Chapter Text
“Agatha?”
“Yes?”
“I thought your mother left you a house.” Alice remarks wryly, staring at the two-story amalgamation of overgrown weeds and chipped wooden doorway.
“I’m surprised she left me anything at all. Even though, technically, I was the one who bought it for her twenty years ago. I just never visited.” Agatha shrugs, entering the front yard. Alice follows, gingerly making her way around a broken cement pathway.
“The renovators are showing up next week.” Agatha states, staring up at a wall of old wood. She clicks her tongue, shaking her head in disapproval. “Apparently they want to try and preserve the ‘historical structure’, so it’s special order to fix it up.”
“To be fair, this is one of the first houses constructed in Westview.” Alice says, testing the grimy doorbell button. It doesn’t work, unsurprisingly.
“I didn’t even know it’d been around that long.” Agatha replies. “It’s practically a historical monument.”
She steps closer to the front door, eyeing the rusted doorknob and the splintered window frames with something akin to disdain.
“I’m sure your mom took… okay care of it,” Alice offers behind her. “On the inside, at least.”
Agatha wrinkles her nose at the rest of the porch, long fallen into disrepair.
“I truly doubt it.”
—
It’s another six months before Agatha can safely move in and set everything up with the help of Nicky, home from college on his winter break of junior year.
The weekend he’s gone again, Agatha invites Jennifer Kale over for a night of trashy wine and trashier television.
“Your new house is haunted.” Jen states matter-of-factly from her spot curled up on Agatha’s new couch.
“Don’t be absurd.” Agatha replies without looking back at her friend. Cheap red wine is poured into two glasses, and she returns to the couch holding them like a prize. She hands one glass to Jen and takes a sip out of her own, wincing at the terrible quality.
“Put something fun on.” She tells Jen, handing her the remote.
“I mean it, Agatha. Your house has got some spooky shit going on.”
“Jen.”
“Listen to me. You said, and I quote, ‘the lights don’t work right’, even though you called the electrician twice. The doors are always creaking upstairs. And the faucet is always randomly turning on by itself, isn’t it? There’s like, a ninety-percent chance that a ghost is haunting your house.” Jen says, hitting ‘play’ on Love Island’s newest episode.
“Wait, I haven’t finished the last season.” Agatha says from beneath the rim of her wine glass.
“God, get with the times.” Jen muses, pressing a few buttons to stream whatever episode Agatha has left it on.
“Get a life. Ghosts don’t exist. Even if they did, it’s probably my bitch of a mother. Whose mountain of paperwork, by the way, I had the absolute pleasure of dealing with last month. So, forgive me for not knowing who’s chosen who on the latest season of Love Island .” She says, settling into the couch and stealing Jen’s blanket.
“So you’re not worried she’s going to scare you in your sleep or throw plates at Scratchy?”
Agatha snorts. “I’d like to see her try.”
—
Agatha wakes up to the sound of porcelain shattering from her living room.
Shocked awake by the crash, she runs out of bed to find poor Señor Scratchy out of his cage, amidst a broken plate. The plate itself was no loss, truly — one of those gaudy chinas that her mother used to keep ‘for good company’ (as if she ever had company).
But Scratchy’s cage was unlocked, and his food was spilled across the kitchen floor. Agatha bends down and picks him up gingerly, kissing his trembling nose and cradling his soft ears.
“Who let you out?” She mutters, placing a final kiss on the top of his fluffy head.She uses her slipper to carelessly sweep away shards of broken porcelain, clearing a path for the rabbit to go down as she places him back down on the floor. Scratchy hops back into his cage as Agatha fusses with the bedding and litter box.
Behind her, another plate falls from the display cabinet, making her startle. Whipping around, she watches as shards of another china plate scatter across the tiles. Her blood runs cold, like a freezing hand has grasped her heart and won’t let go.
Agatha lifts Señor Scratchy’s cage and tiptoes her way back to her bedroom as quickly as she can, like she’s 8 years old and scared of shadow monsters again. She knows there are no such things, but it’s not as if she has heard the tell-tale scrabble of rat claws behind the dish cabinets. Scratchy huffs impatiently as he’s set down on Agatha’s nightstand, settling down on nothing but wood and scattered bedding. Agatha crawls back into her own bed, still warm with her body heat. She shivers underneath the blankets, unable to shake the coolness around her heart.
There’s a crawling feeling of being watched around her whole being. It unsettles her deeply, as if a pair of eyes are watching her every move and… waiting.
For what? Agatha isn’t sure yet, and is sure she doesn’t want to know. Thankfully though, morning will come soon, and with it, the availability of the Westview Exterminator Company.
—
The Company finds no vermin, and it takes three more days of falling forks and shattering cups before Agatha finally works up the determination to call Lilia.
