Chapter Four: In The Graveswood Library

(pre-Suzie, Do You Copy?, Pt. 4)

***

Alistair groaned as he resisted the urge to face-slam into the book in front of him. If he did, he'd probably draw the wrath of a few of his ghostly ancestors—or worse, his grandfather.

Still, it was very tempting as Alistair leafed through the book—a genealogy of their family, stretching back into even ancient times—his head swimming with the names as boredom ticked through him. But when Alistair felt his head tilting a little bit too much toward the book, he decided to call it quits and closed the book, shoving it away as he leaned back in his chair, muffling another groan.

Usually, when Alistair found himself holed up in the library ever since that first visit to it, poring over the books on his family's history, the histories of some other families that were held in here like the Riveras and McConnells, or books on the subjects of science and history and mathematics, and even a couple books that were fiction like Tolkien and Frankenstein, he wasn't so bored. He loved being in the library, loved being around the books, loved learning the histories of other gifted families and his own family history, at seeing how long their family tree stretched, and loved looking into which Graveswoods had one or more of the abilities he had. He'd get lost for hours in here, and only come out because he was hungry or needed sleep. The library was usually a place he loved. But today...

Today, he'd come purely as a distraction. Because of what today meant, and what had happened hours earlier.

It was the last day he and Rowan were with their family. Tomorrow, they'd be back in Hawkins. And while Alistair would miss his family—miss how he felt so normal around his family and the other super-powered family that lived in Lynn, the Cheongs—he couldn't wait to go back. Hawkins was his home, no matter how shitty it got. It would always be his home, when the people he cared about the most lived in it.

Because of that, their grandmother declared a final test to prove Alistair and Rowan had control of their abilities—that this entire month would prove they had. They both passed with flying colours, in seperate tests neither of them had seen—Alistair hadn't seen Rowan's because it was tradition, and Rowan hadn't seen his because...

Because he didn't want her to.

Thinking of the reason made Alistair lean back forward, lowering hands that had fingers twitching, trying to shove it back into the depths of his mind, his hunch, his request to his grandmother about the feeling he'd gotten ever since his misadventure that was swallowed by his ability of astral projection and what happened with Cami, that he—

No, Alistair told himself, shaking his head as he grabbed another book. Don't think about. Not unless you have to. Just... don't think about it.

Don't think about it.

Alistair muttered his mantra to himself as he cracked open another ancient book—a book on plants and their medical and poisonous uses, as told by one Aspen Lucretia Graveswood, a Graveswood who lived in the 15th century and worked as a herbalist, amateur botanist before botany and science as a whole was a thing and occasional poisoner who's abilities had her immune to poisons, heal people, and control fire, and who dabbled in encouraging her fellow woman to read and write and love plants and poisons like she did. So, when paranoid people and even more paranoid priests heard of her crusade in increasing literacy and love of science in women and whispers of her abilities, they of course accused her as a witch and tried to burn her alive. That spectacularly failed when Aspen took control of the flames and literally danced in them, and when she terrified the townspeople to her heart's content, she skipped town and moved to London and worked as an apothecary, taking her husband, daughter Lavender, and Aspen's sister and Lavender's aunt, Fern Abigail Graveswood, with her. There was nothing more said until Lavender Deidre Graveswood's entry, but reading her story had Alistair admire his long-dead ancestor—his sister certainly did, who'd read it and nearly cackled herself to death before saying, "Oh, I would pay to have the ability to time-travel just to see the looks on those sexist, hypocritical assholes' faces when she did that," and giving a salute to Aspen Lucretia Graveswood.

But while Aspen Graveswood was a badass, and even her book was kinda cool, Alistair couldn't summon any interest, not when what he was trying to not think about was whispering for his attention, when his stomach was squirming with the fact he would see his friends again tomorrow, he'd see Will tomorrow, the cold creeping in and making the hairs on his neck stand on end—

Is that a plant?

Alistair jolted, nearly ripping a centuries-old page in half.

"Jesus, Betty!" he yelled, turning to glare at the sheepish-looking ghost. "Are you trying to kill me now?"

Sorry, Betty apologised meekly. 

"It's fine," Alistair grumbled, turning back to the book, looking at the illustration of what he assumed was a plant as well—Aspen, apparently, wasn't a good artist.

What plant is that? Betty questioned, peering over Alistair's shoulder. Oh! Hi Hugin!

The raven cawed, glaring at Betty—he never entirely trusted her even after the graveyard incident.

"Dunno. Probably a poisonous one," Alistair said, slamming the book closed with more force than was probably granted.

Watch the old books, dearie. Don't want your grandfather to scold you, a new voice chided as a woman in a Victorian-style dress materialised.

"I know, Kate. Good thing he isn't here," Alistair muttered as he stood up, walking to the shelf and looking at the books under FICTION in gold letters. Maybe Tolkien could distract him...

