Antigonish

Written as a NFA Hangman prize for Kayleighbough and the I'll Be There for You Challenge. The title is the same as the poem that was given as a prompt and the poem will appear in the story

Genre: Supernatural/Horror/Suspense/Friendship

Characters: Tim, Ziva, the rest of the crew, OCs

Pairings: Tim/Ziva friendship (mainly)

Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yadda yadda

Summary: Tim agrees to act as a live-in caretaker for an old plantation house and gets a lot more than he bargained for.

Chapter 1

"I cannot believe you agreed to do this," Ziva declared as she pulled the last box of books from the U-Haul.

"Neither can I," admitted Tim, "but it's too late to back out now." He climbed up into the back of the truck and started to sweep the floor, wanting to make sure it was clean before he returned it to the rental lot.

Ziva turned to stare at Tim's new residence, for the next year, at least. "I just cannot picture you living so far from the city. This place is so…middle of nowhere."

"It's only thirty miles from work, as the crow flies."

"You are not a crow."

Tim chuckled. "No, I'm not, but the drive is not that bad, either."

"Sure, if you like gravel roads. I do not think your Porsche will hold up very well driving on those, especially in bad weather."

"That's why he'll be using our Jeep."

They both turned to the newcomer, a petite, blue-eyed brunette. "Thanks for the offer, Mary, but I don't want-"

"Nonsense, Tim. It wouldn't be good for the old thing to sit around unused. Besides, Ziva is right, your car isn't really made for country driving. Something else, you'll have to get used to out here in the Boonies." She smiled and winked.

"I can't believe you and Craig have lived way out here for ten years. He really seemed to like the city life when we were at MIT."

"We both do, but when the Craig's mother asked us to move back to the old Barton homestead, we didn't have any qualms. Besides, we are close enough to the city if the urge arises."

"And we'll have enough of city life after our year in Hong Kong is up, I'm sure." The man, who could have passed for Tim's brother, grinned as he joined the group. "We're just glad to have someone we trust to look after the place. And I'm sure Tim will enjoy not paying rent for a year," he added with a laugh.

"Might even be able to save up enough for a decent down payment on a house," said Mary with a knowing grin.

"A house?" asked Ziva as she sent a surprised look at her team mate. "I thought you were happy with apartment living?"

Tim blushed slightly. "I'm getting tired of noisy neighbors. Besides, I hate having to fight with the landlord every time I need something re-wired."

"Well you won't have to worry about neighbors or noise here. Our closest neighbor is about a quarter of a mile away, and sometimes I think it's too quiet here," observed Mary.

"Except for the boats on the river, but the season for that is winding down. Oh, and you don't have to worry about our boat. She's in dry-dock for the year."

"That's good," said Tim, relieved he wouldn't have to chance subjecting himself to seasickness, off the job at least.

"The only other excitement you'll get is around the holidays. We have an agreement with the Historical Society to allow them to hold their annual fundraiser here. They'll be around to decorate and stuff. Don't let them con you into helping," said Mary as she shook her finger at Tim with mock sternness.

"Just lock yourself away in the guest wing and let them do their thing. They shouldn't bother you too much."

Tim had to chuckle. The idea of living in a house with a 'guest wing' still took some getting used to.

"Enough yammering. Let's get the rest of your stuff up to the house," said Craig as he hefted the last box of books and started towards the imposing building as the rest followed with the remaining articles from the truck.

The house, known as Willows Hill, was a large, brick-faced, five part Georgian mansion which sat on a hill overlooking the Potomac River. It had been built around 1720 by Craig's ancestors and his family had lived there ever since. The grounds immediately surrounding of the mansion were artfully landscaped, including two large weeping willow trees that flanked the path to the main entrance. The lawns covered five acres and the rest of the five hundred acre property was used for agriculture.

"This used to be a tobacco plantation," said Craig when he noticed Ziva staring at the fields. "Nowadays it's just corn and soybeans. Maybe not as profitable, but much more morally satisfying."

"Even more so than when the fields were worked by slaves. It's a good thing your family got out of that sooner than later," said Mary as she rolled her eyes at the thought of the abhorrent practices that had taken place in the area nearly 200 years ago.

"Now we just lease the lands. The payments cover insurance and taxes. Nothing like living the genteel life without the cost, right Tim?"

Tim just shook his head. He knew his friends could have afforded the place without the lease payments. Mary was a business lawyer with a very successful international firm and Craig's expertise in the computer field was in high demand. He had offered Tim a job many times, but the younger man always refused. He knew where he belonged, despite the long hours, frustrations, and craziness that came with being an NCIS agent.

The group entered the house, stashed Tim's belongings in his suite of rooms in the southern wing of the house, and then made their way back to the kitchen. After fixing themselves something to drink, they all wandered out to the back patio. The view of the river was breathtaking as they looked out over the terraced backyard that ended at the shoreline.

"It's beautiful," murmured Ziva. "Your family chose a nice spot for their home." She turned to Mary. "Is your family's home around here as well?"

"No, I'm not from around here. I've from Nova Scotia, actually. A town called Antigonish."

"Just like the poem," said Craig and Mary groaned.

"Not that again."

"What poem?" asked Ziva.

"Antigonish, by Hughes Mearns?"

"I am sorry, I do not know of it."

Craig quickly recited the first verse:

"Yesterday upon the stair
I met a man who wasn't there.
He wasn't there again today
Oh how I wish he'd go away."

Ziva shook her head. "I have not heard it…He met someone who wasn't there? A ghost?"

