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theasstour · 5 years

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Stave One: Niall’s Ghost.

STORY PAGE Word count: 6k

Pic credit: samcsch

A/N: HIYAA ANGELS ❣️ I’M SO EXCITED FOR THIS FIC *SCREAMS* !! hope you lot like the first chapter and i’ll see ya when you hit up my askbox bc !!!!!!!!!!! CHRISTMAS !!!!! anyway, enjoy and tune in next saturday for chapter 2!! ily x

Niall was dead, to begin with. There was no doubt about that. With him had gone a presence of warmness, a glow of hope that Harry only knew and associated with his best friend and better half. Within him was a hollow space, right in his chest and a little to the left, where he felt like no pulse could reach; no warmth could roam; where he had once imagined something beating to keep him alive, but having stopped at the news of Niall’s death. There was no other way to explain it, but Harry felt like the last year had gone by in one big blur, an everlasting haze that he didn’t know how to trance himself out of. All because he had been alone. Utterly and completely alone. And it was all his own fault.

Last Christmas Eve, his best friend, and only friend, in the whole entire world died. Niall had only been 26, but the ice on the road he was driving was new, and he had lost control completely, crashing front first into a trailer driving in the opposite direction. Harry still remembered the very moment he got told about Niall, how he had gone home to his London house, not leaving it until he was forced out by his little brother. Life ever since had felt bitter, the world seemingly actively working against Harry in every aspect.

This Christmas Eve, Harry was working in the ground store shop of the Dymond headquarters. Harry was the co-founder, now only living founder, of the best-selling guitar brand in the world. Him and Niall had started it five years ago, when they were both 21, and it had skyrocketed faster than either anticipated. Big rockstars were using Dymond guitars, promoting and thanking Niall and Harry for making them personalised guitars. The overwhelming success and wealth that had come with the band had shocked the best friends, but neither had complained. This was everything they had wanted after all, but now it was only Harry living his and Niall’s shared dream. And it felt wrong doing it without his best friend.

Further down the shop, Y/N stood noting the sales of different guitars that day, writing it down in the little notepad she kept with her wherever she went. Guitars lined three out of four walls of the store, as well as three aisles down the middle where you could find everything you needed to keep your guitar at its best. Y/N knew every single little corner of this shop, knew where everything went and how to work her way around the cashier. She had worked at Dymond as Niall and Harry’s assistant for four years now, having been on their every call ever since, never calling in sick or having been late. A dream assistant and doing nothing but her absolute best at all times. There was a liberty to her job, a sense of being needed, that had Y/N had found quite nice. It was good to feel like you somehow belonged somewhere without needing to be related to any of the people around you. She had fit right in. But there had always been that one part about this job that she had not liked, and that was Harry.

Lone description of a vitriolic and virulent human being, concept of kindness and warmth lost on him, especially after Niall’s death. But before Christmas Eve a year ago, Harry wasn’t so bad. Moments would come when he’d show the human in him, where he’d let himself smile at Y/N, or when they’d share a moment behind closed doors that would have everything Y/N thought of Harry questioned. The occurrences had become rarer as the years had gone on, but Y/N still remembered when she’d first started working for him and he’d look at her a little longer than appropriate for her boss, and she found herself blushing afterwards, Harry smiling to himself, too. Odd how people you once were so infatuated with and admired, are now people you can’t stand to be in the same room as. Y/N couldn’t tell a living soul why she was still in love with Harry; couldn’t tell anyone why she felt the way she did, or why she, after four years, hadn’t told him yet. Suppose it was the fear of rejection, of having him never take her seriously again, of losing her job.

Being in love with her boss had caused her more trouble than it had good, and she knew the moment she started catching feelings for him all those years ago, that it wouldn’t end pretty. And it really hadn’t. Because now she was standing in the opposite end of the room to him, and it didn’t feel like far enough away. She wanted to get out of the shop, out where she could breathe fresh air and not one infused with old memories and words left unsaid. She wanted to get away from him; away from a person she knew she’d never have; knew would never feel the same way about her. She wanted to get away from him, out of the same room as him, because the reason she wanted to escape Harry was because she still longed to be close to him. Still longed for him to hold her, to care for her and love her like she loved and cared for him. And it was because of all of this that she wanted to quit. Not only that, but Harry had forced her to work Christmas Eve, even though, all three Christmases she had worked at Dymond before, they’d never been open on Christmas Eve. Harry knew that Y/N loved Christmas, she had always been vocal about her love for the festive holiday, but Harry hadn’t seemed to care much about her wanting to head down south to her family in Plymouth today. Hadn’t seemed to care that she had a life outside work, which it seemed he had forgotten all year because he constantly kept her working, even when she had nothing in particular to be doing.

