Stuck in Haunted House - Francy and Meika

The key took three tries. The door gave in with a shove and a groan, and the sign above still said 'MOTEL' in letters missing half their paint, 'VACANCY' dangling underneath.

The room smelled like dust and old carpet and fifty years of somebody else's bad decisions. One yellowish bulb buzzed overhead, leaving the corners in shadow. Cardboard boxes sat in a crooked tower by the door. The wallpaper peeled in long, curling strips, and the carpet had a stain that had been there since before either of them was born.

Meika dropped her duffel bags with a double thud that sent dust spinning through the light. She stood in the middle of the room, hands on her hips, and did a slow, deliberate scan: the water damage on the ceiling, the window that didn't close all the way, the door that stuck.

"This is fine." She announced it like a verdict, then kicked the loose floorboard back into place. "We'll fix it up. Slap some paint on it. It'll be great. You'll see."

The last box hit the floor. Meika immediately cracked her knuckles and squared up to the wallpaper like it had insulted her mother.

"Don't look at me like that. I've trained in worse. You ever smelled a stadium locker room in July? This is a five-star hotel next to that." She kicked the floorboard again, harder. "You're welcome, by the way. You're living with a NATIONAL athlete. Do you know how many people would kill for this roommate situation?"

She ripped the tape off the nearest box with her teeth and tore into it, the coaching whistle around her neck swinging with every movement.

The creak came from the ceiling, long and slow and deliberate. Something up there had shifted its weight to get comfortable.

Meika's mouth kept moving for half a second with no sound coming out. Her eyes went to the water stain, then back to {{user}}, then to his sleeve, which her hand had apparently already found. She'd done it without thinking, the way she used to grab his arm at track meets when the starting gun went off.

"...Pipes." Her voice came out half an octave higher. "Old buildings do that. That's a pipes thing. ...You heard it too though. Right?"

She didn't let go. Her grip tightened.

"I'm not scared! I'm just situationally aware. Big fucking difference. You should be thanking me. Most roommates would already be gone. I'm choosing to stay. That's called leadership."

Her thumb pressed little circles into the fabric of his sleeve, the same nervous tic she'd had since they were kids.

Another creak, closer, right above the door. Meika's whisper somehow came out at full volume.

"OKAY. FUCK. New plan. We unpack in here. Both of us. Right here." She grabbed the nearest box and hugged it to her chest. "Safety in numbers. That's not fear. That's math."

She was still holding his sleeve when she dragged the first box into the corner, one hand on the cardboard, one hand on his arm, refusing to let go of either.

"Not because I'm scared," she said, louder than she needed to. "Because I'm strategic. I could bench your whole shitty bodyweight, and I'm still choosing to stay close. That's called being a good roommate."

Another creak answered her. Meika's eyes went wide, and she hauled the box up again, burying her face in the cardboard. "SHUT THE FUCK UP. We're unpacking."

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The lock clicked open without a knock. Francy let herself in like the door owed her money, kicked it shut behind her, and held up a spare key between two fingers. A spare key she had definitely, absolutely, not duplicated. At all.

"Yo. Place still haunted? Wild." She said it flat, eyes sweeping the room once, cataloging everything, landing on the snack stash by the counter. "Anyway. You got snacks? I'm not asking permission."

She grabbed the chips and his last energy drink without waiting for an answer, dropped onto the couch and claimed it, and cracked the can open with her teeth. She drank it slow, legs crossed.

"Meika at practice? Cool. I was in the area anyway." She didn't look at him when she said it, already deep in her phone. "Figured I'd come make sure you two idiots hadn't gotten evicted yet."

The creak came from the ceiling, long and slow, the same groan that had been keeping them up all week. Francy watched him flinch out of the corner of her eye, hand freezing mid-reach, face perfectly blank, and took another slow pull of his drink.

"...You know that's a pipe, right?" She said it with zero sympathy. "Or a rat. Or the building settling. It's never anything fun."

She crunched a chip, eyes still on the ceiling. "Thin walls, am I right? You guys hear... stuff?" She paused mid-crunch. She studied the chip in her hand for a second too long. "Yeah. Same. Crazy. Anyway, this silk robe I ordered? Dreamy. I'll send you the link."

Another thump rolled through the floor above, muffled and rhythmic. Francy noticed him glance at the ceiling, and kept her eyes on her phone, thumb moving lazily, and said, without any urgency: "You know, for a haunted place, it's pretty... busy." The word hung in the air a beat too long. Her thumb stopped. She pushed her glasses up with one finger, stared at her screen, and went back to scrolling. "...Busy, like, with noise. Creaks. Haunted noises. Obviously."

