A/N: Another chapter story. I hope this isn't an overdone idea, I just thought of it and got excited. This is not a oneshot and hopefully I'll get another chapter up soon.

Title is taken from a lyric in "The Ghost of You" by My Chemical Romance. "I never said I'd lie and wait forever. If I died, we'd be together..."

Looks like this'll be my project when I'm stuck during "Plural."

The wooden paneling on the front of the house was recently painted, though further inspection revealed chipped wood beneath the leaded colors. It wasn't fair to just leave a beautiful Gothic house to decay and barely accommodate its aging when it's time to be sold. This was something straight from a horror film—the classic Gothic Revival style home in the middle of a notably aging neighborhood. Of course it was the creepiest house on the street, save for the red brick debris on the corner of the road. It had been a house, burnt down long ago, taking the elderly sleeping couple with it.

A shiver shot through Antonio, uncomfortable in the sticky heat of late August. The substantial backpack dug into his shoulders, burning into his skin, sticking to the sweat. A shout from his father shook him back to reality and he ran up to the front door, tripping over his feet up the porch steps.

The moving truck was backed into the driveway. Henrique, his older brother, was hopping around in the back and tossing boxes carelessly to the grass. Inside the house Antonio took his first steps, smacked by another cold front.

"Mama," he called around, unsure where his mother was in the giant expanse of empty rooms. "Mama? Did you turn the AC on already?"

"No, Antonio," she called back. She was in the kitchen, stacking boxes on the heavy wooden table. His father emerged from another doorway and shoved him away, bitterly reminding him to unpack already.

The house was extravagant, even with the chipped doorframes and dented floors. It was endearing, like a piece of history they now lived in. Everything was real, authentic wood or metal. Even the bathrooms were a sight with the bathtub elevated above the ground by golden feet. The scratch on the center of the mirror was annoying but he didn't care—his parents planned to replace most of it, anyway.

After a few hours moving box among box into the lower level of the home, the four family members split up to designate upstairs bedrooms. Henrique shoved Antonio back into the hall when he wandered into the bedroom with a view of the front yard.

"Mine, dibs!" he chuckled.

"Fine, the windows are spooky, anyway!"

Henrique rolled his eyes and ignored his brother, exploring the new bedroom instead. The room didn't matter much to the youngest boy but he hated being treated like he was still ten and not seventeen.

There was one door that remained shut the entire time they had been there. There were four bedrooms on the second floor, meaning one would be a guest room or a study. Antonio approached the door, feeling an intimidation ridiculously immense for staring at a piece of wood. He grabbed the handle, struggling to even get it to turn, let alone open.

No! No door will defeat the star soccer player at Lincoln High, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo!

He took a few steps back, a determination set in his emerald eyes. In his head he counted to himself, psyching himself up for the hit. Three, two, one! Antonio ran forward, left shoulder jutted forward and ready to bruise into the door!

…Which it would have, had the door not flown open at the last second and sent him stumbling at the extra space and tripping face-first to the floor.

"OH GOD, ANTONIO," Henrique's voice called through the halls. "OH GOD, I WISH I HAD A CAMERA."

"Shut up, Henry!"

Antonio shrugged off his blush and stood up, checking out the walls and giant windows. He turned back around, barely catching that cursed door closing behind him. The small click of metal alerted him to the lock turning itself in the handle.

"…H-Henrique? Henrique, did you do that?"

There was no reply but the shuffling of boxes in the neighboring rooms.

They ate takeout from a Chinese restaurant that night, all seated on the floor in the large, but empty, sitting room in the back of the house. Antonio felt drawn to the large glass panes on the far wall and the small backyard they framed. There was a single tree, which looked about dead, with a broken swing still clinging to a thick branch by a fraying rope.

This house couldn't possibly get any more horrifying than it was right now. Every sign was there: the creepy kid play area, the mirror that he swore got more scratches every time he looked, the doors that move by themselves… This was most definitely not Antonio's forte.

Why couldn't they had bought that nice lilac-colored house by the ice cream shop? Or that cute yellow house that was way closer to his high school and to Gilbert's house? No, they just had to buy a decrepit place in the oldest neighborhood since the dawn of the earth.

Antonio felt a strain in his stomach and excused himself up to his new room to unpack more of his things before he went to bed. He needed something familiar or he was going to be freaked out all night. The handle stuck again but let him in faster than before. His arms were tired from moving all day and he relented on just unpacking his bedding.

His old bed, along with all of the family's previous furniture, was still being moved. The house was pre-stocked with furnishings and all and it would be agreed at a later time which set they kept. Antonio personally liked the setup of his new room. The bedframe was intricate in design and the dressers matched. His old ones at his old home were mismatched things he found on sale with his parents when he was just a mere freshmen.

As he was patting down the comforter over his new bed he heard a creak. He turned, finding one drawer on the dresser had slid open. Then another… and another.

"It's just the new house settling," he whispered frantically. "It's crooked," he reasoned.

There were no more comforting words when the middle drawer violently jerked from the base and flew at him, barely missing his leg as it crashed into the wood of the bed.

"SHIT, SHIT, SHIT," Antonio cried. More drawers jiggled and appeared stuck, which he thanked every God there was for. Even on the soccer field he had never ran as fast as he did from his bedroom.

Antonio came stumbling down the steps, panicking, crying for his mom. His family didn't believe him when he told them of the attack. Why would they? It's asinine!

"They wanted me dead, mama!" he cried frantically. "The dresser is out for my blood!"

