Chapter Text
There is a boy in the attic of their new home. Simon is sure of it. He's seen the kid with his own two eyes when he explored the hidden space. It's not a ghost like Linda jokingly suggested. And it's not a childish delusion like Sara keeps saying it is. He may only be ten, but she's just a year older.
He's set on being right, so Simon has found Micke's Polaroid camera and is going to spend the night in the attic.
Linda climbs the ladder to poke her head up into the space and watch her son continue to set up his bed—it’s just a pile of pillows and blankets on top of the couch cushions.
“Mi amor,” she starts, grabbing his attention from where he was meticulously organizing the heap, “remember, if you ever feel like stopping at all tonight, you can. There is no harm in Sara being right.”
“I know, mamá,” Simon says, slightly annoyed that she has told him this so many times, as he turns back to the pillows and blankets. He’s ten. He can handle the slightly spooky attic covered in spiderwebs and creaking floorboards. Besides, it’s all to prove to Sara that he is right and she is wrong.
Linda rises the rest of the way into the attic and sits down next to her son. She tries to run her fingers through his hair, but he ducks away. She shakes her head. Her boy is becoming so independent, but she just wants to show some love! It’s both wonderful and frustrating.
“Okay,” she says softly, watching her son for a moment. He fluffs some pillows and blankets one last time before crawling under them. He delicately places the camera and flashlight beside his head.
“Goodnight, mamá,” he says, pulling a blanket up to his chin.
“Goodnight, mi amor.” Linda ducks down to place a kiss on his forehead, silently celebrating that he let her do so. “Have fun, my little ghost hunter,” she teases on her way back down the ladder. Simon just beams at her before she turns out the lights.
It all hits Simon when darkness falls over the room. He’s alone in the dark, spooky attic of the house he’s been in for hardly a week. There are still boxes piled everywhere; they’ve barely moved in.
A creak sounds from somewhere, and Simon scrambles for the flashlight. He turns it on, clutching it to his chest as he shines the light around the empty space. When the search proves it to be nothing and his heartbeat slows, Simon scolds himself for being such a baby. He’s been influenced by Linda’s ghost documentaries. Ten-year-olds don’t jump at every unknown sound. What would Sara say?
So Simon determinedly turns off the flashlight and tucks himself back in. He’ll sleep in the scary attic and find the boy. That’ll show Sara!
At some point, Simon had fallen asleep, but he’s woken by being shaken. At first, he thinks that it’s morning and Linda is waking him up, but as he opens his eyes to the same pitch black he last remembered seeing, he decides that’s not the case. So what is…
In a rush, Simon grabs the Polaroid camera and turns to the source of the disturbance. Before he can even register the shadowy figure for himself, he clicks the button, there’s a blinding flash, and then the picture begins to print. Simon grins. Suck it, Sara!
Still recovering from the flash, Simon watches the picture print. It barely started when there was a small shout followed by a loud thump. Simon jumps, dropping the camera as he searches for the flashlight. His eyes still haven’t adjusted to the darkness.
“What the hell?”
Simon finds the flashlight.
“Who are—”
“Aha!” Simon exclaims as he points the flashlight at the figure. “I knew you were real!”
There is another shout as Simon’s light lands on a boy. He’s on the floor as if he has fallen there. A raised hand is blocking most of his face. “Could you put that God forsaken thing down? I can’t see.”
Simon moves the light so it shines on the boy’s chest. “Who are you?” he demands. “And what are you doing in my house?”
“I could be asking the same to you,” the boy shoots back. “This house has always been empty. What are you doing in it? I’ve never seen you before.”
Simon crosses his arms over his chest, moving the light and washing them both in darkness. “I’m Simon. And we just moved here last week. I saw you here the same night we arrived, but no one believed me. Now, who are you, and why are you in our attic?”