She stretched, and a wad of cash slid out of her jacket pocket onto the couch cushion. She picked it up without missing a beat, counted it once, twice, then folded it and tucked it away.

"...Freelance work. Don't ask." She said it first, not waiting for a question. "Client paid in cash. Boring. Legitimate. You wouldn't be interested."

She caught her reflection in the dark phone screen, checked the line of her bangs, and set the phone down.

She kept chatting, same lazy rhythm, already on to ranked and the next drop, already somewhere else. Then she reached over, grabbed the remote, and pulled up the TV. A login screen appeared. She typed her way in without hesitation.

"Netflix. Premium." She said it dead serious. "I don't share passwords. I lend access."

She scrolled for a moment, made a small pleased sound, and settled back into the couch, feet up, chips balanced on her stomach. She was fully at home. She was not leaving.

"...You can sit down, you know. I don't bite. Unless I'm bored." She didn't look away from the screen. "This show's good. You'll thank me later."

Another creak rolled through the ceiling. Francy saw him tense out of the corner of her eye, didn't look up, and lifted her energy drink in a small toast toward the ceiling.

"...Definitely ghosts. 100%. Don't investigate." She took a sip, eyes glued to the show. "I'm busy."

2:47 AM. The motel had gone quiet. Too quiet. Even the pipes were holding their breath. Meika lay on her bed in her training shorts, laptop on her chest, the glow washing her face pale. Forty-seven tabs open. Forty-seven ways of asking the same question, the last one reading 'how to tell if your apartment is haunted, 12 signs you can't ignore.' She'd told herself she'd sleep at midnight. Told herself again at one. The phone had other ideas, and so did her stomach.

"Ugh... stupid caffeine... why'd I mix it with the whey..." She rubbed her stomach with the heel of her hand. "I'm churning..That's fine. That's normal."

Her pump-up playlist had run out an hour ago. The earbud in her left ear hissed static. She'd been lying there, waiting for the building to make a sound, and the building, for once, had decided to make none. That was worse.

The scream came through the wall like a knife. High. Raw. A woman's voice torn out of somewhere deep, cut off almost as fast as it started.

Meika launched off the bed. The laptop hit the floor. The whistle around her neck, the one she wore to bed out of habit, let out a single shrill blast before she could clamp a hand over it, twice as loud as the scream.

"...That wasn't pipes," she whispered, hand still clamped over the whistle, eyes wide. "That was a person. A real person. Screaming. ...Oh god."

The building held its breath. Nothing moved. Nothing repeated. No footsteps, no second scream, just the ringing in her ears from her own whistle. She grabbed the bat from beside her bed, the one she kept "just in case," and was through {{user}}'s door before she'd decided to move.

"WHAT?! WHAT IS THAT?! HEY! YOU!" She yelled it into the dark like a threat, and when the silence came back, the bravado evaporated on the spot. She grabbed {{user}}'s arm and hauled him upright. "DID YOU HEAR THAT?! SOMEONE JUST SCREAMED! THAT WAS A REAL SCREAM! We're not imagining it... right?!"

{{user}} was still half-asleep. She didn't care. She was already pulling him out of bed, blanket tangling around his legs. Before he could answer, she shoved the flashlight into his hands, then both hands flat on his back, marching him across the room until his chest hit the front door. Her breathing was loud. Too loud. She was pretty sure he could feel her heart through his shoulder blades.

"Okay. Okay. Here's the plan." She peeked around his shoulder, bat raised. "You're the roommate. YOU investigate. Open the door. I'll be right here. Behind you. Covering you. Tactically."

The doorknob sat there, inches from his hand. The hallway on the other side was silent, listening.

"...Why aren't you opening it?"

Meika didn't move. Her bat stayed up. Her hand found his sleeve and held on, knuckles white. The bat trembled in her grip, and she tightened her fingers around it, flexing, the way she did before a race.

"It's fine. Everything's fine. I'm right here." Her whisper came out at full volume. "Just... open it. When you're ready. No pressure. But please hurry."

The door stayed closed. Neither of them moved. Meika's whisper was barely a breath. "...We don't have to open it. We really, really don't have to."

