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asphaltcowgrrlTitle: A Specter of Doubt
Fandom: White Pine Original Fiction
Pairing: Ethan McDowell/Travis Murphy
Rating: P-13
Word Count: 1,700
Summary: Ethan’s making a bite to eat after a long night at work when he hears something disturbing.
Author’s Notes: This was written for a prompt of “ghosts”. I rolled it into a square on my h/c bingo card – “hanging”. For sharpiesgal because she asked for Travis and ghosts.
Travis really needed to go shopping, Ethan thought, staring into the mostly empty refrigerator. There were some leftovers from dinner at his in-laws’ house the night before but eating enchiladas before going to bed wouldn’t be good for his waistline or his sleep. Passing on Aracely Murphy’s amazing cooking, he instead grabbed an apple.
He pulled the knife back, bringing it down and forward to cut a slice of apple, when a shriek startled him. The knife slipped, sliced his finger, causing him to drop it and knock his half-sliced apple onto the floor. Sticking his finger in his mouth, Ethan listened, waiting to see if the sound came again. When you lived in the damn wilderness like they did, sometimes an animal in the wooded area around them sounded a little too human. Especially this late at night. He shivered.
The sound came again. This time, Ethan recognized it, and it wasn’t a mountain lion screaming either.
“Travis,” he shouted, running out of the kitchen. Searching the living room, he didn’t see his husband. “TRAVIS,” he called again, hearing a low whine coming from their bedroom.
Pushing open the partially closed door, Ethan flipped on the light. Travis was writhing on the bed, eyes closed, crying, one hand clawing wildly at his throat. Ethan gaped for a minute before rushing to his husband’s side. “Trav,” he said, smoothing Murphy’s dark hair out of his face. “Travis, you’re dreaming, wake up.”
Travis continued to squirm, but his movements slowed. Eventually, they ceased, and Travis’ eyelids fluttered open. “Who,” he started, jerking out of Ethan’s grasp. “Don’t touch me!”
“Travis,” Ethan said, waving his hand in front of his husband’s face. “It’s me. Relax. You’re awake now, it was just a bad dream.”
Murphy’s shoulders relaxed, his body slumping against the mattress. “God damn,” he muttered, wiping a hand across his face, swiping away the beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead. “That was not a dream, Eath.”
Ethan took Travis’ hand into his own and gave it a squeeze. Murph’s face was pale and drawn, a worrying sight. “What else could it have been?”
He shrugged, not looking at Ethan. “I don’t know, I just know…”
“Liar,” Ethan gently teased. “Tell me because I know you have a theory.”
A small smile tugged at Travis’ mouth, his face regaining a bit of color. “Shut up.”
“I’m just saying,” Ethan said with a smile. He brought Travis’ hand to his mouth and gave it a kiss. “You always have a theory on everything. Half the time you’re either right or on the right track. So,” he repeated, “tell me.”
“You won’t believe me.”
“I won’t not believe you either,” he said. “I might just want more information or some kind of evidence.”
“Always the detective,” he joked.
Ethan shrugged. What could he do when it was the truth? He’d always had a need to know all the facts, much to his parents’ mutual displeasure. His obsessive quests to know had always driven them nuts when he was a child.
“Anyway,” Travis sighed. “I think it was a ghost.”
Ethan frowned. “Is this your overactive writer’s brain revolting because you’re on a deadline and haven’t been sleeping? I know you’ve been pushing yourself a lot the last couple weeks, but…”
“No,” Travis said, pulling his hand out of Ethan’s grasp. “I’m not overtired.” He gave Ethan a sheepish look. “I may or may not have taken a long ass nap while you were working.”
Ethan snorted, then sobered up. “Okay, at least that rules out sleep deprivation induced hallucinations.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What makes you think it’s a ghost?”
“Could you do me a favor before I start?” He turned his frightened blue eyes on Ethan, pleading.
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll do anything for you, you know that. Even listen to crazy ghost stories.”
Travis shook his head. “Come sit next to me. I’ll be less freaked out if I know you’re right beside me.”
“Okay,” Ethan said, climbing into bed beside Travis. He pulled the blanket over his lap and held out his arms. Without prompting, Travis curled into the security of Ethan’s embrace. “Now, lay it on me.”
“But I thought you wanted to hear about Esmerelda.”
It took Ethan a second, but he couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him. “I hate you sometimes,” he said, lovingly. “No more distractions, spill.”
“Hookay,” Travis said, huffing out a breath. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and locked his gaze on Ethan. “There’s a local rumor about a woman who lived in these parts about a hundred and fifty or so years ago. She had a nasty, abusive husband but, because of the time period, there wasn’t anything she could do.”
