Chapter Text
They say Shinra Mansion has been haunted for a hundred years. They say it all began when the house suddenly caught fire—spontaneously, instantaneously—the family inside and unable to flee, burnt to a crisp like charred meat in a cast iron pan. It’s a sad story, like any other sad story, but the history is all anecdotal. No one truly knows what happened that day, because all of the important papers had been destroyed in the fire, and the verbalization of it has become creepier and more grotesque as the years wore on in Nibelheim. It was an exciting thing to do when they were younger, to question and wonder with their childlike amazement, and for families to twist the story of the mansion to make it haunt their dreams and deter them from trespassing or attempting anything reckless or inconceivable— remember, if you’re bad, the curse will move to us. Our house will be set on fire. You don’t want that, do you?
Even if it wasn’t real, why challenge it?
For a small town, it’s Nibelheim’s claim to fame. Every October is filled with tourists who visit, cramming into the two Inns the town has to offer. Ghost tours are set up every evening for weeks, the occasional jump scare rigged, along with constructed shadows and door creaks and loosened floorboards. The tour is over the top, fantastical, gimmicky, and laughable for the denizens of Nibelheim. For newcomers, it is, apparently, rated 4.9 out of 5.0 stars.
Cloud has never believed in that kind of thing—ghosts and haunting and spirits, ghouls and goblins and demons. It increases the town’s revenue, and he’s almost positive, as far as he’s concerned, it’s all a load of shit. Half of it goes to the Shinra family. No matter how much money the place makes, Nibelheim’s schools, the neighborhoods, and community facilities continue to be rundown and ramshackle.
It’s stupid. Cloud hates this town and it’s broken swing sets and its rusty fences. Most of all, if he hears one more story about how they say, he’s going to bust a gasket and ask who everyone thinks they really are.
Every October, as he watches Tifa Lockhart and another punk dressed up in their tour guide attire bringing groups of family and friends through the creaky gates and over the cracked sidewalk, bordered with overgrown foliage, into the haunted Shinra Mansion, he wonders if people can truly be this gullible. He hears them, going in, not quite believing—the young men and the older women, skeptical and rolling their eyes, only there to appease their significant other or their children or friends—and then reappearing on the outside of the tour, faces ashen and eyes wide with new wonder, questioning what they had always believed in, whispering their thoughts of something more .
The one thing Cloud can say, however, when he sees Tifa herd the groups of people out of the gates, is that she’s a damn good tour guide.
Gullible or skeptical, it’s her.
Tifa Lockhart can make any man, woman or child believe in the supernatural, mechanized ghosts and goblins or not.
In the offseason, which is every month besides October, it is not nearly as busy. The Mansion is cleaned and cordoned off from trespassers—with trespassers being unruly high school kids with nothing better to do in a town with nothing to do.
Cloud’s just relieved he’s a senior. He’ll be able to leave this town in less than a few months and go to college and forget about how shitty this place is and will probably always be.
He closes his locker lazily, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. He turns and becomes face to face with Tifa, who is leaning against the wall of lockers. She smiles up at him, uncrossing her arms.
“Hey, Cloud.”
His evaluation of the town, he’ll admit, isn’t entirely true. It’s not completely shitty.
“Hey,” he says.
“Ready for the calc final?” she asks. “I’ve heard it’s brutal.”
Cloud shrugs, beginning his walk down the hallway as Tifa falls into step beside him.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he answers.
Shaking her head, she says, “You would say that.”
“You’re good with numbers.”
“I’m mediocre at best.”
Cloud scratches the back of his neck. It’s the perfect opportunity. He’s imagined it before—bringing Tifa to his bedroom, sitting on the floor with her biting the head of her mechanical pencil while he explains derivative functions and infinitesimals and helping her with perfecting what she needs. And Tifa somehow being impressed enough to pull him into a kiss. And maybe second base.
“Uh, well, if you want any help with it…” he starts, his tongue already tying. “I’m sure…uh…”
“Yo, Teef!”
They both look up, a boy waving down the hallway from them. His name is Bradley. When he grins at her, it’s crooked and a dimple appears along the corner of his mouth, his curly head of hair reminding Cloud of retro shag carpeting.
Bradley is one of only about twenty other of Tifa’s close male friends. He’s broad, happy-go-lucky, and holds the self-esteem of a guy who knows he’s good-looking. He’s also taller than Cloud, though this is nothing new. Cloud’s been trying to accept the fact that most males tend to be taller than him.
Cloud sighs as Bradley smacks his shoulder, attempting to make nice while his eyes focus solely on Tifa.
“You heading to the hill?” he asks her.
Tifa blinks. “Oh, I forgot! That’s today?”
“Of course it’s today! We only have three weeks before graduation, remember,” Bradley laughs, coming around to Tifa’s side and slinging his arm around her shoulder. Cloud takes a step away, averting his eyes. “It’s tradition.”
Tifa’s lips slant. “But…finals are this week and I still need to—“
“Finals, sh-minals,” Bradley waves off. “You’ve already gotten accepted. What’s the big deal?”
Tifa narrows her eyes at him, and Cloud smirks at the look of annoyance that settles over her face. “My acceptance is contingent on retaining my GPA, Brad.”
