Work Text:
The radio was a bit rubbish. Or perhaps they were too far out in the woods for any signal to reach. Freddie had gravitated towards the little radio on the windowsill within minutes of their arrival. So drab and depressing was the place, he had said—Brian couldn't argue with that assessment—what better way to make it seem a bit more inviting and pleasant than putting on some music?
However, they hadn't been able to tune into any station at all, not without far too much interference. Grumbling about it, Freddie had eventually turned the radio off. But lying in bed now, Brian could distinctly hear a very quiet crackle of static coming from the window. Freddie must have not turned the knob all the way.
It was alright though. Rather than annoying, it was sort of soothing and Brian had almost drifted off to sleep several times already, only to jerk back into wakefulness again. It was the long drive, he told himself. One too many coffees. He was clearly over-tired, because he kept imagining sounds and things that weren't there. Fragments of dreams, already trying to fill his still lucid mind, no doubt.
But in that drowsy state just on the edge of unconsciousness, they seemed so real that they repeatedly pulled him out of his slow descent into sleep. He imagined hearing a fleeting string of words he couldn't quite catch murmured directly into his ear, felt an impossible gust of air on his cheek out of nowhere, heard the drag of a shoe against the floorboards even though there was no one in the room but Freddie and himself.
Freddie was lying in the bed across from him and Brian was sure he had to have gone to sleep, because he hadn't moved nor made a sound in a while, and Freddie usually fidgeted for some time before he drifted off. But he was probably exhausted too, after the drive up to Edinburgh.
That was the whole reason why they were staying here for the night. None of them had fancied a drive up to Scotland and a show the same night. However, between trying to find somewhere cheap to stay, and anywhere that wasn't already full during the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, they had ended up in an old guesthouse at the edge of a village, a half hour drive from town.
The room Brian and Freddie had been given smelled as old as it looked. The beds creaked and sagged. (Brian's mattress was both too soft and too lumpy.) The carpet was threadbare, the wallpaper was peeling off at the corners and the walls and furniture had absorbed the stench of decades of cigarettes smoked by previous occupants. It was just altogether unpleasant.
Brian really wished he could have just gone to sleep to wake up and leave all the sooner. His nerves were so frayed from tiredness that even the moonlight falling in through the window beside Freddie's bed was starting to irritate him now, so he rolled over onto his side to face the wall, huffing out a breath.
But as he lay there, eyes stubbornly closed in hopes that lying still for long enough would do the trick, he slowly became aware of a new sensation. It was the inexplicable, distinct feeling that he was being watched. It crept up his spine like a chill, raising goosebumps in its wake.
Freddie, Brian thought at once, trying to dispel the irrational onset of fear. It had to be Freddie. After all, Brian could often sense the singer so much as glancing his way on stage, or feel him moving closer before he really saw him. Their awareness of each other had grown into a magical thing in the last two years since the formation of Queen, Brian thought, and that filled him with a warm affection for his friend and bandmate, overriding the eerie feeling that had overcome him. He opened his eyes in the dark and rolled onto his back, turning to look over at Freddie. But to his surprise, Freddie wasn't looking at him at all. He couldn't have been, as he still had his back turned to Brian, the covers pulled up all the way to his ear.
However, just as Brian was about to dismiss the feeling which had caused him to turn and look, and chalk it up to his nervous, tired state as well, something else caught his eye. At first he wasn't sure what he was seeing. A shadow, his mind suggested. One he hadn't noticed before. Except there was nothing that could have cast it, and the longer he looked, the less it resembled a shadow at all. It was the outline of a person, a woman in a long skirt, her hair tied back in a bun, standing at the foot of Freddie's bed. Brian's breath caught in his throat. Because it wasn't a person at all. The vision did not look solid, but a little hazy. Black and featureless. Like a shadow silhouette, only that it wasn't on the surface of the wall, as he had thought. As shadows ought to be. It was standing there.
But that couldn't be.
