As everyone knows, there are some ritual traditions on Halloween that you simply aren't allowed to skip.

A few of these include copious amounts of sugar and carbonated water, perhaps joined by a couple of loud, scary, graphically displeasing horror movies playing on the hotel TV screen, but a few others are more tuned in to whatever region someone is in. For example, you might visit your local library, where the staff are putting on their annual Halloween dance, or go out and watch a Halloween parade, or you might stay at home and watch a horror movie by yourself-- that is, if you don't have any friends. It all depends on where you are, if your town has a library, if your town likes parades.

Actually, in some far-flung towns a bit North of that one part of the Pacific coastline, a few brave youths participate in a coming-of-age rite where they dress in whatever cheesy Halloween costumes they can find (the bulkier the better) and try to swim across the town's half-frozen lake. Of course, it's very dangerous, so the mayor has a full team of boats out to catch any stragglers, whether they're drowning or dying of hypothermia. It was developed from old-day witch trials, and though it would be possible to talk about how it's all symbolic of the people in those towns finding a way to turn fear into celebration, it would also not be very relevant to this story.

See, Ranboo had been moving house for a good year now, and that meant that he hadn't really been in one place long enough for any good Halloween traditions to stick. Then again, he knew a good opportunity when he saw one-- and what he was carrying in his hand was definitely a good opportunity. He and his friends hadn't gotten in enough team bonding yet that month, anyway.

But alas, although he thought his idea was a grand one, when he waved the advertisement in Tommy's face the blonde did nothing but scoff at him, mouth still full of chocolate. Thankfully, Tommy did take the time to swallow before actually criticising Ranboo's taste in Halloween festivities.

"Haunted house?" he asked sceptically, bringing a sugar-sticky hand up to the paper Ranboo was thrusting in his face. His lips were covered in colourful candy leftovers and shimmery green makeup, his eyes still eerily pale due to some very effectively creepy contacts he'd decided to use.

Leaning against the hotel room kitchen countertop, he was still in his Halloween costume as the three of them munched on their trick-or-treat rewards. He'd chosen a dragon costume, its fabric wings extending from his shoulders to be hung up at his wrists by a pair of silver wristbands. He'd even dyed parts of his bangs green and purple, and let Ranboo tell you, Tommy with dyed hair was a sight to see.

"Haunted house!" Ranboo cheered in reply, lifting the slim, slick paper up over his head, giving a delighted twirl for emphasis. He would have clapped his hands, but he had been doing that too much as an expression of excitement lately and had decided to try and quell that habit.

"Haunted house, what?" Tubbo's voice was muffled, probably due to the huge, round rainbow lollipop he had stuffed in his mouth. He leaned back in his chair, leaving one hand firmly attached to the table so he wouldn't fall backwards, and peered over his shoulder at the two of them.

Black eyeshadow trailed in a sticky dark mass from his eyes, smudged from hours of wiping at his eyes, either blurry from tears (they had watched horror movies) or from laughter (Tommy had decided it was a good idea to watch a couple of old-- really, really old-- horror movies, out of which they all got a few good laughs). His werewolf costume was discarded on the floor, the huge cardboard head hung up on one of the hooks on the back of the hotel door. Out of all of them, his basket was the fullest, probably due to his unmatchable skill at puppy-dog eyes.

"Phil's in bed," Ranboo whispered mischievously, trying to restrain his excitement. He had been wearing a magician's outfit, complete with a tailored black suit that swished behind him and long, silky red socks, tucked into a pair of fabulous black boots.

He dragged the heel of his boot down the floorboards, enjoying the soft squeal it made against the floor, and grinned at his friends. "You know what that means? You know what that means, right?"

"It's time to get inhumanly high off of caffeinated soda pop and distilled sugar poured into these immeasurably sweet American candies?" Tubbo guessed, pulling the lollipop out of his mouth, leaving behind a sticky trail of pink saliva. He daubed his lips with a napkin, making a face. "This thing is good but sweet."

"No, you ass, he's got some sorta advertisement for a ghost house," Tommy said, rolling his eyes. He pulled the crinkly wrapper off of a strawberry candy, revealing the red jewel of a hard candy underneath, and tossed the shiny plastic towards the trash.

"Hey, I'm not an ass!" Tubbo cried, obviously wounded. "And how was I supposed to see that? Ranboo's got the paper all crumpled in his hand!"

"That's the candy wrapper for his Almond Joy. Look in his other hand."

Tubbo squinted at Ranboo's other hand and at the brochure held within, and shot a vaguely disappointed, somewhat embarrassed look in Tommy's direction. ". . . oh."

"I want to go to the haunted house!" Ranboo hopped forward to lean his weight against the nearby counter, crossing his arms over his chest. His magician's hat caught on one of the higher cabinets, so he reached a hand up to correct it. "Let's go, come on, come on!"

With a noise like tearing paper, Tommy grappled with an M&M wrapper until it finally gave, spilling multi-coloured candies across his palms. He scrambled to catch them all so that Toast (who kept trying to sneak into the room so he could lap at the horde of dangerous chocolates they had doubtlessly sprinkled across the floor) wouldn't be able to catch them in his mouth.

"Good idea," Tommy grunted, still struggling to get all of the M&Ms into a safe place, "but is it still open?"

"It says here that it only opens after 9 PM on Halloween night, and it's only open for one day," Ranboo read off, feeling excitement swell inside him. He glanced up from the brochure, bouncing on the toes of his feet, clutching the paper to his chest. "The whole town is gonna be there-- it's only about eleven, it'll still be open if we hurry."

"We don't even have a car," Tubbo protested, then paused for a second to grapple the rainbow sucker between his teeth. He snapped a portion of the red off and, after a bit of struggling and some loud munching noises, swallowed it. "How d'you expect we'll get there?"

"Walk! Or bike." Ranboo paused. "We'll figure it out. It's not supposed to be too far away-- you can look for yourself if you want to!"

"I would, but my hands are all sticky. Do you really want pink lollipop juice on your precious brochure, Ranboo?" Tubbo smirked at Ranboo's alarmed expression and sucked a bit of sticky, sugary saliva off his thumb. "I didn't think so."

"Is it a really scary haunted house?" Tommy asked doubtfully, making grabby hands for the brochure.

Ranboo eyed Tommy's fingers to make sure that they were free of chocolate before handing the brochure over, moving his foot to push Toast (who was getting more and more insistent by the second) out of the kitchen and back into the already darkened main room, where Phil was flat on his back, snoring. Ranboo tipped his head back, staring up at the ceiling while Tommy glanced over the brochure for the haunted house. He had to squint against the overhead lights and tipped his head so that the brim was just able to keep the overpowering lights at bay.

While the shadows from the dark main room lapped at the doorway to the kitchen, the golden light from the floodlights overhead matched it easily, casting everyone's face in an almost yellow sort of glow. Tommy wore it well, as he did pretty much everything, but both Tubbo and Ranboo had been reduced to looking almost sickly. They made the room warm, too, but it was a soft, cosy sort of warm, and the scent of thick hot chocolate and sweet heated milk filled the air, courtesy of the packets of hot chocolate the hotel had offered them.

"'It'll give you the fright of a lifetime'," Tommy read, making a face. "What does that mean? We've encountered ghosts and people who want to stab us with big knives. Sometimes at the same time!"

He tossed the paper back in Ranboo's direction, shaking his head. "Doesn't sound too scary. Are there paid actors, at least?"

Ranboo stared at Tommy, blinking several times to make sure that the blonde wasn't joking around. "It's . . . it's literally a small town haunted house."

"Sounds fun," Tubbo decided, still sticking all the rest of his fingers in his mouth to rid them of the last of the sugary pink lollipop juice. He glanced up from his work to offer both Tommy and Ranboo a huge grin. "Let's go!"

---

"I'm cold," complained Tubbo.

"You're always cold," Tommy replied, laughing, grabbing Tubbo by the sleeve and pulling him along. "You've been cold ever since we left Texas!"

"Can't blame me; it's getting to be fall again and I hate it when it gets too cold." Tubbo cupped his hands around his mouth and blew into them, hot breath turning into white steam. Ranboo watched it drift around the boy's brown curls for a few seconds before dissipating into the air, lit in a golden sort of way by the streetlamps lining the sidewalk.

He turned his head to stare up at the building in front of them: a quaint, small townhouse, though it was so covered in Halloween decorations and smeared fake blood you almost couldn't make out the original colour of the paint used on the walls. Ranboo kicked the dirt, nearly catching his heel on a plastic "rusted" screw on the ground. He drew his own coat closer around his shoulders, giving a little involuntary shiver.

"They sure set this place up to look old and creepy," he murmured to himself, trying to decide where to place this house on his list of spooks. He figured it'd slot nicely between the Villisca Axe Murder house and the Sallie House, both of which were small, nice houses where something sinister had happened. This house, on the other hand, was small and nice and was trying very hard to look as though something sinister had happened inside it.

The window ledges were painted white, the actual panes covered by thick slabs of hardwood, duck tape slathered on top to keep the boards firmly attached to the house's wall. A sheet of pale, sticky cobwebs covered the front door like a curtain that caught in your hair and pulled at your clothes, and everyone (especially Tommy) flinched as they went through it, entering into the dark house beyond.

"H-hello?" Ranboo called nervously, shuffling a little bit further inside. His fingers had almost gone numb from the cold chill of the air outside; he was rather enjoying the newfound heat of the house's interior. The inside, much like the outside, was striped with what seemed to be practically buckets of fake blood, dribbling rivulets of red down the flowery wallpaper and oozing into thick puddles on the worn floorboards.

"That's got to be bad for the wallpaper," murmured Tubbo as he stepped further into the room, rubbing his hands together. His nose was still pink from the outside chill, but the colour was already starting to fade as he brought his hand up, loosening his scarf.

"I don't think they thought of that," Ranboo admitted, tempted to poke his finger into the slick red ooze. He swallowed hard. "Where's the haunted house, though? Don't we have to pay?"

"I would think so." Tommy stepped through the threshold, pulling at the fingers of his gloves until they came easily off. He ran a hand through his already tousled hair, letting the bangs fall back over his eyes with a sigh. "Maybe they're in the backyard?"

"Y-you think we entered a house illegally?" Ranboo asked anxiously, spinning in a circle to stare back at the door, his voice rising into what almost resembled a squeak.

Tubbo shrugged with one shoulder, stepping past Ranboo to peer into the next room over. "I mean, it wouldn't be the first time."