He sighs, letting his arm slide off her shoulders. “You worry too much. You’re really smart, Teef. You’ll ace it without having to study, unlike degenerates like me, Matt, and Elijah. Honestly, I don’t know why you’re still friends with us,” he teases, smiling all the while.
“It’s a small town. I have to be,” Tifa says, and it sounds like she might be only half-joking even with her smile. Her eyes dart and find Cloud’s for a second. The glance is a knowing one, and Cloud smiles back, a lightning strike of delight filling him up. She’s always somehow been able to do that—include him when he’s excluded everywhere else.
Bradley laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. Cloud’s smile turns into a grimace, and Tifa giggles. Cloud is pretty sure she’s laughing at him, but Brad seems to be beaming too brightly, as if his laughter was infectious enough to make her share his amusement.
“Anyway, c’mon. We’ve gotta pull the names.”
“Alright,” Tifa relents. “But Cloud’s coming, too.”
Cloud’s grimace evolves into a frown, and Bradley finally acknowledges him with a full glance in his direction.
“Uh, sure, yeah. You cool with that, man?”
It’s always a question. It’s never an, of course, we’d love to have you! Join us all the time! Feel free!
The questions always sound like they’re hopeful he’ll say no.
Cloud glances at Tifa again. She’s smiling at him, and as annoyed and angry as Bradley and Matt and Elijah make him, she always makes him feel the opposite.
“Yeah. I’ll come,” Cloud answers, hoping he doesn’t regret it.
Tifa grins. Bradley nods, and he hides his disappointment well, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Cloud only knows because he does the same thing.
The hill is a favorite hangout in Nibelheim. Study sessions, picnics, underage drinking all happen here, and everyone in town knows. It’s an easy place and a safe haven, and it’s a place parents never worry about. As opposed to Mt. Nibel or the Mansion, this hill is just like hanging out in someone’s house.
It overlooks the Eastern District of the town, just a few blocks away from the school. They can spy the football field and the small track, the lines faded and the grass wilting in a sickly green and yellow from the harsh sun of summer and not enough water.
Matt and Elijah are already there, hollering when they see Tifa and Bradley. They give brief greetings to Cloud as they sit, and Cloud nods in response. They play nice for Tifa, but she’s never been a dummy. They don’t like one another, no matter how much she’s tried to bridge the gap between all of them. She sits beside Cloud, and Cloud feels a bit ashamed every time she does. It almost feels like she’s trying to protect him from the discomfort of her friends, and this is the biggest reason he hates being around them. Tifa has always been this way, protecting and caring and empathetic, and once he was grateful. As he’s gotten older, he can’t shake the feeling of inadequacy—as if he’s a damsel and all the other guys are dragons and knights.
And he’s not. He’s not a wimp. He’s not a weakling. Everyone’s looks make it hard to believe in himself, and he’s leaving soon, anyway, so it doesn’t matter, but…
Tifa’s shoulder brushes against his, and he glances at her.
It does matter.
Matt pulls out a plastic bag with a handful of paper strips. He shakes it in front of his face, grinning widely.
“Y’all jackasses ready for this?” he asks. “The moment of truth is finally here.”
Cloud eyeballs the bag. It’s a ritual only the fucked up minds of adolescents would make up in a backwater town. At least, Cloud thinks so. He can’t imagine kids in bigger cities having the time or the imagination to make up anything similar to this. For fun.
“Wait!” Tifa says, slipping off her backpack and unzipping it. She pulls out one of her notebooks and rips a clean page out of it, tearing off a strip. “We have to add Cloud.”
As she writes his name, he doesn’t miss the looks the others give to one another. It’s as discretionary as a tornado, and Cloud glares at them. Elijah averts his eyes, Matt shrugs, and Bradley merely laughs, always being the affable one—the one that tries the most. And, Cloud thinks, the one who wants the most.
“How could we forget?” he asks, going so far as to nudge Cloud. Cloud bristles at the contact.
Tifa grins as she hands the slip to Matt. He places it in the bag and shakes it again.
“Alright,” says Elijah, flicking his hair out of his eyes. It’s too long, needing a cut, but Cloud is certain he keeps it that way so he can constantly fling his hair around. It’s black and glossy, and Cloud can tell he takes a lot of pride in it. Cloud, unfortunately, can relate. “Tifa, do the honors.”
She bites her lip, and her hands clench a bit. “Okay…well…” she reaches forward before pausing. She glances around at the entire group. “Remember, this doesn’t mean…I know the connotations behind this, but…”
The custom has always been one boy and one girl, chosen from a group. It had been a challenge that had started as a dare, then evolved into a game like Spin the Bottle or MASH. Now, it’s a game of chance and pure luck.
The guys either shrug or shuffle around, shaking heads and acting nonchalant. Even Cloud’s heart is beginning to thump, and he really hates this, because he won’t be chosen, and he isn’t sure he even wanted to be present to see Tifa pull out another name from the bag. In the moment, he wishes he had simply told her he would help her with calculus. None of these other dickwads can—Bradley is the only one with a scholarship. Matt and Elijah will probably stay behind in Nibelheim. Cloud’s going to Cosmo Canyon for their engineering program, and Tifa—well, Tifa has the coveted option of choosing from multiple offers.