So, Y/N stood there taking notes in her little notepad, thinking about how much she’d rather be in Plymouth with her family, and how she would quit her job after the holidays. The thought made her both happy and sad at the same time.

Harry stood behind the cashier, reading through his e-mails and trying not to care about the lack of people out now that the eve of Christmas Eve was getting closer. A light snow fall was descending outside, crystals of iced rain lowering towards the ground with angelic delicacy, coating London in an even thicker layer of snow than the slight one that had come some days prior. Lights hung on the buildings around the Dymond headquarters, all shop windows decorated for the holiday. London at Christmas was a sort of carnival. The whole city was transformed into a halo of light, snowflakes, and choirs singing praises of Christmas and Christ, creating an atmosphere that was supposed to be associated with excitement.

But Harry never felt the excitement for Christmas. Maybe this was because he didn’t have anyone to spend it with. Or maybe it was because the Christmases he had, they’d all ended up disastrous. Niall had always spent his Christmases with his family, and even though he was invited over every year, Harry had always said no. Some days later, Niall would be back in London with Harry, sleeping in the guest bedroom he had claimed as his own, and the two would spend the following days doing nothing. Even though Niall had done things that would tick Harry off, like always leaving the microwave open after he had used it, or leave the light in the guest bedroom on, Harry appreciated those nights Niall had wanted to spend with him. As much as Harry enjoyed his own company, he had enjoyed Niall’s more.

Harry flinched when the automatic doors opened, a cold gust of December wind blowing past him and making him shiver. Looking up, Harry flinched once more, standing up straight as his little brother stretched his arms out, grinning from ear to ear.

“Merry Christmas, Harry!”

“Fuck off.”

Reuben, two years younger than his big brother of 26, laughed and walked over to the counter, taking his beanie and gloves off. Just like Harry, Reuben had brown curly hair, a tall figure, and deep dimples in each cheek. But unlike Harry, Reuben had brown eyes, the exact same their mother had had, and a kindness and humour standing in such contrast to Harry’s that neither of them could ever imagine actually being related. Their facial features weren’t that similar either, as Harry had taken more after their mother’s delicate and round forms, while Reuben’s consisted of sharp, elegant lines like their father. But regardless of their differences, Reuben had tried for years now to get on with Harry, to understand him, but it was always in vain. He never knew why he kept trying, but there was a sliver of faith inside him that told him to not give up on Harry, and so he never had. They were brothers after all. “What’re you up to? You’re never open on Christmas Eve.”

“Decided that we were open this year.” Harry said, closing his laptop. “What are you doing here?”

Reuben’s face fell a little, but he tried to compose himself. It always shocked him just how unhappy his big brother was. “To wish you a happy Christmas.”

Harry huffed. “Fucking humbug.”

“No, I’m serious!” Reuben frowned, leaning his elbows on the counter. “I wanted to come here and wish you a happy Christmas. It’s so lovely out now.” He looked out the glass doors, and the windows that stretched out across the front of the store, from floor to ceiling. “The snow is light, it isn’t too cold, the Christmas lights are spectacular.” Reuben smiled, looking back at his brother. “Regent Street is absolutely amazing, have you been there in December?”

“No.”

“Well, you should really go-“

“-Reuben, I’m at work.” Harry sighed, crossing his arms over his chest and watching his little brother intently. “You’re distracting me while I’m working.”

This had Reuben standing upright again, holding onto his gloves and beanie tightly and trying to compose himself; trying not to lash out at Harry. “I’m also here to ask you something.”

Harry nodded for Reuben to continue.

“Would you come to Christmas Dinner?”

A memory flashed in Harry’s mind just then, a reminder to never let it be repeated ever again. A reminder to keep himself at a distance. Swallowing thickly, Harry opened his laptop again, trying to busy himself with something other than his brother before him.

“Don’t think it’s a good idea, Reuben.”