Ranboo's mouth dropped open as he turned to stare at Tubbo, taking a stumbling step back so that his back collided with Tommy's chest. "What do you mean?! Tubbo, are you a burglar?!"

Turning on his heel, Tubbo sent Ranboo an almost incredulous smirk. ". . . remember, like, all of the houses we weren't supposed to be in? The soap factory? Phil extorting another day out of the Villisca house?" He pulled more at his scarf, loosening the itchy-looking fabric from around his mouth and nose.

Ranboo paused for a moment. He did remember those, but . . . but--

"Remember all the property damage?" Tubbo sang, now hop-stepping closer to Ranboo, clasping his hands together and pressing them close to his chest. "Remember all of the illegal activities?"

"Stop teasing me!" Ranboo squeaked. He would have backed even further away, but Tommy was making grumpy noises behind him and he figured that he would do better to not bump into him again. "I-- I'm--"

With one last snicker, Tubbo bounded away like a spry kid high on sugar (which, Ranboo supposed, he sort of was) and leaned into the next room over, cooing in surprise and appreciation. "Look over here, Ranboo! What kind of haunted house this is, I don't know, but nobody else is here."

"Why would they have a giant sign pointing to their house that lights up and tells people that this is a haunted house if nobody's inside?" whined Tommy, shoving Ranboo into the wall in one elegant gesture and immaculately knocking the wind out of him.

Ranboo clutched his side and wheezed out a laugh that was something like a sob, grabbing onto a nearby hat rack to keep from crumpling to the floor. ". . . was th-- was t-that really necessary?" he coughed out, trying to keep the tears from his eyes.

"Everything's necessary, my dear Ranboo," replied Tommy, strutting ahead to peek out over Tubbo's head. "First lesson of fame: be extra. Be glamorous! For me, that's easy, but for you . . . well, just be prepared to try hard." He turned his attention back to the room beyond and whistled, eyes growing wide.

Ranboo clawed himself back up to his standing height and hurried over to Tubbo and Tommy, trying to stare over them to see just what was so interesting in the next room. "What is . . . oh."

The room was certainly different from the last one they were in, that was for sure.

It was more convincing than the first-- strewn with broken things and soaked a deep, vicious red, the air smelling, tasting, even, of rich copper and salt. The warmth in the stale air carried a foreboding energy, telling Ranboo that someone had been here, just a moment before, a gross, sticky, chilling heat.

"Wow," whispered Tubbo. His grip tightened on the doorframe.

"Wow," agreed Ranboo. He was in awe. This was a great haunted house-- even spookier than he had first thought!

"Wow . . . " Tommy muttered, and for some reason, his voice didn't sound excited like Ranboo would have thought it would. Tommy almost sounded . . . nervous. Which was definitely strange-- Tommy didn't get nervous very often, if at all.

Tubbo hummed. "Shall we go in, boys?"

Two couches lined the wall-- or rather, they had lined the wall. They both were ripped up as if an animal had shredded them, the nearby tables carelessly overturned and smashed into pieces, stripes of dry wood peeling from their tops to expose a splintery underside. Springs poked out from mauled stuffing, the insides of the couches just barely held at bay by thin shreds of string from their cover. Even shards of glass covered the floor from a broken vase, and since Ranboo couldn't tell whether or not they were made of actual glass and not plastic, he decided not to get close enough to them to tell.

The tightly coiled carpet was damp and squelched under Ranboo's shoes when he stepped nervously on it, following behind Tubbo and Tommy, both of whom were just as apprehensive as he was. He turned his head from side to side, swallowing hard, and took a step back from the ugly fake blood dripping from the walls. Despite the excitement welling up inside him, the feeling seemed to be a double-bladed sword, bringing with it an almost nauseating, overwhelming sense of fright.

Unlike the stuff in the first room, it was dark and viscous, letting off an almost unhealthy, eerie sheen in the wobbly light of the half-broken lamp. The lamp itself lay in shards on the ground, the lamp shade overturned and just barely protecting the somehow unbroken bulb.

Ranboo decided he didn't want to touch anything. He shook his head to try and calm his thoughts, reminding himself that this was a haunted house, nothing more; if the people running this horror show thought they could scare him with some well-placed props and more convincing fake blood, they were obviously wrong.

He deftly stepped around the glass shards all around the room-- he was wearing thick-soled shoes, after all, but he didn't think that even they could protect him from broken glass. And even if they could, he rather thought that he didn't want to take that chance in the first place.

"Oh my god--"

Tubbo let out a soft, choked whimper and jumped back a step, nearly colliding with Ranboo, his foot sliding dangerously close to some sharp, wickedly long broken glass. His hands had flown to his mouth, his face gone deathly pale.

With a mangled shriek forced from his throat, caught halfway between surprise and terror, Ranboo managed to catch him just in time, steering him decidedly away from the puddle of glass shards.

Ranboo drew back from him, his lungs rattling in his chest as he tried to take another deep, calming breath (he needed all the ones he could get, after all). He stared at Tubbo. The only word he could describe for his feelings was the word boggled, an awfully lovely word that Ranboo had discovered a few years ago, and one that described a mixture between shock, indignation, and fright, but the connotations were slightly different and he really thought that--

You're rambling again, Ranboo. (A/N: HEAVILY contemplated the joke "you're rambooing again, Ranboo", but decided against it due to how hard it would be to write it out ^^')

With an effort, he stopped himself from getting lost in his thoughts. The words that came out next were slow and deliberate, and heaven forgive him if they were just a little high-pitched. "What . . . what was that?!"

Tubbo shook his head, his throat moving thickly as he swallowed hard. He lifted his arm, pointing in the direction of one of the uglier couches, one of the ones with green paisley patterning the ripped cushions. "D-dead-- dead mouse."

Dead?

Oh. Dead.

Dead mouse.

The blood seeped slowly away from Ranboo's face, leaving him feeling pale and cold, his stomach writhing in horror. He took a step back, involuntarily clapping a hand over his eyes. "I-- I don't want to see," he whispered, trying to quell the nausea that swelled inside his stomach at the mere idea.

"That's disgusting. A real mouse?" Tommy's voice sounded far-off, but a heavy hand squeezed one of Ranboo's shoulders, gently pulling him away from the couch that held the dead mouse. ". . . the fake blood, I get, but that's just horrible."

"Let's keep going," said Tubbo quietly, and the sound of footsteps slowly pittered away.

Tommy's hand lifted from Ranboo's shoulder. "You can open your eyes now, Boo. If you don't look at the couch innards, you won't see it."

"Innards . . . " Ranboo croaked. His stomach felt drawn too close together, his lungs squeezed inside his chest, everything too big and too small and not enough air in his lungs and he couldn't breathe--

Bracing himself, he slowly dropped his hand from his eyes, sucking in a deep breath to reassure himself that yes, he could breathe. In fact, he was doing it. Quite well, in fact.

Once his lungs were a little more reassured, he shot a wan smile in Tommy's direction and scurried into the hallway behind Tubbo, beckoning for Tommy to follow behind him. As soon as he put one foot into the hallway, the warmth of the previous room evaporated, and he was left with nothing but a soft chill. He shivered, wishing he'd brought a better coat with him.

Here the floorboards creaked under their feet, the walls groaning, wind whistling through a crack in the window panes. Footprints of red left damp crescents of fake blood on the ground, padding through the simple, empty room and all the way into the shadowy room beyond.

"What a weird haunted house this is," Tubbo commented. "First they use buckets of bad fake blood, then they switch to a more realistic version, and now they're back to the fake stuff? . . . I don't get it."

He paused for a moment, eyes lost in thought, then shrugged and skipped towards the next door. "Come on, come on, let's get going! I want to see this whole place by tonight. I wonder how many rooms there are!"

Ranboo was about to reply when, in his peripheral vision, something . . . twitched.

He stiffened.

". . . did either of you catch that?" he asked, as softly as he could, making sure his voice wasn't strangled enough to be inaudible. "Tubbo, don't you dare move-- there's something in that room."

"Yeah, right," Tommy dismissed, waving a hand at Ranboo with a careless shrug. "Nobody's shown up so far yet in this haunted house, what reason could they possibly have for doing so no--"

As soon as the words left his lips, a gnarled, wrinkled hand, ashen and grey with age, seized the doorframe Tubbo was stepping towards, yellowed nails digging half-moon crevices into the soft wood. A snicker echoed from the dark room beyond, sending a shiver down Ranboo's spine.

. . . hello, little children . . .

A wrinkled, crooked face peered around the corner, smiling wickedly. Ranboo felt something like fear seize his heart, but then quickly reminded himself that he was in a haunted house-- and that obviously fake wax mask wasn't going to fool anyone.

He relaxed slightly, just in time for the face in front of them to freeze as though in confusion, and then melt into an expression of agony-- cracked lips bent wide, goggling eyes nearly pushing themselves out of the sockets as the jaw dropped slack, exposing a row of teeth, yellow as a row of corn kernels, and let out a mangled, hideous shriek.

---

Tommy, often the first to react, screamed.

Ranboo would have teased him for it if he hadn't been busy screaming himself. As horribly made as the mask had been, that face was utterly terrifying, and even though his brain tried to soothe his body by reminding him that this was a haunted house, that nothing was actually going to happen, his thoughts were still a jumbled mess of terrible, overwhelming fear.

His heart seized up, jumping in his chest, and then apparently tried to flee the scene by itself, pumping blood at such a breakneck speed that he could feel his blood getting hotter by the second. He stumbled backwards, a high, keening sound ringing in his ears, playing on loop for seconds before he realised that he was still screaming.

"Tubbo!" Tommy yelled, seizing hold of Tubbo's wrist and yanking him away, since the shorter seemed apparently too frozen in place to run away on his own. "Ranboo! Stop screaming and run!"

The three of them ran for the door, Ranboo trying to avoid either slipping in a puddle of fake blood or crashing into the nearby wall-- both of which were harder than he had first expected. When there are three people running away from one singular entity, when none of them are particularly small or good at slipping through crowds, and when the room they're in is actually a hallway and, as such, so slim that they can barely move all at once, it's a bit of a tricky thing to actually escape without crashing into anything.

His feet pounded against the worn floorboards, creaking echoing around his ears with every move, the walls bending closer and further away. His vision spun, his mouth dropping open to heave oxygen into his frantic lungs.

Tommy was about to pull a still-frozen Tubbo into the room they had passed through earlier, but Ranboo, in one final burst of energy, stretched out his hand to try and stop them. Running away had been easy, almost simple, instinctual for him, but he had quickly realised that they probably shouldn't run in the direction of the door. This was, after all, a haunted house-- and guests in haunted houses weren't typically supposed to run away from the rest of the haunted house.