The two ghosts followed him—Betty, who'd haunted him and become a somewhat friendly acquaintance in the past month, and Kate, a middle-aged Victorian lady who'd apparently been close with one of the Graveswood women in that time that now haunted the library, who'd nearly given Alistair a heart attack when he grabbed Picture Of Dorian Grey and her head popped out right after and commented, Oh, that Oscar was quite the character.  Now, she'd more or less become a friendly face in the library, her motherly nature crushing Alistair's wariness around ghosts—showing Alistair once again these ghosts were once people, and they were all not horrifying ghouls that traumatised him for years.

He was going to miss them when he got back to Hawkins.

Cold brushed past his arm and Alistair side-eyed Betty, perched on her tiptoes as she reached for the copy of Little Women, just beyond her ghostly reach. Before Alistair or Kate could get it for her, Hugin was already there, using his beak to pull it out before depositing the well-loved copy to Betty. The ghost girl smiled.

Thanks, Hugin! she chirped, petting Hugin's head. Hugin cawed in disgruntlement, but Alistair could feel a kernel of affection through the bond. Alistair smirked as Betty skipped over to one of the armchairs, sitting in it and beginning to read.

That was one of your mother's favourite books, Kate mused and Alistair turned to her, every part of him tense. The ghost's face was soft as she continued, She would curl up in that chair and read that cover to cover, then reread it again. She adored it.

A knob built in Alistair's throat. He turned away, muttering under his breath, "Thanks for telling me."

Immediately, Kate's face shifted into an apologetic one. Oh, I'm sorry, dearie. I forgot... that she's no longer here. Especially when you and your sister look so much like her.

"It's fine," Alistair said. Looking at Kate, he asked softly, "Did... did you or any of the ghosts see them? My parents?"

The ghost shook her head. No. Your parents... they were the ones who passed on.

"Oh," Alistair whispered, ignoring as the knob in his throat felt heavier, ignoring the prickle in his eyes. "Thanks, though."

But Alistair, know that your parents would be watching you, wherever they are. And that they would be so proud of you, Kate assured, hand hovering his shoulder—ghosts couldn't touch living people and animals, after all. Hugin was the exception.

Still, Alistair accepted the gesture. "Thanks, Kate."

The ghostly woman smiled, before she floated away, watching over the books, the ghostly librarian for years. Alistair turned back to the books, eyes straying from Tolkien to The Haunting Of Hill House. Alistair's mouth twisted. Because of his abilities, he tried to stay away from ghost stories. He knew his sister loved the book and the film adaption, but he never had the courage to either read the book or watch the film. But for some reason, Alistair felt drawn to this copy.

Alistair was reaching for the book before he could stop himself, looking at the cover, the yellowed pages indicating it was both old and had been read a lot. Curious about what this author had written about ghosts, Alistair cracked it open.

As he did, something fluttered down onto the floor.

A frown creased Alistair's eyebrows as he looked down, seeing a piece of paper on the floor. What the hell is that?

Thinking it was a bookmark—Alistair knew he and Rowan picked random items to use as bookmarks—he picked it up, ready to put it in so the person who read this didn't lose their place. But when he did, Alistair noticed the shadow of writing on the back, and that it seemed as old as this copy.

Alistair's frown deepened, and he opened it, Haunting of Hill House forgotten.

His attention was immediately grabbed by the first line.

' Dear Vervain,

You don't know me, and I don't know you. Personally, I mean. But I've heard of you, of your family's... secrets, even in Boston. And I know that you are secretive about it, that you may ignore this, but I don't care. Because I am desperate. Because I'm scared. Because I need your family's help. Your help.

My name's Virginia, and I '—

"What are you reading, kiddo?"

Alistair jolted, almost ripping the letter in half.

"Uh, nothing!" he lied, whirling around to face his grandfather, letter once more closed, a fake smile plastered on his face.

His grandfather arched a brow. "Yeah, I don't believe you. What's that in your hand?"

Realising he'd been caught, Alistair surrendered the letter to his grandfather. His grandfather opened it, reading the first couple of lines before he folded it closed, sighing.

"I nearly forgot about this," he muttered, still holding the letter.

"You know about it?" Alistair asked. When his grandfather nodded, Alistair pressed, "What is it about? Who's Virginia? Why did she need Grandma's help?"

His grandfather smirked. "You ask a lot of questions, kiddo."

"Only when I'm curious," Alistair returned.

"An excellent trait to have," his grandfather complimented. Alistair smiled. 

"But, to answer your questions," his grandfather went on, looking at the letter, at the ghost of the letters imprinted on the well-worn paper. "Your grandmother received this in March, a few decades ago. This woman wanted some help, heard about our family, about the gifts. She thought Vervain could help her kid."

"Why would she think that?" Alistair inquired, confusion still thrumming through him.

"Your grandmother's very respected, Alistair," his grandfather said, expression solemn. "Among the other talented families, Vervain is one of the most respected heads, due to both her power and her reputation. And outside of that, she's respected as the head of the family business, with only a little bit of fear."

His grandfather smiled and amended, "Okay, a lot of fear."

Alistair smiled—that sounded like his grandmother.

