Ghostie Bois Inc

Chapter Four: Salt

(First of all, real quick {I'm not trying to make these small notes a habit}, I wanted to say thank you for everyone who left such sweet comments on my last note where I asked if my chapters were boring. No one told me that they were, I just have insecurities and was worried I wasn't doing a good job. But you guys are so nice--thank you so very much for your kindness, I hope you all enjoy and have an amazing day/night!!!) 

   

   Tommy was not a superstitious boy. Not at all.  In fact, on a number of occasions he laughed in the face of what was perceived as bad luck. Many times had he had pointed out that there was a black cat and intentionally crossed its path, and attempted to sprint underneath a ladder. It was decently obvious to anyone that Tommy just wanted to thrive on the chaos that silly superstitions could bring. 

   ...but he was starting to feel slightly concerned. 

   On their first night sleeping at the house, both Tommy and Tubbo had decided to watch some TV. They'd gone back and forth on banter, the idea of cleaning the place pushed to the back of their heads as they tried to decide. However, just as they'd chosen a film (Tubbo had been very persistent about this one film called Birdemic, insisting it was golden), the television had died. It wasn't as though the power had gone out, the electrical appliance had simply fizzled and shut off on its own, refusing to power back on. After some time trying to resuscitate it, they realized it was no use, and decided to go to bed. 

   It had taken Tommy some time to fall asleep. All through the night, he'd felt...off. It was constantly suddenly chilly inside the bedroom, causing him to curl up under layers of sheets and blankets. The next, it was as warm as you would expect during summer, which made him flip flop between the sheets over and over again. The window had flown open, supposedly unlocked by a gust of wind, and slammed against the wall. Tommy had nearly jumped out of his skin, rushing over to close it. After dealing with that, when he'd turned around...he could have sworn he didn't have a second blanket on top of the bed before he'd left. Too tired to argue against logic, he'd thrown himself back into the bed, and drifted off listening to a distant musical sound.

   That had happened about a week ago, and the odd occurrences didn't cease the whole time. 

   Tubbo was awake first. He'd ventured downstairs, taking a small look around the house for himself. He'd found more boxes in small closets and the corner of rooms, more items once belonging to the deceased family. Looking at the boxes made him slightly queasy, and he shivered to himself when looking at them for too long. In order to distract himself from all of it, he decided he was going to make breakfast. At least that way he had food, and wouldn't have to worry about Tommy's hangry rave that morning. 

   He'd gone through the remainder of the small supply of food they'd brought with them, and started cooking, just mainly keeping to himself in his head. Above him, the floorboards creaked, he assumed that Tommy had finally woken up, and went back to work. It was calm, peaceful even. Light flooded into the room, a nice breeze blew in from an open window, Tubbo would admit it--it seemed like maybe he would get peace on this trip.

   That thought was shattered by the sound of Tommy screaming from upstairs. 

   "Tommy?" Tubbo yelled, leaving his dish and running over to the bottom of the stairs. "What the hell man, are you okay?" He shouted up. 

   Tommy came frantically running in from around the corner, practically crashing into the top stair railing. He looked disheveled and an odd combination of half asleep, and live as a wire. "TUBBO!" He shouted as soon as he saw him.