He grabbed Tommy's shoulder. "Stop!" he yelled, and Tommy slammed on the brakes faster than Ranboo would have thought possible for him.

Ranboo, who had yelled stop without actually expecting Tommy to stop that fast, ended up tumbling onto the blonde, nearly pushing the two of them-- and Tubbo, since Tubbo was still latched firmly onto Tommy's side-- over onto the floor.

Tommy spun around, and in the light of the half-broken lamp, Ranboo could see the sweat dripping down his face. "What?! What is it? Another old-- god, I'm going to smash their face in when I see them next--"

"Haunted house," Ranboo gasped, raking a hand through his hair to try and push his own sweat-damp bangs back from his eyes. He could barely get any other words out, his lungs aching, his stomach protesting against any sort of physical exercise after all the candy he had eaten not even two hours ago. "Haunted house-- not-- real."

Tommy's eyes widened, then narrowed angrily, all of the fear in his expression dropping away into something akin to frustration.

"Oh, shit," he groaned. "Phil is never going to let me forget this."

Tubbo, who hadn't said anything, preferring to stay perfectly still and frozen, wide-eyed in fear, relaxed the slightest bit, though he did cast a wary look around. His shoulders were hunched, his voice shaking. ". . . that seemed pretty damn convincing to me, Boo. What kind of haunted house has their grandma join in on the fun?"

"Wax . . . mask . . . " he panted in response, wishing he could sit down on the couch to help soothe his aching lungs at least a little.

"Why didn't it chase after us?" Tommy asked, casting a wary glance over his shoulder at the door. He let go of Tubbo's hand and pursed his lips, keeping his gaze trained on the door.

"Because . . . we're not further in the house," Ranboo explained, just barely getting his breath back.

He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heart pounding, still heavy and fast, like a bass drum. He felt sweaty, uncomfortably hot, and almost wanted to take off his coat, the thick bands of fabric feeling almost oppressively like a furnace. "Don't think . . . want us out here. They want us to . . . y'know . . . progress."

"I'll progress by smashing a vase over its head," snarled Tommy, his hands curling into fists. After a pause, when both Tubbo and Ranboo stared in confusion at him, he sighed, uncurling his hand. "Fuck, that scared me."

Ranboo sighed in agreement, pressing a hand over his eyes, letting them rest in cool darkness for a bit. All of a sudden, he realised just how dizzy he actually was.

He slumped back against the wall in a spot that was less blood-stained than the rest, hoping that any of the congealed red stuff wouldn't get on his nice new coat, and slid down to the floor, letting his head drop into his arms. He was tired.

". . . I'm not used to running around anymore . . ." He sniffled a little. "'M gonna get eaten by ghosts . . ."

"Cheer up, mate." Tommy begrudgingly patted Ranboo's knee, looking caught between wanting to comfort his friend and maintaining his angry facade. "You'll get your practice in soon enough when we're running from the next angry ghost that wants to lop off our heads."

"That's comforting," mumbled Ranboo. He was basically talking into his pant leg, so his voice was muffled, but Tommy seemed to hear him, and let out a soft snicker.

"I'm sure you'll-- hey! What's the big idea, bitch?!" Tommy's voice turned sharp, almost angry. A huge bang shook the floor, as though someone had just been shoved into the wall or onto the ground-- or maybe even both, though that would be an impressive feat for anyone.

Ranboo lifted his head tiredly, half expecting to see Tubbo and Tommy wrestling around on the floor when he looked up. "Stop it, you--"

Instead, what greeted him was the sight of a-- a--

Wait, what was that?!

Ranboo blinked in surprise as what seemed to be a piece of the wallpaper itself ran out in front of him.

It had all the attributes of the wallpaper, really-- ugly, green skin, yellow flashes like eyes mimicking the horrible yellow daisies dotting the wallpaper in strips . . . but no, that was just clothing, a huge swathe of fabric draped over a small, child-like form as it ran past. Tommy had been shoved out of the way and elbowed onto the nearby couch (luckily, not the one that held the dead mouse), where he lay among exposed stuffing, wincing as springs poked into his sides.

The creature (it couldn't be more than half Ranboo's size, and even that was a generous estimate) seemed to be wearing a curtain. At least, that's what it looked like to Ranboo. He blinked again, squinted, and caught the outlines of a cloak-- no, a cape-- no, a rain . . . coat . . . ?

The sleeves and cape were long and floppy, trailing behind it on the ground and flapping awkwardly behind it as it ran. Ranboo squinted, trying to catch sight of an actual face underneath the huge brim of the rain jacket's hood, but all he saw were shadows. Not even a glimpse of its hair or eyes, or even a peek of nose or cheeks, just darkness stretching underneath a huge, floppy hood.

He shivered and was about to say something else when the kid darted out of the room, vanishing into the hallway beyond-- towards the front door, in fact.

"Wait!" he raised his hand, leaping to his feet. What if the kid had family here? What if they were lost? What if--

"Get it! Tackle it!" cried a voice behind him, sharp and angry and surprisingly loud; Ranboo clapped his hands over his ears to stop the sound from piercing all the way through. "I don't care how you do it, just move your tits and get on with the damn thing!"

What? What?! Is this the family?! Why would they want me to tackle their child?! I think-- I think that's child abuse! Uh--

"They-- they went that way--" Ranboo stammered, throwing out a hand to indicate where the child had gone.

"I know where it went, you ass, I wasn't asking for directions! Shit, if you're not gonna help, get out of the damn way!" Another person appeared in the doorway, swearing like a sailor as they pushed their way past him. They, too, were wearing a cloak, though this was less of a raincoat and more of a pale purple lace cape with a hood.

Blonde ringlets fell around a surprisingly sweet-looking face, with plump, red cheeks, hard, brittle blue eyes, and a pink-lipped mouth pulled tight in annoyance. Not a single freckle marred their pale skin, though an expression of intense, almost ugly anger did. They glared at Ranboo, practically growling as they stormed through the room.

"Move your ass, you pansy!"

Ranboo managed to stammer out a few syllables but ultimately failed to say anything else of value. The girl hissed out a vile curse and stomped hard on his foot with one heeled sole, shoving him to the ground as she blew past him, a furious, golden-haired storm.

"God! A girl just can't get a break around here!" she muttered.

Ranboo decided not to point out that even though she was chasing the kid, she hadn't even bothered to start running. Although he knew that walking wasn't really a good way to chase after someone, he didn't want to earn another snarl of anger-- or worse, provoke actual violence.

Well, any more violence than he had already "earned", anyway.

"Nice to . . . meet you . . . " he said weakly from the floor, just as the front door slammed shut. He, along with Tommy and Tubbo, winced at the sharp, furious noise.

Silence echoed through the room, almost overbearing, but soft and quiet. Ranboo started, slowly, to relax a little, and slumped to the ground, heaving in a deep breath.

"Jesus," Tommy muttered, reaching over to help Ranboo back up to his feet, "what were those two's problems?"

"Maybe they just had a bad experience," suggested Tubbo nervously, casting the door ahead of them an apprehensive glance. ". . . maybe we should go back to the hotel."

"No chance!" Ranboo cried. He jumped to his feet, nearly toppling Tommy over as he did so. "We came here for the haunted house experience, and by god, we aren't gonna let a few mean people stop us! Look, we already got in a good fright-- things were just getting good! So let's get out there and prove our worth!"

". . . you want to know your worth?"

A third new voice. It squeaked, high and soft, and somehow muffled at the same time. Ranboo looked from side to side, confused. Was there still another person lurking in the shadows, waiting to make this adventure a miserable one?

"Uh, what?"

"It is I! SPARKLEMOUSE!"

Tommy opened his mouth, made a confused noise, and then closed it again. "Sorry, who?"

"Don't tell me you never watched my YouTube videos! Well, they're not mine, but . . ." The voice suddenly turned bashful. ". . . they're about me. Fans, you know. Adoring things."

"Sorry to interrupt," Tubbo asked slowly, turning in a long circle to stare around the room, "you know, this is a delightful conversation. But where is your voice coming from? Where, er, where are you?"

"Look down here, humans!" The voice turned high-pitched and commanding, and Ranboo felt a sudden pinch at his side.

He hissed in surprise and whirled around, about to snap at whoever this 'Sparklemouse' was, but nobody was behind him. He blinked, taking a step towards the nobody, which entailed of one ripped-up couch, a blank wall covered in nothing but some more ugly wallpaper and a few smudges of more convincing dark red fake blood.

"What? Down where?"

"In the couch! What, I knew you people had bad hearing, but this is just pathetic! I almost feel bad for you, and after that last girl, I have trouble feeling bad for any humans." Sparklemouse chuckled.

Tubbo stepped away from the couch and closer to Ranboo, almost treading on his foot. ". . . maybe we should just go," he mumbled in Ranboo's ear, just quiet enough that Ranboo had to strain to hear it. "I don't trust this voice."

"C'mon, Toby!" Tommy slapped Tubbo's shoulder and skipped closer to the couch, peering inside. "Where's your sense of-- woah--!"

A pink-- was it a lasso?-- looped itself around Tommy's wrist, hooking him closer, and then pulled him closer to the couch; it was so fast, so sudden, that even Tommy probably didn't have any time to react. He yelped, flailing his arms around the best he could, but landed with a thud in the mountain of stuffing and springs that was the ripped-up couch.

"Ow!" he complained. "What the fuck?!"

"Sorry to say, but there will be no swearing, duckie," chided Sparklemouse, huffing a little. "Look down here. And be quick about it! I've been needing new girls, but I'm afraid I can't offer you those positions if you aren't fast enough."

Tubbo glanced at Ranboo. "New girls?" he mouthed.

Ranboo shrugged.

Tommy let out a screech as the lasso around his wrist tugged him even closer to the couch, grabbing at his wrist to try and tear the rope off of his skin. "This hurts--! Guys, help!"

Tubbo and Ranboo crowded around the couch, peering inside to try and find exactly what was buried inside the cushions and piles of bloody cotton puff and string. Ranboo winced as the dead mouse came into view again, and was about to brush it aside gingerly with a nearby shard of glass when Sparklemouse spoke again.

And Sparklemouse was the dead fucking mouse.

"I don't have all day! Do you want the job or not?!" The limp whiskers twitched slightly, the furry ears bobbing up and down. The eyes of the mouse, glossed over and unseeing, actually glared a little at Ranboo. 

