Ghostie Bois Inc

Chapter Eight: Why

   "I'm sorry, murdered?" Dream asked, looking over at Tommy.  Though he was dead, Techno's stomach did an odd dip at the thought of it. Murdered? No, no one else was in the house with them that night, and he knew how he'd died. There was no way anyone had dropped that ceiling on him. No one locked Wilbur in his room, but himself, and Phil had been torn between saving the two. No one had physically slaughtered them. 

   Tommy nodded, and pulled himself up into the attic. "Well, yeah," he said. "You all said that you didn't leave the stove on, like everyone was told and whatnot--so if it wasn't your fault and the world just wasn't having a hissy fit with lightning and such--how'd your house burn down?" 

   Techno opened his mouth to answer, even if Tommy couldn't directly hear him anymore, but stopped. How...? 

   Movement caught his eye and he looked at the ground beside Tommy. Wilbur's head phased through the wooden platform, and for the first time in a while, Techno's brother wasn't smiling. Wilbur tried to keep everyone else happy, a smile of some sort always trying to remain on his face. But...his eyes were wide and scared, he'd pressed his lips into a line and was shaking his head slightly. "No," he finally said. "That...that can't be right, right?" 

   "I..." Techno started, and shook his head. Normally, he'd have a quip for this sort of thing. But he just couldn't make one of the situation. "I don't know Wilbur." 

   Having not heard the conversation between the two ghosts, Dream was still trying to wrap his head around the suggested basis. "Tommy," he started and ran a hand through his hair. He had no idea how to start this. "I know that you mean well, but...that doesn't really seem like a solid idea. This isn't a large town, I know practically everyone here," He said and gestured with his hands. "And...well, I can't think of anyone that would torch three people--that we all knew, no less--in their own house." 

   Tommy frowned. "Well, a murderer isn't just gonna be like 'ha ha, you all trusted me but I killed three people'--have you never seen a movie, man? The bad guy is always either someone super obvious, or someone that's really trusted and then, BOOM! You've just been Hans-ed from Frozen, and he's the bad guy." 

   "He's right!" Tubbo called from the bottom of the attic stairs, and started climbing up himself. "It's always either the ones you suspect, or the ones you never do," He said ominously as he entered the area and sat beside Tommy. 

   Phil came up behind him, giving Techno an odd, but obviously grave, look. "Well--who would do that?" Wilbur asked, looking between the two other ghosts. "Who--Who would want us dead?" 

   Looking at the window, Phil closed his eyes and thought of how to go about this the right way. What if Tommy and Tubbo were right? He himself couldn't think of anyone who held that sort of hatred towards them, any one of them in fact, but that didn't mean it wasn't entirely impossible, right? There were always victims of random, uncalculated murders--he just didn't want to think that he and his family had been those said victims. "I don't know Will," He said finally, and turned his attention back to him. "I really don't." 

   Dream looked back to his journal to see if anything else had been written. Since Tommy had entered the attic, Techno had since stopped writing. He glanced down at his watch and bit back a curse. "I...shit, I have to go," he said and started standing up. He gathered up his journal and pen, looking around the room. "I am...firstly, so very sorry for what happened to you three. And, I do miss you guys, lots of us still do. I'll come back as soon as I can, but, I gotta run," He said regretfully, and sped his way over to the attic ladder. He began climbing down, and paused to once more stick his head through the open entrance. "I'll be back."