Even while common sense still resisted the information his eyes were providing him with, Brian felt a shiver run through his entire body, the icy tendrils of fear closing around his chest fast. Except that he was a man of science, and he did not believe in ghosts and demons. There had to be an explanation. While his mind still searched for one that made sense, the shadowy figure suddenly moved. Its head snapped around in his direction, and although it had no face, no eyes with which to look, Brian felt it staring as if a spotlight had been turned onto him. The darkness of the thing was blinding and without thinking, he turned over and pulled the covers over his head, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, the rush of blood in his ears was deafening and a scream trapped in his throat, primed to be released if he felt the thing touch him, if he heard it, if—
A long few seconds passed while he lay there, tense and motionless, barely breathing. At last, blind panic slowly eased its grip and rational thought took the reins again. What was he doing? There was no earthly way that he had seen what he had seen. Impossible. He had hallucinated it, and that was all. God, how bloody ridiculous. Blinking his eyes open, Brian swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing pulse. There was a quiet rustle of sheets. Just Freddie, shifting in his sleep. And here Brian was, losing his goddamn marbles.
He knew what he had to do. All he had to do, was turn around and look once more, and he would find that there was nothing there at all. That he'd mistaken an oddly-shaped shadow for an apparition. It was as simple as that. Brian pulled the blanket down, but even as he tried to reassure himself, he found that he did not want to turn around. Because that feeling—the feeling of being watched—had returned.
Don't be silly.
You're imagining it.
Nothing here can hurt you.
Because there's nothing there.
A floorboard creaked right beside his bed.
Brian whipped around, wide-eyed, clutching the blanket tightly and saw a dark, thin figure standing over his bed, silhouetted against the moonlight.
Two consecutive shrieks pierced the silence of the night.
“Freddie!” gasped Brian, sitting up in his bed.
“Fuck, Brian, you scared me half to death!” Freddie, who had jumped back about a foot, doubled over a little, a hand pressed to his chest.
“You scared the living daylights out of me!” Brian shot back, and gave a breathy laugh of sheer relief, reaching for the string of the lamp on the nightstand. “What's the matter?”
The small lamp illuminated the room with its pale, yellow light. Brian couldn't help but glance toward the foot of Freddie's bed, where there was nothing at all, of course.
Still, the hairs at the back of his neck remained stubbornly raised, much as he tried to calm himself.
“I…” Freddie looked awkward then, shifting from one foot to the other. It did not help that he threw half a glance behind his shoulder, before he stopped himself, pulling his lips over his teeth. “I'm sorry I woke you up,” he sighed, shaking his head with a weak smile. “I should… I should just…” He took a step back, his legs hitting the edge of his own bed.
“No,” Brian heard himself say, before he knew what he was saying no to, exactly, only he was overcome by such a dread all at once and this time is was not fear for himself.
If he knew anything at all, he knew that he didn't want Freddie to return to his bed, although his rational mind could find no reason why this was.
“It's a bit chilly,” he said, the first thing to pop into his mind. “Are you cold?”
“Um. A little,” Freddie replied, wrapping his arms around himself.
It was colder here, all the way up north, Brian reasoned, fully aware that it was a mild August night and neither of them had any business being cold in a, frankly, stuffy room. But both of them were clearly scared, and both of them were hesitant to say so, because there was no reason to be. Was there? Either way, Brian made an executive decision in that moment. Shifting all the way against the wall, he lifted up the covers, raising his eyebrows.
“There's… uh… enough room for two, if you like?”
Gratitude and uncertainty fought a battle on Freddie's face before he glanced back at his own bed and edged away from it. “Are you sure, dear?” he asked, not quite meeting Brian's eyes.
“'Course,” Brian assured him. “Get in here, Fred, I'd like to go back to sleep before sunrise,” he added as jovially as he could.
Moving quickly and a little stiffly, Freddie approached Brian's bed again and climbed in, turning his back to him and positioning himself as close to the edge as he could.
“Thank you,” he whispered, the words barely audible.
“Don't mention it.”
Perhaps he really was cold? Brian felt the urge to wrap an arm around him from behind, as he might do with Chrissie, and shook the thought immediately.
Instead, he rolled onto his back, his shoulder pressing against Freddie's back in the narrow bed. That could not be helped, but frankly, Brian did not mind it one bit. He breathed in deeply and tried to breathe out the tension he had been feeling for the last hour or so. Everything was fine. They were going to get a rough night's sleep and the show was going to be brilliant, despite that.