The light is no longer shining on the boy, and it is quiet for long enough that Simon begins to worry that he has disappeared again. He’s about to move the light back when the boy says, tentatively, “I’m Wille and I’ve always hung out here. Like I said, this house has always been empty, and I live right next door.”
Simon stares at him. “Why would you hang out in an empty house?”
Wille doesn’t respond. Instead, he asks, “Did you… take a picture of me?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
Simon shrugs. “To prove to my sister that you exist.”
“Oh.”
“Why did you wake me up?”
At the question, Wille goes quiet again. This time, Simon does move the flashlight back to him. He looks to be about Simon’s age. He’s blond and has countless freckles. He’s also wearing a sweater vest. Simon has only ever had to wear those to church.
“Uhm… I…” Wille sits up, crosses his legs, and begins to pick at the nice wooden floors of the finished attic. “I don’t know.”
Simon rolls his eyes. “That’s dumb. There’s got to be a reason.”
“Well…” Wille traces the grain of one of the boards. “I don’t know.”
Simon huffs. “That’s stupid.” Wille doesn’t say anything, but he does stop playing with the floor. Instead, he wrings his hands. “Why are you here?” Simon tries, just realizing that it’s the middle of the night and they should both be sleeping. Wille just shrugs. Simon is really starting to find this guy irritating.
“You’re boring,” Simon decides to inform him. “You wake me up, and now you won’t talk to me.”
Wille’s head snaps up at that, eyes wide. They’re a very pleasant honey-brown. “No!” he exclaims. “What if we…” He looks around the attic. “Played a game.”
Simon tilts his head. “What game?”
Wille’s shoulders slump. “I don’t know…”
“Is that your favorite phrase? You say it a lot.” A light blush dusts Wille’s freckles at the teasing. A hand comes up to the back of his neck, then runs through his hair. “No, I…”
“It’s alright, Wille.” That’s the first time Simon has said his name out loud. It curls nicely on his tongue. It’s so fun to say. Wille, Wille, Wille. “I have favorite phrases, too. Like ‘I’m better than Sara at everything’.”
A slightly confused smile spreads on Wille’s face. “Sara…?”
“My older sister. She’s the one who doesn’t believe that you exist.”
Wille gives a short laugh. “Oh. I have an older brother. Although I don’t think I’m better than him at anything.”
“Is that why your favorite phrase is ‘I don’t know’?”
Wille smiles. “I guess.”
They end up playing Twenty Questions. Or rather just Questions. They lose track after about nine questions back and forth, but it turns out Wille isn’t very boring at all. Although he is really fancy.
They are indeed the same age. Wille is a month-or-so older than him, but whatever. He recently started horseback riding, something Sara wants to start soon as well. He doesn’t go to the local school, but is privately tutored. His older brother, Erik, is fourteen and is really good at rowing. He’s currently away at a summer camp for it.
Simon gets the sense that Wille doesn’t have many friends. It’s kind of hard for Simon to comprehend, though. Yeah, he can be quiet, but he’s also really funny. Simon has had to bite his hand to stifle his laughter far too many times. They have a good time.
Eventually, though, Simon’s response to a question is cut off with a yawn.
“You should sleep,” Wille says. Simon nods through another yawn. “Yeah…” He turns to Wille. “You should stay, though, so I can show you to Sara in the morning. Prove to her I’m right and she’s wrong.”
Wille’s smiles are always so small, but this one is the biggest yet. He agrees quickly. “Okay.”
“You can just sleep here with me,” Simon says as he rearranges his make-shift bed. “Do you need to tell your parents anything?” Wille shakes his head quickly. “No.”
Simon smiles. “Okay.” He opens the blanket for Wille. The other boy climbs in quickly and makes himself comfortable. Simon turns off the flashlight and joins him.
“Goodnight, Simon,” Wille says.
“Goodnight, Wille,” Simon responds.
In the morning, there is no Wille. Simon wakes to the smell of breakfast and messy blankets.