Ranboo, who was turning green. Ranboo, who felt bile rising in his stomach; Ranboo, who had to clamp a hand over his mouth to stop vomit from escaping as the full reality of the situation settled in on him.

"Y-you're the dead mouse?" he choked out, trying to swallow back down the sour vomit rising in his throat. "Wh-- how--"

"Of course not!" The mouse-- Sparklemouse-- looked offended. "I am not a dead rodent! Well, right now I am, but . . ." they cleared their throat. ". . . I have no material body."

"You don't what?!" Tommy cried, sounding scandalised. Ranboo glanced at Tommy, tracing the long pink lasso tied around his wrist, and slowly followed the loop of the rope all the way back to where the dead mouse lay, barely able to move, yet tugging Tommy easily along. "Are you a ghost?!"

Sparklemouse drew herself up best they could, sniffling in anger. "I am no such thing! I," they enunciated proudly, "am Sparklemouse! And occasionally Sparklecat, sometimes Sparklebunny . . . ooh, one time I was Sparklealligater for a bit."

"Wait. So you . . . " Ranboo paused to think. ". . . you kind of . . . cosy up inside bodies like a ghost does? And your name . . . depends on what animal you're, er, inside?"

"I don't like being inside a living being's body," admitted Sparklemouse sadly, his whiskers flopping dejectedly onto the stuffing they were lying on top of. ". . . all those voices. But I'm simply terrible at controlling dead ones! And nobody can see or hear me without a body. Humans are awful at listening to voices that don't use sound."

"Have you ever been Sparklehuman?" asked Tubbo interestedly. "What's being inside a dead human like?"

"Will you help me get this off my wrist?!" snapped Tommy, rubbing his already reddened wrist with his free hand. "I'm dying over here and you're talking to a crazy dead mouse!"

"I am a spirit--"

"Yeah, inside the body of a dead mouse!"

"LISTEN TO MY PLIGHT!" boomed Sparklemouse suddenly, the huge sound somehow escaping even with the barest of movements from the dead mouse's lips. Everyone flinched at the sudden, loud voice, and even Tommy paused in his attempts to pull the tail off of his wrist.

Sparklemouse cleared their throat, seeming almost embarrassed at the sudden attention, and started speaking again. "You all saw the child enter the room and exit it. The one that pushed you, dear blonde, onto the couch over there, the one wearing the changing raincoat? You saw, yes?"

". . . changing raincoat?" Tubbo echoed, confused. He lifted his hand to scratch the back of his neck.

"The one with the really ugly colours," Ranboo explained. He glanced back at Sparklemouse, tilting his head to the side. "I didn't see it change anything, though. It was just a coat that looked like the wallpaper."

"That child is very dangerous!" Sparklemouse continued, stubbornly ignoring them.

Tommy snorted. "Aren't they all?"

"And the girl that just left . . . well, I suppose you can ignore her." Sparklemouse cleared their throat. "She was an unfortunate fluke."

"Fluke?" Ranboo's heart picked up pace as his mouth went dry. "What do you mean? What did you do to her?"

"I didn't do anything to her!" Sparklemouse retorted, sounding most offended. "She just happened to be of an uncharacteristically bad nature, and most unfit for a life of fighting crime! But you three darlings will do just perfectly."

Ranboo shared a confused glance with Tubbo. For a moment, he wondered if he should just run forward, rip Sparklemouse's tail off of Tommy, and let the three of them run as far away from this haunted house as they possibly could.

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean . . ." Tommy strained once more to pull the lasso off his wrist, and, yet again, managed to get exactly nowhere. He sighed, slumping forward on the couch. "D'you mind letting me out now, please? We'll listen . . . I guess."

"It's weird to hear Tommy being so polite," whispered Tubbo.

"Mmm." Ranboo narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to where Tommy and Sparklemouse were tied up together. Sparklemouse was trying to untie the knot around Tommy's wrist and was having a surprising amount of trouble with it considering that she claimed to be a powerful spirit. "Hey, what do you mean by fighting crime? What exactly are you planning to have us do?"

Sparklemouse grinned the best they could, pulling back tiny mouse gums to reveal a set of yellowing, cracked teeth so long they protruded from out of the mouse's mouth. Their tail slid from Tommy's wrist and, with a crack like a whip, snapped right back into a regular-sized mouse tail.

"Say, I think I have just three cards left. Perfect for you!"

Ranboo was about to open his own mouth and ask what exactly Sparklemouse meant by cards, but he never got a chance. Tubbo grabbed Ranboo's shoulder tightly, squeezing so hard it was almost painful-- "Ranboo, look, watch out--"

Three pink squares slid up from underneath the couch and flitted up towards them.

They spun through the air, fanning out in front of him-- poker cards, they seemed to be, and so thin and delicate Ranboo wondered if he might break them just by touching a single corner. They were old, obviously worn, for their paper was yellowed and covered in thick creases, the paint sketching out the numbers and symbols already faded long ago.

"An ace of hearts . . . a joker of spades . . . and a king of diamonds."

Sparklemouse was talking slower now, obviously trying to set up a dramatic mood. What Sparklemouse didn't know, though, was that all three of them were absolutely terrible at setting up a mood, and even worse at maintaining one. Tubbo swatted at one of the cards, trying to pick it up, but for some reason, it quickly pulled itself out of his grip.

He cursed in surprise and disappointment, and Sparklemouse gasped. "Never in my life have I heard a group of juveniles so prone to swearing! No, dear one, that card does not seem to like you."

Tommy shot Ranboo a pointed look, muttering a curse of his own under his breath as he reached out to fan his fingers through the cards. "So we get to choose one of these cards? Wait, what do these even--"

He was cut off, left breathless as his fingers connected with the first card Sparklemouse had referred to-- an elegantly painted ace of hearts. "Hey, I can actually touch this one!"

The brushstrokes of thick, creamy red had faded over time, leaving behind nothing but a few faded prints of a heart and swirls of magenta and scarlet. An imp pictured in the background smiled charmingly, a pair of red wings attached to a plump cherub body. The letter A was fetchingly drawn, too, each one intertwined with a pair of elegant white wings.

The card didn't flutter away from his hand as the other two had. It danced closer to him, practically seething with a white-hot glow, the pictures painted on the card vanishing into a turbulent storm of light. The light exuded from the card, filling up the room like a hot fog, pulsing and stretching, pounding like a drum, like a heartbeat.

Ranboo had to shade his eyes, taking a step away as heat swelled from the card, and Tommy cried out, he screamed; Ranboo wanted to run forward and do something, do anything, but the heat was too much and he couldn't see and the light was--

Fading.

Just as Ranboo thought he couldn't handle it anymore, the heat slowed to a dull warmth. Tommy's screams stopped suddenly, replaced by a gasp and something that Ranboo couldn't hear, something that sounded like another curse. There was a soft hiss, as of steam leaving a gently boiling kettle, and a thud, as though something heavy had been dropped onto the floor.

"T-Tommy?" Ranboo whispered, slowly peeking one eye open. The light wasn't as intense anymore, and he could actually see things now-- admittedly, not very much, and all the colours were still blurry and bled together like hell, but he could see! That was a start. "Are you alright?"

"What the-- seriously? Are you kidding me?!" Tommy cried.

"Sparklemouse never makes mistakes," Sparklemouse said serenely.

The light slowly faded from Ranboo's eyes. He blinked, squinted, and relaxed slightly in relief as he realised that his eyes weren't permanently damaged.

Tommy was shouting in the direction of Sparklemouse's couch, fingers knotted angrily as he grabbed fistfuls of bright, cheerfully red fabric from the skirt around his waist. The air around him seemed to have a magical, soft sort of glow to it, his irises flashing angrily with a white-hot glint each time he moved.

Ranboo was about to take a step forward to examine the seemingly glowing cloud of energy that buzzed around Tommy now, but he was stopped in his tracks as he fully realised just what Tommy was wearing.

"A dress?"

No. No, it wasn't a dress.

Sure, it had a cropped top and a bottom, and that bottom just happened to be a skirt, but it couldn't be called a dress. Not when there was so little of it, anyway. The skirt was made of thick, bright yellow fabric, fashioned in the sort of way that would make it end up on a vintage-aesthetic Pinterest board, all denim and fake leather. A few pockets were stitched on with thick, cream-coloured thread, and the skirt itself was held full by layers of white, lacy skirts spilling from underneath the skirt's folds.

The top was short and made of the same heavy-looking denim fabric, hugging Tommy's neck in a way that made it all the more ridiculous how much it left his stomach unprotected. It was the exact shade of yellow that the skirt was, and buttoned together with thick, glossy hearts, leaving his arms bare except for fingerless gloves made of some sort of leather. A thin visor was stuck on his head, milky-transparent and plastic, casting his face in a soft, yellow glow.

He was also wearing a pair of tightly-laced, bright yellow roller skates.

And, apparently, didn't know how to roller skate very well, because he was toddling around on them, as nervous and unsteady as a baby foal, even as he hitched up his skirts and yelled at Sparklemouse. Luckily, the card had thought to give him knee pads as well as elbow pads, so at least he wouldn't hurt himself . . . too badly.

A pair of fluffy white wings drooped from the ankles of the skates, occasionally flapping a little when Tommy lifted one of his feet up off the ground to take another step. Tommy shuffled back from Sparklemouse, folding his arms-- well one arm, he needed the other to keep his balance-- over his chest.

"I can't believe you've done this to me. What is this supposed to be?! How is this supposed to help me fight crime?!"

Tubbo whistled. "Nice outfit, Magical Girl TommyInnit."

As though realising for the first time that there was an audience besides himself and Sparklemouse, Tommy startled. He glanced down at himself, then looked up at Ranboo and Tubbo, and then flushed the darkest shade of red Ranboo had ever seen on his face.

"I didn't want this," he protested weakly, just as Ranboo's lungs decided they couldn't hold back laughter anymore.

"SPEED has chosen you!" announced Sparkemouse grandly. "Learn to use it wisely, duckie!"

"No, stop! Stop! What am I?!"

"Hm? Well, it seems that your impression of speed was of skaters, was it not? So it fits that your dress of choice would be influenced by that connotation. Oh, are you worried about the outside chill?" Sparklemouse chuckled a little. "Not to worry. Magic is surprisingly warm!"

"No, that's not-- why am I wearing a dress?" Tommy smoothed down the skirt. Crisscrossing across the bottom were thick white threads, probably only there for decoration's sake. His skin was so pale that Ranboo hadn't noticed at first, but he had on socks, too; high, white ones that reached up to just go past his knees. They looked thick, so at least he probably wouldn't freeze to death.