Ethan nodded, understanding. “Right. She’d have no money, no property, and no social standing without her husband. Which would leave her with zero options.”
“Exactly,” Travis said. “So, one day, legend goes, he beat her to within an inch of her life. She got mad, like really mad, and decided she was done with his shit.”
“Okay,” Ethan said, rubbing a hand up and down Travis’ forearm. It was hard to tell if this was actually a local legend or if it was just Travis being Travis and spinning a yarn. It’s what he did after all.
“When she’d recovered enough, she packed a few things, swiped what little money he had left in the house, and she took off. He, of course, immediately contacted the town’s sheriff and mayor and accused her of stealing from him.” He shook his head. “In essence, she was considered his property so by removing herself from his home without his permission…”
“She stole herself from him,” Ethan said, nodding. “Admirable woman.”
“Yeah, she was a badass for her time,” Travis agreed. “Anyway, the sheriff rounded up all the able-bodied men in town and set out to find her.” He scratched at the stubble on his jaw and frowned. “Let me backtrack for a minute. The town I’m talking about wasn’t White Pine as we know it. Instead, it was closer to Minden Lake and was eventually absorbed into the city limits over the years. Our little town here was founded by a group of people horrified by what happened next and couldn’t bear to remain under the influence of such horrid men.” He chuffed out a laugh. “Sorry for the unnecessary history lesson there, babe, but I wanted to give you some context.”
“Context is always a good thing. Go on.”
Travis snugged even closer to Ethan. “They hunted her and eventually found her in the forest not far from the edge of what is now White Pine. Instead of dragging her back to town to stand trial, such as it was back then, they instead strung her up, right in the forest. Judge, jury, and executioner.”
Ethan winced. “Let me guess, her husband was part of the group that found her.”
“Bingo,” Travis said. He sighed, kissed the strong line of Ethan’s jaw. “It’s said she still haunts the forest in this area. Roaming around, looking for revenge. There’s been talk all my life of strange happenings, all attributed to her – to Esmerelda. I always loved listening to the stories, but never really bought into them.”
“But?” Ethan raised an eyebrow.
“But,” he said, sounding like he was a hundred years old rather than his modest forty-something, “I was having a dream that I was running through the forest near the lake. However, it wasn’t the forest as I knew it, and you know how well I know this area. It was less inhabited, more feral, more… I don’t even know. Frightening? I fell, felt something rasping against the skin of my throat,” he lifted a finger and tapped his Adam’s apple, “and then pressure. So much pressure that it was hard to breathe.”
Ethan wrapped both arms around Travis, pulling him close until he stopped shaking. “It was just a dream,” he cooed, unable to conceive of how terrifying that had to have been. Something stirred in Ethan’s memory. “Wait, didn’t you say you were watching a documentary when I called from work earlier?”
“Yeah, I was,” Travis said, sighing. “I’d taken a break from writing to recharge a bit.”
“Was it maybe about this?” He continued to run a hand along Travis’ arm, calming, soothing. “About Esmerelda?”
“Not exactly,” he admitted. “But about local legends and superstitions of the area.”
“Ah,” Ethan said, gently, thinking he understood now. “That is probably what stirred the memory.”
Travis shuddered, then sighed. “You’re probably right. I’ve done a lot of research on this stuff, have even worked it into a couple of my novels. I guess it wasn’t buried as deep as I had thought. Sorry, E.”
“You have no reason be sorry,” he said, meaning it. He pressed a kiss to Travis’ mouth and rolled out of bed. Coming around to the other side, he tugged the sheets up so that his husband was covered. “Get some sleep, okay? I’m going to make something to eat and then I’ll join you, okay?”
“Okay,” Travis said. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” he said.
“Point still stands,” Travis muttered, turning onto his side and getting comfortable.
“Yeah,” Ethan said, smiling. He leaned down to give his husband another kiss when he noticed the hint of a dark spot on Travis’ throat. Brushing a thatch of wild, dark hair back, he saw what looked like a faint line of bruising continuing around the front of Travis’ throat. Jerking his hand back, he shook his head, hard. “No,” he muttered, walking out of their bedroom and back into the kitchen. “You’re seeing things. Travis’ imagination has infected you. It wasn’t a bruise; it was a damn shadow.”
Grabbing the knife, he went back to slicing his apple, praying they still had some peanut butter. But he knew what he’d seen. He’d worked too many homicides in Minden Lake to not recognize it for what it was.
Somehow, some way, Travis had ligature marks on his neck. And he couldn’t explain it.
