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The haunted house Ryan had dragged them to was nothing special. An old, rundown Victorian farmhouse out on the outskirts of a major city. The floorboards were in good enough condition that they hardly creaked underfoot, the wallpaper not peeling at all, windows not even rattling in the wind.
But, despite the definite non-spookiness of the house, Shane...well, Shane was feeling on edge.
Which never happened in these places. Places where murderers could still lurk, yea, they gave him a sense of unease. Rotting floorboards that he or Ryan could easily fall through didn't usually sit well with him, either. But old houses that people died in over a century ago? That left nothing to be scared of. But still, he felt like there was something there, something lurking in the shadows, just waiting to pounce. And it really did not sit well with him.
“Fuck, man, I don’t like this one bit,” Ryan muttered next to him. “Do you, like, get that feeling that we’re being watched?”
Shane laughed with bravado he definitely did not have. “We’ve got a camera on us, Ryan. Of course we’re being watched.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
He did. He really did and he really did not like it one bit.
“Come on," Shane said, gathering all the courage he had. "We have a whole house to investigate.”
This house probably was the worst one Ryan had ever taken them to. His gut had been churning with anxiety for the past fifteen minutes, and it was slowly getting worse as they climbed down the basement stairs. It was like there was an elephant sitting on his chest, crushing his ribs, making it hard to breathe. Even Shane seemed more on edge, his usually unflappable co-host constantly glancing around warily.
“I think I need to sit down for a second,” Shane said when they reached the bottom of the stairs. “I’m feeling a bit light headed.”
So it wasn’t just him. That really didn’t serve to settle his nerves at all. Shane was never bothered by the haunted places they went to - never got the nausea, the cold spots, the voices. Hell, the only time he'd ever seen his co-host even slightly unsettled was back at the Keddie Cabins, and that was mainly because the taller man was semi-convinced that Marty Smartt was going to leap out of the bushes and smash his head in with a hammer.
“You feeling okay?” Ryan asked, hoping that the fear wasn’t too evident in his voice.
“Yeah, I think so. It’s probably just my heart playing up again. It does that sometimes.”
Still, Shane wobbled when he stood up, looking momentarily like he was going to black out as he reached out for Ryan to steady him.
“I’m fine. Just stood up too fast. It’s a long way up to my head - sometimes the blood just can’t move fast enough.”
Ryan couldn't help but wheeze, grateful for the humour breaking his anxiety. He sucked in some air, ready to snap back with a witty height joke, when --
Whoosh!
“Ah! Did you…fuck, man, did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Shane frowned.
“There…there was a whooshing sound! Like something just moved past me!”
“It was probably just the wind.”
“It wasn’t the wind!” Ryan snapped, harsher than usual. “Fuck, dude, that wasn’t the fucking wind!”
Shane held his hands up, like he was trying to calm some wild animal. “Okay, fine. It's just the most logical explanation.”
“The most -- oh, fuck it. Do you want me to tell you the history of this place or not?”
“Okay, fine, go on.”
“Years ago…”
Ryan did tell a good tale, Shane had to give him that. The other man spoke him in hushed, dramatic tones, about the man who had murdered his wife and children and hidden them in this very basement, where they lay undiscovered until someone was cleaning out the house after his death. Years later, the couple living in the house started hearing things. Sounds like people whispering in different rooms, whooshes of bodies moving past. It was said they felt an overpowering feeling of dread and anxiety every time they were in the house, getting worse and worse as they moved towards the basement. Eventually, the couple couldn't take it any more, getting so spooked that they sold the house and left, never looking back. But then the next family had the same symptoms - hearing whooshing sounds, vision blurring, dizziness and nausea, all getting worse as they moved closer and closer to the basement. They, too, gave up on the house, leaving and never turning back, allowing the house to fall into the rundown state they found it in now.
For the first time, Shane could relate to the house’s ex residents. His heart was pounding in his chest, playing up in ways that it really shouldn't be able to with the dose of heart meds he was on these days. The anxiety felt like it was going to overpower him, choke the very breath out of him. His vision kept on sliding in and out of focus, vague sounds just outside hearing range beginning to bother him.