And one night…doesn’t mean much in the scheme of it all, but there is no denying how suddenly and abruptly Cloud wants it. It’s a desperate sensation, clogging up his chest, and he knows the other guys want it, too.
“Yeah,” Bradley says, breaking the sudden silence. “We know, Teef. It’s just for fun, right?”
Tifa’s chest expands in a deep breath before she glances at Cloud for a moment, then she reaches forward. Cloud watches her slightly curled hand fall into the opening of the bag, shuffling around the ripped pieces of paper.
Once her fingers come upon the one she wants, she tucks it in close before opening her hand and unfolding the paper. When her eyes fall on the name inside, she bites her lip again, but Cloud knows her well enough to realize when she’s trying to keep from smiling.
When she glances up at all of them, Cloud notices he’s holding his breath. She turns her eyes to look at him last, and she blushes. Cloud’s thundering heart suddenly stops.
“Um, so I know you hate the Mansion, but…” Tifa says. “I got you.”
Tifa lowers the paper, everyone witnessing Cloud’s name staining the paper in Tifa’s handwriting.
Cloud stares at it. So do all the others.
“I…” Cloud begins, his voice a croak. “Uh…”
Matt is the first to break. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
Tifa blinks, glancing up at him. “What?”
He stands and grunts, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Fuck this shit, I’m going home.”
He stomps off, ignoring the protests of Elijah and Bradley.
“C’mon, man,” Elijah says. “It’s not a big deal.”
Bradley follows up. “Matt! Stop!” Bradley glances over to Cloud, and their eyes clash. There’s something in the energy that runs between them as they stare at one another, and Bradley calls out, “He’ll probably chicken out, anyway. He’s never had any balls.”
Tifa’s gasp sounds distant. Cloud’s blush turns into a burn of anger. His jaw buckles, and the past few years of hatred he’s had for this town dig deeply into his veins. Bradley is one of the roots, and Cloud knows, absolutely knows, that Bradley put his name in that bag several more times than was fair, and the others certainly did, too. Cloud can’t put it past any of them, especially when he would have done the same thing.
He stands up, the rage fueling him. “You sound mad, Bradley.”
Bradley follows his lead, and he’s about two heads taller than Cloud, and Cloud’s blood boils. He hates being short. He hates it.
“Mad? Why would I be mad?” he says, grinning and completely inauthentic. “Because you’ll get to spend the night in the shithole Mansion with Tifa? Not like you’ll do anything about it, right?”
Cloud’s hands clench in fists at his sides. “You don’t think she knows you’ve been pining away for her ever since you met her? ” Cloud says, and he would be shocked at himself if he wasn’t so hot and seething.
“Y-you guys! Stop!” Tifa says, jumping to her feet. “I…I don’t…”
“Yeah, guys, cool it,” Elijah tries, placing a hand on Bradley’s shoulder. “Don’t be—“
Bradley jerks his shoulder away from Elijah, continuing to glare at Cloud.
“You’re a little pussy, Strife. You always have been.”
Cloud sees red. “Remember when I broke your jaw, Brad?” Cloud growls. “I can do it again.”
At that, Brad laughs. Cloud stalks forward but is surprised at Tifa’s hand grabbing his wrist.
“Cloud,” she says softly. “Don’t.”
Cloud’s heart begins to settle, the rage slowly filtered by the way she looks at him with pleading eyes. He takes a deep breath.
“You wouldn’t be able to do anything, Strife,” Bradley continues. “I don’t care if you don’t think the Mansion is haunted. You wouldn’t be able to protect Tifa even if your life depended on it.” He glances at Tifa, and he begins to morph into what looks like a normal human being. His eyes narrow at the sight of Tifa’s hand still around Cloud’s wrist, and Cloud feels a wash of immense satisfaction.
“Tifa,” Bradley says. “I’m sorry. This was supposed to be fun, I just…” he trails. “I could protect you, you know. I could…we could…”
“I’m sure you could, Bradley,” she answers, and Cloud is surprised at how her hand tightens on him. “But I chose Cloud.” She looks up at him with a carefully guarded expression. “Will you go with me?”
Cloud imagines being stuck in a stuffy, rickety old Mansion with her, hearing all those old stories and the other stories from the upperclassmen as they grew up. It is the game, and ritual, of only the bravest and the most reckless. You can only leave this town if you participate! You can’t graduate unless you survive!
Some have no interesting things to explain, saying it was the most boring experience of their lives. Some have gone crazy, spouting ridiculous tales from the bowels of the Mansion— it ate me alive, and it’ll eat you, too —some have needed the hospital from freak accidents, some have come out unscathed, boasting that they’d had sex on the moth-ridden couch in the living room. Just turn the lights out, and it’s like any other place.
Two never came back. They are the cautionary tale parents tend to use to deter the hive mind that comes about every May.
Don’t be stupid, his mother has told him. Don’t be like those children. I don’t care what you think, Cloud. That place is dangerous.
