Originally written October 31, 2020; edited July 6, 2021.
They took off their hat, along with their hand. “Good day, my friend! I hope you don’t mind my dropping by. If it’s not too much trouble, would you mind terribly if I stepped inside for a spell-”
Chase slammed the door shut.
Then, he locked it.
He eyed the wooden chair in the living room, prepared to jam the entryway if he had to.
He blinked.
The figure sat leisurely in the chair, leaning back. Their gloved right hand was still floating in the air, holding a rather ratted top hat, a small distance away from the figure’s sleeve. The same seemed to be true of its opposite, along with the phantasm’s legs, feet, and even their own head. Each appeared slightly above or below where they were supposed to; it reminded Chase of those action figures that came in shrink wrapped pieces. “Now,” the figure continued, the dulcet tones of their voice echoing through the room, “I don’t quite think that was called for. They wouldn’t have been there for a few seconds more, after all.”
Chase opened his mouth. He never believed much in the supernatural, but in the very, very off chance they existed, he always figured he’d have some witty one-liners to defuse the situation with. “How ghoulish,” maybe, or “Back off, pal; you don’t stand a ghost of a chance.” Unfortunately, all his brain could come up with was a horrified, escalating shriek.
Fantastic.
“My word, man,” the specter continued, lifting their arms up in a shrug. Their black suit jacket, accented by a violet button-up, moved as though it still had anything beyond air within its confines. The mask they wore, blank beyond the circular eyes and crescent mouth, stared unflinchingly towards him. Placing the hat on the coffee table, they continued, “Do you scream at all of your guests, or just me?”
Chase scrambled back, slamming backwards into the door. His hand went to the lock, turning it back around. The figure clicked their tongue (did they even have one, Chase briefly wondered) as the right hand snapped to attention, spinning a finger round and round. The door locked once more, jamming as Chase tried desperately to flip the lock open. He turned to face the intruder. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded, his heart threatening to flee his chest all the while. “What do you want with me?”
The figure’s hands came together, steepling as a chuckle escaped from the mask. “I suppose a name is in order. Let’s go with Alun-yes, Alun sounds nice. A nice sense of drama. Rolls off the tongue. I’ll keep it.”
“Love that for you,” Chase muttered, his hand futilely fiddling with the lock behind his back.
“As for your second question...in the simplest terms, I suppose you could say I’m something of a vagabond; I travel here and there, and I often want for shelter as a result. Your lovely abode should do perfectly until they’re gone.” Alun’s mask shifted into a saddened expression, their hands now clasped together. “I apologize for imposing all the same. If you’d like, I’d gladly make up for it with a lovely meal. I’ve been told my cuisine is to die for-I don’t suppose you’re a fan of beef stroganoff?”
Chase had many questions. Why did a ghost need to hide in some random house? How the hell was he even able to interact with them? Could ghosts even touch a stove, let alone cook a meal? And…
…wait.
Chase blinked. “They? Who’s they?”
Alun tilted their head, quizzically. “Why, the Wild Hunt of course. Surely you saw them barrelling after me, what with all the noise. Isn’t that why you closed the doors, locked the windows? So they couldn’t get through?”
“...I didn’t lock the windows.”
There was a moment of silence.
Then, a knock on the window.
And another.
And a third.
Alun’s posture slumped, and Chase heard them mutter, “Oh, dear.”
Suddenly, the windows burst open, a roaring wind flooding the living room. Chase jumped away from the door, stumbling into a nearby bookcase as the din grew louder and louder. He glanced at the door, finding the lock rattling against the force of the wind.
It broke from the wood in seconds, landing unceremoniously in front of Chase’s feet.
Alun stood up from the chair, reaching for their hat. “Well, I suppose the stroganoff will have to wait-I must be on my way.”
“Yes, please!” Chase pleaded, eyes darting between the specter and the door. “Get out, and take your friends with you!”
“Friends? I suppose they were,” Alun murmured. “At some point.”
“I don’t care, just take them and go!”
Chase blinked.
Alun was gone, but the door was still primed to burst open.
A shadow loomed over him.
“I’m afraid you misunderstand. They’re here to take me. And, since you’re technically in their way...”
Chase felt a chill run up his spine as his “guest” sighed.
“...they’re more than likely on the hunt for you as well.”
“Are you kidding me?!”
Alun leaned in over Chase’s shoulder, their mask now sporting a bright smile. One of their hands gave Chase a hearty pat on the shoulder, while the other grabbed a hold of his arm. “My friend, this is far from a joke-but not to worry! After all, I got you into this mess, so I’m absolutely going to get you out of it. Far be it from me to leave another poor soul to join the Hunt in my stead.”
Chase stammered, his words failing him again as Alun dragged Chase towards the kitchen, gliding along the air towards its window like some cheap special effect. “This is all some elaborate prank, right? I’m on some kind of hidden camera show, or viral marketing, or-”
Before he could continue, the door shattered, shards of wood and plaster scattering through his living room. He saw the white horse before he saw the hooded rider atop it, though he immediately noticed the sinister, glowing eye beneath the hood.
Alun chuckled again, their left hand quickly moving to open the nearby window. “Ah, there you are-so lovely to see you again, old timer. I don’t suppose we could let bygones be bygones?”
The rider slowly moved through the house, its eye locked on Alun and Chase alike.
“I didn’t think so.” Taking off their hat once more, Alun sent their hand out of the window. “I do hope you’re not afraid of heights, my friend.”
Before Chase could even begin to consider what that had to do with anything, the wind roared once more. He watched as Alun flew straight out the window, zipping off into the inky night sky. Chase, to his horror, was left alone with the rider, the latter growing closer and closer with each passing second. In its hand was a very large, very sharp-looking sword.
He then realized something very pertinent as the rider raised their blade.
Alun’s other hand was still clutching his arm.
“...oh, sh-”
The blade struck the tile flooring as Chase hurtled out of the kitchen, and straight towards the unknown.