Teen Titans Fan Fiction ❯ Haunts ❯ Death Marks ( Chapter 3 )

Haunts

Chapter Three: Death Marks

 

There are your usual high school clichés.

 

You've got pretty boys, jocks, hot cheerleaders, goth kids, etc. etc. They all fit into the basic social ladder, sometimes intertwining, most of the time not. Usually it's fairly simple to figure out where you are based on how the A-listers treat you. (The higher up on the ladder, the more chance of working at McDonalds or Wal-Mart, or becoming a porn star, depending on your gender.)

 

And then, beside the ladder, is the bucket, where all the misfit kids come to play.

 

And at school, the biggest misfit of all was the affectionately named Goth Roth.

 

She did not talk, associate, date, party, hang out, or do anything with anyone. She has been seen sitting, reading. In every class, in every lunch, in every off chance someone might've seen her, Raven Roth was in love with her books.

 

Those of the outside culture didn't even talk with her. Most had learned to band together (forming their own little gang that scared half the school), but not Raven. She was much better off on her own.

 

It was of course people's nature to get involved. Stories leaked out of a criminal record, bad blood in the family (that most certainly leaked down to her), even freaky stories of witchcraft and rituals she may or may not be doing. Counselors sat down with her at off hours, but even when she was forced into the Peer Support program (a stupid group the teachers had made up so loner kids would be forced into helping kids with problems, and more often a form of punishment, especially for popular kids who couldn't afford a detention), she just sat down and read her books, letting the teachers or unlucky student chatter on for an hour before she was sent back to class.

 

After a while, they gave up. Goth Roth went to the back of everyone's mind, just there for the occasional jeer or taunt, in which she responded by flipping the page in her latest novel.

 

And now Gar was sitting down with her as she pulled a lunchbox out of nowhere, revealing snacks and drink.

 

“…Raven,” he repeated, trying to force indifference.

 

There was no such luck.

 

She bristled instantly, slamming a mug of something hot against the counter, chipping it away.

 

“Yes,” she bit, causing him to draw back. “Raven. Or would you rather call me Goth Roth? It doesn't matter, though. I bet your friends would be just as happy to hear you sat down with such a freak and made pleasant conversation.” She gave a violent twist to the mug. “Maybe tell them I performed a ritual with a goat head and a little baby sacrifice. I'll paint pentagrams with blood on the walls, if that makes you feel better. That's why you came up here anyway.” She tipped the contents into the cap, and he noticed steam rise. “For stories. Another triumph. What are you going to do with your life when all you've got is tall tales?” Her outburst ended as she slammed the mug back down and took a swig of whatever was within. She held it out to him. “Tea?”

 

“What?” He jumped at the liquid. At this point he was sure she was going to poison him or do something crazy. She'd yet to debunk that rumor.

 

She stared at him as if he were stupid. “Tea. Brown liquid, tastes good with some sugar or honey. Keeps me up all night, but that's fine.”

 

He eyed the cup carefully. “No… thanks.”

 

She shrugged, taking another sip. “Sorry. I get… defensive.”

 

Defensive was not the word he was thinking. Insane was more like it. “How often do you come here?” It was better to change the subject. Being burned with hot tea was not the way he wanted to go.

 

She titled her head away from him, brushing hair out of her face. “Every day, just about. Sometimes I can't, but sometimes I spend nights here.”

 

He raised an eyebrow then scolded himself. Be nice. She might bite your head off. “Have you ever been upstairs?”

 

For some reason, she seemed to relax a bit. More talking about the house. Good.

 

“Yeah. When I was little I was too scared to climb up. It's not so bad. Just… creaks.”

 

“What's up there?”

 

“You can't find out for yourself?”

 

For all her talk about dares, there was one in her voice. Damn his showmanship. But he shrugged. “I'd rather you just tell me.”

 

A smirk flitted across her features. “Bedrooms, mostly. Old clothes, a study. More stairs.”

 

“Oh.” The house was sounding less haunted and more abandoned. “Did you go up the other stairs?”

 

She shook her head. “I tried. There's a loose step… somewhere. I tried to jump over it, but then I'm tumbling back down. After a while, I kind of gave up.” She stared up at the ceiling, and her hood gave away a few inches. “I want to see the attic. I know there's something in there.”

 

He followed her gaze and shuddered. This was sounding like a bad horror movie. They'd crawl up there and find a body and a murder plot or something. He was not up for that.

 

Raven hopped off the stool, grabbing his arm. She yanked him along, and he gargled a cry of protest.

 

“H—Hey!” He attempted to worm out of her grip. (She was strong!) “What—“

 

“You want to see the upstairs?” She stopped at the bottom of the steps, looking into the darkness it gave way to. “Well come on.”

 

He grimaced at it, still not quite sure whether or not to believe the ghost theory. It was growing more probable the more time he spent in the house. “Why?”

 

She huffed and stomped up the first few steps, opening her arms wide in an obvious gestures.

 

“The same reason you came into the house,” she answered, turning her back to him as she continued up.

 

Gar's instincts were screaming at him to turn away from the crazy girl and head home. And yet…

 

It was more than his curious nature. It was the nature of the house, the girl, the entire ordeal. So, holding in a breath, he took the first step.