Something I began writing several weeks ago but didn't finish. –scratches head sheepishly- At least it's done, though. I love writing horror.

"Th-they were all staring at me, bro! I could feel—no, I did feel—a million eyes on me, all staring, all digging deep into my core—and, oh man, you don't know how awful it was, Mario; it was just terrible so horrible and, and I wanted to run but I couldn't…"

Luigi took a frightened step forward – and immediately recoiled as the graves in front of him suddenly came alive – as ghastly skeletons clambered out of their tombs, their prisons. Their red eyes bore into him, examining him, sizing him up – but perhaps Luigi was simply imagining that they were, because they were dead they were ghosts and – no, he didn't know, he shouldn't have guessed. What did Luigi know about being a ghost – he was never one in the first place, thank Overthere, though it's not like he had never given it any thought, but regardless – regardless – he wouldn't know, he'd never understand, he didn't know. But he knew they were there in front of him, holding up nearly see-through bones, and regardless if they meant it or not he was afraid, and he wanted to run so very, very badly…

He was here for his brother. He was here for his brother. So he didn't run. He scrambled for his flashlight – c'mon c'mon don't drop something now don't don't – and he managed to flash it in the eyes of his… enemies? Luigi wasn't sure if that was a fitting word, but regardless, they were fighting against him and trying to scare him – you don't know they are, maybe they're just living here or some— and thus he could safely assume that they were something akin to enemies, even if they weren't exactly. As they froze underneath the beam of light, Luigi grasped the nozzle of the Poltergust with the flick of his wrist and let the suction take care of them, charging backwards to make sure that they wouldn't escape – he tried to block out their horrid screeches, drowning it out in his head with "Always Smiling."

"They… lived in the shadow of their master, their maker or something like that, I dunno. I felt kind of bad, even though they were staring at me, I felt kind of bad, I don't know if they felt kind of bad for scaring me and if they were just puppets on the ends of strings, but—s-sorry bro, I'm rambling—I just, I don't know, they just… they were living once before, and… Or, I don't know, I don't know how ghosts work, I just, I thought they were, so…"

The gravestones were cleared of those ghastly skeletons, but that didn't ease Luigi's racing heart. He shivered, he trembled, he rattled his bones – Luigi couldn't exactly pick a word, because he had too many of them and he wasn't sure what to do with them all – but any sort of word one could use to describe fear being shown outwardly, that was what Luigi was doing. The Poltergust was full, he knew – it was heavy on his back, and he certainly could only fit one more ghost in there. Lucky me, he thought. It was Boss Ghost time, he knew – but that wasn't so bad, or maybe it was, Luigi wasn't sure, since he'd only fought one Boss Ghost, and that happened to be Chauncey, a crybaby who shrunk him to a small size – why would Luigi use the pronoun who for those ghosts? They were just that, ghosts.

Luigi jumped when a streak of light broke through his train of thought, the light slamming into a certain graveyard which yielded none of the skeleton ghosts that Luigi had just captured. The roaring thunder that followed the lightning sent shivers down Luigi's spine – his own element, how awful, being traitorous, betraying him, scaring him, much like the ghosts had… anything that does that is evil and must be stopped. However, Luigi didn't have an inkling as to why the lightning just suddenly decided to illuminate that particular grave – just because it had no skeletons didn't mean it was suddenly a new gateway to finding his brother.

… Oh Grambi. The grave is glowing. Luigi was pretty sure graves don't usually do that. Or maybe they do – Luigi hadn't been to a graveyard personally himself, or at least not one as large as the one he was in at that moment.

"They were silently criticizing me, I thought. Something like, I don't know – like, 'Hey, it's that skinny green man who can't amount to anything, who couldn't even begin to fathom why we would go out of our way to do this to his brother.' And no, I can't even begin to fathom, never could, never will. I… I could never understand anyone who would go out of their way to harm someone who had never done anything to them. And, and it's not like you're a mean or unjust person, Mario. Wh-what if… I don't know, this might be stupid, I might just be saying some plain stupid conjecture like I usually do, but… what if they were taking out anger they had with someone else on you? No… No, that's silly. They're ghosts."

Like a moth to a flame, they would say – that's how Luigi approached the grave, his knees shaking, his flashlight being wielded right in front of him. A shiver ran down his spine as he felt dark mist creep its way around him, swallowing and choking him, blocking out his only source of light above him – the moon, and it was dark, and because of that the younger Mario brother couldn't see, couldn't breathe. He nearly tripped over the steps leading to the grave, his legs so close to each other that he nearly stepped on his own foot, and a sense of surrealism washed over him as he gazed at the glowing light surrounding the grave, and oh Grambi he wanted to leave so bad, but he knew he had to stay here, because he knew something was fishy about that grave, and he knew, oh he knew, he could sense the ghost behind it laughing at him, mocking him. The green-clad plumber swallowed as he dusted off the grave, reading the name engraved on it, chills rattling his spine—

"Bogmire."