It’s been several years since that incident, and the story has collected dust and browned over like a half-eaten apple. Those kids have been rumored to have never stayed in the Mansion at all, becoming runaways from their families, too suffocated and stifled by their lives there. No one truly knows for sure. Cloud only knows one thing.
He’ll protect Tifa. Not because he wants to prove it to Matt and Elijah and Bradley. He wants to prove it to himself, even if he doesn’t believe in any of the haunts or mythical, supernatural horror stories.
Tifa chose him. She even wanted to smile because she chose him.
“I’ll go with you,” Cloud answers.
Tifa knows the Shinra Mansion better than almost anyone.
She knows which hallways hold the pop-out skeletons. She knows which loose floorboards are for effect and which ones are hiding the machinery for ghostly moans and flickering lights and shadows. She’s well acquainted with all the rooms and the three floors—the newly refurbished ones that were completely burnt in the fire from years and years ago and the old ones they’ve cleaned up and salvaged, polishing up every year before October.
She knows there is nothing to be scared of, no matter how rickety the wooden stairs, no matter how thin the curtains or ominous the bannisters or how filmy the frames of the portraits, filled with the Shinra family of old.
The wealthy Shinra family bought the estate years ago, seeing and capitalizing on its potential to monopolize riches in a small, forgotten town. They placed Nibelheim on the map, attracting people far and wide.
Her father is the main real estate broker in town, in charge of nearly every property and lot in the community. The Shinra Mansion is a relic, and her father sold it to Shinra senior several years prior, receiving kickbacks from the revenue made from the Famous Nibelheim Haunted Tours. This sucked at the coffers of the town like a mosquito, the mayoral office anemic from their greed.
Tifa has figured that out very recently, when she asked her father after he was well and deep into his cups. He grumbled and harrumphed and told her things he would regret later— it’s the only way to pay for your schooling, Tifa. How the fuck else do you think you’d be able to leave here besides loans? You’d be paying those loans off forever.
Tifa remembers that conversation with unease and melancholy, filling her up with disquiet. She had known they weren’t well-off by any means, not in a town as small as this, but it had still surprised her. His gruffness was unwelcome as it always is, but she was thoroughly silenced that night, wishing he cared enough to tell her when he was sober.
He hasn’t been the same since mother died. He’s been belligerent and standoffish and, at times, almost cruel—not only to Tifa, but to all of Tifa’s friends.
It was embarrassing, and hurtful, and Tifa learned that bringing her friends over was a recipe for disaster. The last two years, she’s avoided it, finding refuge in her girlfriend’s houses or her backyard, staring up at the night sky.
Every year when October would come around, Tifa would never so much as volunteer to be a tour guide, but would do it because it was at her father’s behest. It made sense. He was the broker, had a good relationship with the owners and the business. She didn’t want to disappoint him, no matter how much she disliked the Mansion. No matter how eerie and chilled she felt, standing at the gates, feeling the Mansion watching her, its windows the eyes and the large, heavy, oak door the mouth, beckoning her to enter with the next round of victims.
She’s never admitted to it aloud, but it scares her. Even with the gag effects and the cheap jump scares and the mirrors rigged to reflect a shadowy figure behind the customers, all fake and campy, Tifa will always glance back when the machines are turned off and the tour over, wondering at the feeling it leaves in her skin. How it never feels empty. It never feels quite…right.
Tifa tightens her hold on the strap of her overnight bag. It is just past 10 pm, her father having long fallen into a drunken slumber on the living room recliner, making it too simple to sneak out of her house. She left a note just in case. I’ll be at Sarah’s, studying for our finals!
She’s slept over at her house multiple times. Sarah knows how to answer if her dad calls, having perfected both responses to cover each other if they ever needed.
Cloud is her next door neighbor, and she walks sedately by his house, pausing off to the side to wait.
It takes him a mere few moments to appear, gently closing the front door behind him. When he sees her, he gives her a smile. It’s small, like always, a barely there thing, but she likes to imagine he saves them for her. She has never witnessed him give that specific smile to another girl over the years she’s known him.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey.” He adjusts his backpack. “You ready?”
Tifa sighs. “Yeah. I think so.”
He looks at her before glancing at the ground. “We don’t have to do this, you know.”
They don’t have to do this, and it’s a sweet thing for him to say it. Back in October, she knew it wasn’t the end of her relationship with that Mansion. Her friends would never let her get away with not spending the night with one of them. She’d tried to keep it as platonic between all of them as she could. She knew a few of them would have wanted to make her their girlfriend or keep them bound or even create some kind of physical attachment to one another. Bradley was especially persistent, always waiting by her locker or outside of her classes or sitting by her in the ones they shared. Tifa never did anything to give him hope for something more than friendship other than being nice to him. Even then, she’d never go out of her way to see him outside of class alone, only with a group of their friends.
It’s been like that since they were twelve.
The only boy she’s ever wanted to hang out with separately and alone is… Cloud.
She smiles at him.
“You’re right,” she says, stepping up to his side. “But it’s our last year. And…”
Internally, in the safe spaces of her mind, Tifa allows the confession to skitter across her heart.
This might be the last chance.
Spending one night together, alone with Cloud Strife, even in a haunted mansion, surrounded by the eeriness of a large, empty house with antique furniture and long, stretching shadows from the depths of the hallways, is something Tifa has wanted for a while.
