#andy. thread.

     ‘ W-- I mean, I’m not in charge here. That’s my dad, um -- ’ She glances awkwardly back over her shoulder, like she’s expecting him to materialise out of thin air from wherever it is he’s gotten to. He’s never around when you need him, though, and Andy has to turn back to the stranger with an uncertain look on her face. (Everything feels bad here. Miserable and horrible and awful, sitting on her chest like a nightmare. It’s not hard to see why the place has a reputation, and why Dad would bring them all here when things seem to be escalating, as the stories tell it. It just makes it so hard to concentrate. How do you tell someone to leave because you have an awful tv show to film?) ‘ He’s, uh -- If you stay, he’ll be right mad about it, and it’s really not worth it? We’re only gonna be here for, like, a night. Just one night, and then maybe you could come back and -- we won’t be here? ’ 

     ‘ Wait. You know he’s here too. Don’t you? ’ It’s always strange, feeling feelings that aren’t her own, but this is even stranger. What is usually a two-way conversation suddenly has an extra player. It’s all shifted somehow, and Andy doesn’t feel like she’s underwater anymore, doesn’t feel overwhelmed. For once, something else makes her hands shake. 

     ‘ I’m really sorry about him. I know it’s... stupid. ’ She grimaces, here, playing the part of the resident sceptic as always. Dad thinks it makes it more convincing or something, that she’s just the camerawoman who thinks she’s better than all of this. Never mind the fact that she looks like she’s on the verge of a breakdown constantly. ‘ We’ll be out of your hair tomorrow. No haunted library stuff. ’ 

     ‘ This place gives me a headache. ’ She says it like an apology. I’m usually more fun, she might say, if she were a liar. ‘ Is there another room we can sit in? I think it’s the lights. ’