“Don’t care what dad has to say about it, Harry, I want my brother there.” The underlying heartache and longing in Reuben’s voice almost made Harry look up at his brother again, just to make sure he wouldn’t hurt him when he said what the had to say next.

“But I don’t want to be there, Reuben.”

“Yes, you do.” Sighing, the younger sibling pulled and tightened his grip on his gloves. “You do want to be there, I know you well enough to know that you want someone around on Christmas Day.”

Harry sighed again.

“And tonight. Come tonight. We’re staying around mine. It’s just the family.” Reuben tried, looking hopeful as Harry hadn’t interrupted him yet. “Cousins mostly, and aunt Camilla and uncle Phil.” Reuben paused a little. “Dad.”

“No.” Harry – who had almost considered coming to Reuben’s Christmas Eve at his semi-detached house in Camden - continued to look through his e-mails, even though he had answered all he needed to. “Absolutely not.”

“He won’t bother you, Harry.”

“I’m not going.”

“Harry, please-“

“-No, Reuben.” Harry looked at him then, the stern furrow to his brow taking away most of the handsomeness about him. “No.”

Reuben took a step away from the counter, taking his beanie on his head while sighing exasperatingly. Shoving his hands into the two gloves, Reuben opened his mouth, “Hope you have a happy Christmas no matter where you choose to spend it.”

Harry stayed silent, watching his brother turn away from him without a second glance. Reuben lifted a hand in Y/N’s direction, giving her a dimpled smile as he walked toward the door.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N. Don’t let the spirits of this one get you down, yea?” Reuben pointed over his shoulder at Harry and Y/N smiled.

“Merry Christmas, Reuben. I’ll try my very best.”

“And have fun down south with your family.” The automatic doors opened as he neared the exit, still smiling at his brother’s assistant.

“Thanks, have fun tonight with your family, as well.”

Reuben waved, and Y/N waved back, smiling as she watched Harry’s younger brother disappear into the fog of the snow. She went back to writing in her notepad, scribbling away at things she needed to remember for later.

“You’re going to Plymouth?”

Y/N almost jumped at the sound of Harry’s voice, not expecting him to talk to her. She looked over her shoulder, blinking a couple of times as her eyes met Harry’s. A phenomenon resembling that of enclosing your hands around a warm mug of hot chocolate, of feeling its effect as your fingers prickle with warmth; a thrill like that ran through Y/N. Y/N couldn’t remember last time her and Harry had shared a look quite like this, where both parts were equally as invested in the other, where both were transparent.

“Yes.” She answered, voice low. Clearing her throat, she continued, “Leaving later tonight from Paddington.”

Harry seemed to be mulling over this, and Y/N didn’t know what to. Every minute of every day she longed for Harry to look at her; look at her the way he had that period when they’d first met and started to know one another. When Harry hadn’t been as cold as he was now. But before Y/N could savour the moment, bathe in the bliss of Harry’s gaze on her, the automatic doors opened again.

“Hi,” A middle-aged man said, out of breath as he walked up to the cashier and to Harry. “Please, you’re the only store open that sell musical instruments, and I really, really need your help.”

Harry pretended to have been focusing on someone on his laptop, and, uninterested, looked up at the man heaving for breath across the counter.

“Yes?”

“My son,” The man started, swallowing thickly before he smiled. “He wants a guitar for Christmas.”

“There’s a toy store across the street.”

“No, he wants a real guitar.” The man said, sounding proud. His smile vanished as he continued. “Thing is… since it’s the holiday season, me and my husband are running low on money.”

Harry just stared at the man, not knowing what he was getting at.

“And I don’t have enough money on me right now, but I’ll leave all my card details, e-mail, phone number and address with you so you can get in contact with me about the payment. I’ll pay some in advance now, but-“

“-No.”

The man blinked. “No?”

“No.”

“You… won’t take payment in advance?”

“I won’t give you a guitar unless you can pay everything here and now.”

Flabbergasted, the man’s mouth fell open. “Sir, I… I don’t…”

“You don’t…?”

“My son just wants a guitar.”

“And I’m trying to run a business. By giving you a guitar for your son, I’ll go in debt.”

The man took a step back, feeling disgusted by Harry. “Go in debt?”