“Madame Calderu’s Psychic Readings, how may I help you?” Comes a disingenuously cheerful voice from the phone.
“Can it, Lilia. I need help.” Agatha hisses urgently into the speaker.
“Agatha?” There's a split second of silence on the other end of the phone, punctuated by a sharp crash from Agatha’s kitchen for the fourth time that day. “Are you okay?”
“Physically? Yes.” Another spoon clatters loudly on the floor. “Anyway, what time are you free to come over?”
“Well, I have to check my schedule—”
“Lilia .”
Silence on the other end again, before Lilia huffs. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
Agatha breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. Bring your crosses or holy water. Whatever you use.”
“Holy water? Agatha, I’m not a prie— ”
Agatha presses the END CALL button with a little more force than necessary, impassioned by the muffled slap of an oven mitt against the kitchen doorway in the distance.
In a little over an hour, the doorbell rings and Agatha scrambles to answer it as a lamp knocks itself over on her table. Regrettably, whatever is happening in the kitchen is gradually infecting the living room.
“Finally! I thou— "Agatha freezes.
Behind Lilia is a lanky, curly-haired teenager with dark eyebrows and a grey sweater so distressed it could’ve masqueraded as a college student.
“Who’s this?” She asks, pointing at him.
“Nice to meet you, Miss Harkness! I’m Billy Kaplan, I’m under an apprenticeship with Miss Calderu and she asked me to come along.” He chirps, flashing a winning smile and waving at her.
“Apprenticeships are still a thing?” She looks at Lilia.
Lilia shrugs. “He had an interest… And parents who were willing to pay for lessons.”
“Lilia says I can help out,” He warbles, brimming with excitement. It’s beginning to give Agatha a headache, actually.
“An exorcism is no place for a kid.” Agatha mutters.
“Teenager, actually.” He corrects, stepping inside gingerly.
“Yes, Teen, whatever. Lilia,” she continues. “I need you to fix this right now.”
“As I have told you before, I’m not an exorcist.” Lilia sighs, setting her bag and coat down on Agatha’s couch. “Nor am I a priest, or a nun, or the Pope.”
“I never claimed you were ,” Agatha replies coolly. A resounding noise from the bookshelf in the living room startles all three of them, a novel falling to the floor with a loud thump.
“There,” Agatha snarls, pointing accusingly at the book. “That has been happening for days .”
She rounds on Lilia. “I need you to get rid of whatever is going on in this house.”
“A ghost,” Billy breathes, quiet and cautious.
“It’s not a ghost!” Agatha snaps. Another book tumbles to the ground unceremoniously, making Billy jump.
“Don’t be dense, Agatha. It doesn’t suit you.” Lilia says dryly. “We all know there’s a spiritual presence here at the very least. Why else would you have called me to come help?”
Agatha glares at her, silenced for the time being. Lilia takes a look in the kitchen, shaking her head in disapproval. Billy ducks in after her, flitting about the first floor like a small bird.
“So,” Agatha says after a while, squaring her shoulders and swallowing. “How do we get rid of…”
Agatha gestures vaguely at the air around her.
“We need to be careful about this, Agatha.” Lilia warns.
“I guess we could call it… exorcising caution, right?” Billy jokes with an awkward laugh. He leans forward to investigate the fallen novels, and a slip of paper from his bag crunches itself into a ball and flies at him.
“Jeez,” He mumbles, wincing. “Sorry. Tough crowd.”
“That wasn’t us,” Lilia whispers. She scans the room, looking for any more signs of disturbance.
“It wasn’t?” Billy squeaks, the edge of panic creeping into his voice.
“Make it stop.” Agatha pleads, distress bleeding into her voice. “Don’t you have something to use in that bag of yours?”
“For goodness’ sake, Agatha, I read tarot cards!” Lilia snaps. A loud cackle suddenly sounds from above them, high-pitched and distinctly witch-like in nature. A shiver runs down Agatha’s back as she looks for the invisible culprit.
“Was that her? Was that the ghost?” Billy shrills, trembling and looking like he wants to hide beneath the coffee table. Agatha is inclined to join him.
“Not a ghost,” Agatha tells him, though it’s directed as more of an assurance to herself than a chiding reminder to Billy.
“I wouldn’t be so sure, Agatha.” a voice whispers behind her, soft and cold and breathless against her skin. It makes the hair on her arms raise, and her knees lock.
“Begone!” Lilia hisses, clutching at her shawl.
“It knows your name,” Billy says with a twinge of fear and awe together.
“Tell them to leave.” The voice drawls, a cool hand landing onto the shoulder of Agatha’s thin sweater and trailing goosebumps behind as it slips off.