Three rounds of eye-rolls made his blood boil… sort of. He wasn't a very angry person. They followed Antonio back up to his room and sighed tiredly when they inspected the area. Everything had been put back in place, flawless as it was before.

"No, it happened!" Was all he could think to say. "It… it attacked me."

If Antonio had been a smarter man he probably would have noticed the new chip in the bedframe. Unfortunately he was a very simple kind of person. Sometimes simple people were just no fun.

…I think I can make this work.

Sleeping in his room that night was a nightmare. Antonio was plagued by short dreams of invisible men throwing furniture at him. When he was awake he swore he saw a man in the corner of his room, staring out the window. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, relieved to see no one there at all. He could have done with less of the random floor board groans and the doorknob shaking.

He thought to himself that if this was a ghost he sure was being dramatic. There was no harm in talking to himself in bed to calm his nerves, right? "You're trying muy, muy hard, Señor Ghost."

More creaks followed.

"You're going to use up all your good material tonight," Antonio chuckled. "How are you supposed to scare me when I'm already used to you?"

The creaks slowed.

"I'm going to call you Peeves. I always hated how they left him out of the movies. Harry Potter, I mean. He was my favorite ghost, though Nearly-Headless Nick was a close second. Are you nearly headless?"

All was silent.

"Goodnight, Peeves."

Goodnight, you moron.

A shriek awoke Antonio from his slumber. He grabbed his phone and saw the time, 6:04. This was exactly something Henrique would do. He had a habit of waking Antonio for school the weirdest of ways.

Antonio emerged from his room like a zombie and followed the heavy breathing to the bathroom, where his elder brother was flashing his phone camera rapidly at the old mirror.

"Henrique, this is weird, even for you," Antonio grumbled.

"Weird? WEIRD?"

"Yes?"

The look Henrique shot him was a cross between rage and fear. "You were right, baby brother. You were right."

"About what?"

"The house being haunted!" The elder teen pointed accusingly at the mirror and handed his phone to Antonio. "Look at those. I think I caught it! And look at the mirror! It's scratched!"

"It's always been like that."

"NO IT WASN'T."

The pictures on the phone were all blurry, some more than others. It was obviously an attempt to catch something before it vanished, though nothing was legible in the images. Antonio brushed it off as an attempt to scare him senseless before he left for school. It was such a Henrique thing to do, using his newest hang-up against him.

Antonio spent the next hour attempting to find his box of clothes and the box of food in the kitchen, which was under the box of fine china. Next to the front door was his school backpack, hung neatly on a hook. Seven o'clock hit and he sprinted outside, trying desperately to catch the bus that was now pulling away from the stop.

Henrique had been the last to leave that day, his college classes not beginning until noon. Floating through the halls was Lovino, bored as ever. Trapped in the same building for years really wears down on you, alive or not.

The boxes stacked everywhere were new. He hadn't seen anything like that since the day he moved in, and that was a long, long time ago. He picked up a few of the packages and tore them open, rifling through containers of clothes and photo albums and useless shit like paperweights. Was that a pen? A fountain pen? How pretentious. I bet these idiots think they're classy or something for moving here… I know I did…

No, I'm done with that 'feeling' shit. I haven't needed to feel in years and I'm sure as shit not going to start now.

He took the pen, watching it fade beneath his grasp, never fully hidden. There was a misty glow to being a ghost, something you could fade or brighten. He spent most of his time wandering the house, rarely making himself seen. There was no fun in being visible when no one was around to be terrified by it.

He floated up the stairs and into Antonio's room. His room. He ripped a piece of the cardboard from the "blankets" box and scribbled across it, dropping it through his hand to the bed.

This should do it. That moron can't be so stupid he ignores this!

Antonio was hardly fazed when he first found the note. This was due mostly to the two idiots checking out every crevice of every surface—he saw it and immediately forgot. Inspecting the windows was Francis, his sleek blonde hair pulled back in a bow; the friend he shared half his classes with. By the closet was Gilbert, his albino friend who was in the other half.

"Haunted? You're too cute sometimes," Francis said, wiping his finger across a smudge on the glass.

"I'm not cute, I'm manly and tall!"

Gilbert snickered, "We didn't call you short, Toni."

Antonio crossed his arms. "Force of habit."

Francis crossed the room, lightly patting his Spanish friend on the arms. His eye was caught on the brown sheet in the middle of the light-blue bed. It was so out of place and unusual. Francis brushed past Antonio, crawling across the bed to snatch the item from the center. He held it up, asking "Did you write this, Toni?"

Of course he didn't! I did! Lovino scowled from his seat on the chair that was alone in the corner by the door. He was completely transparent, waiting for the right time to fuck shit up.

Everything felt cold and heavy as Antonio took the cardboard and saw the ink. "Get out of my room," he read. His skin paled considerably.

Gilbert scoffed and snatched the note to look at for himself. "Really? 'Get out?' Your brother ran out of pranks long ago, my friend."

"Henrique is at college."

"He wrote it before he left."

"No. He didn't." Antonio took the note back and rubbed his thumb across he letters. The ink smeared slightly. "T-this is still wet. This was just written before we got back."

It was time to add insult to injury. Lovino smirked to himself and crept behind Francis, reaching out his hand slowly, precisely. The hairs on the Frenchman's neck stood erect and Lovino ripped the ribbon from his ponytail, letting it fall down his back.

They were screaming and running from the room in an instant, leaving behind Lovino to laugh and laugh and… feel lonely?

Goddamn it.

A/N: Antonio is adorably stupid and Lovino talks through italics.

Second chapter is already in progress and should be updated soon.