In Memoriam (Dark! Steve, Bucky & Sam x Reader) Masterlist Complete
Summary: After the death of your grandmother you make a trip to visit her old estate, and you discover it may be more trouble than it’s worth.
Warnings: Noncon/Rape, ghosts, smut, bondage, thigh riding, spanking, rough sex, oral sex, over stimulation, mentions of death, allusions of abuse. 18+ only peeps, it’s obviously dark.
Don’t Follow the Footsteps
There’s footsteps in the hallway. One soft shuffle after the other, padding across the carpet and down the stairs again. They aren’t very loud and only last for a few minutes, but I can hear the floorboards creaking and the whisper of weight on each step.
Someone is pacing. Someone is moving in the dark.
I don’t know who lived here before me. I used to try and call up the last owners or find an emailing address or information online, but every phone call ended in a disconnected mailbox. No one ever tried to contact me back.
Before that I would wake my boyfriend up with a sharp shake and a hiss in his ear to call the police. We’d both go inspect every inch of the house with a baseball bat at the ready and the cops on hold. We wouldn’t find anything though.
It would only be more empty rooms and silent halls and my boyfriend eyeing me warily when he didn’t think I was looking.
Once I placed a string with a bell on it across the hall, and waited to hear it go off in the night. It never did ring. All I heard were those steady steps going down, down the hall and down the stairs again. Pacing.
Brody is gone now. We never could make it work out. I’m selling the house in less than a week. I don’t mention the footsteps or the creaks or the fact the faucet will sometimes turn on without me touching it.
I have one last week left to endure it.
Creak, something moves in the hallway, creak, creak
I squint my eyes open and I glance toward the clock. It was 1am.
Creak, creak, creak
“Enough!” I spit between clenched teeth and shove my quilt down. It didn’t matter that Brody wasn’t there. I hadn’t slept well in weeks. I picked up our baseball bat and stomped toward the door. “I’m not afraid of you!”
I huff, red-faced, but when I swing the bedroom door open the hallway is all but empty. And the sound of footsteps is gone.
“Ugh.” I groan and lean my head back. And then I hear it: the steps are almost down the stairs and to the front door. “Oh no you don’t!”
My bare feet prickle as I launch myself at the stairs and take them two at a time with a study thud, thud, thud as I hurry to reach it.
When I make it downstairs the front door is open.
I growl and with a battle cry launch myself out onto the lawn. I turn left and right and spin around in circles, but the grass and sidewalk and driveway are nothing but stiff backdrops bathed in moonlight. Nothing is there.
I pull at my hair. “I can’t believe I’m going crazy! Like this!” I’m about to start swinging my bat wildly into the empty air when I hear it again: a creak. From the top of the stairs inside.
I turn around swiftly and stare at the house. And for a moment I think my eyes are playing tricks on me.
The two front windows on the second story are dark as velvet. Dark except for a moment, just a moment, a single prick of white light is in each one. Two lights, both focused on me.
You know, there’s this belief about ghosts that they are human-shaped. Like memories. Faded photographs of the people they were before. And maybe some of them are. Maybe some of them remember the body they died in.
But why should the soul restrict itself to humanity? I look at the house. And it looks back at me. It’s eyes dark with pupils white as stars in the center.
I blink and the eyes are gone but the curtains are fluttering inward. The door is hanging slightly more open. The shadows are gently and ever so slightly waving me to come back in.
I turn swiftly and walk down the street without looking back. I don’t stay in that house another night before I move out the next week.
I leave a note for the next family: don’t follow the footsteps.
But I’m not sure they ever get it. After all, I disconnect my phone after the first call with nothing but soft creaks on the other end.
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She hates white now.
On the day she died, she had been overjoyed to see white. It was the color of her wedding dress, of the flowers she held, the decoration of the chapel. It was supposed to be a joyous color. It was the color she was going to get married in to the love of her life, her groom.
Her groom never showed.
White was the paper that he had written his letter, his apologies that he couldn’t marry her, that he had been having an affair.
White was the wedding dress she still wore when she fell down the stairs. People said she tripped, but she just wanted something else. Red was nice. The red of the blood staining the white of her dress was nice.
And now she wears it forever.
Humans are very superstitious. All spacefaring species are a little superstitious, but humans take things to another level, with thousands of variations in their equally numerous cultures, and even more developing once they made it into space. But one that all human cultures seem to have is the belief in beings the human eye cannot see - especially the souls of humans who have died.
When one of your human crewmates dies unexpectedly, it's not long before the other humans begin to claim they're 'still around'. You assume it's part of the human grieving process and try to move on with your life. And then...