"You are SPEED. Your dress mimics the dress of a speedy youngster-- the dress they wear helps them become speedy, so it will help you, too!" Sparklemouse gave an approving huff. "Think of it as armour!"

"Armour!" Tommy yelped. One of his skates rolled out from under him, his knee buckling as he collapsed to the ground in an undignified, ruffly red heap. He let out a muffled sob. "How is this armour?!"

"That child in the rain jacket stole one of my cards!" Sparklemouse went on to explain, completely ignoring Tommy. Ranboo could hear the slapping of the tail against the couch cushions as Sparklemouse flicked it through the air in agitation. "It's of the utmost importance to get it back! The world could-- well, not crumble, but bad things could happen!"

Sparklemouse sighed. "Sadly, my body is . . . less than corporeal, so I can't do anything about the theft myself. So I enlisted you, my little war-horses, and I shall truss you up in sturdy armour and--"

"No, wait. Hold on a second, don't ignore me this time-- this is armour?!" Tommy yelped incredulously, grabbing a fistful of his skirt and waving it in the direction of the couch. The upset of balance instantly became too much for him and he toppled over, grabbing onto a nearby wall for stability. His legs wobbling about, his grip on the wall so tight his knuckles were white, he growled at Sparklemouse. "I can barely walk in this, let alone fight anything!"

"Think of it like a warrior's kilt," Sparklemouse answered simply. At Tommy's glare (Tommy's glares were nothing to scoff at-- Ranboo would know), Sparklemouse groaned in defeat. ". . . Also, the outfit comes with a weapon."

"Sweet! Thank you!" Tommy rummaged through his skirts, trying to find whatever weapon Sparklemouse was referring to. "I hope it's not something like a magic ribbon," he muttered to himself.

Tubbo hopped around, trying to grab onto one of the other two cards. He had just tried to grab onto the joker when he turned to Sparklemouse, tipping his head to the side curiously. "What did that rude lady get?" he asked.

"STAMINA. She will never tire. Awfully handy card for when one needs to pull the so-called 'all-nighter' that I have heard children complain about these days." Sparklemouse sniffed. "I like to keep that card with me. It helps me cope with not being able to sleep."

"You can't sleep?" Ranboo asked, feeling a sudden surge of sympathy for Sparklemouse. "But sleeping is so cool!"

"Yes, yes . . . let's not talk about it. Coffee saves me, but it's rare I get to enjoy any . . ." Sparklemouse faded off into silence. "Never mind. Find your card, you darlings! My dear duckie here has chosen. SPEED will help on the quest greatly."

"Hey, this card likes me!" Tubbo said. His fingers had connected with the king of diamonds, and a softer, paler light swirled around his fingertips. It glowed and hummed like a gentle electric light, growing brighter, warmer, but this time it was a soothing warmth, a dim, welcoming light. 

Ranboo watched as the light crawled up Tubbo's arm, surrounding him in ropes of light, the shape of his silhouette fading into a mess of light and emanating heat. The lamp on the ground pulsed along with it, electricity crackling through the room, and then sharp heat exploded through the suddenly charged air.

He winced back, throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the overbearing intensity. His own skin prickled, goosebumps rising, and even behind his eyelids the light danced, leaving everything red and white and full of sparks.

"Bright much?!" he heard Tommy call out, and grinned.

"Yours was worse," he called back.

"Was not!"

"You screamed!"

The light slowly faded into nothingness. Tubbo stood frozen in the middle of what had been a torrent of white and gold, holding his gloved hands out in front of him as he stared at himself in wonder.

His dress was paler and warmer-coloured than Tommy's, elegant gold rings lining his arms all the way up almost to his shoulders. The thick, cream-coloured fabric it was made of fell to cover his chest, held into place by a golden choker attached snugly around his throat. Black diamonds were inlaid into all of the jewellery, shining like the beady, narrowed eyes of a predator. Everything was pointed, floppy triangles of fabric falling from his top, his skirt full and held up by bountiful black petticoats.

A mane of golden beads surrounded his neck, black fur cuffs covering his wrists. Falling from a golden chain linked to the cuffs were two identical metal knuckles, spikes wickedly raised from their surface. Black tights, diamonds cut out in looping patterns to expose pale skin, slipped into a pair of dark gold boots. Their soles were so thick and shining, Ranboo wouldn't be surprised if they were made of actual metal.

"Woah . . ." Tubbo breathed. "I look good."

Sparklemouse's voice rose triumphantly. "You, my dear, have been bestowed with STRENGTH, the third card! STRENGTH is sturdy, tough, and, of course, strong beyond words."

"Can I punch the wall?" asked Tubbo excitedly.

"This isn't even our house!" Ranboo reminded him quickly, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him back. Tubbo booed, crossing his arms in a pout. "I don't think the owners of the house would like having a hole in the wall very much."

"Speaking of whom . . . " Tommy looked around, his gaze switching between one door and the other. "Despite this being a haunted house, I haven't seen anyone else 'round here. Not even any actors. Are the owners of the house, you know . . ." He drew a finger across his neck, making a painful-sounding ghhhck noise as he did so.

Sparklemouse was, strangely enough, quiet for a while. "They might be incapacitated now, I suppose, but in all probability, they'll wake up."

"'In all probability'?" Tommy echoed, grimacing. "Does that mean there's a chance they won't wake back up?"

"I can't very well assess the damages lying here as a dead mouse," Sparklemouse deadpanned. "I assume they're just knocked out. Despite the powers of STEALTH, the fact remains that the vessel it bonded to is still just a small child, and that small child doesn't have much strength as it is."

Ranboo shivered as he imagined being beaten into the ground by a child not even half his size. "We can hope."

Sparklemouse sighed heavily. "I'll be frank with you. When the card was stolen by the child, it hated the mind it was bound to, but, wickedly enough, enjoyed the dress it could breathe to life. The cloak turned into a monster, and the tool, my card, STEALTH, began to use the child. You've got to stop it! I enlisted Veronica, but she's not very willing, as it happens. She told me that she hated me and that if she could have slapped me, she would have, and then stormed off in a huff."

"Yikes," Tommy said. He took a small step closer to his friends, biting his bottom lip, and Ranboo shuffled a little closer to him, too. "What if . . . we don't want to?"

"I assume you don't want any casualties," Sparklemouse replied dryly. Their tail whipped back and forth through the air impatiently. "One last card, dear one."

The last card, spitting out fire and light and glitter, fluttered ever so much closer to Ranboo. The jester painted on it grinned wickedly at him, his eyes the shape of leering crescent moons.

". . . okay." Ranboo reached out to touch the card, nerves bubbling up in him as he touched his pointer finger against the soft, creased paper. "Let's do this, I guess."

Fire was swallowing him alive, heat pouring over every inch of skin he had exposed. Light pressed red-hot fingertips against his eyelids, turning them red, and then white, and then the heat soaked into his skin, hot fangs biting into his arms and neck and stomach.

His hands shook. His ears popped. His mouth dried almost instantly as he tried to swallow, but there was nothing left, and then he was fading, fading, fading . . .

He was dropped back to the floor, landing on his hands and knees as he sucked in breath after breath of cool, sweet air. His lungs ached, and his stomach clenched angrily, as if scolding him, asking him why he would ever do something so crazy.

He hurt. All over, too! Whatever this whole transformation was, magic or something else, Magical Girl animes had definitely glossed over the whole 'magic-hurts-to-use-and-feels-like-a-bitch-afterwards' thing.

"Oww . . ." He sniffled, swiping a gloved hand across his runny nose. He contemplated just dropping to the ground and staying there for a couple of weeks. Every muscle in his body felt weaker and stronger, as though they had been stripped down and then rebuilt like there was a fire in his stomach and iron in his bones. "That hurt. Like, a lot."

"Sucks, dunnit, big man?" Tommy snorted, and Ranboo felt the sole of one roller skate dig into his ribs. "Get up. Everyone can see up your skirt. 'Cept Sparklemouse, of course, but he's stuck in the couch."

"Sparklemouse . . . " Ranboo let out a soft breath, and then Tommy's words settled in fully. He felt heat bloom in his cheeks and quickly scrambled to his feet, brushing down his skirt to hide anything that might be seen. "No need to tell me!"

Tommy shrugged with one shoulder and didn't even trip as he took a few gliding steps back. He was getting better at controlling those skates, Ranboo noticed. "Well, it was the truth. Tell him, Tubbo."

"Yup," Tubbo agreed cheerfully, gold rings jingling as he crossed his arms over his chest. His smile turned into a smirk, his eyes crinkling a bit at the edges. "I could see everything. Not that I wanted to."

Ranboo flushed bright red, plucking at the edge of his skirt, which was layered in stripes of glossy red and silky, shining black. White lace poked out, hinting at a few petticoats of his own like Tubbo's, but Ranboo didn't dare lift his skirts to check.

His own top was smooth and silky, made up of an elegant black vest tied together at his neck with a soft black thread. A ruffled red undershirt poked out underneath the vest, falling almost to where his skirt was secured tightly around his hips with a few spade-shaped clasps, but leaving just enough space for a few inches of skin to show through on his stomach.

More thread tied together the white gloves he wore, woven elegantly in strange, clever, beautiful designs. A few simple jewels adorned his neck and wrists, a silver choker snug around his neck hung heavy with a smooth, round gem the colour of a strawberry, but other than those couple jewels, he was mostly just dressed in smartly interlocking fabric, a few silk threads, and a good amount of silver clasps.

Ranboo peered further down and saw, to his delight, that he still had on boots! And they were the good kind, too, sleek and pooling in wrinkles just around the ankles, the soles thick enough to be practical and yet still high enough to give him difficulty walking.

"You dropped your hat," Tommy informed him smartly, leaning down to pick up a tall top hat, two drooping, silky white bunny ears protruding from the brim.

Ranboo examined the hat for a few moments, and then fit it rakishly over his head, propping his hands on his hips. He struck a fabulous pose. "How do I look?"

"Like one of those sexy magician costumes you see on websites trying to be Amazon," Tubbo replied almost instantly from behind him. Ranboo was about to turn around and complain when he felt a hand behind him, grabbing hold of some part of his skirt that he was not expecting to have been grabbed. "Aw, you've got a fluffy bunny tail back here! Aw, it's so cute . . ."

"Let go!" Ranboo spluttered, stumbling forward and out of Tubbo's reach. He collided with Tommy, nearly bowling the two of them over, and let out a breath of relief as he managed to catch the other before they both toppled.