"This Virginia heard about her due to that. And because of that, she believed she could help her and her kid," his grandfather went on. "Of course, Vervain received letters like this heaps of times before, from people who asked her and our family for help, but in reality they probably wanted to either reveal it or use your grandmother's or your mother's, aunts' or uncles' abilities. And she trusted this letter even less than she usually did—this came to her a couple of years after that bastard, Brenner—oh, pardon my language."

"It's fine. I've heard and said worse," Alistair assured, Dustin immediately coming to mind.

"Yeah, well, this had been a couple of years after Brenner came with his offer of... studying the family's gifts," his grandfather said, face twisted in disgust. Alistair felt the same, and again thanked the Demogorgon for its one good deed of eating the bastard. "She believed it was a trap, Virginia a spy for Brenner and that lab. That the moment me and her went, either we would be captured or our kids would be once we were gone. Neither me or Vervain never went to where the woman and her family was, solely because of that. Hope that answered your questions, kiddo."

It did. And yet... Virginia didn't sound like a spy. She sounded legitimately scared. Then again, a spy of Brenner's could sound like that...

His grandfather looked at the letter, frowning in thought. "I had no idea she still kept this. But, it's in the past. Whoever this Virginia was, if the help she wanted for her kid was genuine... she must have gotten it, because she never wrote again to us."

He smiled at Alistair, clapping him on the shoulder. "Best not to dwell on it."

Alistair eyed the letter, something in his gut telling him there was something more to it.

But it was in the past—decades ago in the past. Not worth thinking about.

"Uh, okay," Alistair said, before he frowned again. "Uh, why are you here, Gramps? I'm not being kicked out, right?"

His grandfather chortled. "Oh no, never. Not to my only grandchild who actually wants to be in here."

His grandfather smiled and Alistair returned it, before his grandfather went on, "No, no, I'm here at the request of Vervain, to let you know the Cheongs will be coming soon, that dinner will be ready in a couple of hours, and that what happened in your test... it's nothing to be scared of."

Alistair tensed, before he forced out, "Okay. Thanks Gramps. I... I will be down in a minute."

His grandfather frowned, but instead of questioning, he just gave him back the letter, patted Alistair's shoulder and said, "See you there, kiddo. And again, don't worry too much about that letter, okay?"

Alistair nodded. "Okay."

His grandfather smiled, patting Alistair's shoulder again before exiting the library. Leaving Alistair alone except for Hugin, and the two ghosts that had been silent, and were now looking at him.

What was he talking about with your test, Ali? Betty questioned. Like a mathematics test?

"No, a powers test," Alistair clarified, looking at the letter in one hand, the book he found it in the other. His stomach twisted as his mind drifted to the test, what he—

No. Don't think about it, Alistair.

Kate looked at him sympathetically. If it makes you feel better, dearie, what you did... it would have been a gift a few Graveswoods before you had. And that—

"Yeah, I know, Kate," Alistair cut in, glaring down at the floor as he opened up Haunting of Hill House. "And it doesn't. It doesn't make me feel better at all."

He all but shoved the letter inside the book and shut it, shoving the book back in its place before storming away, standing in the middle of the library as he let out a frustrated sigh, running his fingers through his hair and making the curls even more unruly. God, he wanted coffee. But he couldn't drink it in the library, by verdict of his grandfather and his hazard-prone children and grandchildren—all food and drinks were forbidden in the library. Normally, Alistair wouldn't mind, but he was craving some caffeine right now. Especially when—

A loud chime sounded, startling Alistair and nearly having his soul leave his body—a common occurrence these days. He looked over and saw a grandfather clock, droning out the hour. Alistair looked at the clock, then sighed in relief.

"It's just a clock, Al," he muttered. "It's just a freaking clock."

Turning away, he waved goodbye to Kate—Betty would probably follow him—as he left the library and went down the stairs, heading to the first floor—where his family and the Cheongs would be, to spend the rest of the day with them.

Hopefully, he'd forget about the letter, and more importantly, his test during that time.

And what he had done in it.

***

AHHH THIS IS HERE AT LAST!!

This chapter fought me a bit, but I think I wrangled it pretty well! And yeah, there was a bit of a time-skip—basically, it's been a couple weeks since Alistair and Cami's breakup, and this is the last day Rowan and Alistair are in Lynn. You saw Rowan's side, so this is Alistair's

(and yes, I am being purposefully vague about what Alistair did in his test. That's a secret I won't reveal until much, much later)

And Betty returns, along with a new ghost—Kate! She's a sweetheart, with a LOT of juicy gossip on Victorian-era writers, and guards the library as its ghostly librarian. And, even if in history, another Graveswood has been revealed! Aspen is honestly an icon—a fledging botanist and writer who dabbled in poisons and wanted to spread literacy and love of science in women, even in the Middle Ages, and was thus called a witch and was attempted to be burned, but controlled the flames and literally danced in them before escaping and spiriting herself and her husband, daughter and sister to London to live as an apothecary? We love to see that 😌

And yes, the letter, and this Virginia... 👀😈

Anyway, one last chapter left until we're on s3! Who's ready to come back to Hawkins?

Please read, comment and vote!

GhostWriterGirl out!