A quick search proves that Wille is, in fact, nowhere to be found, and Simon fights back the hurt. It’s probably for the best that Wille went home. His parents would probably worry, and Linda would probably freak out. They weren’t actually expecting Simon to find a boy in the attic. But he was right!
Simon collects his flashlight, camera, and the picture before making his way down the ladder.
Linda is by the stove, trying and failing to light it, boxes filled with kitchen stuff from the move piled around her as she works in the limited room. She sways her hips to the beat of some Latin Pop playing on the radio. Spanish lyrics fill the space.
By some motherly instinct Simon may never understand, she turns the moment he enters.
“Buenos días, my ghost hunter,” she greets with a smile. “Is that a picture I see?”
Simon sits down at the table.
“Yeah.” He can hear the sadness in his own voice. Linda notices immediately. “Oh, ¿Qué pasó, mi amor? Did you not find the boy?” Simon is curled in on himself, picking at the finish on the wooden table. “No, estoy…” He sighs and looks up at Linda. “He left, mamá.”
“Oh, Simon, mi corazón.” Linda crosses the room to wrap her arms around her son. He sinks into it, hands grabbing at the fabric of her sleep shirt. She rubs his back twice before her attention is drawn to the Polaroid sitting on the table. “But you saw him, right?” she asks, pushing him away gently before handing him the photo.
“Yeah,” Simon mutters as he takes it from her, rubbing an eye. He freezes when he focuses on the picture. He grabs it with both hands and squints at it, turning it around and looking more closely at it. “I don’t understand!” he exclaims after a moment. “I saw him! He was there!”
He turns the dark photo around to Linda as if that will change anything. “I literally talked to him! He literally woke me up!”
Linda saves the picture from Simon’s flailing hands and examines it. It’s just a portion of the attic lit up with the white light of the flash, no trace of any boy.
Simon trashes the photo and blames the dark. He hadn’t actually seen Wille when he took the picture, so he probably missed him. He dodges all of Sara’s questions and jeers and tries again the very next night.
Wille doesn’t show. Simon didn’t sleep.
When he tries to sleep in the attic for the third night in a row, Linda tells him no. It’s a school night, so he has to get good sleep. Simon begrudgingly puts his attic-bed away and sleeps in his own bed, a mattress on the floor. Micke hasn’t gotten around to building bedframes yet.
He goes to school and realizes he doesn’t know anybody. Right, he’s the new kid. Everyone is nice enough, but they’re no Wille. Simon misses him.
He tries asking a few kids about him, but no one knows anything. Simon remembers that Wille doesn’t go to school and figures it makes sense. But wouldn’t he have hung out with other people?
Simon misses Wille.
When Friday night finally comes back around after the world’s longest week of school, Simon hurries to set up in the attic.
While struggling to get a couch cushion up the ladder by himself, Micke gets home.
“Simon, what are you doing?” he asks, still standing in the front door. He doesn’t sound Scary today, but the question isn’t pleasant. Simon continues to struggle as he responds.
“I’m staying in the attic again.”
Simon hears Micke sigh, and he forces himself to keep doing what he’s doing. “Simon, you’ve searched for him twice already. You know the boy’s not real, right?” Micke says. Simon steels himself and finally gets the cushion into the attic. He makes his way down the ladder.
“Simon,” Micke says again, finally entering the house to follow Simon to the living room, “that boy is not real. You don’t need to find him. You’ve tried twice.”
“He’s real, Pappa,” Simon states with conviction as he grabs the other couch cushion. “I saw him. I talked to him. His name is Wille.”
Micke laughs as Simon drags the cushion across the room. “You’re crazy,” he says, grabbing the other end. “Pappa.” Simon’s voice is strained.
“That boy isn’t real. You don’t get to steal the couch cushions to chase delusions.”
“Mamá said—”
“Mamá isn’t home right now. You’re not sleeping in the attic. That boy isn’t real, and you need to help unpack.” He pulls the cushion from Simon’s now slack grip. The boy’s face is scrunched. Micke gives him a look.