“I own Dymond, and I won’t give you any guitar unless you have the money for it.” Harry closed his laptop. “No matter if it’s a present for your son for Christmas or for yourself. Whatever it’s used for or whoever uses it, it all looks the same in my bank account.”

The man let out a bitter laugh, dragging is beanie over his ears and talking with pulling his gloves on. “Not even for Christmas? You won’t even consider it?”

Harry didn’t answer, he just stared at the man until he huffed out a sickened breath, and then stormed straight out of the shop.

At 14:30, Harry and Y/N closed the shop, Harry walking some metres behind Y/N as they made their ways to each their parked car on the side of the road further up the street. Snow was still falling, now thicker than before, and the yellow streetlights looked hidden almost, as a single flickering candle inside the grandest of snow lanterns. Y/N opened the door of her car, about to get in when she looked back at Harry. She caught him looking around, blinking rapidly as a snowflake landed on his eyelashes. Moments like these, when Harry wasn’t being watched, it was almost as if you could imagine him not being a horrible person. And Y/N hated herself for thinking that.

Harry opened his car at last.

“Merry Christmas, Harry.” Y/N blurted out, soft and urgent.

Harry looked up, seemingly taken aback by Y/N’s sudden utterance. Straightening from his hunched positioned as he was about to get into his car, Harry just looked over at Y/N, unsure of what to say or do. The sound of her voice alone took him back to a simpler time; to a time where all he knew was that he would fall in love with her in due time; to a time where he was fine with that. But now all he could think about, all he could feel pressing down on him, were the opportunities lost; how his life could’ve been. So, as he looked into Y/N’s eyes, snowflakes landing in his dark hair and on his heavy shoulders, he didn’t know what to say. Her eyes that he had stared into so many times before, that he had fallen into and let haunt him, were waiting for an indication of any kind that he’d respond. Y/N wanted Harry to answer her, to give her back what she had given him.

But he couldn’t. So, he opened the car door wider, and got inside. Y/N watched as he closed it, feeling every hope of ever getting anything remotely close to closure for everything Harry and her had been through these last four years, leave her completely. This was the last straw. On Boing Day, Y/N would quit her job at Dymond, and leave Harry Styles behind for good.

¤ ¤ ¤

Harry closed the door into his London house, a huge detached white house with three floors, his front door a stark red and his front garden well-kept due to his weekly gardener. One pillar stood on each side of said door, the small roof above them shielding Harry and his grocery bag from the downpour of snow. The inside of the huge North Chelsea house was almost as cold as the winter night outside, but nowhere near as dark. As the door closed behind Harry, he struggled to light the lamp on the table out in the foyer, grumbling to himself before he finally found it and switched it on. He walked into his kitchen where he didn’t bother lighting the room as the streetlights outside did it well enough for him. Putting his Marks and Spencer bag on the kitchen island, he took his microwaveable Beef Roast out along with the wine he thought he’d treat himself to. He placed the wine in the fridge, noting how he didn’t really have anything he could use for dinner the following day. Grumbling some swear words under his breath once again, he wrote it down in the notepad on his phone before closing the fridge. He took the frozen dinner out of its package, following the instructions for how he was supposed to ready the meal. After he had memorised how, he threw the packaging away, grabbed his food and walked over to his microwave where he stopped.

Harry had known Niall for so many years that he had lost count. Over all those years he had picked up on a couple of traits and things Niall did that annoyed him. For example, Niall would always make a moustache out of the beer head when they were out for drinks, or he’d always sign his name with a little smiley behind it, even on serious business contracts. Sometimes, when he liked an idea that had been suggested in a meeting, he’d said “Hashtag amazing” or “I’m shook”, phrases that had Harry cringing and Niall howling with laughter. Or he’d always leave the light in the guest bedroom on after he stayed over for the night. One of the most annoying ones, however, was when, after Niall had made himself dinner or popcorn at Harry’s, he’d leave the microwave door open. Harry had always nagged at Niall to just shut it, it would take him one extra second, but Niall just smiled and said “But that’s one more second I’m not spending with you, mate”.