“Don’t leave!” Agatha shrieks. She will not be left alone to face her mortal end, no thank you.
“I won’t hurt you, I just want to talk,” the voice is closer to her ear now, words meant only for her to hear. Words that Agatha doesn’t trust one bit. Agatha does not want be murdered by something already dead.
“Do something, Lilia.” She begs.
A small tut from the voice besides her, and then all of a sudden Billy and Lilia are being dragged out by the cuffs of their jackets with surprising speed. The front door slams shut with a loud BAM!
“They won’t be bothering us anymore,” The voice calls to Agatha with a note of satisfaction.
“Miss Harkness!” Comes the muffled cries of Billy, banging on the door.
“She’ll be okay,” The voice says to them with an air of mystery, and locks the door with a click.
Agatha steels herself to force words, anything, out of her mouth.
“Stop— ” Her mouth runs too dry to continue, and she has to swallow before continuing. “Stop breaking my plates.”
Christ. Out of all things to say? The voice goes silent for a minute, and then snickers. How embarrassing.
“Okay, Agatha.” It says, and then a grinning woman materializes before her.
She wore thick, dark hair loose on her shoulders, staring at Agatha with deep brown eyes, and a slim jaw that pulled Agatha’s attention to soft lips and smooth cheeks. She floats a little above Agatha, clothed in swathes of cream and forest green with — were those embroidered flowers on the hem?
Her eyes were very dark, in fact. Very big. Easy to get lost in, one might say. It was hard to tell if they were black or brown with the transparent glow that surrounded the woman.
And then, Agatha comes to her second most shocking realization of the day. The ghost happens to be alarmingly attractive. At least, as attractive as a woman can be at fifty-percent opacity.
Not that Agatha’s ogling a ghost, obviously.
“Are you real?” Agatha asks stupidly.
“I’m as real as you want me to be, baby.” The spectre says cheekily, floating closer to meet Agatha’s gaze with her big, dark eyes. She notes with regret that the ghost is an inch taller, even at eye-level.
“Let’s do this properly,” The ghost says, and thrusts out her hand. Agatha stares down at the translucent hand before her, stunned into silence.
“Nice to meet you. What’s your name?” The ghost grins. “Cat got your tongue? That’s fine. I already know it.”
“What’s yours, then?” Agatha spurs, suddenly emboldened by irritation.
“Rio,” The ghost answers coolly, retracting her arm. “Rio Vidal.”
Agatha has never taken a Spanish class in her life. Immediately, her mind jumps to an animated musical about birds that Nicky made her take him to see when he was younger. “Rio. Like the movie?”
Rio frowns. “What movie?”
“The one with the singing birds.” When did that movie come out again? Isn’t there a city called Rio as well? Wait. Was that a racist thing to ask? Was Agatha being racist to a ghost right now?
She’s not sure.
“Don’t all birds sing?” Rio says, confusion coloring her features.
“Sure,” Agatha nods quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”
“… If you insist. But you still haven’t actually told me your name.” Rio grins, leaning closer.
“Why so curious?” She swallows drily, eyes flickering down to the little gap between Rio’s front teeth, and then back up to her dark eyes.
“I told you my name.” She pouts.
“You’ve been here long enough. You already know my name, you’ve used it often enough.” Agatha thinks back to Jen and Lilia and the young boy, who had used her name on more than one occasion, the soft whispers against her ear that left no breath behind but still chilled her to the bone.
“Maybe I just want to hear you say it.” She prompts, circling Agatha like a pack of wolves.
“...Agatha. Agatha Harkness.” Why was she entertaining the ghost?
Rio smirks. “You’re so much more interesting than your mother already. She used to rub garlic on the doorframes to keep me out, like I was a vampire or something.”
“Don’t talk about my mother.” Agatha snarls, suddenly annoyed again.
Rio backs away, her hands up. “Sorry. Just saying, she was boring and bitchy.”
“Yeah, I know. She raised me.” Agatha says, crossing her arms. She feels strangely out of depth here, unused to not having the upper ground.
“Hm.” Rio hums.
“What?”
“You’re not scared?” She asks, amused.
“Why would I be?” Agatha frowns.
“Well, I’m a ghost,” Rio replies, spinning around with a grin on her face.
“I gathered.” Somehow, seeing Rio and her irritatingly attractive features had cleared the more terrifying aspects of a haunting from Agatha’s mind.
“Weren’t you in denial about that just ten minutes ago?”
“Yes, well, that was ten minutes ago,” Agatha mutters darkly. “To see is to believe. Or whatever the saying is.”
Rio doesn’t respond after that, just smiling at her in that vague, mysterious way, as she fades from sight. In the distance, Agatha hears the clatter of a fork falling to the ground.
