull, flies buzzing, excited for the feast. But he does not tell them this.
(Later, years later, he’ll approach Nancy, and ask what it was like to be inside Sam’s body and she will shrug and say ‘You know for a Living, it didn’t really feel all that… alive’. And Thor will nod and will not speak of it again.)
It was hard for Flower to pay attention to things. She thinks she might have realized it before, maybe even a couple time, but she just kept forgetting.
It happens again on a random day; she wants to say Tuesday. Maybe. She’s sitting alone in Living room, the sunlight streaming through the glass making the most beautifully mesmerizing patterns on the hardwood. Flower thinks she could stare at them for days.
She hears footsteps behind her but doesn’t pay attention because only Livings make footsteps and they can’t see her.
But then the footsteps get closer and over her shoulder she hears a voice. “What are you looking at, Flower?”
Flower blinks and looks up to see a woman with blond hair standing over her. Sam she remembers. Oh, right, she’s a friend.
“Just the rainbows here,” Flower tells her, pointing. “Aren't they pretty?”
Sam does actually look, and takes a minute, the light reflecting in her eyes. She agrees, then straightens up and walks over to the table. She reaches for a book resting on it; that’s right, Sam is new she doesn’t know all the rules. Flower understands. It took her quite a bit to get al the rules herself, and even longer to remember them. Sometimes she still forgets. But before she can warn her, Sam picks up the book.
Flower blinks. Oblivious to the hippie’s confusion the woman causally begins to flip through the book, landing on a page and pulling out a bookmark, setting it down. It doesn’t automatically zap back onto her person. She tilts her head.
“How are ya’ doing that?” Flower asks.
“Hm?” Sam raises her head from the book. She looks around before turning back to her. “What do you mean?”
“The book.” Flower points. “You’re holding it.”
Sam’s smile becomes strained. “I don’t quite know what you’re talking about Flower?”
She frowns, frustrated. “Ghosts can’t hold things. I mean unless you had it when you died?”
“Flower, I’m not a ghost,” Sam laughs awkwardly.
“But you can see me?” She says.
Sam shrugs. “I mean, yeah. But I’m still a Living.”
“But how can you see me?” Flower asks.
“I don’t really know. It’s just one of those things.”
Another symptom of Flower’s lowered inhibitions is her lack of filter. So while she doesn’t not mean what she says next, she does feel a little bad, nevertheless. “What are you?”
Sam’s eyes get a little shiny. “I - I’m just me, Flower. I’m Sam.”
And once more Flower realizes. She stares at Sam for a moment more, wondering if she should say something, grappling for the right words, before, out of the corner of her eye she sees a shimmering and traces a trail of sunlight back down to the floor, where it makes the most beautifully mesmerizing patterns on the hardwood. It feels like she could stare at them forever.
(Once, Flower’s lucid for long enough that she could talk to Sam or one of the others about it if she wanted. She doesn’t.)
Hetty’s never been one to notice strange things. She saw dead people as a child, there was not much that phased her. She knew of course, that Samantha was different, and not just her ability to interact with the ghosts, but she supposed she hadn’t quite understood the full extent of it.
It happens a little while after Flower has returned from the well and her insomnia has been acting up. She decides to take a little walk around the house, there’s no danger of doing so in the dark; this is her house, she knows it the way she knows the back of her hand. And even if she did run into a wall, it’s not as though it would hurt her or anything, so she does not see the harm.
She makes her way down the kitchen, wondering if perhaps some of the smells of the dish Jay was cooking earlier had lingered. Maybe that would help lull her to sleep.
When she gets there, she stops, noticing a figure at the table. She almost jumps at the sight, a shadowy figure, illuminated only gently by moonlight, unmoving at the kitchen table. It gives her quite the fright, especially in her already frazzled state. But she relaxes once she recognizes the harlot hair and painted nails.
“Samantha,” She says in relief.
The girl turns to look at her, her skin seeming a touch pale, though Hetty guesses that it’s just the colouring of the moonlight. “Oh. Hey, Hetty,”
Her voice is softer, smaller than usual, which concerns the Lady, so she sits down across from the girl.
“Everything alright, dear?” She asks.