The microwave door was open. Harry never left it open. Never once in his life had he left it open. He would have remembered if he did. He looked around him, trying to notice if any other items in his kitchen could indicate a burglar. But the room was neat, nothing amiss or disturbed. So, his mind racing a hundred miles an hour, Harry opened the door wider and placed his food inside, closing the door and putting the timer on. It dinged when it was done, Harry having watched the snow fall outside, now lighter than it had been before. Trying not to let his mind race off to Paddington Station where Y/N would be heading as he was eating his meal just now. He sighed, taking a fork, knife, and wine with him before he left the kitchen, turned the lights in the foyer off, and started walking up the stairs, his room the second on the left. The grey walls of his house were bare, no pictures of family or paintings he had bought at expensive auctions. Harry thought of his house as a place where he rested, not as something of his own. It was rather somewhere he charged his batteries, somewhere he would spend his nights and mornings, but not his preferred place to be. His mum would always decorate their house, a woman crazy about Christmas and her family, but Harry had never been like that. During his childhood he’d enjoyed the interior and decorations of their North London house, but he would never take the initiative himself to do s his mother. By this point, Harry didn’t care how bare his house was, as long as it was nice and as long as it was quiet, he was happy.

The first door on the left when you came walking up the stairs of Harry’s house was the guest bedroom, the neighbouring room to Harry’s. It was slightly smaller than his, the walk-in closet that came with the major room of the house not part of the guest room. Niall, who had been the only one to ever stay in there, never minded, though. He could stay in the same clothes for days, and if he wanted to change, he’d just steal something from Harry. Harry had never minded this. In fact, if Niall smelled bad, Harry encouraged him to shower and borrow some of his clothes. What he didn’t encourage however, was to keep the lights on when he didn’t need them to be, like when he wasn’t in the room. Niall never listened and always forgot to turn the lights off, especially the guest bedroom.

By the small slit at the very bottom of the door, a small line of yellow light shone. The only light in the whole entire house. Using his elbow as his hands were full, Harry opened the door into the room, looking around it. No sign of anyone ever having been in there showed, and Harry was fearing he might have gone mad. Was he doing all of this unconsciously because he missed Niall so much? Especially now, on Christmas Eve, exactly a year since his best friend’s passing? He shook his head, blinking frantically to himself, trying to check if he was still awake or if he was asleep and this was some kind of weird lucid dream. Quickly, Harry turned the lights out and slammed the door shut, not knowing what kind of bloody prank this was, but he did not appreciate it.

His bedroom was cold, the window having been open all day, and he closed it after putting his dinner down on the small coffee table between the two red recliners. A huge fireplace stood before them, his bed by further back, place parallel to the chairs and the window. Hunching down, Harry put three logs in the fireplace and started it up, using some time to get the fire going before he stood up again. He sighed, the sound of the fire taking over the logs, burning its surface and warming his bedroom soothing to him. Sitting down in the recliner closest to the door, the one he always sat in, he reached over for his dinner.

“Bit of a sad Christmas dinner, isn’t it?”

Harry looked over at the other recliner, greeted by the slightly transparent and white image of his best friend.

He screamed. Jumping up from his recliner and backing away, heart racing and hands searching for the wall he wanted to stand against. If he was next to the wall, if he felt something solid, then his crazed mind would stop playing tricks on him. Then all of this would be over. Then he would stop seeing the microwave door open. Then he would stop imagining the light in the guest room being on. Then he would stop fantasising his best friend alive and sitting there in the other recliner. Where he always used to sit before. When everything was okay.

“You’ve never been this happy to see me before?” Niall said, chuckling a little.

Harry felt sick to his stomach. This couldn’t be real. Niall was dead. He had been dead for a year now. He was going crazy. That was it. That was why. Because Niall couldn’t be here. That wouldn’t make sense. Because Niall was dead. Dead. Harry had seen him when he was buried.

Niall chuckled again, louder and longer this time. And it sounded so real that Harry, for a split second, thought this was real. Harry couldn’t help himself as he uttered a faint, “Ni-… Ni-Niall?”

“My name, yes.” Niall – that was 100% all made up and formed in Harry’s head, no other explanation - said, nodding his head and resting his hands on his knees. “Sounds nice when you say it like that. Makes me feel special.”

Harry started breathing faster, rage filling him up. He was mad at himself for doing this to himself; mad at the world for taking Niall away from him; mad at everything. Brows furrowing and forehead wrinkling, Harry watched as a smile formed on Niall’s lips.

“What…. What the fuck is this? What… You’re dead!”