“Fine!” Simon exclaims, and he stomps to his room.
Sara stands in her doorway as he passes. She looks smug. Simon sticks his tongue out at her.
Linda is working late at the hospital, but Micke still comes to kiss him goodnight.
“Thank you, Simme,” he says as he sits down on Simon’s bed, now resting on a completed bedframe. “You were very helpful today. Look at this.” He shakes the headboard. “Great handiwork.”
Simon smiles. It wasn’t terrible, helping Micke build the frame. He got to tighten all the screws! But it was no Wille.
“Goodnight, Pappa,” he says, dodging Micke’s attempt to kiss his forehead. Micke does catch his hair with his hand, though. “Goodnight, Simme,” he says while his son laughs.
Simon waits. He waits patiently until the lights shining from under his door go out and the noises of the house settle.
Then he waits some more until the clock set next to his bed on a stack of boxes reads an hour past that.
Simon holds his breath as he pads to his door. He can hear his heartbeat as his door creaks open. He freezes, waits ten seconds, before he slips through the crack. Simon thanks his lucky star that Micke didn’t bother clearing out the attic or even putting the ladder away.
When he rises into the space, he sees the singular couch cushion and the blankets just as he had left them. The flashlight and Polaroid camera are there, too.
And Wille!
Simon can’t contain himself. He gasps and throws himself at the other boy.
He was sitting by the couch cushion with a blanket around his shoulders, looking adorably confused. They land comfortably when Simon crashes them to the floor.
“Wille!”
“Simon!”
“Where did you go?”
“Where did you go? I woke up here and you were gone.”
Simon leans back with a laugh. “What? I woke up a week ago, and you were gone. I thought you went back home.”
Wille tilts his head, and he looks an awful lot like a puppy. “A week ago? I just woke up and… I hardly ever go home. I don’t like it there. Here with you is much better.”
“What?” Now Simon is very confused. “No, it’s been a week, Wille.”
Wille shakes his head, an adorable pout on his lips. “No, I just woke up. It hasn’t been a week.”
“No—” Simon cuts himself off. “Whatever. You’re here now. I don’t want to argue.” Wille gives him one of his classic small smiles.
Simon doesn’t want to fall asleep. The last time he did that, Wille disappeared for a week. But he’s also tired. Wille could tell, so he decided they should go to bed. But Simon doesn’t want to. He’s also seemingly incapable. Something is keeping his body up despite the fatigue.
“Wille,” he whispers into the night, praying the other boy is yet to fall asleep. There is the shuffle of fabric as Wille turns around.
“What?” he asks.
“Are you tired?”
He’s so close that Simon can faintly see him frown. “No, but you are.” Simon shakes his head. “I can’t sleep.”
“Oh.” A pause. “Well, you should still try.”
Simon pouts. “But I want to talk to you.” Wille smiles. Big and broad and blinding. “Simon, we’ve talked for hours.”
“But I wanna talk more!” He shuffles in closer to Wille. Their noses almost touch, and Simon can feel Wille’s every breath. Softly, stunned, he says, “You’re very close.” Simon giggles, “Yeah,” and grabs onto Wille’s sweater vest.
Simon's eyes slip closed, and his head sinks into the pillow. His forehead knocks into Wille’s. He takes a deep breath and remembers.
“Wait!” he exclaims, shooting up from the blankets and scrambling for the camera. “Picture! The last one I took didn’t work out right.”
Wille sits up and tilts his head. “Really? I’m surprised. That flash really hurt my eyes.”
“Well, now we get to take a good one.” Simon messes with the camera for a few moments before throwing an arm around Wille’s shoulders and raising the lens high. “Say ‘cheese’!”
Wille repeats the word, and the flash goes off. It catches them both off guard despite the warning. They grimace and wince towards each other.