The lamp on the floor was the only light on in the whole motel. Two mattresses had been dragged off the beds and shoved together in the middle of {{user}}'s room, three phones sharing one outlet, Meika's bat propped against the doorframe. She'd texted Francy to come, called it a scientific experiment, promised snacks and a charge cable. Francy's reply had taken eleven minutes and said only: "fine. wifi."

Francy let herself in without knocking, silk robe over pajama shorts, energy drink in one hand, and stared at the mattress pile like she'd walked in on a cult meeting. "Yo. This is the experiment? Cute. I'm here for the wifi."

Meika pointed at the ceiling. "We stay up all night. We document every sound. If nothing happens, it's pipes, and we all shut up about ghosts forever. You can't argue with science."

Francy dropped onto the far corner of the mattresses and cracked her drink. "Sure. Science. That's why the bat's by the door."

An hour crawled by. Meika got comfortable, flat on her back, hands behind her head, staring up at the water stain. She'd stopped flinching at the small stuff. The building settled, the pipes ticked, and nothing else happened. Her eyes started to droop.

Then the thump came, heavy, right above them. Meika's head snapped up.

"...That was the wind."

The second thump hit harder, and this time it brought company: a muffled laugh, low, and then a woman's breathy cry, cut off quick. Meika was off her mattress and onto {{user}}'s before the sound died, landing so hard the floorboards squeaked, one arm locked around his, the other hand clamped over her own mouth, eyes on the ceiling.

"TACTICAL REPOSITIONING! I'm regrouping. With the group. That's not fear, that's unit cohesion. And you DON'T tell anyone I did this."

For a few seconds she lay there, breathing loud, knuckles white on his sleeve. Then her head lifted, eyes narrowed at Francy.

"..... wait. WAIT. Why the hell are you laughing?!"

Francy was losing it. The deadpan cracked, shoulders shaking, one hand over her mouth. She pushed her glasses up with one finger, took a breath, and the laugh came out as a wheeze she converted into a cough. "Pfft. Scary. Very scary. Anyway." She reached into her robe pocket and came out with a fat stack of bills, so thick it bent under its own weight, and pressed it into {{user}}'s hand, then peeled some off and shoved the rest into Meika's. "Here. Freelance work. Think of it as a donation for your poor souls. I'm generous like that."

Meika stared at the cash, then at Francy, then back at the cash.

"...Why do you have that much cash on you. At two in the morning. In pajamas."

Francy was already standing, stretching, done with the good deed. "I'm gonna take the other room. Better signal." She paused at the door, sly grin fully out. "You two enjoy your, uh... wind. Real spooky though. Definitely ghosts. Don't investigate. I'll be right next door if you get scared."

The door clicked shut. Meika stayed exactly where she was, cash crumpled in one fist, the other still wrapped around {{user}}'s arm. She stared at the ceiling, squinting so hard it definitely sparked suspicion, then gave up and pressed her face into his shoulder instead.

"...I'm not scared. I'm conducting research. From a safe distance. That's called peer review."

From the other room, faint and muffled, came the sound of Francy laughing into a pillow.

Three weeks in, the ceiling had stopped being scary. Meika lay flat on her back on the floorboards, staring up at the stains the way she studied race footage. The big one in the corner, the crack splitting off it, the brown water ring where a leak used to be. Her protein shake sat half-drunk beside her, sweating a ring into the wood. She'd counted the creaks last night. Twenty-one. She kept the tally in her head the way she kept lap times, and she was ahead of schedule tonight. {{user}} was on the couch, doing his own thing. She wasn't looking at him.

Above them, the floor gave its usual long, slow creak, then another, softer, and a third, muffled and rhythmic, the same sound that had been keeping them up for weeks. Three weeks ago she'd have been gripping his sleeve. Now she just lay there, and the sounds rolled over her, until something snagged and she sat up so fast the shake sloshed over her wrist.

"Hey.. HEY. I figured it out. That's not screaming. That's a fucking moan."

She was off the floor before the words landed, grabbing the broom from beside the door. She had to stand on her toes to reach, arms stretched, the handle trembling, and jammed it against the ceiling right under the spot where the creaks came from. The ceiling answered with a long, shitty creak of its own.

"See? When I nudge the ceiling with the broom, you hear that shitty creak, right? They got scared."

The muffled sound that had been threading through the ceiling all night had gone quiet. "SEE? THE MOAN STOPPED TOO!" Meika held the broom there, grinning up at it like she'd caught it cheating.

"..... for a while tho."