“Yea, I am.” Niall nodded again, looking over at the fire in the fireplace. “I’m a ghost now.”

Harry – fed up with himself for all of this, for causing himself more main on the anniversary of Niall’s passing – scoffed. “Fucking humbug.”

Niall roared with laughter, always having found it funny beyond belief when Harry said that.

“I’m going crazy.” Harry mumbled to himself, looking down at the floor. Thinking that might help, not looking at Niall. “That’s it. That’s why. Niall’s not here, you’re just going crazy, Harry.”

“As cute as it is to see you all freaked out like this, I can’t stay for long. I’m here to warn you.”

Harry looked up again, the frown that had covered his forehead earlier back again. Confusion filled him, min running marathons as he tried to figure out what his own brain wanted to warn him of. That was why he was imagining Niall, right? He was talking to himself?

“You’re dead!” Harry shouted, feeling his fingertips prickle a little with fear as the image of Niall wavered, going in and out of focus. “You’re not real!” Nails start to claw against the wall at his back, eyes searching Niall and his surroundings for some kind of explanation for all of this. “Dead. You died a year ago.”

“And now I’m here to warn you, Harry. You need to listen to me.” Niall got up from the recliner, seemingly struggling a little but regaining his balance and posture. Screwing up his face, Niall rolled his shoulders like he was stiff, and was about to take a step toward Harry.

Harry threw his arm out in front of him, trying to keep Niall at bay. “Stay there! Don’t come any bloody closer to me!”

“Harry-“

“-You’re fucking dead, Niall!”

“Harry, listen to me!”

Harry’s arm was shaking, petrified out of his own mind as he watched Niall just stand there, sighing. Nothing of this made any sense, because Harry was desperately trying to make some sense of all of this. But try as he might, there was no sense in any of it, no rational cause for any of it.

“If this scares you, you’re going to piss yourself when the three spirits of Christmas arrives in an hour.”

Harry blinked. “Three spirits of Christmas?”

“Yes, Harry, the three spirits of Christmas. Know why they’re coming?”

Harry couldn’t so anything but stare at the supposed manifestation of Niall in front of him.

“Because you’ve been a right bellend, and they’re here to make you change that.”

“Thanks for that, Niall.” Harry grumbled. Niall from his imagination or the real one, that still stung.

“Harry, you have been miserable for as long as I’ve known you. They’re coming to show you that you don’t have to be.” Niall explained. “That you deserve happiness, regardless of what you might think. Life is much simpler if you allow yourself to love and be loved.”

Harry huffed. “And good luck with that.”

Niall nodded, resting his hands on his hips. “That’s what I told them as well, but they’re still coming.”

Harry lowered the hand he was still holding up, trusting made up Niall not to come any closer. He still thought this was all in his head, or a very weird dream. “You’ve… met them?”

“Yea, legends the lot of them.” Niall grew serious again, a change Harry had seen a lot over the years. Niall would first stare at you, and then to the right of you, look down at the floor, then let go of a huge sigh. “Harry, look, they’re here for a purpose. Don’t ruin it.”

“Why are they here?” Harry asked. “How would I ruin it?”

Slowly, Niall turned and started walking toward the window. Harry threw up his arm again, wishing he could sink into the wall and into he guest bedroom, away from all of this. Niall’s steps were silent, like he weighed nothing. And, though he had been a very small bloke when he was alive, he always walked with his heels first, making the rooms on the second and third level of Harry’s house shake.

“Come here, mate.” Niall said, looking over his shoulder at Harry.

Reluctantly, Harry does and looks outside like Niall does. That’s when he smells it; the awful stench that has to come from the manifestation beside him. Niall smelled like burnt corpse; like a week’s old, rotting corpse that had been thrown into a bonfire to perish; to disappear forever. The foul smell makes its way into Harry’s nose trills, clawing its way down his throat and clinging to the back of his tongue, making him want to be sick. Finally, Harry takes the time to look outside after getting over the shock of Niall’s smell. Outside, flying over the streets of London and walking about the quiet, snow-covered streets, are green apparitions that can be explained as nothing short of ghosts. All of them ear metal weights, some more than others, and the smell that came from Niall is nothing compared to this one. These are corpses and nothing but. Skin is missing on some of them, others are bleeding, and the really old ones have arms or legs or other parts of their body showing as skeleton alone. Harry can feel the very soul of him shaking, needing to get out and away from this sight before him.