Tubbo laughed. "Sorry, sorry."

"SORCERY is the final card, the second card of all!" Sparklemouse said proudly from the couch. "A magician you thought of, and a magician you shall be! SORCERY is a clever card, wicked in its ways, mischievous, smart, and given mysterious powers beyond even my understanding. Use your wand well, and not without caution!"

"Do I get physical buffs like strength or speed?" Ranboo asked hopefully. He would be glad for at least a little one, one that would make it so that he wasn't left in the dust by Tommy or Tubbo.

"Say them correctly!" scolded Sparklemouse. "STRENGTH or SPEED, not whatever babble you just spat. And no. But you have magic! A wand should help you channel it."

"Sick!" Ranboo scrabbled around for a wand, trying to dig into the costume's pockets, and immediately found that while the costume did have pockets, they were nowhere near big enough to fit anything resembling a wand. He gritted his teeth, mentally cursing the women's fashion industry.

He rummaged through his skirts, felt behind his waist for a clasp anywhere, and turned in surprise and just the slightest bit of dejection to pout at Sparklemouse. ". . . um, where's my wand?"

"How should I know?" asked Sparklemouse. "Your unconscious chose the costume, not me. Your wand is your wand. Just be careful-- SORCERY is an awfully tricky card, and it likes nothing more than to be tricky. Be specific, and don't say anything that could mean anything other than exactly what you want it to mean."

Ranboo stared over at the couch on which Sparklemouse lay. He blinked in confusion. "Um, okay?"

"What did that mean?" Tommy whispered to Tubbo, who shrugged.

Sparklemouse sighed heavily, probably rolling their eyes. ". . . just don't be an idiot. You'll be fine as long as you keep your head."

". . . okay." Ranboo pulled on the white silk gloves he wore, taking a deep, steadying breath. "Are we gonna go beat up a bad guy? I mean, it's either that or stick around in this haunted house." He shivered at the idea of staying in a house with possibly dead people strewn all over. ". . . or going back to the hotel."

"Boo, that's a boring idea." Tommy patted Ranboo's shoulder, shaking his head disappointedly. "I thought you would have known me better. Besides, check out these cool skates!" He lifted one leg to show Ranboo the yellow skates, the wings threaded to his ankles fluttering happily. "I can fly now!"

"Do you know how?" Ranboo questioned, reaching a finger out to try and poke at one of the wings. It squirmed away at the touch, curling shyly into itself.

". . . I'm sure I'll figure it out," Tommy muttered, dropping his foot back down on the carpet. The floorboards gave a loud creak of complaint, almost bending under the sudden pressure. He paused. ". . . hey, d'you feel a bit of a chill all of a sudden?"

Ranboo tipped his head back to glance over at the window. "I mean, that window's been open for some time. Maybe that's what it is."

"No, this feels almost . . . it feels different," Tommy muttered. He shook his head. "Maybe it's nothing?"

"Maybe it's the dresses," Tubbo suggested, giving a small shiver. Ranboo could see a few goosebumps prickling on the parts of his arms that were exposed. He wrapped his arms around himself, letting out a soft breath.

It came out white.

That set alarm bells ringing in Ranboo's head. As he knew from ghost hunting for, oh, say, about a year now, he knew from experience that chills were not good. He swung his head from side to side, eyes wide, wondering if this was really happening now.

"Everyone away from the window and doors!" he ordered, swinging his arm out to usher Tommy and Tubbo behind him, closer to the wall, furthest away from the broken window. He sucked in a deep breath, and indeed, cold had sunk into the air. It bit his lungs, clawing at his arms, and he wondered how he hadn't noticed it before, because this?

This was not the good kind of chills. There were very few good kinds of chills, in fact, and this one was most definitely not one of them.

Chills were very much very not good, ESPECIALLY this one, and something bad is probably about to happen and oh my god get everyone away and run and run and--

"This is STEALTH is approaching the house again," Sparklemouse told them urgently, a hint of panic invading their normally calm, commanding tone. "I don't know how it's this quick, but it must have sensed your transformations--"

Before Sparklemouse even finished talking, a distorted, writhing, twisted thing flung itself through the window.

It landed on the ground heavily, with a thud much louder than Ranboo would have expected for a thing about half his size, and then began to claw itself to its feet, hissing and spitting like a cat. Its limbs were much too big for its body, and the head bowed underneath the cloak of solid darkness looked shrivelled, tiny, malnourished in places, but others bulged with ugly veins, the fabric almost ripping to contain the sudden growth.

Ranboo flung his hands over his face to protect himself as shards of glass went everywhere. The chill in the room surged into a frozen nightmare, Ranboo's fingers going instantly numb, every inch of exposed skin stinging angrily.

The creature looked up.

Maybe, once, it had been a boy. Maybe once it had been something at least similar to an actual human being.

Not now, though.

Ranboo wasn't sure if he was looking at a person, or at a raincoat, or at a monster, or if he was looking at all three.

Really, what it was was a patchwork of rubber and plastic and stretches of worn fabric. Its body was made up of twisting, shadow-sticky growths, limbs, and eyes stretching and rippling across the dark fabric. Nothing was where it should be.

Fingers sagged from elbows, pieces of a mouth started to tear away the fabric near the cloak's shoulder, and eye holes gouged out into hollow pits leered at Ranboo, rubber fabric ripping, stretching, and contorting in ugly, horrible ways to make way for new eye sockets.

Although the hood draped over something, Ranboo couldn't see anything underneath it. The arm holes lay empty, too, nothing but a dark void where there should have been warm skin and a beating heart.

There was something empty about the whole creature, something painfully, heart-throbbingly incomplete about it, as though the cloak was nothing but an empty void, nothing but a dark, unseeing shell. It was obviously the only thing left at all, and Ranboo slowly began to wonder if there had ever been anything before it.

"Jesus, what happened to that kid?" Tommy asked in a disgusted voice, just quiet enough to be hard to hear.

"Fight it! Pin it down! I know you can do it!" Sparklemouse shouted from the couch, sounding almost like an authoritative cheerleader. "Just fight!"

"I want to! But how do we actually fight?!" Tubbo asked in a panic. Ranboo looked over at him and saw that he had raised his fists in front of him, holding the pointed knuckles in a fighting position, as if he were actually considering punching the monster in the face.

The cloak, apparently not appreciating Tubbo's attempts at putting up his fists, let out an ugly, furious wail, and started to limp closer. The sleeves sagged, dropping the wrist cuffs to the floor, where they spread out and split into things like claws, sharp, curved fangs protruding from awkward, knobbled stumps resembling something like a palm.

Buzzing noise dripped from its mouth, full of static, harsh and loud and sharp.

"--you should not be here--" The voice was somewhere between a screech and a sob, a cry that cut into Ranboo's ears and left them ringing, echoing with the horrible noise.

"I have as m-much right to be here as you do!" he cried, struggling through the noise. He resisted the urge to clap his hands over his ears, knowing from experience that it wouldn't do a single thing. He'd taken the scream of a ghost ringing in his head before, he could take a few nasty echoes in his brain.

He swallowed hard, noticing that his throat and mouth were both bone-dry. His heart pounded in his chest, hot blood rushing through his veins, the rest of the world fading to a soft buzz. "What're you hurting that kid for?!"

"--not between you-- between me-- between and them-- and them between you---"

The entire figure bristled as it spat out the words, choking, drooling dark liquid as it spoke, its form rippling with shadows. A few of the eyes blinked at him, string stretching across the iris to leave a mark of black across the white, wide eye.

"Does it want to fight us?!" Tubbo asked hurriedly. "How do we fight back?!"

"I don't know, but I don't think we have a choice!" Tommy replied grimly. He braced himself for a moment, and lunged forward, right at the monstrous cloak. It was probably less dramatic than Tommy had hoped, but with roller skates on and a yellow skirt cinching his waist, it was doubtless the best he could do.

"Tommy what do you mean Tommy--" Tubbo ended in a yelp of shock as the cloak and Tommy collided.

Ranboo jumped forward to try and help Tommy, but his heel caught on the overturned lamp and he fell to his knees, nearly slicing his shoulder open with a glinting piece of glass lying a few inches away. He rolled away from the glass, wincing as the painfully sharp fragments sliced right through his gloves and into the skin of his palms.

A scream came in front of him, and Ranboo glanced quickly up, his eyes going wide. "Tommy!"

Tommy was already covered in blood, black blood and red blood, his arms full of sharp, painful gashes, gouged into his skin from interactions with the ever-changing creature's body. Claws were grown and discarded, mouths full of gnashing, splintered teeth, biting into Tommy wherever their skin met.

He obviously couldn't fight as well as he normally could, which, admittedly, wasn't well at the best of times, but wearing gloves restrained him from scratching the thing's eyes out, the skirt stopped him from kneeing it in the face, and with the roller blades, each kick was less effective than ever.

As Ranboo watched, horrified, Tommy tried to pull himself away, perhaps realising that hand-to-hand combat had been a mistake, but the creature wrapped coiling arms around him. Tentacles and twisted limbs kept him from running away, even as mouths tore at his arms and claws left frighteningly large gashes in his sides and back. An arm tore a piece of his visor off and stabbed it into his shoulder, so deep that the shard of plastic almost disappeared into his skin.

A scream tore itself out of Tommy's mouth. Ranboo sat, frozen, wishing he had the heavy weight of a familiar iron weapon in his hands. Wishing he could run to the kitchen and get salt. Wishing he could find a source and burn it.

But none of their rules applied now. This thing wasn't a ghost-- it was a full, real creature, a monster, and it was going to kill them.

"I-- shit, I could use some fucking help over here," shouted Tommy, just a terrifyingly huge tentacle surged out of the monster's back.

The rain jacket stretched like growing skin and rippled like black goo, a few veins growing, throbbing, and then bursting, leaving behind nothing but ripped plastic and dripping ooze. It flexed, coiling into a circle, and then seized Tommy around the waist and hauled him into the sky.

Tommy screamed again, gripping onto the tentacle as it whipped him back and forth, slamming him into the ceiling, the walls, the floor. The cloak reared back up, jumping to its feet (? did it have feet?) easily once Tommy was gone. Ranboo yelped and ducked as Tommy was swung right over him by the huge tentacle, then jumped up and grabbed hold of Tommy's hand just as the blonde was about to be torn away again.

"What are you doing?!" yelled Sparklemouse, panicked. "You're losing!"