Laughter, oh Grambi, oh Overthere, terrible laughter, surrounding him and making his eardrums shiver – it made him have to clasp his hands over his ears to block it out, that terrible shrieking sound, haunting him and killing him down to his very core. The graveyard around him disappeared, vanishing instantaneously, and oh geez, where was he? – the younger Mario brother spun around, dizzy, as his environment shifted before his very eyes, and that terrible laughter! – what was going on, what are they doing to me stop it go away – nononononono! He felt a terrible aching loneliness and fear and insanity clamp down on his heart in a different way than Chauncey had inspired an hour or two ago – this was different, it was worse, and he felt like… like he was trapped in a shadow, a deep dark shadow, a black hole which he could not escape from, try as he might to claw at the air.

His eyes stung, but he opened them. When exactly did he even close them? He wasn't sure.

A purple ghost, seemingly having no form of its own, stood in front of him, its maw gaping. It stared at him.

"The ghosts were—were probably living beings at, at one time, bro. And, well, I-I can't help but think, then—if they were living at one point, th-then perhaps they feel like we do? Maybe I'm just rambling about nonsense again. I'm sorry, bro. You're… probably getting sick of hearing me. If… you even can hear me. I want you to. I-I need you… I'm… just going completely mad without you here.

"Where are you…?

"… You're not a… ghost too, are you?"

Lightning struck around the green-clad man, making him flinch once more. The ghost, Bogmire, twisted appendages that Luigi just assumed were giant, nearly formless hands, and twisted them like a puppeteer, as the ghost's shadow suddenly extended. That shadow seemed to grow from the ground, and up popped a living silhouette, taking the appearance of its master, towering over Luigi and sending the man sprawling on the ground. It stared at him, too, as if trying to read him—but perhaps he was just looking too deeply into it, or perhaps, maybe he was going mad, like he said he was to his brother when he was all alone, all by himself after having defeated Chauncey. Those eyes, those eyes just looked so hungry—and so accusatory, like as if it was all Luigi's fault that it was a shadow and not a ghost, or perhaps just because of the fact Luigi's existing that it feels such anguish—anguish, but how could it feel that? – ghosts don't feel. They never feel anything.

"Please…"

Shadows surrounded him – with the same eyes, hungry for some sort of revenge, accusatory all around. The green-clad man was standing in the middle. Bogmire gave him no expression, other than those yellow eyes boring into him, destroying him from the inside so that way he couldn't resist when they ripped him apart on the outside. He tried to struggle to his feet as fast as he could – please, no, please, my brother, my brother! – but much as he tried he couldn't will himself to. He was trapped, stuck…

"… a sign…"

The shadows advanced on him with a lurch in their "step," even though they didn't have any feet. All they had was a trailing shadow, leading back to Bogmire, who just watched on with glinting eyes as he spawned more of those ghastly things. They're going to eat me, Luigi screamed in his head as he tried once more to lift to his feet, shaking so badly that he would fall off a cliff were he standing next to one without even having to move his feet. Oh Grambi, they're going to eat me. I'm going to die, diediediedie!

"… help me…"

OhGrambiohOverthere I'm going to die die die they're going to kill me it's all my fault—Luigi couldn't move, could hardly breathe, and the shadows grabbed him, wrapping their ghostly arms around him and covering his mouth – he tried to grab the nozzle of the Poltergust but he could hear raspy laughter and breaths in his ear and it rattled him and he couldn't stop shaking even within their grip, their hatred palpable and scary and terrifying and oh why won't they just leave me alone I didn't even attack them—

theyhateme. But Luigi didn't remember doing anything to them, and now they were going to—they were going to…! Oh, Grambi! They were, nooo, LET GO! But his struggles were absolutely useless, and he was going to be eaten or he was going to lose his air precious air fresh air, whichever came first, and it didn't matter anyway because he was going to die and he couldn't help thinking this was all his fault, all his fault maybe he should have paid more attention, maybe he shouldn't have been empathetic or maybe he shouldn't have believed that stupid mansion lie in the first place… Oh Grambi, brother, brother! No…

"MARIOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

He's going to die, too…

OhGrambi, no.

The only sound that could be heard while all of this was occurring, while life itself was being squeezed to its very limits, and reality was distorted and twisted and terrible awful horrible, was Luigi's muffled, high-pitched scream.

"… brother!"