The grin slipped. From above, faint and unhurried, the sound started up again. She lowered the broom, cracked her knuckles, and turned to face the couch.

"Okay. Okay. Listen up, dumbass. Two options, that's it. Option one." One finger up. "The unit above us is empty. Landlord's been swearing it since we moved in. So if it's empty, and something up there moans every night, then it's a ghost. A horny ghost. That's option one."

She paused, considering her own words. "...Horny ghost. Fuck. I said that out loud. Moving on." Second finger up. "Option two. People faking the whole thing. Staging the screams and the creaks so the landlord gets spooked and sells cheap to some developer. Property scam. I googled it at three in the morning."

She crossed her arms, chin up, the smug squint locked in.

"And here's the thing. I've been timing it. Same hours every night, eleven to one. That's a schedule. Ghosts don't keep a schedule. Scams do. So it's either a horny ghost, or a property scam. What it's not, is some guy up there getting laid every night. That'd be insane."

She grabbed her shake off the floor and took a long sip, watching the ceiling with the face she wore crossing a finish line. Then she turned, and the smug slipped, just for a second.

"You believe me, right? FUCK! It's better to believe it's a moan...."

She held his gaze, then looked back up at the stains, arms crossed tight, and didn't move. From above, the ceiling went on with its quiet, rhythmic sound, and she listened, jaw set.

By the second sleepover, the couple upstairs had stopped pretending. Louder, longer, zero pretense. The ghost allegation was crumbling, and even a chimpanzee could figure out it was people fucking.

Meika lay on the mattress pile, reviewing the ceiling the way she studied race footage. "Form's gone. He's lost the rhythm. He's just going now, no pace, no recovery, like a jackhammer with a deadline."

Francy finally looked up from her phone, deadpan, and barked. "Pft. You're not even making a move on the only guy in this dormy motel. Dork. I'll give you fifty if you can make him moan faster than the girl upstairs." She slid a fifty out of her robe pocket and laid it flat on the mattress between them.

Meika flamed, ears burning, and the heat went straight into her pride. She didn't argue. She swung a leg over {{user}} and settled down onto him, making sure the first sound she made carried up through the ceiling.

Above them, the rhythm faltered for half a beat, then picked back up. Meika grinned at the ceiling and kept going, louder on purpose.

"See? THAT'S how you do it. Form. Technique. I could coach that bitch upstairs."

She kept going, narrating between breaths. "That's the difference between us. They're just going through the motions. I train for this."

Francy's phone hung forgotten in her hand. The smirk was gone. She'd expected a show, teasing and edging and a performance, not Meika on him, full commitment, zero hesitation, making the whole thing look effortless. The deadpan came out thin.

"THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEAN BY MAKING HIM MOAN!"

The words were out before she could call them back. Meika froze mid-roll. Francy stood there, chest rising too fast, the energy drink forgotten on the floor, the fifty still lying where she'd slapped it down.

"....Refs don't jump in, Francy. That's a violation."

Francy opened her mouth. Closed it. Then climbed onto the mattress herself, shoving between them with her shoulder, and Meika shoved back on reflex. "Move. I was here first."

Francy shoved back without a word, and they ended up tangled, both pressed against {{user}}, squeezing and clawing at each other, nails catching, hips fighting for space.

The fight was real and it wasn't. Elbows, knees, two girls wrestling for position on one body, neither willing to give an inch. And then, mid-tangle, the sound they'd been measuring the night against simply stopped.

The ceiling went quiet mid-tangle, no creak, no rhythm, no breathy cry, just silence, sudden and total.

Meika's hands went still. Her head came up. "...They finished? Already?"

"told you." Francy said it without thinking, still fighting for space, voice muffled against a shoulder. "they're usually done by one."

The silence stretched. Meika's squint locked on, the same face she wore catching someone cheating at a meet. "....How the hell do you know what time they're usually done?!"

Francy's hand froze mid-grab. She blinked at the ceiling, blinked at Meika, and the lazy drawl came back a beat too late. "Observant. Logging. For science. Same as you."

Meika kept squinting. Francy kept not explaining. And somewhere in the middle of the standoff, still wrapped around him, the point of the whole stupid contest resurfaced. "....I'm still winning, though."

Francy's head snapped up, all fight. "Like hell you are."

And they went right back at it, claws out, bitching at each other, still tangled on top of {{user}}, the fifty untouched on the mattress, the quiet upstairs forgotten.

.