She’s known him just as long as all the others. She remembers when he moved to town, riddled with the newness of an unknown place and piquing her endless curiosity. She’d pulled and annoyed and tugged at him until he became her friend. When she elicited a smile from him after what seemed like weeks and weeks, it was the dawn of a new era. Tifa relished it as only a child could.
Over the years, he’s been the boy that never seemed to want anything else from her. As everyone grew older, hands began to linger, eyes wandered, bodies became fuller and more attractive. Testosterone and estrogen and pheromones became unrelenting, settling in a deep haze around her friends, both boys and girls alike. But once you began dating in a town like this, it seemed you either stayed together forever, or you left.
Tifa is going to college, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to date. In fact, Cloud’s the only one she’s ever wanted.
Cloud has always respected her boundaries. He’s never tried anything untoward. He never persisted like Bradley or hovered like Matt and Elijah, never made her feel the need to erect a barrier to dissuade anything more than friendship. Tifa had wished on more than one occasion for Cloud to be the boy waiting outside her classes or at her locker. She’s wanted him to offer going to the pie shop or grabbing a milkshake at the diner or even going to homecoming together. Something other than spending time in the library or after school make-up sessions. But he didn’t, and he hasn’t. Now it’s nearly mid-May, and so much time has passed without any memories Tifa wishes they could have made together.
“I want to make it count,” she finishes.
Cloud nods, glancing back up at her.
“Can’t ever back down from a challenge, right?” he asks.
“Nope,” she smiles. “We can’t back down on our senior year. That’s a bad omen.”
Cloud scoffs, shrugging. “Don’t really believe in those.”
They begin to walk side by side, down the road toward the Mansion. They are covered in the incandescence of the occasional streetlamp, the crickets humming along the sidewalk.
“You don’t?”
“Nah,” he says. “Those are just things to scare us and make us think we can’t do something.”
Tifa tilts her head. “So, no bad omens. I know you don’t believe in ghosts or spirits or goblins…”
Cloud smiles again. “Growing up with all those stories…it never seemed like they held any weight. Even if they’re real, I have a hard time believing any one in their right mind would want to stay around here to haunt.”
Tifa laughs at that. “I never thought of it that way before. Maybe you’re right.”
They walk along a little while longer before Tifa thinks of something.
“You did come to one of my tours, though,” she says.
At that, Cloud shrugs. “You asked me.”
“Yes, but…” she pauses. “I don’t know. It was nice having you there, even if you thought it was silly.”
Cloud turns his head to look off at the stretch of houses as they pass. “Uh, it…wasn’t so bad. You’re a good tour guide.”
“Thank you,” she says softly. “You could have been a guide with me. That would have been fun.”
“No,” Cloud says, adamantly shaking his head. “I would have been terrible.”
“Oh, you would have done great, Cloud.”
“You know I hate people.”
Tifa giggles. “That would have helped. It is about scaring people, you know.”
She spies one of his rare smiles creeping at the corner of his lips.
“You had Johnny to help you,” he says. “I’m sure he was a blast to work with.”
Tifa shakes her head, trying not to laugh. “He really tried his best. Half the time he’d be as scared as the tour group and would try to grab my hand.”
“Sounds like Johnny was pulling his moves on you.”
“Not at all!” Tifa says. “He would scream . He knew where all of the scares were, but it never failed whenever we’d go down the same hallway or up the same stairs.”
Cloud cracks an amused smirk at that.
“Had you been there, it would have made it much more tolerable,” she says, and Cloud averts his eyes at the words. She bites her lip, uncertain if it was the wrong thing to say. Cloud doesn’t respond, and Tifa feels her insides curl up. She pulls on her fingers, trying not to fidget.
“You know, I actually…hated doing it?”
Cloud snaps his head around to her. “You did?”
Suddenly embarrassed at her confession, she lets her hair fall, covering the side of her face. “I started doing it because my dad asked me to, and I’ve…felt obligated ever since.”
“I didn’t know that, Tifa,” Cloud says. “You never said anything.”
“It was only a month out of the whole year,” she answers. “It never felt right of me to complain.”
Shaking his head, he shifts his backpack. “What did you not like about it?”
She smiles a little, crossing her arms in front of her. “The whole Mansion.”
“What? Really?”
Tifa nods. “I’m, um…I was always scared. Not during the tour but…right before and right after. It would stick with me after the tours were finished. After it was over, it never seemed like it was over . I know it sounds strange,” she says. “But I think it’ll be different with you there.”
“Why?” he asks eventually.
She blushes, staring at her feet.
Because I’m the most comfortable around you.
“Because…we’re going to be studying calculus and…” she sighs, pulling at her fingers again. “With the others—Bradley especially—I’d be…” she pauses, glancing up at Cloud. He’s looking directly at her, and it’s a concentrated and saturated stare. She has to look away, else the words will leave her. “This sounds…I don’t mean it to sound arrogant or conceited, but…they all seem to want more from me. It’s like after we started sophomore year, they all began trying to one-up each other. They would ask me separately to hang out with them. They started sitting closer to me. They’d go out of their way to do things for me. They’d…I don’t know. I guess…they wanted me to like them.“
“That’s not arrogant or conceited, Tifa,” Cloud says. “Don’t feel that way. Nearly all the guys in our class like you. You can’t help that.”