But ghosts aren’t real.
His faith in that was unshakable. Unless there was a full bodied apparition, he didn’t buy that ghosts existed. He probably just needed to up his dosage for his meds, or up his sodium and water intake. It wasn't exactly like he was unused to his heart racing for no real reason, or blacking out when standing up.
“So the hauntings are coming from the boiler room, right?" he asked, keen to get this visit over and done with. "Do we wanna, you know, go in there one at a time and see if we get any spooky shit?”
Ryan looked nervous about the idea, and for the first time ever Shane didn’t really disagree with the look on his face. He didn’t exactly feel much better.
“Look, I’ll go first. Two minutes, then we’re done down here.”
“Ok, fine, deal. But if you die in there, I’m not taking any responsibility.”
The very second the door closed behind him, Shane felt worse. The tightness in his chest was worse, vision swimming slightly.
“Ghosts, if you’re in here, make yourself known!”
There was a pop, like a log in a fireplace, followed by a whoosh, and Shane felt his heart go through the roof.
“Ryan must finally be rubbing off on me,” he muttered to himself, before yelling louder, “Spirits! Talk to me! Show yourself!”
And then there were whispers, like someone talking in another room, and he glanced over his shoulder but there was nothing but the dark sense of foreboding, of incoming doom. His head was pounding in time with his heart, vision blurring…
…and blurring…
…until suddenly darkness was overwhelming him.
The sound of crashing nearly gave Ryan a heart attack.
“Shane? Shane, are you okay?”
There was no reply on the other side of the door. Ryan glanced down at his watch - thirty seconds to go.
“Shane? What was that?”
Still no response.
“Shane if you don’t answer I’m coming in!”
He hardly waited before bursting in through the door.
Shane was flat on the floor, convulsing, and once more Ryan’s heart went through the roof.
“Shit! Shane!” he yelled, rushing in and fretting, no idea what to do.
“I’ll call an ambulance,” TJ said, grabbing his phone and dialling as Ryan fretted. He grabbed the holy water he kept handy in his bag’s pocket and dumped it over his best friend’s head.
It didn’t seem to make a difference.
Vaguely, he was aware of TJ talking on the phone, but he couldn’t hear it over the fear pounding through him.
Was Shane possessed? Was this all Ryan’s fault?
Shane’s convulsions seemed to be lessening as TJ came back in, his long legs only twitching as he lay unresponsive on the floor.
“The ambulance’ll be here in a few minutes. They said to make sure his airways are clear and he's still breathing.”
Ryan nodded, kneeling down beside his friend and gently rolling him into the recovery position, checking for the tell-tale rise and fall of his chest, for a pulse. There was on there, but it was faint, feeling like it was going to fade beneath his fingers. Ryan's own chest felt unbearably tight, his head beginning to swim.
The paramedics took next to no time arriving. They strapped an oxygen mask to Shane’s face, taking his blood pressure as they asked TJ questions. Ryan was too wound up watching Shane to be able to do anything useful.
“His blood oxygen is dangerously low,” the paramedic tending to his best friend said. "Do you have any idea what could've caused it?"
“He does…he has heart problems,” Ryan told them, glad to finally feel useful. “That could be contributing. He said he was feeling a bit dizzy when we went downstairs - he had to sit down for a minute.”
“And what about you? Did you feeling anything out of the ordinary?”
“Yeah. Lots of anxiety symptoms - kept getting chest tightness, feeling worried, you know?”
The paramedic frowned at him, getting a secondary heart monitor and gesturing to Ryan.
"Can I have your hand for a minute?"
Ryan shrugged, holding it out and watching with fascination as the paramedic fastened the heart monitor to his finger. The monitor beeped, and the paramedic frowned at the screen.
“Your blood oxygen is also unusually low. Do you have any history of heart problems?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Are you still feeling that anxiety?”