Fandom: White Pine Original Fiction
Pairing: Ethan McDowell/Travis Murphy
Rating: P-13
Word Count: 1,700
Summary: Ethan’s making a bite to eat after a long night at work when he hears something disturbing.
Author’s Notes: This was written for a prompt of “ghosts”. I rolled it into a square on my h/c bingo card – “hanging”. For sharpiesgal because she asked for Travis and ghosts.
Travis really needed to go shopping, Ethan thought, staring into the mostly empty refrigerator. There were some leftovers from dinner at his in-laws’ house the night before but eating enchiladas before going to bed wouldn’t be good for his waistline or his sleep. Passing on Aracely Murphy’s amazing cooking, he instead grabbed an apple.
He pulled the knife back, bringing it down and forward to cut a slice of apple, when a shriek startled him. The knife slipped, sliced his finger, causing him to drop it and knock his half-sliced apple onto the floor. Sticking his finger in his mouth, Ethan listened, waiting to see if the sound came again. When you lived in the damn wilderness like they did, sometimes an animal in the wooded area around them sounded a little too human. Especially this late at night. He shivered.
The sound came again. This time, Ethan recognized it, and it wasn’t a mountain lion screaming either.
“Travis,” he shouted, running out of the kitchen. Searching the living room, he didn’t see his husband. “TRAVIS,” he called again, hearing a low whine coming from their bedroom.
Pushing open the partially closed door, Ethan flipped on the light. Travis was writhing on the bed, eyes closed, crying, one hand clawing wildly at his throat. Ethan gaped for a minute before rushing to his husband’s side. “Trav,” he said, smoothing Murphy’s dark hair out of his face. “Travis, you’re dreaming, wake up.”
Travis continued to squirm, but his movements slowed. Eventually, they ceased, and Travis’ eyelids fluttered open. “Who,” he started, jerking out of Ethan’s grasp. “Don’t touch me!”
“Travis,” Ethan said, waving his hand in front of his husband’s face. “It’s me. Relax. You’re awake now, it was just a bad dream.”
Murphy’s shoulders relaxed, his body slumping against the mattress. “God damn,” he muttered, wiping a hand across his face, swiping away the beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead. “That was not a dream, Eath.”
Ethan took Travis’ hand into his own and gave it a squeeze. Murph’s face was pale and drawn, a worrying sight. “What else could it have been?”
He shrugged, not looking at Ethan. “I don’t know, I just know…”
“Liar,” Ethan gently teased. “Tell me because I know you have a theory.”
A small smile tugged at Travis’ mouth, his face regaining a bit of color. “Shut up.”
“I’m just saying,” Ethan said with a smile. He brought Travis’ hand to his mouth and gave it a kiss. “You always have a theory on everything. Half the time you’re either right or on the right track. So,” he repeated, “tell me.”
“You won’t believe me.”
“I won’t not believe you either,” he said. “I might just want more information or some kind of evidence.”
“Always the detective,” he joked.
Ethan shrugged. What could he do when it was the truth? He’d always had a need to know all the facts, much to his parents’ mutual displeasure. His obsessive quests to know had always driven them nuts when he was a child.
“Anyway,” Travis sighed. “I think it was a ghost.”
Ethan frowned. “Is this your overactive writer’s brain revolting because you’re on a deadline and haven’t been sleeping? I know you’ve been pushing yourself a lot the last couple weeks, but…”
“No,” Travis said, pulling his hand out of Ethan’s grasp. “I’m not overtired.” He gave Ethan a sheepish look. “I may or may not have taken a long ass nap while you were working.”
Ethan snorted, then sobered up. “Okay, at least that rules out sleep deprivation induced hallucinations.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What makes you think it’s a ghost?”
“Could you do me a favor before I start?” He turned his frightened blue eyes on Ethan, pleading.
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll do anything for you, you know that. Even listen to crazy ghost stories.”
Travis shook his head. “Come sit next to me. I’ll be less freaked out if I know you’re right beside me.”
“Okay,” Ethan said, climbing into bed beside Travis. He pulled the blanket over his lap and held out his arms. Without prompting, Travis curled into the security of Ethan’s embrace. “Now, lay it on me.”
“But I thought you wanted to hear about Esmerelda.”
It took Ethan a second, but he couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him. “I hate you sometimes,” he said, lovingly. “No more distractions, spill.”
“Hookay,” Travis said, huffing out a breath. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and locked his gaze on Ethan. “There’s a local rumor about a woman who lived in these parts about a hundred and fifty or so years ago. She had a nasty, abusive husband but, because of the time period, there wasn’t anything she could do.”
