Shock Value (Private RP - Warnings: BL, Possible Gore)

It wasn't John's idea to go tonight. In fact, all he wanted to do was stay at home, surrounded with blankets and his old Nick Cage posters and watch Ghostbusters. But Dave had insisted, and who was he to deny.

So here he was, sitting in Dave's broken-down truck, listening to the hum of the motor as they stalled in front of the house. It was a formidable piece of architecture, that seemed to spiral up past the roofs of the other homes and penetrate the stars. The porch was sloped in the centre, bookended by a grimy pair of French doors and a small flight of steps that one day, may have been painted a pretty shade of robins blue. It all but emanated dread and regret and everything that John wanted nothing to do with.

He wasn't ignorant. He was well versed with the rumours and folklore that surrounded this so-called "haunted" house, which sat alone on the curve of a long abandoned cul-de-sac. He'd studied it relentlessly when he first heard about it. He's seen pictures and read first-hand documentations of kids who had ventured inside. They had either come out changed, or didn't come out at all. Now, John had never experienced this for himself, but he wasn't one to take chances. Why risk it?

Just knowing was good enough for him, but not for Dave apparently.

Taking one last deep breath, John nodded his head in the direction of his friend, watching the few strands of light dance across the blonde's shades. "I'm ready."

John's muscles clenched, constricting his ribs, his stomach, his intestines, as he stepped out of the car, slammed the door shut and took the first tentative steps towards the porch steps.

Dave cursed under his breath as his beat-up, old truck gave a groan. He couldn’t help but comment on how much of a piece of shit this thing was. None the less it had gotten them out here in one piece. He forced the driver’s side door open and jumped down onto the road. He got a good look at the old building standing in front of them as he slammed the door shut. He smirked as he made sure his old clunker was locked and walked around to the sidewalk.

Bro was always sick and tired of Dave lazing around their apartment complaining about how things weren’t challenging, or thrilling. Instead of telling the young adult that he should go to school or get a job or something a reasonable guardian would suggest he would send him links to websites on shit adrenaline junkies do and shit.

This ‘haunted house’ had caught his attention. It had a name but Dave couldn’t remember it. It wasn’t that important anyway. Dave didn’t really believe there was anything up about this house except maybe the ambience. He had to admit the house looked creepy as fuck. He could see how a little kid could go in there see a shadow move in the corner and be traumatised for a long while. It would have been boring… if he was by himself.

He clapped John on the shoulder. “Good, then let’s get a move on.” He wasn’t really expecting John to look as frightened as he did. Hell, this was payback. This is what Egbert got for all those insults all those years ago.

He hopped up the steps and tried the door. It opened without any problem. The old hinges didn’t resist at all, they didn’t even creak. The floor when he stepped inside on the other hand. As he leaned his weight onto his foot the old, dusty floorboard gave out this shrill creak that sounded like it came right out of a horror movie. Dave shuddered, “So creepy,” he said rolling his eyes.

It was dark inside. He moved along the wall to try and find a light switch it the light filtering through the open door. When he flicked it on a chandelier above flickered to life. Most of the bulbs were dead and the ones that clung to life flickered a dim orange glow. This was to cliché to be scary.

The room they stood in was large and spacey. All the wooden furniture had thick blankets of dust on them, as did the floor. Stairs at the side of the room led to a very dark looking upstairs. Other doors connected this room to what he could only assume would be a kitchen, a dining room… maybe a lounge?

He frowned, “Man. I’m regretting this already.” He looked over at his friend, there was no way he could still be scared.

John followed the blonde up the rickety steps, making sure to avoid all the spots that creaked or depressed. He bit his lips as the chandelier above him flickered to life, the sudden light source casting strangely elongated shadows over the furniture, covered in mouldy white linen. He pressed up against Dave's shoulder as John came up behind him, ensuring that they were together the whole time.

"I-I guess that it's not as bad as I thought." John murmured as he drew spirals in the dust. "I mean, now that I'm inside."

Still, John couldn't shrug the feeling of being watched. The tiny hairs on his forearms and the back of his neck stood at attention, betraying his false front.

Suddenly, there was an ear splitting crash as glass from the adjacent room popped and shattered all over the hardwood floor. The window, with its ancient, rusted hinges, had given way, allowing the window to swing open and slam against the fireplace mantle. John pulled away from Dave, tripping over his own feet as he speed walked through the kitchen and into a sitting room, desperate to get as far away from the self-propelling window as possible.

His whole body was tensed, and his hands quivered even as he shoved them deep into his jean pockets. Sitting down in the nearest covered chair, he gulped in deep breaths of air, ignoring the thick plumes of dust that he had sent scattering upwards.