She feels her heart squeeze, her mind getting stuck on the words nearly all the guys. She’s ashamed by it, but it… bothers her, because there’s a dark, uncertain feeling in her stomach telling her Cloud is not a part of nearly all the guys.
“Still,” she says softly, crossing her arms under her chest. “It’s always felt a little weird. And then you—“ she pauses for a moment, staring straight ahead. She can see the Mansion coming up in their field of vision, staring down at them from the small, upraised hill.
“You never did that, Cloud,” she says.
He shifts the straps of his bag, glancing at the cracks in the sidewalk.
“I, uh,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “No. I didn’t. You’re my…friend.”
Her stomach tangles into a tighter knot. Yes. His friend.
“Yeah,” she says. “We are friends. Thanks for doing this with me.”
Cloud nods at her. “Of course.”
As they come up near the gates of the Mansion, Bradley and Elijah are waiting, offering to be their witnesses. Cloud passively glares at them, and Bradley answers with a grin. Elijah seems to be the pacifier, standing angled between them.
“Wondered if you were gonna show, Strife,” Bradley says.
“Sorry to disappoint,” Cloud answers. “We all know you really wanted to show Tifa how much you cared about her. A shame you can’t.”
Tifa blushes tremendously at Cloud’s abrupt and straightforward dig at Bradley. She nearly winces and glances toward the dirt.
Bradley steps up to him. “When you fail to show her what she needs, and you will fail, I’ll be here to show her what you lack.”
“I think you’re forgetting something, Brad, ” Cloud says, surprising Tifa at the edge in his voice. “You act like Tifa wants you. As if she cares.” He leans forward. “She doesn’t.”
Tifa nearly gasps. “Cloud.”
Bradley’s grin slowly falls into a tight line. “You’re a little shit, aren’t you, Strife?”
“I don’t know. I thought I was a pussy. Which is is?”
Tifa blinks, staring at them. She’s always been aware Bradley could be a little vicious when he wanted to be, but hearing Cloud say these words—giving back as much as he’s receiving—shocks her.
Shocks her, but also…she swallows. She never sees Cloud being aggressive, hearing him or seeing him tense up and snarl. He had been when they were younger as they broke into adolescence. Nowadays, he is calmer, more collected and reserved, polite and respectful. Not yesterday, on the hill. Definitely not tonight.
“Guys,” Elijah says. “C’mon. Stop being stupid.”
“Why not both?” Bradley continues, ignoring Elijah. “You acting like a tough guy is laughable. Trying to show Tifa how strong you think you are?”
“If I know Tifa,” Cloud says, “she won’t think any of this shows strength.” Taking a step back, Cloud turns to her. She’s been staring at him, she realizes. Her blush deepens as he gives her his attention, and he suddenly looks apologetic.
“Sorry,” he says, staring at his shoes. “I, uh…”
Bradley shifts his weight, finally looking abashed as he turns his head toward Tifa. “I didn’t mean for…”
Tifa places her hands on her hips, merely shaking her head. “Oh, it’s fine, but next time, treat each other nicely. It’s just one night, and it’s a silly tradition, but we’ll be alright. Won’t we, Cloud?”
She smiles at him, and he matches it.
“Yeah,” he agrees.
Tifa pulls her phone out of her pocket. “If we need anything, we’ll call. Okay?”
Bradley and Elijah both nod, and Bradley seems to waver, opening his mouth before closing it.
“Be careful,” he calls as Cloud and Tifa turn to the gate. Cloud ignores him, but Tifa gives them a wave.
“We will!”
Cloud pushes the gates open, the creak loud and long and high-pitched. He leads the way and she follows behind him, trudging up the fragmented, disjointed cement of the sidewalk. She glances up at the Mansion, the windows shuttered closed and black, the nighttime shine glinting against the shingles of the roof, casting lengthy shadows under the awnings and gutters lining the molding around the lines of the house.
There are twisted columns, thick and fat, on either side of the entryway. They hold up the overhanging second story like corded, muscled arms.
The three steps they take up to the front double doors hinge and gently give under their feet. Tifa pulls out the key from her backpack, slotting it into the giant lock underneath the doorknob. Most kids break in another way, be it another door or climbing up the trellis along the side wall to the creaky, window with a broken lock. Because Tifa hangs onto a key copy year round, it makes it much simpler for them to walk through the front door.
The maw created as the doors open is intimidating, wide, and endlessly black. A rush of the stale, warm air from the house rushes against her cheeks, and Tifa takes a deep breath. As warm as it is, a chill crawls up her arms and settles against the fine hairs of her neck. She tries to ignore it as she imagines where the light switches reside off on the right, attached to the wall. She exhales when she flicks them on, the side lamps illuminating the open foyer, the broad expanse and furniture covered with white sheets to ward off dust and wear.
“Well,” Tifa says as Cloud closes the doors behind them. “I guess we can set up in here.”