Ethan nodded, understanding. “Right. She’d have no money, no property, and no social standing without her husband. Which would leave her with zero options.”
“Exactly,” Travis said. “So, one day, legend goes, he beat her to within an inch of her life. She got mad, like really mad, and decided she was done with his shit.”
“Okay,” Ethan said, rubbing a hand up and down Travis’ forearm. It was hard to tell if this was actually a local legend or if it was just Travis being Travis and spinning a yarn. It’s what he did after all.
“When she’d recovered enough, she packed a few things, swiped what little money he had left in the house, and she took off. He, of course, immediately contacted the town’s sheriff and mayor and accused her of stealing from him.” He shook his head. “In essence, she was considered his property so by removing herself from his home without his permission…”
“She stole herself from him,” Ethan said, nodding. “Admirable woman.”
“Yeah, she was a badass for her time,” Travis agreed. “Anyway, the sheriff rounded up all the able-bodied men in town and set out to find her.” He scratched at the stubble on his jaw and frowned. “Let me backtrack for a minute. The town I’m talking about wasn’t White Pine as we know it. Instead, it was closer to Minden Lake and was eventually absorbed into the city limits over the years. Our little town here was founded by a group of people horrified by what happened next and couldn’t bear to remain under the influence of such horrid men.” He chuffed out a laugh. “Sorry for the unnecessary history lesson there, babe, but I wanted to give you some context.”
“Context is always a good thing. Go on.”
Travis snugged even closer to Ethan. “They hunted her and eventually found her in the forest not far from the edge of what is now White Pine. Instead of dragging her back to town to stand trial, such as it was back then, they instead strung her up, right in the forest. Judge, jury, and executioner.”
Ethan winced. “Let me guess, her husband was part of the group that found her.”
“Bingo,” Travis said. He sighed, kissed the strong line of Ethan’s jaw. “It’s said she still haunts the forest in this area. Roaming around, looking for revenge. There’s been talk all my life of strange happenings, all attributed to her – to Esmerelda. I always loved listening to the stories, but never really bought into them.”
“But?” Ethan raised an eyebrow.
“But,” he said, sounding like he was a hundred years old rather than his modest forty-something, “I was having a dream that I was running through the forest near the lake. However, it wasn’t the forest as I knew it, and you know how well I know this area. It was less inhabited, more feral, more… I don’t even know. Frightening? I fell, felt something rasping against the skin of my throat,” he lifted a finger and tapped his Adam’s apple, “and then pressure. So much pressure that it was hard to breathe.”
Ethan wrapped both arms around Travis, pulling him close until he stopped shaking. “It was just a dream,” he cooed, unable to conceive of how terrifying that had to have been. Something stirred in Ethan’s memory. “Wait, didn’t you say you were watching a documentary when I called from work earlier?”
“Yeah, I was,” Travis said, sighing. “I’d taken a break from writing to recharge a bit.”
“Was it maybe about this?” He continued to run a hand along Travis’ arm, calming, soothing. “About Esmerelda?”
“Not exactly,” he admitted. “But about local legends and superstitions of the area.”
“Ah,” Ethan said, gently, thinking he understood now. “That is probably what stirred the memory.”
Travis shuddered, then sighed. “You’re probably right. I’ve done a lot of research on this stuff, have even worked it into a couple of my novels. I guess it wasn’t buried as deep as I had thought. Sorry, E.”
“You have no reason be sorry,” he said, meaning it. He pressed a kiss to Travis’ mouth and rolled out of bed. Coming around to the other side, he tugged the sheets up so that his husband was covered. “Get some sleep, okay? I’m going to make something to eat and then I’ll join you, okay?”
“Okay,” Travis said. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” he said.
“Point still stands,” Travis muttered, turning onto his side and getting comfortable.
“Yeah,” Ethan said, smiling. He leaned down to give his husband another kiss when he noticed the hint of a dark spot on Travis’ throat. Brushing a thatch of wild, dark hair back, he saw what looked like a faint line of bruising continuing around the front of Travis’ throat. Jerking his hand back, he shook his head, hard. “No,” he muttered, walking out of their bedroom and back into the kitchen. “You’re seeing things. Travis’ imagination has infected you. It wasn’t a bruise; it was a damn shadow.”
Grabbing the knife, he went back to slicing his apple, praying they still had some peanut butter. But he knew what he’d seen. He’d worked too many homicides in Minden Lake to not recognize it for what it was.
Somehow, some way, Travis had ligature marks on his neck. And he couldn’t explain it.
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Date: 2022-08-14 04:01 pm (UTC)