“I mean, my best friend is lying unconscious on a stretcher in a haunted house. Yeah, I’m still feeling anxious.”
"But are you feeling the light-headedness? Hearing sounds?"
"Yeah, I mean, I guess?"
“Hey, Lewis," the paramedic called to their partner, "Can you run a blood oxygen check on these guy's friend? I think we might need to take all three of them in for treatment.”
Shane felt rough as hell when he finally came to. His head ached, knees feeling scraped where they'd collided with the floor as he went down. His muscles felt sore, his head stuffy, like he was suffering from the worlds lest-phlegmy flu. Slowly, he became more aware of his surroundings, of the heart monitor strapped to his finger and the oxygen mask covering his face. The room he was in was silent aside from the steady beep of machinery and the quiet whooshing sound of the oxygen machine. With more effort than it really should've taken, Shane managed to pry his eyes open. The hospital room was dim, curtains drawn for the night, but he could clearly make out a figure sitting in the chair next to him.
"Ryan?"
The shorter man jerked awake, looking disoriented for a minute before his face broke into the widest grin Shane had ever seen on him.
"Shane! Holy shit, you're awake!"
"Yeah. What...what happened? How long have I been out for?"
"It's been three days, man. You collapsed at the house. Turns out the supposed haunted nature of the house was just hallucinations brought on by carbon monoxide poisoning."
"Wait, carbon monoxide poisoning?" Shane asked, confused.
"Yep. Turns out, carbon monoxide poisoning can cause people to feel paranoia and an intense feeling of dread, as well as like auditory hallucinations."
"So...I passed out because of a gas leak?" Shane felt kind of ridiculous saying it. It wasn't exactly the most badass way to end up in hospital for three days.
"Yeah. Turns out there was quite a build up of it in the basement. We're lucky the paramedics got there so fast. There was a while there were..."
Ryan gulped, and suddenly Shane realised how exhausted his friend looked.
"Have you been sitting there for the past three days?"
His friend shook his head.
"Nah. Me and TJ had to spend the first day in bed as well - neither of us were hit as badly as you, but we still weren't in the best of shape. TJ's fine, by the way - he's back at the hotel, resting up and doing the insurance papers. I just...they said there was a chance you wouldn't wake up, or if you did you'd be..."
Ryan looked like he was about to start crying, and Shane instantly reached out to grab his hand.
"Hey, hey, Ryan, it's alright. I'm fine. We're all fine, we're all alive, nothing bad happened. We've just gained another over dramatic story to tell. Hell, I bet you thought it was a ghost."
"Yeah, I did. I actually...I poured my holy water over your head."
Shane couldn't help but let out a wheeze.
"Fuck, I bet that helped so much," he laughed, voice dripping with sarcasm.
"It helped about as much as you'd expect pouring water over the head of someone experiencing carbon monoxide poisoning would."
The pair of them made eye contact, and neither of them could keep a straight face, both cracking up, until Shane let out a painful cough. Ryan was immediately on his feet, reaching for him, and Shane had to wave his hand dismissively.
"I'm fine! I'm still feeling a bit rough, but I'm fine."
Shane knew the look on Ryan's face. It's the look he had when he was trying to keep calm in their various 'haunted' houses and failing miserably. The younger man opened his mouth as if to say something, but then snapped it shut again, just reaching for Shane's hand.
"Are you...are you doing alright, Ryan?"
Ryan nodded, then shook his head.
"I thought I'd lost you. I was scared you wouldn't wake up and it would be all my fault and..."
"Ryan! Ryan, it's okay. It's not your fault." Shane shuffled over in his bed, as far as the single hospital bed would allow, and patted the space next to him. "Come here."
The younger man looked a bit confused, but complied, curling in on Shane's side. Shane moved slightly so Ryan's head was on his chest, ear resting flat against it, hoping that the younger man could hear the steady pounding of his heart in his ribcage.
"I'm fine. I'm alive, I'm fine, and I'm not going anywhere, you hear me?"