"Well, obviously!" shouted Tommy, grimacing as Ranboo tried to pull him away from the tentacle's grip. His injured arm was already bleeding, surrounded by purple bruising and yellow pus; it obviously hurt at the slightest movement, but he bit his tongue and didn't even let out a single noise as Ranboo kept pulling. The tentacle, too, pulled and pulled, but Ranboo held on tightly to Tommy's wrists, praying he wouldn't be taken off the ground and swung around until he was ill like Tommy.

"Tubbo, some help?!" he shouted over his shoulder.

"What the hell am I supposed to do?!" Tubbo cried.

"Hit it with something heavy!"

A moment's pause of consideration passed. Ranboo tugged at Tommy's arms, to no avail. Heartbeats passed in seconds, each thud resounding like a bloody gong in Ranboo's ears, his blood rushing hot and quick through his arms.

And then, as if giving up on trying to strategize, Tubbo bounded up past him, leapt forward, and slugged the monster right where its face would have been.

The mouth on its shoulder stretched wide, much too wide for comfort, and roared in pain. The tentacle, frozen by the sudden attack, loosened just a little, a shiver sent all the way up from the main body to the very tip of the tentacle.

Ranboo gave one last, good pull, and Tommy slid out from the grip of the tentacle. "You're out!" Ranboo crowed, delighted. He had to resist the urge to grab Tommy around the shoulders and hug him, especially since he looked as if the slightest breeze would send him toppling.

He slumped heavily against the taller, groaning, cursing, covered in slick black ooze and his own blood. "Ugh . . . I'm so fucking dizz--"

A huge shadow loomed over them. Ranboo barely had time to grab Tommy by the shoulders, letting out a yell of warning. "Watch out!"

He leapt to the side, yanking Tommy along with him so that they both crashed in a dizzy, inelegant pile on the floor. As soon as they landed, a heavy, thick tentacle slammed down onto the ground where they had just been so viciously that the floorboards buckled. The floor actually gave, leaving nothing behind but a pile of splintered floorboards and torn carpet, the rubber surface of the tentacle already rippling as it was wound back into the creature's skin.

It growled in disappointment.

Ranboo felt the wind leave his chest in a single, terrified breath. If he'd moved just a little later-- if he hadn't been able to pull Tommy away-- if he hadn't noticed the shadow in time--

I'd be dead.

Suddenly, another thought entered his mind, wiping everything else from it except the thin, high noise of alarm bells. His head snapped up, eyes roving around the room. Where'd-- where'd Tubbo go?! He was there just a minute ago . . .

"Tubbo!" he called in panic, jumping to his feet, though he nearly fell back to his knees as splinters of glass carved bloody gashes into his legs and palms. His hands were smeared with blood and sweat, his dress-- that poor dress!-- already ruined, soggy with damp monster blood and torn in irreversible damage.

How did everyone in those shows keep their outfits clean?! he thought dizzily, and then, faintly, I guess they weren't exactly engaging their enemies in hand-to-hand combat.

Ranboo flinched as something hit his arm, and he spun around to see Tommy clambering back up to stand, heaving for breath, tapping Ranboo's arm with one finger to get his attention. His skirt was practically torn in half, one of his knee pads cracked in two.

"Tubbo's over there," he panted, wheezing through the words. "Fell . . . behind the couch . . . shit, I need to sit down."

"How do we fight this thing?!" Tubbo called, climbing over the couch's back, avoiding exposed springs with surprising dexterity. With all the frills on his costume especially, Ranboo would have thought it would have been even harder to avoid the limbs, but he seemed to have no trouble at all.

He swerved and ducked to dodge a tentacle as it came swinging close to his head, jumping easily off the couch and sprinting towards Ranboo.

The rain cloak bulged and bristled, a few more claws popped out of the creature's back, and a few more (disturbingly enough, human-looking) teeth appeared in a newfound cavity. It bared its fangs and hissed with all its mouths, not enough teeth in all of them to make up a full set.

"Use your magic!" Sparklemouse yelled, sounding (unfairly, if Ranboo were being honest; they had gotten their supposed 'powers' about three minutes ago, it was only obvious that they wouldn't be able to use them yet) exasperated. "Say your incantation!"

"My what-the-fuck?!" Tommy danced to the side as the cloak crouched down and then lunged for him, one of its extra legs bending awkwardly as it landed in a clustered heap of patchwork limbs. A piece of glass sliced into its arm, letting loose spurts of inky black blood, enough to soak the couch, turning the frayed, torn fabric into something drenched in shadows.

Ranboo had one single moment of realising oh, the cloak landed right next to us before it spun right back up to its feet, jumped to his eye level, and lashed out with an arm that had exactly three too many elbows. Its eyes were wide and stringy, irises milky and grossly glazed over, the whites gruesomely sticky.

He yelped in panic and bent backwards, doing a fairly impressive back bend. Tubbo grabbed the scruff of his coat and yanked him away before the monster could do anything else.

The cloak growled and hissed and spat, flexing claws and whipping its tentacles through the air. It stomped its foot down onto the floor, leaving behind a fist-sized hole in the floorboards. Ranboo felt the chill in the air intensify, leaving him feeling deathly cold.

It opened its mouth wide and let out a cry of rage, words spilling like bile from between broken teeth and dripping gums. "--told you leave us alone leave this alone told you leave us alone told you to leave alone leave us alone leave alone told you alone alone--"

It was quite nicely interrupted as a table leg came crashing down over its head, effectively bashing a hole in its skull. Well, it would have, if the creature had had a skull. Ranboo wasn't too sure about the anatomy of creepy shadow demons, after all, but this one was bleeding, black ooze dripping everywhere from where the table leg was-- impaled-- oh, god--

Dizziness swarmed Ranboo's head and turned his vision into nothing but a blurry, grey mist, the candy he had eaten earlier that night turning in his stomach.

The cloak swayed back and forth, letting loose a keening, shrieking wail of pain as it did so. It sounded agonised, the sound drenched in pain like alarm bells screaming and screaming and . . .

"Get away from it!"

Ranboo felt his shirt collar tighten around his neck as Tubbo grabbed the back of it and swung him away, just as a huge claw, bristling with spines and gouged full of ugly, leaking lacerations, crashed down right in front of them.

Tubbo and Ranboo flailed away from the monster as the stick splintered, shards of wood and black ooze flying everywhere. Some splattered onto Ranboo's cheeks and nose and he grimaced as the smell hit his nose, something dark and bitter and wholly repulsive.

"Tommy?!" Tubbo called, having to shout over the noises of the monster shrieking. "Was that you? Just had to make it angrier, didn't you?"

"You're welcome, by the way," Tommy shouted, letting off with a cry as the monster whirled around and took another swipe at him.

Ranboo squinted at the injury. It was deep, sure, but the monster already seemed to be healing, black goo lacing over the wound, the stick shivering as it was slowly forced out of the gash. He watched in mixed wonder and horror as it fell out of its head, leaving nothing behind but a dark, empty hole that the thing quickly managed to fix up.

"We-- w-w-we can't fight it like this," Ranboo stammered slowly to himself, backing gingerly away. He made sure to avoid the holes in the floor and the shards of glass, easing himself up against the hole of the doorway. ". . . we need to find a different way."

Sparklemouse's words came to him suddenly.

"Use my incantation?" He shook his head. "If I could use magic, I would have used it already! . . . I think . . . "

Who's to know if you haven't tried?

He looked up, out at the scene in front of him. Tommy was rolling deftly away from the monster's claws, easily avoiding all of them, while Tubbo was preferring to take a more direct approach, fending the limbs off with a makeshift staff from the already broken-beyond-repair coffee table Tommy had "borrowed" a leg from.

Its back was turned to him. He had an open shot.

Just DO something, Ranboo. Just DO SOMETHING!

He looked around in panic, realising with a start that there wasn't actually that much in the room that he could use. There was a smashed window, but all the shards were too small and thin and would cut his hands right away, he couldn't use anything from either of the ripped-up couches and while the table was swaying back and forth on two legs, easily offering a weapon for him to use, he doubted he was strong enough to snap it off. He sucked in a deep breath, nervously looking around once more just to make sure that there really wasn't anything he could use.

There wasn't much, but there was--

Ranboo's eyes fell on the lamp. It had rolled onto its side, still dimly sputtering out thin, yellow light. The base was thick and bulbous, narrowing to a ridiculously skinny bottleneck that held up the blinking lightbulb, protected from the raucous fighting only by a thin, plastic lampshade decorated with a few pumpkin-shaped patterns.

It was perfect.

Ranboo scrambled to pick it up, his silk gloves, stained wet and slippery with thick red blood, almost letting it slip from between his fingers. He hissed out a curse, tearing off his gloves, and squeezed the skinny neck of the lamp in his hands. The lampshade fell to the ground with a clatter, but he ignored it, instead choosing to take a trembling step closer to the creature.

He lifted the lamp over his head. It drooped heavily, the blood-slick, smooth surface nearly slipping from out of his hand, but he braced himself and brought it smoothly down onto the creature's head.

With a truly impressive smash, the lamp exploded into a multitude of shards. The raincoat-monster let out a shriek of rage and pain, whirling around to face Ranboo, but then the hot, burning lightbulb hit its skin.

The plastic began to bubble, and the creature began to scream.

It writhed in pain, rippling, black tentacles receding and swimming from its skin, black ooze dripping steadily out from its mouth and all the gashes already dug into its skin, leaving trails of burning, smoking plastic on the carpet. The golden light of the bulb slowly began to fall victim to the black tar it was stuck inside, covered in thick shadows, leaving them all cast in a gentle, cold, silver moonlight.

Ranboo stood frozen as the lightbulb sank deeper into the creature's skin, leaving a trail of slick, melted plastic in its wake. Dry, black smog hissed from the wound, black and grey and smelling so utterly horrible that he had to cringe away or risk getting his nostrils burnt with the scent forever.

The creature sank to its knees, keening, hands and arms and tentacles and the occasional leg all scrabbling to try and tear it out. Each attempt ended in the same way: the creature's fingers melted, the arm collapsing back into the rippling, thrashing black skin.

"Get away from that smoke!" Tommy yelled, grabbing Ranboo by the arm as the room slowly began to fill. The stench of burning plastic was already strong and heavy, leaving behind no oxygen in its wake, filling Ranboo's head with a dull, throbbing sort of dizziness. "It's poisonous!"

"He found that out the hard way," Tubbo added ominously, hurrying from the room as well. "Threw a sock right into the ceiling lamp, Tommy did, and forgot that socks had plastic in them."

