#yanderes

“Eddie, no.”

You smacked the thin man's rancid hand away with a spoon. He hissed and held his hand to his chest, but he didn't reach for you again. Or the pot of boiling water in front of you. He did, however, continue to perch on the counter off to your side, watching you with wide, unblinking eyes.

You really wish that salesman had told you the house was haunted before you bought it. Or maybe it was on you for not questioning why the house was so cheap, or why the previous owner was so eager to sell it. But back then you were just a starry eyed graduate, desperate to prove yourself an independent adult and find a place to call your own before continuing your journey. Unfortunately, a broken economy and hostile housing market was all that waited you past your cap and gown. So, yes, you were a little too quick to accept a suspicious offer, thinking that the poor location and shoddy upkeep were enough to justify a cost that low. But that salesman was still an asshole for taking advantage of your ignorance!

“Eddie, stop that.”

And now you had to deal with people—creatures?—like Eddie, one of many supernatural (and a few natural) beings that haunted your new home.

Eddie, like the others, was slow to show himself. He spent most of your first month making a ruckus from your walls or stealing random items. You only caught him watching you sleep a few times, and that was only because he had been confident enough to watch you from your bed, hunched over you like your own personal sleep paralysis demon. He had been quick to run back to the safety of the walls after that.

For the first month, your strategy for dealing with him and the others was to just ignore them. Pretend nothing was wrong with your new home. But eventually you grew tired of Eddie's voyeuristic and kleptomaniac tendencies, and invited him to chat over a meal. He had sat on the floor rather than one of the chairs, but he still paid attention while you talked and he slurped down the quick meal you had prepared.

You had ranted to him about, well… the everything of it all. Turns out he was a very good listener. He even placed a hand on your knee in support at one point when you really started to lose it. You had looked down at him, blinking back tears that were starting to form, as he placed his bowl to the side and rested his head by your leg. “‘Sorry.” He had rasped with a voice like sandpaper. And then you had started crying. But he stayed right by your side while you did.

Sometimes Eddie felt more cat than person. Technically, he wasn't a person at all, he was some kind of ghost or revenant. But he had once been a person, even if it didn't always show.

Like right now, when he was using the hand you had just smacked away to fish for spaghetti from the boiling pot of water. You knew that he couldn't feel pain (at least not in the same way you did), so that didnt startle you as much anymore. What was upsetting was that although you didnt know exactly where his hands have been, you know the kinds of places they could have been, and while jury was still out on whether or not ghosts could pass germs onto humans, you really didn't want to be the one find out.

“Eddie, you get your hand out of there right now or I swear to God—”

“Honey, I'm home!”

You sighed while Eddie pulled his hand from the pot with a fistful of half cooked spaghetti noodles.

“You never left it.” You called back to the man now approaching you from the steps of your basement. His basement, really. It may have been your house in name, but you refused to go into the basement. As far as you were concerned, that basement belonged to the Doctor.

The Doctor who was now approaching you, lab coat stained and reeking of something you didnt care to learn. Although, knowing the Doctor, he'd be more than happy to tell you in excruciating detail. You had only needed to question him a few times to realize you were better off not knowing.

“Evening, dear.” He greeted you, stopping to stand just behind you.

“Evening, Doctor.” You replied without looking back.

“How many times must I tell you, dear? You can just call me Glen.”

You just hummed in acknowledgement.

It was enough for Glen, who turned his attention to the man sucking pasta from his clutched hand. Glen's brows furrowed.

“You really must stop coddling him.”

You threw up your hands in exasperation. “I'm really not!”

“If you'd let me continue my experiments, I could—”

Smack!

Wet noodles slid down Glen's face, the heat causing his glasses to steam.

“The pasta is ready.” You said.

Glen just hummed in acknowledgment.

You drained the pasta while Eddie glared daggers at Glen. Glen had apparently run numerous experiments on Eddie long before you arrived at the house, and often offered to continue them “for your sake,” which put quite the strain on their relationship, to say the least.

Speaking of strained, the pasta was now that, and so you poured it back in the pot to mix with sauce. Your timer beeped, fortunately distracting the men.

“Meatballs are ready.”

Ever the gentleman (or so he proclaimed), Glen immediately offered to get them out for you. You, not really giving a fuck about his feats of gallantry but also not one to turn down help, relented.

While you started mixing tomato sauce in with the noodles, Glen brought the meatballs out of the oven. However, before he could set them on the counter, Eddie brought his foot out from under him to kick Glen in the gut. Down went the meatballs.

“Why, you little—!”

“Glen. Eddie. Knock it off. Both of you.”

You sighed at the sight of your hard work spilled all over the kitchen floor.

Glen stopped seething at Eddie to simper at you. “I just hate to see your hard work go to waste, my dear.”

“It's fine,” you sighed. “Eddie'll eat them.”

To be honest you weren't sure if you had even wanted them after Glen had brought them from the oven. He used his work gloves instead of regular oven mitts.

You could practically feel the satisfaction from Eddie as he shot the Doctor a look. The Doctor, infuriated, turned to you.

“This is exactly what I was talking about! You can't keep letting him get away with—”

“Honey, I'm home!”

The front door burst open revealing the most human, yet perhaps the most dangerous, of all the men haunting your home.

“Spencer,” you greeted. “How nice of you to join us.”

“Now, what kind of houseguest would I be if I deprived my favorite homeowner of my presence, huh?”

Out of all the ‘houseguests’ you had unwittingly accepted upon signing the lease, Spencer was the one you were the most weary of. While all of them were undeniably dangerous, you could at least understand or even sympathize with the others. You could get the revenant, the demon, the entity, whatever Lenny was, and even the mad scientist; you could see who or what they were beyond the violence and the insanity; you could in some way, shape, or form figure them out; but you couldn't do that with Spencer. And that scared you. Especially since, despite what the salesman believed, most of the poor houseowners before you hadn't even been killed by one of the supernatural beings tied to the property, but by the human serial killer who used it as a base.

Your face remained blank as you spoke.

First female love interest is now designed. There will be 4 more after her so that in total with the 7 guys there will be 12 love interests. That's my plan at least lol.