They step into the room, feet echoing on the waxy, wooden floorboards. A patterned red, green, and tan rug spans underneath the formation of the furniture, a large fireplace cold and empty off toward the right wall, a delicate portrait hanging above.
Wallpaper used to decorate the wall, now painted over with a deep burgundy. Most of the walls are bare and without ornamentation, taken down for the sole purpose of making the haunted house easier to prepare when fall came around each year.
Further back, two sets of stairs curve along the walls, meeting at the landing of the second story. The railing is crafted from the same wood as the floorboards and door, a heavy, sturdy oak, stained a deep brown. The rails are metal, gently reverberating with a bump of a purse or a booted foot. It always makes for an easy jump or scare, completely organic during the tours.
Tifa gently peels one of the sheets off a chaise lounge slipping the strap of her overnight bag off her shoulder and setting it on the rug. She uncovers the coffee table as well, and Cloud steps closer, offering to help her fold them. They set them beside the fireplace and take their seats on the chaise.
Tifa bites her lip, trying not to think about the chill that is lingering, the icy burn across her neck, and the sudden closeness of Cloud sitting beside her.
It’s not unlike how they sit in the library. She’d always ask him to take her through the occasional equation, him coming around the table to point and draw graphs and write numbers. This time, though, he doesn’t edge away from her, the cushions being just big enough for both of them. Tifa reaches forward to take out her notebook and pencil, and Cloud mimics her, slipping the backpack around to his lap.
“So, uh,” he starts. “What did you want to go over, first?”
Tifa peeks up at him, but Cloud is staring intensely at the calculus review, flipping through the packet.
“How about we start at the beginning?” she asks quietly, and Cloud nods, clearing his throat.
“Alright. Number one,” Cloud starts, and Tifa smiles a little at the pink dusting his cheeks.
She hopes, maybe, he likes her, too. She holds onto that thought, beginning to forget about the eerie crawl that persists between her shoulder blades.
Forgetting about the chill residing against her neck, like the curl of a sigh.
Cloud watches as Tifa pushes a lock of hair behind her ear, tucking her bottom lip underneath her teeth as she puzzles out an equation. Each time she erases, her elbow gently pushes into his bicep.
He’s finished the packet over the previous weekend, redoing a few of the last problems while waiting for Tifa to finish hers. He did them so he wouldn’t be caught staring again. The first time she glanced up at him when asking a question, she stuttered and blushed, and he realized how close their faces were. He almost apologized until he asked himself why apologize when he wasn’t sorry?
Instead, he turned his head quickly and began talking about the question she was working on.
Now, though, he’s beginning to do it again. He trains his eye on her paper, but his gaze begins to trail up her wrist to her shoulders, to her neck to her jaw, her ear and throat and face exposed from tucking her hair.
He can smell her skin sitting so near. It’s citrusy and bright, like a squeeze of an orange wrapped up in a flower.
“...good at these. I always mess up when I go to change the derivative and...”
Her lips flutter over the words. He thinks he notices some mascara along her eyelashes, and he creates a small, secret hope that she put makeup on for him tonight.
She’s wearing a loose, heather gray blouse—cottony, like a t-shirt, along with jean shorts. His eyes begin to fall to the shadow of her breasts, her cleavage just hidden by the neckline.
“...you think, Cloud?”
She looks up at him again, smiling. He blinks, his eyes darting up quickly to her eyes. “Uh...sorry, what?”
“I said, what do you think?” she tilts her head. “About this problem?” She taps her paper at her work, and Cloud glances over it.
What Cloud really thinks is that he wishes they were sitting on his bed instead of inside a stuffy, too warm mansion.
“You got it right,” he says, nodding. He points. “You don’t have to do that step—it’s extra and unnecessary.”
“Ah. Thank you,” she says. “I’ll try without it but...it’s habit.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Cloud says. “Sometimes it can get confusing.”
Tifa smiles and finishes the last equation, and her scribbling against the paper is the only sound that breaks the silence of the room.
Tifa hums once she completes it, and Cloud praises her on a job well done. The grin she gives him nearly shrivels up his lungs.
“You’re a good teacher, Cloud,” she says. “Thank you for helping me. I feel much better about the final.”
“No problem,” he says, trying to will away his blush. “I’ll help whenever you need it.”
They stare at each other for a moment, and Tifa is the one who looks away first.
“Um...you know yesterday, on the hill?” she asks. “When I pulled your name?”
Cloud shifts on the cushion. “Yeah?”
Her shoulders rise in a breath. “This is going to sound...ridiculous.”
Cloud straightens. “That’s okay.”
He almost says I like ridiculous at the way she hesitates, if only to comfort her.
“I brought you with me that day because...I didn’t want to be here with the other guys.” Blushing, she glances at the floor. “I know I told you that this place scares me a little, but...that’s why I made sure that I’d get to be with you.”
Cloud blinks. Her confession is making his heart rumble and pound with furious intensity.
“How...I mean, uh, how did you...” he stutters.
“It was so selfish of me. I’m sorry for making you do this—I know you hate this place, and yet I did it anyway.” She shakes her head. “And you’re always so generous with your time.”
Cloud’s shoulders gradually fall from where they’ve shot up to his ears. “Tifa, that’s okay. I’d rather be here with you than those other guys, too.”