Samantha nods. “Just feeling a little off tonight.”
“Anything in particular?”
She shrugs. Hetty frowns, sifting uncomfortably in the stiff wooden chair. Samantha was not one to be prone to fits of melancholy; no in spite of everything it really was quite hard to get her down. But Hetty could consider one recent thing that may have happened to dampen her mood. She opens her mouth to speak - some attempt at comforting words before Samantha looks at her and smiles.
“You know, in spite of everything, I really am glad you’re here with me now.”
Then the girl reaches out and rests her hand upon Hetty’s. Not in the sense that she sometimes does where she hovers her hand over a ghosts’ in an attempt to simulate the feeling of holding hands; no Hetty feels it, cold skin touching cold skin. She gasps.
Then, abruptly, the girl stands and leaves, going straight through the wall as though she was a ghost. Hetty stands, and surely if she were corporeal, her chair would clatter to the ground in a cacophony that would surely wake the manor. She races into the hall, but there is no sign of any soul, Living or dead.
Taking the stairs two at a time, tripping over her skirt at least once, she bursts into the master bedroom, a strangled scream caught in her throat.
And there, laying innocently in the bed, is Samatha, curled tightly in the arms of her loving husband as though she had been there the whole time. Hetty stares, and shakes her head, uncomprehending.
She stays the night, to ensure that the girl wakes in the morning, despite her displeasure at being observed while she slept. And when she inquires about their conversation last night, Samantha claims to have no recollection of it, and in another instance she may have protested, but despite her Woodstone genes, she was a horrible liar, so she will let sleeping dogs lie. It could have been a dream after all. Or a nightmare.
(So could all the other strange things that she notices. There could be perfectly reasonable explanations for all of them and Hetty is just overreacting. There could be.)
Bela goes to talk to Jay about it right after she notices.
She approaches him in the kitchen of the restaurant, after everyone else has gone home and he’s just cleaning up so he can make the dark, spooky, trek back to the manor to the reward of falling asleep in Sam’s arms. He smiles as Bela approaches him, just wiping down the counter with a wet rag.
“Hey, I thought you’d be headed back to the manor by now.” He says, slinging the cloth over his shoulder and turning to give her his full attention.
“Yeah…” she says slowly. “There was just something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Oh?” He says with a frown. “What’s up?”
She sighs, trying to psych herself up for what is no doubt going to be a tough conversation. “This is gonna sounds kinda weird—“
“I’m gonna stop you right there—“ Jay says, holding up a hand. “I live in a haunted house, some of my closest friends have been dead for longer than I’ve been alive, and one of them haunts my dreams. I’ve seen some shit Bela. So I promise you whatever’s going on, is not that weird.”
He pauses. “Unless it’s a weird sex thing, because that’s different.”
“Ew.” Bela wrinkles her nose, and waves her hands. “No - it’s—“
She takes a deep breath. “Have you ever noticed anything… strange about Sam? Like aside, from the whole ‘seeing dead people thing’.”
Jay stares blankly at her and she purses her lips. She can’t tell what she’s thinking and that bothers her. But still, she’s come this far, she pushes forward.
“I don’t really know how to describe it, but it’s little things like—“
“Like how she’s always cold?” Jay interrupts. “Or how her shadow is a few shades lighter than everyone else’s? How sometimes you swear you see her eyes glowing but then she looks away and you can convince yourself it was just a trick of the light? Similar, to how you can convince yourself that that echo you hear is just the acoustics of the house, even though the echo doesn’t even sound like its her voice? Or sometimes you’ll look at her and there’s just this feeling of dread that you can’t explain, and even though you know it’s Sam and that she’d never hurt a fly, it feels like you need to leave the room? Those kinds of things?”
Bela nods and whispers. “Yeah.”
Jay nods. “I’ve noticed.”
“Has she?”
Jay looks down, back at the shiny metal surface. “I don’t - I don’t know. I don’t understand these… changes. I can’t explain them. All I know is that they’re a part of her now, and all things considered that’s a small price to pay for her coming back. I love Sam and I always will. All of her; no exceptions.”
Bela nods. “Okay.”
(The ghosts in the background say nothing. They do not look at each other, but each individually, silently agree with Jay.)