“Shall I turn off the light?” Freddie asked.
“Yeah,” Brian mumbled through a yawn, and closed his eyes when the room went dark again.
It crept into his consciousness so subtly, minutes later, that he was certain he was dreaming for quite a while. The music. The words. Sung by high-pitched, girly, breathy voices, the tune so recognisably from his childhood, two decades ago.
I know…
You belong to somebody new
But tonight... you belong to me…
It wasn't until Freddie stirred beside him that Brian realised he wasn't dreaming at all. That the music did not hail from his subconscious and vague memories of Sundays at Brighton pier. Instead—he realised, and was at once wide awake again—the song was coming from the radio, through a faint haze of static.
But tonight you belong to me…
He opened his eyes, turning to look at Freddie, who lay with his eyes open as well, staring back at him, unblinking.
“Guess it works better at night,” Brian whispered. It was the only thing he could think to say, ignoring the fact that the volume had definitely gone up. And the fact that there were no radio broadcasts this late at night.
“Brian,” Freddie breathed, and that was as far as he got before an unplaceable groan that sounded like a large wooden beam being bent to breaking point made them both move so fast, no space for conscious thought remained. Before he knew it, Brian had wrapped his arms around Freddie, holding on for dear life, and likewise found Freddie pressed against his chest, clinging on to him in return.
“What the fuck,” Freddie whispered, his head half-tucked under Brian's chin. “What the fuck was that?”
“I don't know,” Brian replied honestly, his heart going a hundred miles an hour.
But tonight you belong to me…
“We should switch on the light,” Freddie suggested, not moving.
“Yeah,” Brian agreed, and pulled himself together, because ghosts did not exist. Because Freddie was clinging on to him. Because ghosts didn't exist. Pulling away only as much as necessary, Brian stretched out a hand and tugged the string of the lamp. The moment its light illuminated the room, the music on the radio died and all was quiet. Brian's heart migrated to his throat, where it proceeded to beat very loudly.
“Oh my God,” Freddie uttered against his collar bone.
“It's alright,” Brian whispered back, not entirely sure what he meant. It's alright, we're imagining this. We've got to be. It's alright, we're in a haunted room, we'll be fine. Ghosts aren't real.
For lack of words, his hand found Freddie's back, stroking up and down for his own comfort as much as Freddie's, who was warm and solid and real in his arms. One thing that was not a night terror, not an apparition.
“Oh God,” Freddie repeated when the lamp suddenly flickered and a buzz that sounded like faulty wiring emanated from it. “If we fucking die—” he hissed, his voice too high-pitched.
“We're not gonna die.” Brian wrapped his arms around him tightly again. “There's nothing here that can hurt us. There are no ghosts,” he told both himself and Freddie stubbornly.
With a loud crackle from the radio that made them both jump, the lamp turned off.
Silence fell.
A silence so deadly it felt as if even the world outside had come to a standstill. Nothing but Freddie's fast breathing and Brian's own hammering heartbeat reached his ears. The very air in the room seemed to have stilled. Neither of them dared speak, dared disturb the ominous quiet.
Until something else did. Brian distinctly heard a scraping noise coming from the corridor just outside their room, like something being dragged over a rough surface, and with it a floorboard creaking. It repeated itself in a slow, even pace. Heavy, dragging footsteps moving toward their door.
Scrrrape.
Freddie made a quiet, despairing sound and Brian squeezed his eyes shut again.
Scrrrape-creak.
Oh fuck, oh God, his heart felt like it was going to give out. He's right. You're going to die, a voice whispered at the back of his head, and the thought did not feel quite like it was his own. You are. You are going to die. Tonight… you belong to me…
Scrrrape.
He almost jumped out of his skin when Freddie began to murmur something in a breathy whisper, clutching fistfulls of Brian's shirt so tightly that he could feel him pulling at the material.