As he felt his heart rate decrease, he gave a look around the room. Everything was painted a calming eggshell white, and covered meticulously with clean sheets--as though somebody had been here recently. But that wasn't the disturbing part.

No, the disturbing part was the giant square frame, sloppily covered in an intricately embroidered curtain, but not enough to shield the bottom corners from being exposed. Rising to his feet, John reached out a quivering hand and yanked the cover from the frame.

"Hey Dave." His voice was small but, the syllables echoed throughout the walls. "Look what I found. It's a mirror"

The sound of the window crashing to the floor made Dave jump. He looked over at it, eyebrows high on his forehead. He didn’t notice until John was half way across the room that he had started moving. “Whoa, whoa hold on,” he exclaimed. He started to go after him but paused. He looked at the open front door and moved to close it before following after John.

He looked at John in the sitting room looking frightfully pale. Dave shook his head and took a step back to examine the kitchen. It looked so old fashioned he could practically picture the little old grandma baking cookies in the white oven. It actually made the whole place a little bit creepier. He shook his head and ran a hand over the counter. John called for him and he wiped the dust off on his jeans and walked into the sitting room.

“Okay. A mirror,” maybe John saw more than he did. Maybe he saw some sort of creepy girl in the reflection but it looked like a normal mirror to Dave. He stood close enough to John that their shoulders brushed and he looked at himself in the old mirror. “Great, I needed one of these. Was getting the feeling that the dust was ruining my hair,” he said casually fixing his hair.

He rolled his eyes and ruffled John’s hair. “Come on, calm down. What the hell has you all wound up like this?” Dave asked flopping down into one of the chairs and proceeding to cough as he inhaled half a cloud of dust. He cleared his throat and brushed off his shirt. “This place isn’t even that scary. It’s pretty much a normal house… but old…” he said looking around the room. It was dark; the only light was that that filtered from the chandelier in the other room. It was a little tough to see with his shades on.

John shivered as he felt the pressure of Dave's skin against his own. He almost regretted staying silent when the blond went to take a seat in one of the old sofas.

"I dunno" John replied, not taking his eyes from the mirror. "Can't you feel it though, sorta like you're being watched."

All movement seemed more lucid from the reflection in the glass. Clearer in a way that seemed almost otherworldly. Dropping the embroidered sheet, John reached out to touch the face of the mirror. Almost instantly, the single remaining light bulb from the foyer popped, and the house was plunged into a swell of unending darkness.

The sudden change in environment corresponded eerily to the unusual warmth that the mirror gave off, radiating through his fingers and up his arm. It was almost pleasant, but was offset by the gruesome sight that was present from the other side of the reflection.

He was still able to see Dave, lounging across the room on the sofa, but it wasn't the same Dave--at least not to him. His shades were gone, replaced by eyes that seemed intently focused on nothing, eyes the deepest colour of crimson, and tiny pupils, like pinpricks in a swell of blood, but that wasn't the worst of it. John felt his throat seize up, his tongue tasting like cotton from between his teeth. He now saw, splayed against the blonde's suddenly bare chest, was a smattering of red ink, luminescent against the darkness, that read 'Come. John.'

"D-Dave..." John called, sweat staining the collar of his shirt as his nails dug into the mirror's surface. "Dave! Dave! Please answer me!"

John gasped as he felt Dave's arms around him, his knees growing weak. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to count the hundreds of multicoloured stars that danced behind his eyelids as he forced his body to calm itself. He wanted to return the embrace, but his arms were too heavy to lift, and the effort to just keep pushing air into his lungs was excruciating.

He could still see, from the other side of the mirror, the not-Dave staring back at him with that blank auburn stare and his porcelain chest, crossed by blue veins and ink-splattered as though his skin were no thicker than parchment.

Just as quickly at it had come, and with no more than a few muffled words, deaf on John's ears, real Dave's warmth left him, and his stomach dropped. He was all alone now, sightless, with only a faceless not-Dave for company.

He opened his mouth to call out again, to say something, anything, that would shatter the heaviness that weighted down his shoulders. But he could only choke on his words as not-Dave stood, his arms stretching, fingers splaying over John's throat as not-Dave pulled the brunette into the mirror.

The fall seemed endless, not Dave's cold hands burning into his skin, but the feeling of unnatural weightlessness could not compare to the pain that jarred his very bones as his back made contact with the floor. John curled up around himself, mouth gaping with silent exclamations of pain. From the corner of his eye, he could still see the mirror, but instead of looking into it, he was looking outward. This time, from the other side of the mirror, he could see real Dave, tapping the windows and muttering to himself.

John extended a single arm towards him, too weak to even stretch his fingers out towards the blonde. He wondered if Dave could even see him.

He probably couldn't.