Within the house something lurked; unseen, and unheard yet ever present within the edifice. The creature that existed within the home was a harmless one, more or less, and it may not have been a tangible being but it was certainly a sentient, intelligent one. It was capable of thoughts and emotions, and at that point in time it was rather angry. Things had been transforming within the place he was held within, and yet whilst he had access to the men that were enacting the change, he didn’t go after them. He knew they weren’t the ones causing the trouble. Being an intelligent being meant he was able to link together the arrival of the young gentleman that was now stepping through the front entrance of his home with the overwhelming eruption of change within it. It was too many new things all at once, and it presented the same problem that he’d experienced when the last family entered the halls of the home. When the flesh and blood beings began tearing out walls and chipping away whatever paint remained from when he himself had painstakingly swept over those walls with a dipped brush it was torturous. He felt like they were tearing away pieces of his own physical being, although his body was long gone, buried deep beneath the property and rotted away to brittle bones.<br/><br/>It was so unbelievably painful.<br/><br/>Yet … When the creature was finally face to face with the young man again, having not seen him since his self guided tour of the home, the pain seemed to ebb ever so slightly. It, or, he couldn't help but be distracted from his anger when he laid eyes upon such beauty; he couldn't help but long for the feeling of a heart hammering away in his chest. Surely in life the sight of such a divine man would have done such things to him. But, what sort of creature would think these things, you may ask?<br/><br/>You see, the creature that lurked wasn’t really a creature at all; it was Elliot Bartholomew Rodgers, a young man that had called the house his home for over one-hundred years. His loved ones had taken to calling him Elliot or El when they were still walking amongst the living, but it wasn’t as though his name mattered anymore. It had been lost to history long ago, and he had come to the unfortunate conclusion that nobody would ever again utter the syllables of it. He was a beautiful individual in death, as he had been in life, with slightly textured golden hair framing androgynous facial features that had held a certain note of poetic sadness within them even before he was killed. It wasn’t as though his beauty mattered, though, as one of the other unfortunate realizations he’d come to was that nobody would ever again be able to appreciate it in the manner he so desired. He could admire others that entered or moved past the home, though, as he was now admiring the newest tenant as he moved to stand in front of a set fairly newly installed bay windows that looked down over the now beautifully landscaped front yard. He’d always had a penchant for indulging in the company of beautiful men, and in death that obsession was hardly lessened. If anything, his hunger had increased over many years of lonely abstinence.<br/><br/>Rune, he’d deduced his name was whilst listening to the interactions of the individuals that were hauling various items into the home. An interesting name, to be sure, and not like anything he’d heard in his life, or even in his death. He tested the word out on his tongue, however, as he lingered behind the blonde male and admired the glossy mane that graced his head.<i>Rune, hm? How odd . . . Must be a product of the modern times.</i>His thoughts were quick to shift, however, as he often had trouble lingering on one topic for an extended period of times when new stimuli were introduced to him. He had such extended periods of time alone to ponder limited amounts of thoughts and ideas, new focal points in his repertoire caused his mind to bound from point to point quite quickly.<br/><br/><i>How soft must his hair be?</i><br/><br/>Elliot himself had always had brittle, staticy hair in life. He’d done his best to tame it, but it never quite took on the properties he’d wished it to. Rune’s hair was, however, perfect in all ways. Whilst he knew that he’d never be able to truly touch the male’s glossy locks, the desire to try seized him desperately and he crept forwards on light feet, as though he was nervous that the man would turn and see him though for all intents and purposes he was unnoticeable. He reached out with a trembling hand, and he desperately tried to materialize the appendage so he could run his fingers through the soft vale of hair. He found, however, that he wasn’t able to muster up quite enough energy to do so, and per the usual his hand passed directly through the material object. He did muster up enough force to create a soft, breeze though, and he watch Rune’s hair ruffle lightly within it. He gasped softly as the man stood a bit more erect at the sensation, reaching to touch the back of his neck.<br/><br/>He’d noticed him? Would he turn and pose the question that Elliot so desired to hear:<i>Who’s there?</i>No. He turned and walked right through the apparition at his back, causing Elliot to gasp and reach up, clutching the space on his own form where his heart should have resided, but no longer did. He hurried after his newest unknowing ward, watching as he gazed at the thermostat thoughtfully.<br/><br/><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#99ccff">“It’s not the blasted thing on the wall, it’s me!”</span></i>The spirit cried out, his anger suddenly resurfacing, and causing a brief flare of heat. Of course his voice went unheard, as it so often did, and he watched as Rune moved on to continue with the task at hand: filling up the home with objects that were all foreign to poor Elliot. The spirit followed Rune around quietly for much of the remainder of the day, occasionally offering various halfhearted attempts to catch his attention in this first day at his side. Only one time did he venture off from the man’s side, and that was when the cable employee stopped by and was working on hooking up the last television in the home.<br/><br/>Having not had technology such as a TV when he was alive, he found it to be an entertaining thing to manipulate in death, and manipulate it he did. As the tall, skinny man was tucked behind the television, plugging in the audio cables in, Elliot focused in his energy and switched on the device, laughing jovially as the thing sprung to life for the first time since the last owners had fled. He scooted back through the table that sat directly behind the TV and he clasped his hands together as he watched the images of a trio of men riding three magnificent horses down a gravel road . . . No, wait, there was a woman amidst them?<i>Why how preposterous; a woman riding a astride a horse in a straddled position? What sort of gentleman would allow any woman close to him to partake in such a damaging activity?</i>Elliot shook his head in exasperation as he gazed at the moving image intently, not noticing the anxiety he’d triggered in the gentleman behind the device. The man with the graying hair scooted out from his position behind the device quickly and gathered up his things in an anxious manner, shuffling from the room and past Rune hurriedly.<br/><br/>“Y-You should be all set, Sir. Thank you for using Comcast,” he said shortly, glancing warily over his shoulder towards the television as he scooted out the door.<br/><br/>Elliot shifted his gaze over onto the gentleman as he scooted away hurriedly, and he furrowed his brow as he followed after him at a lazed pace, though he stopped beside Rune, an overwhelming sadness suddenly enveloping him. Had he scared away yet another visitor? Oh dear, he hadn’t meant to. If he was capable of crying perhaps he would have, but instead his energy simply bled into the world around him, leaving his immediate surroundings feeling unusually cold, and offering those in his vicinity a sense of unexplainable sadness. He shifted his gaze over onto Rune, a soft sigh escaping him.<br/><br/><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#99ccff">“Well, you’re not scared of me just yet, that’s good … But I’m also not sure you know I’m here.”</span></i>His tone was soft, somber, almost defeated but not quite. He tried to cheer himself up, though, to level out his erratic energies by murmuring,<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#99ccff">“We’ll get you to notice me, though, don't you worry … And after you do perhaps you’ll stay, unlike the others.”</span></i>He reached out to his newest ward then, trying so desperately to touch his cheek, but only managing to swipe his incoherent hand through the man’s flesh before his name was called from the doorstep timidly, the moving company having finished their work, but reluctant to come inside and collect their pay.