“What?” he whispered back instinctively, only to realise that the words did not seem to be directed at him, nor were they words he recognised. The very speech melody was unusual and unfamiliar, but repeated itself over and over like a mantra. He was praying—in a language Brian didn't understand, which was strangest of all because Brian didn't think he had ever heard Freddie speak a single word in any language other than English before.
Scrrrape-crrreak.
“Ashem vohu vahishtem ashtey…”
A part of Brian instinctively wanted to shush Freddie, tell him to keep quiet, as though ignoring what was going on around them meant that none of it was real. Another part of his mind instinctively scrambled to remember the beginning of the Lord's prayer and drew a blank, which was so utterly ridiculous that Brian wanted to laugh. The Lord's prayer, for goodness sake, and he couldn't remember it.
Scrrrape—just outside their door.
The doorknob gave an audible shudder, like something had rattled it from the other side and as if in defiance, Freddie raised his voice a little, even though it was quivering. Perhaps it was this, the very sound of Freddie's fear, which sent a newfound determination surging through Brian. He opened his eyes again just in time to hear the door knob rattle once more, and thought he saw it moving in the dark. The metal gleamed faintly in the moonlight that fell in through the window.
No, he thought and stared at it, barely breathing. No, you don't. He had no prayer, no explanations, no way of knowing what was behind that door, but if ghosts were real, if they were what remained of the dead, if they were but an echo of the psychic energy of a living being then surely, surely they could not be a match for someone who was alive, and the power their mind held? Right now, that theory was as good as any. No, he commanded, and put it to the test, focusing his thoughts with all the clarity he could muster as he imagined himself and Freddie safe behind invisible, impenetrable walls inside their bed. Inside this room. No, you will not. You won't frighten us.
The doorknob veritably shook and Brian refused to take his eyes off it, not daring to blink.
No! No, you can't. You won't get to us. You can't get to us. NO—
Freddie gasped.
The light had flickered on again, making Brian squint. He released a breath, feeling as though he had just woken from a bad dream, so changed was the atmosphere in the room all of a sudden. The faint crackle of the radio was back. Leaves rustled softly outside.
Yet, for a long time, neither of them said a word as they lay there and listened out for any unusual sounds, still holding on to each other, not moving a limb.
Eventually, Brian swallowed and Freddie exhaled a breath he had still been holding, tilting his head up. They shared a long look, speechless and bewildered, and shifted into a slightly more comfortable position. Brian's arm, however, remained under Freddie's head, and Freddie made no attempt to extract his leg from between Brian's calves, nor pull his hand back from where it lay on his waist.
“I've never heard you pray before,” Brian said after some time, almost conversationally.
“I haven't in years,” Freddie replied, shaking his head slightly. “It was the only one I could remember. Do you… ” He hesitated. “Do you think it… worked?”
“I don't know,” Brian said honestly, wondering the same thing about his own endeavors.
“I felt like a fraud,” Freddie gave a small chuckle, chewing his lip. “I didn't think I believed anymore in… well…” he trailed off, but Brian knew what he meant all too well.
“It could be,” he offered, even as he mulled it over, “that it isn't faith or… or God.”
“Then what?”
“The power of thought.”
Freddie didn't say anything more for a minute or two. But then, he asked one of the questions Brian, too, was asking himself.
“What if it comes back?” There was nothing Brian could say to that in reply, not with any degree of certainty. “Bri.”
“I don't know,” he murmured.
“How are we going to sleep?” Freddie sounded a mixture of amused and desperate. “I don't think I can fucking sleep, darling, can you?”
“Fuck me,” Brian rubbed his eyes with a breathy laugh. “No, I really don't think I can.”
Freddie hummed. “We'll be dead on our feet tomorrow—oh.” He lifted his head up, his expression alarmed. “What about Deaky and Roger? And John? Do you think they're alright?”
They looked at each other for a long moment, thinking of their bandmates and and their roadie, all staying in the next room over.
“Well, I haven't heard any screams,” said Brian, which for some reason sent them both into a fit of giggles. Nervous tension seeking release.
“God, I do hope they're alright,” Freddie sighed when the laughter had subsided, and pressed himself a bit more snuggly against Brian's side.
“I'm sure they—”
That was when they heard it. A door creaking open and a muffled yelp from the room next door.