At that, she stares at him, her eyes soft and warm. “I’m glad.”
His eyes catch on her lips. “How were you able to choose me? It seemed...pretty lucky.”
Bashfully, she tightens her fingers together in her lap, fidgeting. “I...had another piece of paper in my hand from my notebook. You were all too busy glaring at one another to notice.”
Cloud blinks, thinking back to her curled hand, the way she glanced at him before reaching into the bag. He begins to smile. “Tifa, that’s...clever.”
She laughs, and it rings through the room. It is strangely echoey in the space, like it’s too happy a sound to exist here.
“Thanks. I hoped no one would realize. I didn’t expect them to get so mad.”
Cloud looks around the room, gently lit by the side lamps, with the doorways covered in dark shadow, the hallways hidden and out of sight, and Cloud thinks if this is what it will be tonight—just this lonely room, sitting on this old chair with Tifa—he might be happier to be here than he would be anywhere else.
“They were mad because they were jealous,” he says, the words sticky and caught in his throat. “I’m happy you chose me. I…It’s gonna be weird graduating and...leaving.”
“Yeah, but we still have the summer,” she says, turning more fully to face him. “We can hang out more than we were able to over the school year, without worrying about scholarships and applications and grades...” she smiles, shrugging. “If you’d like to.”
“I’d like to,” he says, almost embarrassed at how quickly he responds. At her beaming smile, he doesn’t feel so bad. In fact, it seems like she might have scooted closer to him, and his eyes fall to her lips—is she wearing gloss, or is it just the shine from where she bit them in concentration?—and his heart begins to race, and there’s a chilly sweat forming in the palms of his hands, and if he had a mind to do it, he’d wipe them down and reach up to cup her blushing cheek.
He’s about to gain the resolve—about to discreetly wipe away his nerves, lean forward, and kiss Tifa Lockhart—when they hear it.
It’s a resounding crack, as thunderous and deafening as a shotgun. They break apart and jolt, looking straight in front of them.
The front doors are wide open, the hinges loose and the wood splintered. They swing as if there is a forcible draft, pressing and swirling into the foyer. But there is no breeze. The foliage Cloud sees beyond the doors are still, the night abnormally quiet. It lacks the chirps and cadence of nighttime, the small, living things that create the tapestry of the dark hours.
Tifa’s hand clamps around his wrist, and he glances at her. She’s shaking, her eyes widening and her body taut and tense, as if she’s a deer behind a lens, ready to bolt.
“Cloud...” she whispers. “Do you see that?”
Cloud follows her line of sight, seeing the open doors and nothing more.
“See what?”
Her hand tightens to the point of pain. Her eyes are stuck straight ahead.
Cloud begins to frown, eyeing the doorway then looking back at her. He touches her hand.
“Tifa? See what?”
She blinks, her mouth parting slightly. “I—I’m not sure.”
Cloud narrows his eyes, looking forward and trying to see anything. He squeezes her palm, attempting to calm her.
“Hey, Tifa. It’s okay. Look at me.”
Her breathing is turning ragged. “But...she’s…her head...”
Her words make him pause for a moment, but he persists. “Tifa, look at me. There’s nothing there.”
Tifa blinks again before squeezing her eyes shut. “Ghosts. It must be a ghost. I hate ghosts.”
Cloud glances up again before gently shaking her hand. “Hey...Tifa, whatever you see—“
Without warning, her hands come around her ears, and her breathing becomes faster and harsher. Her eyes open and whatever she sees makes her press further back into the chair.
“Cloud,” she whispers, and he’s never seen her this way. She’s so frightened and small, nothing like she normally is, so full of strength and courage. “Cloud, she’s coming for us.”
Cloud furrows his brows. “Tifa, I promise, there’s nothing—“
He waves his hand out in front of them, only for the back of his hand to hit something.
Cold. Wet. Viscous like mucous or slime.
Cloud snaps his head around to look, coming face to face with gray skin. It is tattered like snagged cotton, cords of dead muscle shadowed and blackened, hiding behind the opened cut on its neck. The eyes are glimmering and shining, veined white and gold like ornate marble. They roll around in the skull, the forehead overhanging like a ridge.
It’s a monster, Cloud thinks, his mind running away with him, a heightened sensation of disbelief suspending his heart mid-beat. It can only be a monster.
“Child...child...” it hisses, the voice nothing but a rasp. The head is crooked, hanging at an angle. It moves in a jerk, and the neck cracks, leering above them on the chair. It’s spindly fingers reach out toward his face, blackened like they are riddled with soot. “Your flesh…your heart...”
Tifa screams, shattering Cloud’s frozen, uncomprehending stare. He scrambles backward, the chaise falling to the ground. They both twist and turn, panicking to find their footing. He grabs anything he can find on Tifa, pulling first at her shirt before he finds the crook of her elbow.
“What the fuck,” he breathes, standing up in a fling of limbs. Tifa presses close to him, her nails digging into his arm.
“Child…” the monster croaks behind them.
“Run,” Tifa says, voice ripped out of her. “Just run.”
They sprint toward the first doorway they can find, swallowed by the shadows, hearts as loud as the pounding of their feet.