“We should really turn the lights on next time,” Wille says, rubbing his eyes while Simon watches the picture print. His head snaps to the other boy. “There are lights?”
“Yeah, of course, there are lights. How else could I hang out here at night?”
Simon tilts his head to the side. “Why do you hang out in the attic?”
Wille stills. He ducks his head and starts twisting the blanket in his hands. He’s suddenly as small as he was when Simon first talked to him. He sniffs. “Uhm…” He brushes a finger under his nose. “Uh… well, home is no fun. No one wants me there.”
“What about Erik?”
“He… he was nice. He was awesome. He was everything, but… I don’t know. He changed.” Wille took a really big breath and suddenly started settling back under the covers. “I’m tired, Simon. Let’s sleep.”
“I thought you didn’t get tired,” Simon said, but followed Wille’s lead anyway. As his head hit the pillow, his eyes got really heavy.
“I don’t,” Wille admitted, “but you do.” He poked Simon in the stomach and laughed as he squirmed away. “And you need to sleep.” Simon captured Wille’s hand but groaned. “Fine.” He changed his grip on Wille’s wrist to interlace their fingers. “But you don’t get to leave this time.”
Wille beamed. “I can do that.” Then he added, “As long as you don’t.”
Simon peeked at him through his lashes. “Okay.”
Once again, when Simon wakes, Wille is nowhere to be found.
He doesn’t know how to feel. He’s angry. Wille promised he would stay! But Wille probably doesn’t want his parents to be mad at him. And he probably didn’t want to wake Simon up. But still! He promised!
When Simon sneaks back down the ladder, Micke is upset. So is Simon. Micke tells him that he shouldn’t have disobeyed him. His yelling is loud. Linda stands in the kitchen with her back to them, messing with the stove again. Sara peeks out from behind her door.
Simon takes because what else can he do? It wasn’t exactly unusual. He is just glad that Micke is still Okay and not Scary yet. He is also still very in his head and mad at Wille.
Eventually, Linda interrupts.
“Micke,” she says tentatively. Her husband looks over, and his features soften slightly. “I haven’t been able to get the stove on since we moved in. Could you take a look at it?”
“Of course,” Micke says. Before he leaves, he tells Simon one last time, “No more attic. That boy isn’t real.”
When Micke passes her, Linda asks softly, “Better luck this time, my ghost hunter?”
“Yes, actually!” Simon exclaims, snapping to attention and scrambling back up the ladder. He returns with the new photo, but stops halfway to Linda, staring at the picture in frustration.
“What is it, corazón?”
Simon feels tears behind his eyes. He scrubs at his face with his empty hand. “I don’t— I don’t understand.” A tear escapes despite his efforts. Linda approaches him, and he shows her the picture. “He– He was there! I swear! We– We even took this picture together!”
Linda takes the photo from him, and her face crumples. She tugs her son into her chest and strokes his hair. She studies the picture.
It's of her son, and he’s clearly got an arm thrown around something, but the something isn’t visible. She trusts Simon. He’s not one to lie or make things up, even if he’s stubborn and wants to prove Sara wrong. Clearly, something is up.
“Is that another picture?” Sara asks, chipper and back from hiding in her room. She snatches it from Linda’s hand before she can say anything. She laughs to herself. “Your acting is very good, Simme, but there is no boy.”
“Yes, there is!” Simon cries, reaching for the picture. Sara holds it up out of his reach. “Give it to me!” Sara takes off down the hallway, and Simon chases her. Linda waits for a moment until she hears that their screams are indeed cheerful before returning to the kitchen.
After breakfast, the whole family is roped into unpacking.
Simon goes about it in a funk. He and Sara are tasked with their own rooms, a task that requires them to work together because there is furniture to be moved.
“Simon!” Sara complains for the umpteenth time. At this point, he doesn't even know what for. He sets down his side of the bookshelf and sits down on the bed. “Simon!” Sara says again, as if she has any control over what he does. When he doesn't respond, she scoffs.
