Number 9

[tempered-rose.livejournal.com]

Title: What Hides In Plain Sight Will Get You in the Shadows, Part 9
Characters: Martin Kelly/Conor Coady
Summary: Martin Kelly gets teased about his tolerance for all things supernatural. But does he have good reason to be afraid?
Words: this part: 797; Total: 12,268
A/N: Me thinks that this will be the last of the daily updates. But I’ll try to get them done soon! Another short one, but it’s for a reason! lol Hope you like it. And, of course, to Louie <3
Previous Parts: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight




“I think maybe it would be a good idea if you didn’t come over here as much anymore.”

It was several weeks after Conor had stayed over the first night. He’d kept coming back round occasionally, when he hadn’t promised his mum that he’d stay there at night. Martin had enjoyed his company immensely, it was nice not to be alone, but now there was something else stirring.

“What do you mean? I thought I was fine here?” Conor asked, frown on his face.

Martin looked down intently at the sandwich he was making. “I just think you should stay at home a bit more. For your own good.”

Conor crossed his arms and stared at Martin’s back. This wasn’t making any sense.

“But Martin, I thought that we—”

“You should go home Conor. After all, things have quieted down around here lately. So I don’t really need you to hold my hand at night anymore.” Martin didn’t turn around as he spoke. Instead, he finished his sandwich and went to pick up the bag of crisps.

“So, you’re just kicking me out then.” Conor stated slowly, trying to understand.

“Well you did invite yourself over. I didn’t ask you.” Martin finally turned around and looked at Conor coolly.

The younger lad swallowed, his pride hurt but not nearly as much as his heart took a tug, and nodded. “Then I guess I’ll see you around then Martin. Obviously when you’re not so busy.”

With that, Conor turned on his heel and strode out of the kitchen. He ignored Macsen’s soft whine and slammed the front door of Martin’s house shut as he left. Once he was out in the cool air, he took a deep breath and sighed. Then he turned and started up the street towards the bus stop.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and thought about what Martin said.

Yeah, it had been quiet around his lately. It’d been scary at first, some of the things he’d heard and seen happen had frightened the hell out of him.

He had heard things, literal bumps in the night that held no explanation. He’d heard whispers that at first he had chalked up to being things he heard in the breeze. But they hadn’t stopped. He swore he heard his name a couple times.

Scratches had appeared on almost every window and mirror in Martin’s house. Even a few walls had them. Conor had thought they looked like fingernail marks, but they weren’t human. They were too long and too deep for any human hand to have done it. Conor shivered when he thought about it.

He’d never gone to church so many times than he had in the past three weeks.

Martin had changed a little over the course of that time as well. He had gotten a little more reserved. He’d become quieter and less inclined to go out. Conor had decided that was because of what was happening every night between three and four in the morning. He couldn’t blame Martin. The toll was beginning to affect him too.

He himself was grumpier and more easily irritable, just like Martin. Lack of sleep was starting to mess with his head and make him easier to snap towards people. Just like Martin. They both needed their sleep but with every night’s interruptions, well, it just wasn’t working out. They had tried to sleep in a hotel one night, but it seemed that wherever Martin went, his unseen shadows came along as well.

They truly were fixated on him.

Conor shook his head. This was fucked up. He was nineteen years old; he wasn’t supposed to be tackling some ghosts that he couldn’t see. He was supposed to be playing football and worrying about trying to get a permanent spot in the first team.

Maybe Martin and he needed a little bit of a break. Maybe this would be good for them.

Unable to get himself to really believe what he thought, Conor sighed and waited on the bench for the next bus.


Martin finished his sandwich and began to wipe his mouth with the napkin. From behind him, he heard the scratching as another long set of deep marks was carved into the wall opposite him. He could hear Macsen whimpering a little in the lounge but he ignored the dog. He would take him out later.

He laid the napkin back on the table and waited until a small breeze drifted into the room. Very quietly a voice spoke to him in its ethereal tone; this time it was patient, rewarding. A change from before.

“Very good, Martin, very good.”