"Yes. The author wrote the poem based on a story about a haunted house in the town. It was a song, too, if I remember correctly," said Mary.

"Kind of ironic…"

"Oh don't start on that, Craig," groaned Mary with mock annoyance.

"Start on what?" asked Tim with a worried expression on his face.

Mary sighed. "It's an old family legend. You know the drill, every old house has its share of ghost stories. Supposedly there's a least one ghost here that hangs out on the main staircase. I've never seen anything, of course, but several people claim to have seen it."

Craig snorted. "More than several, hon, and they haven't just seen it."

"Tim doesn't really need to hear that, dear. You and I both know it's nonsense."

"What is nonsense?"

Craig and Mary shared a glance before Craig turned to Ziva. "Three people, all claim that something pushed them while they were walking down the stairs. Two almost fell, and the third did, although he managed to catch himself before falling too far. And then…"

"Then what?"

"My father…my mother found him one morning at the bottom of the stairs. He had fallen sometime during the night, and…his neck was broken."

"Craig, you know that was just an accident. Clayton's knees were bad. One of them gave out and-"

"Yeah, I know. Still, it's a hell of a coincidence."

"No such thing as coincidences," said Ziva, casting a worried glance at Tim.

"And there's no such thing as ghosts," said Tim with more confidence than he felt. "But I guess it's a good thing I'll be sticking to the ground floor, huh?"

Craig chuckled. "Yeah, it is. Sorry, sometimes I get carried away with the family lore thing."

"I understand."

"Come on, let's get you settled it. There will be enough time for stories later."

After the rental truck had been returned, the rest of the day was spent unpacking and arranging Tim's collection of books, records, and electronics which had filled his DC apartment. Tim had decided to forgo his usual computer set up, and instead only had one desktop and one laptop connected for his computing needs. When asked why, he claimed he needed a bit of a break from computing while at home. In reality he felt awkward adding so much modernity to such an old dwelling.

That evening, Mary and Craig teamed up to cook dinner in the main kitchen. The old fireplace and cooking hearth were still in place, and were used by the couple, much to Ziva's delight. Mary told her she was welcome to come over and cook for Tim any time she liked, and Ziva had to smile at the not-so-subtle attempt at matchmaking, while Tim remained happily oblivious. Ziva said she would take it under consideration.

After dinner, the group sat out on the patio, swapping stories and chatting about what the next year would hold. Ziva learned quite a bit about Tim's college days, and Tim learned about the history of the mansion that was now his home. Time passed quickly, and before they realized it was after midnight. Mary offered Ziva one of the guest rooms and she gratefully accepted. She had not been looking forward to driving those unfamiliar back roads at night.

The next day was a rush of packing, completing lists and confirming instructions before everything was loaded into the jeep. Tim drove his friends to the airport and after one final goodbye, he and Ziva headed back to Willows Hill. Once back, she helped him finish setting up his rooms and finally headed to her car to drive home.

Tim watched her drive out of sight and turned back to the mansion. It was a lot more intimidating now that he was alone, and he began to wonder about his choice to live here. It was true, he did want to get out of the city for awhile and maybe spend some time in the evenings writing rather than gaming, but he hoped it wouldn't be too much of a culture shock.

After enjoying a cup of coffee out on the patio and watching the sun set over the river, he went back into house and made his way to the guest wing. He sat down at his typewriter and, to his great surprise, started to type with ease. He typed out the history of the house, as well as many of the family stories Craig had shared with him the previous evening. He considered turning the writings into some sort of historical novel and shook his head. Maybe a collection of oral history stories instead? Yes, that would work. Craig had introduced him to some of the locals, members of the original families that had settled the area, and he was sure they would talk to him again. They had all seemed surprisingly gregarious for a first meeting with a stranger.

With an array of productive thoughts working their way through his brain, he got ready for bed and set his alarm for 0400, smiling ruefully at the reminder of one of the downsides of living so far away from work. He climbed into bed and sank into it with a contented sigh, asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

The blaring of the alarm pulled him from a sound slumber and he groaned. He reminded himself that he really did need to go to bed earlier, especially when he had to get up way before the "asscrack of dawn" as Craig had so charmingly put it when they were college roommates.

Tim completed his normal morning routine before making his way to the main part of the house and fixing himself a quick breakfast. After toast and coffee, he quickly did the dishes, grabbed his keys, and started for the front door. A flash of movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to stop and turn his attention to the large main staircase in the central part of the house. He stared for a moment and shook his head with a soft laugh. Just his imagination, fueled by his friends' stories two nights ago. He looked up again and this time he saw a definite shadow move across the top of the steps.

Crap. Maybe it's an animal that got in. I better catch it before it makes a mess.

He went back to his room and grabbed a heavy blanket from the closet. It would do as a net in a pinch.

He went back to the staircase and started to ascend, glancing around for the invading critter. He had gone halfway up when he heard a sound behind him. He turned, and for the briefest moment he thought he saw the shape of a man standing at the bottom of the stairs. Before he could call out to the intruder, his foot caught on part of the step and he lost his balance. He pinwheeled his arms and managed to regain his equilibrium, but just as he was breathing a sigh of relief, he felt a tap at his back, not hard, but just enough to set him teetering again, and this time there was no reprieve. He started to tumble and almost without thought he wrapped his arms around his head to protect it. His back hit steps and his momentum carried him forward. Before he could stop his rapid descent, his head connected with something solid and he fell away into the blackness.

A/N: My muse is being contrary. Again. Hence the new WIP *sigh*