They watched the smoke fill the room. No tentacles came out to chase them, no ominous black shadows crept through the smog and beat them to death, nothing but the thin, keening wail echoed through the dark room.

"Does this mean it's over?" whispered Tubbo faintly. He sounded halfway relieved and halfway nervous.

". . . I think it's over," Tommy breathed. "Looks like arson really is the ultimate defeater. Works on ghosts, works on hellspawn . . . "

"The card sounded as though it were just angry at being forced into work!" Tubbo said defensively, glancing over at Tommy.

"Not the card, the kid."

"Oh."

They sat for several more minutes, watching the smoke billow up against the ceiling. No fire alarms went off, for some reason, and Ranboo didn't know whether to be grateful that they weren't waking up the whole neighbourhood or nervous to know that the whole household could easily die in a house fire.

Exhaustion suddenly caught up to him. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing back the sweat-sticky locks from his eyes. "So I guess this really is the end," he muttered, his voice sounding hoarse even to himself.

All of a sudden, his breath seemed dry, thin, almost inefficient; it didn't seem to fill his lungs or throat at all. He ended up gulping for more air, almost collapsing against the nearby doorframe, his puffy skirt scratching uncomfortably against his thighs now that his socks had been torn.

"God, I'm so tired--" Slumping against the door, he let his face fall into his hands, letting out a cry that was somewhere between a giggle and a sob.

Tommy and Tubbo knelt down right away, eyes wide, putting warm, comforting hands on his back.

"Woah, woah, what's wrong?" Tubbo asked, rubbing his hand gently along Ranboo's back. His knuckles scraped slightly against Ranboo's already worn-sensitive skin, but Ranboo longed for the comforting touch so much that he bit his tongue. "You feeling ill?"

". . . this always seems to happen to us, doesn't it?"

When both Tommy and Tubbo just responded to his groan with blank stares, Ranboo sighed and continued. "Ending up in life-or-death scenarios. I dunno . . . I was really stupid about the Donkey Lady, wasn't I? Falling out of the car, getting us all to split up . . ."

"Awh, no, don't worry about it!" Tommy soothed, awkwardly patting Ranboo's back. "I don't mind! You were there to help out even after I fainted; you, uh . . . " He paused to think for a moment. "I mean, you forced me into a cabinet to hide me from Charlie Slimecicle, possessed Southern freak version, but all's well that ends well."

"You have plastic," Ranboo wailed, "buried in your arm!"

"Eh, ahh, it's not too deep . . . I don't mind, really!" Tommy fiddled with his injury, wincing as he passed his fingers over the bloody mess made in his arm. "I-- look, it's fine. I like it! Look, see! Great!"

"Fuck you," Ranboo muttered into his arm, the noise muffled by the thin silk glove. His costume itched, his socks stuck to his sweaty legs, and his ankles ached from being forced to run around in high heels all day. Why did animes never detail the moments after the battle, where the heroines were just about ready to give up on life, hair mussed, faces smeared with blood, arms bloody and bruised?

He sniffled, pressing his head into his arm. ". . . I want to go home."

"Hey, Ranboo." Tubbo caught Ranboo's arm, pulling it away from his face. He gazed at Ranboo with furrowed eyebrows, expression pulled into one of concern. "We really don't mind. No, that's not a lie," he scolded, just as Ranboo pulled his gaze away, making a face, "you listen to me right now! I like doing this kind of thing. Maybe we helped people. Maybe we saved people's lives."

". . . but we all get hurt, and I don't know," Ranboo let out a sharp breath, "I don't know if it's worth it. It seems to bring on more trouble than it's worth."

"Dude, before we were fighting ghosts, I was having fun skydiving." Tommy considered this for a moment. "Well, maybe not having fun. Point is, ghost hunting so far has a zero-percent mortality rate! What's the mortality rate of skydiving, d'you think?"

"0.00028%," Ranboo muttered into his arm, just as Tommy opened his mouth again.

"0.00028-- wait, what?" Tommy stared at Ranboo, flabbergasted. "Just how do you know that off the top of your head?"

"How do you know that off the top of your head?" Ranboo craned his neck around to give Tommy a confused stare.

"I did a video on it, remember?"

Ranboo nodded. He did remember. Through a thick fog of dizziness and exhaustion, it was hard to remember a lot of things, but he could certainly remember that. "I do."

"Well, I had to do research." Tommy shrugged with one shoulder, then jumped back to his feet, clapping his hands together with such sudden determination that it just about caused Ranboo to topple over in surprise.

"That's-- that's not what we're talking about!" Tommy levelled a glare in Ranboo's direction. "How dare you manage to manipulate me into a different conversation topic! Get your head out of the sand, Ranboo, and listen to us! Ghost hunting is great! Fuck you and your worries! Halloween is your favourite holiday, remember?"

He nudged Ranboo with his shoulder, giving him a quick, sweet, wide grin. Ranboo sniffled again, swiping his arm underneath his nose. ". . . yeah."

"So stop wailing about putting us all into mortal danger and enjoy it! We've just defeated a huge ghoul demon boy, I think it's time to celebrate." He grabbed Ranboo by the wrists, tried with all his might to pull him up, and utterly failed.

"Toby, some help?"

So Ranboo was hauled to his feet, unsure whether to burst into tears or laughter or, perhaps, even both. He let out a burbling, nonsensical giggle, and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, willing himself not to suddenly break down into convulsive sobs.

"Thanks . . . that does help."

"HyVee candy section and Ramune sodas?" Tommy asked him brightly, and Ranboo nodded.

"HyVee candy section and Ramune sodas."

And, well, someone could say that all was perfectly fine and dandy after that! They left the house to go and grab some lovely, carbonated Ramune sodas (of course, they made a pit stop at the hotel to clean themselves up first) and have fun sitting on the hotel stairs and popping the marbles down into the soda bottles, opening bags of candy and letting their colourful insides spill all over their laps, content to laugh and cry and talk about their feelings and all was well, finally, all was well--

Yeah, no.

"HOW," Sparklemouse seethed from the inside of the room, just as the three had gathered their courage to go back inside and find the mouse carcass sitting inside the room, "DARE YOU?!"

"Wh-what do you mean?" Ranboo asked hurriedly, turning to stare at the melted pile of clothes, underneath which was a small boy, thankfully alive (Tubbo had checked quickly and determined that yes, he did have a heartbeat, and no, he hadn't been burned alive). "I thought we did a great job!"

"I-- I gave you gifts!" cried Sparklemouse, sounding actually close to tears. The majestic presence of before was utterly gone, leaving them with nothing but a teary mouse body. "I wanted you to find out how strong you were, dear STRENGTH! I wanted you to find out you could fly, SPEED! And SORCERY, you had incants! You needed to reach down deep inside you and find--"

"He reached deep down inside himself and found a lamp instead," Tommy offered cheerfully. "We've really got to be off to grab ourselves some sodas and candies, so d'you mind if we leave? We just came to check on you and the kid."

Sparklemouse sighed heavily. Then, with a start, their voice turned confused. "Wait-- he?!"

"Um. Yeah?" Tommy blinked at Sparklemouse.

"You're not a band of young, beautiful, idealistic high school students trying to impress your crush?" Sparklemouse sounded genuinely shocked.

". . . No. He's Tommy, he's Tubbo, and I'm Ranboo." Ranboo pointed at each of them in turn, then squinted at Sparklemouse. "Can't you see?"

"Mice have dreadful vision, especially dead ones," Sparklemouse muttered dryly. "Apologies for the misunderstanding. I appear to have given you the wrong cards."

"Don't apologise," Tubbo said happily, plucking at the end of his skirt, "I like this outfit!"

"Yes, but I have a whole set for the children who don't like to wear dresses!" Sparklemouse wailed. "I know I should ask because you can just never tell with people, and I don't know, it gets so confusing . . . I really am sorry."

"No, it's fine," Ranboo hurried. "I don't mind, really, at all."

Sparklemouse sniffled. ". . . want to keep the dresses?"

"I would, but, uh . . ." Ranboo patted down his skirts awkwardly. "Do you have a less, er, bloodstained version?"

"Oh, yes! Apologies." Sparklemouse flicked their tail. "I can't heal your wounds, but I can clean them a bit . . . not disinfect, you understand, but they'll look a bit nicer."

Ranboo felt a surge of warmth nearly knock him over, leaving bubbles in his stomach and his fingertips tingling, the roar in his ears quieting to a soft hum. He blinked, and his vision felt a bit sharper. ". . . wow! This is cool."

He glanced down at himself and found that his outfit was in full repair. His wounds were clean, removed of any blood, and all of the glass shards buried in his arms and palms were gone, leaving behind only a few pale red lines.

He couldn't help but grin. "Thanks, Sparklemouse!"

"I'd give you a hug, but I don't touch dead mice," admitted Tommy, looking over his costume with newfound appreciation. "I didn't like it at first, but I think it kind of grew on me."

"I took my cards back, too," Sparklemouse told them. "I can always do it from a willing participant. Grubby fingers over there is asleep, so I had no problem taking it from him, too." The mouse's tail flicked slightly, and Ranboo thought he could see the furry gums pulled back into a soft, gentle smile. "Enjoy the rest of your Halloween, dearies."

"We're gonna get Ramune sodas!" Tubbo announced happily, spinning in a circle, his skirt flying out around him as he did so.

". . . sorry, what was that?" Sparklemouse was back to sounding confused. "I'm afraid I don't understand. Ramen? Ramen-a?"

"Ramune," Tommy corrected. He shared a look with Ranboo, the edges of his lips pulling into an amused smirk. "Ra-mu-nay. Just like that."

"Ra-moo . . . moo . . . "

Tubbo grabbed onto Ranboo's elbow. "C'mon, let's go," he whispered. "I think it's time for us to take our leave."

"Hold on, I wanna teach him how to pronounce this soda name!" Tommy hissed back. "Wait for a second. It's Ra-mu-nay. Moo-nay. Just-- no, not like that, just-- make your tongue like this and then it's almost like you're saying 'nay', like that old-fashioned 'no', and-- no, not like that!"

Ranboo couldn't stop himself from smiling. He glanced over his shoulder at the open window, watching an owl steal across the night sky, cutting through the already rising fog.

This Halloween had turned out to be nothing like he had expected. Almost nothing had gone according to plan.

But maybe, just maybe . . .

Things were a little bit better that way.

A/N: this author wishes you a happy Halloween! Have fun trick-or-treating, or if you've done it already, I hope your stash is a HUGE one!!!!!

Love ya'll!!! ^w^