“Just because your make-believe boyfriend isn't real and I was right doesn't mean you can be pissy. Help me!”
Simon squawks and makes a face of disgust.
“Ew, Sara! Ew!”
“¡Chicos!” Linda scolds from another room. “Stop fighting!”
Simon sticks his tongue out at his sister, but abides by his mother’s wishes. The siblings continue to work in relative silence.
Eventually, all the furniture they want to move has been moved, and Simon is unpacking boxes of clothes and trinkets when Linda enters the room.
“Corazón,” she starts, drawing Simon’s attention to her, “have you been able to talk to this boy?”
Simon’s face scrunches at the thought of Wille. He’s still angry at him for leaving again. Has been all day, a constant simmer beneath his skin. There’s also an ache in his heart. “Yeah,” he mutters, returning to the box sitting on the bed.
“Could you tell me about him?”
Simon doesn’t really want to. It feels almost as if speaking of Wille in any detail will only force him to realize that everyone might be right after all. He doesn’t want to be crazy.
He starts talking anyway. “Well, his name is Wille,” Simon says, continuing to go through the box as if refusing to look at Linda might delay the realization. “He told me he lives next door, but he likes to hang out in the attic. He says it’s better than home and that this house has been empty for years. He didn’t know that we moved in.”
Simon had stopped messing with the contents of the box. Now he raises his gaze to Linda and finds her face squished in confusion. A moment passes where he tries and fails to figure out what she’s thinking before she asks, “Have you tried finding him outside of the attic? If he lives next door—”
Linda doesn’t get to finish her sentence because Simon gasps and stands up straighter. “Oh my God!” He ignores Linda’s protest about his language. “You’re right! Mamá, can I go find Wille?”
Linda has a hard time saying no when her children look as excited as this. Simon has been down all day. She smiles. “When you’ve finished unpacking, I don’t see why not.”
Simon squeals and launches himself at her, trying to crush her in a hug with his small arms. “¡Gracias, gracias, gracias mamá!”
Simon finishes the rest of the boxes in half the time it took him to do the first half.
It is a gorgeous fall day, Simon finds when he launches himself out the front door. It’s not too hot and it’s not too cold, and he doesn’t even need a hoodie. He makes it to the sidewalk before he freezes. He doesn’t actually know which house is Wille’s.
Most logically, Simon has two options: the house directly to the left or the house directly to the right. But the house right across the street could also be considered a neighbor. As could the ones diagonally left and right across the street. So he’s got five options.
Simon decided to start with the house directly to the left. If he has to knock on each door, he might as well go quickly.
As he walks up his neighbor’s driveway, Simon takes note that the house looks almost identical to his. Linda mentioned something about cookie-cutter neighborhoods before they moved in. He thinks he understands the phrase now.
He doesn’t overthink when he knocks on the door. He wants to find Wille.
A teenage girl answers the door. So definitely not Wille’s house. Unless he neglected to mention an older sister when they talked about their families.
“Hello?” the girl says, very obviously already annoyed at his presence.
“Does Wille live here?” he asks, hoping that she might be able to at least point him to the right house so he doesn’t have to repeat this process, however many more times.
The girl looks very confused when she responds, “No. I don’t know of a Wille. Sorry, kid.” She closes the door when he nods and turns away.
Still determined, Simon treks to the house on the other side of his new home. He’s going in the logical order, not just in a circle. That will surely prove more effective.
This time, a woman who looks as old as his abuela answers the door. There is a spark of recognition in her eyes when he asks about Wille, but her answer worries him.
“Why are you looking for Wilhelm?” The name catches Simon off guard for a moment before he remembers that Wille is a nickname.
“He’s my friend and I want to play with him, but he forgot to tell me where he lives.”
There is a long pause before the woman responds.
“The last Wille that lived around here went missing twenty years ago.”