“Know why I don’t bear the weights of my misbehavings?” Niall asked Harry, looking over at the friend to his right. “Because I’ve been a good boy.”

“Piss off.”

“No, Harry, all those people you see here have done about their lives being miserable twats, and they get paid for that by walking around eternity bearing the weight of all their wrong doings. Do you want that to be you?”

Harry only looked at the ghosts outside, catching sight of a woman screaming in agony as one of the weights tore into her skin. Blood pouring down her arm, dripping off her fingers, falling to some unknown destiny.

“Then don’t fuck this up.” Niall said, sounding stern. Like he wanted for nothing but to have Harry listen to him and believe him. Harry bit his bottom lip, tearing his eyes away from the woman he had been watching. Harry felt Niall sigh and straighten up. “And while I’m here, please just… tell Y/N you love her?”

Harry’s head whipped in Niall’s direction, seeing his friend’s apparition this close made everything realer than he wanted it to be. He took a step back. “What? I-“

“-You have loved her for four years now, Harry. Stop treating her like shit.” Niall said, taking a good look at Harry before he gave him a little smile. “Stop not allowing yourself to live.”

Harry swallowed thickly, not knowing what Niall wanted him to say now.

“Good luck, mate. I’ll see you some other day.”

And just like that, Niall flew off through the open window, Harry just barely making him out as he zig-zagged his way through the ghosts of London. Harry suddenly heard the agonising wails of the tortured ghosts even louder then, fearing his own hearing as they continued and continued to screech and cry and yelp.

“Niall!” Harry shouted, trying to make his deceased friend out among the dead. “Niall!” Harry shouted, desperate to see his friend and get some answered. He had so many questions, he needed Niall to answer them. “Niall!” Harry tried again, but to no use. With huge force, Harry shut the window of his bedroom, the ghosts outside suddenly disappearing, and so did the wails. Harry blinked, shaking his head as the suddenness by which it all vanished stunned him. His heart was still beating fast, his pulse sounding in his ears. To try and calm himself down, Harry walked over to his recliner and sat down. Right away, he started thinking about what this all meant, why this was all happening, and if this was all even real. No matter, he was terrified of the clock striking 17:00, when Niall said the spirits of Christmas would arrive. Harry took his now lukewarm dinner and his fork with shaky hands, eyes falling on the clock above the fireplace.

16:13.

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authorsdenbyorihime-may · 7 years

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How I Write Baybayin (Handwriting and Straight-cut Nib Calligraphy) Subtitle: This is a freaking long-ass post so be warned now

You can read the entirety of this post as is, or you can go straight to the calligraphy portion. It’s at the end of the post (sorry dunno how to link that portion here).

Writer’s Note: First and foremost, I will advise everyone who reads this somewhat master post that I am not an authority when it comes to how baybayin is written, as what you shall be reading is just based mostly on my own experiences on how the characters are written and comparing them with other writing systems that are based on syllables rather than individual letters, like the Japanese Kana and the Korean Hangul, among others. This is because baybayin are not technically letters (individualized, can’t stand alone, only comes either as vowel or consonant but not both, you get the picture), but rather are syllables (i.e. the consonants have free vowels with them lol) that form words.

Also, as far as I know regarding how the baybayin texts are originally written pre-Hispanic colonization era, some of the written texts in the Philippines (or at least, those that survived, or I remember seeing in old history books) were written from right to left, top to bottom. This also coincides with other writing methods in some parts of Asia that also read from right to left. The technique of writing and reading from left to right may be a Western invention, in my opinion so I just did some of the strokes in the baybayin characters go from right to left, except for the straight-cut nib section. Again, I am no authority so I’m just doing what I think makes sense to me, as there is no existing ANCIENT written rules on the stroke order of the baybayin. Other people may disagree with my stroke orders here due to various reasons, but if you’re into what I did then feel free to learn from them, for free. *heart*

This author’s other notes: I won’t be elaborating the history of baybayin here because that would take around (counts how many years I spent in school) 5ever as it basically intertwines with the “current” history of the Filipino people. I put quotes on “current” because every decade or so, some written histories get re-written based on some evidences or what, and I totally respect that. It’s like in scientific papers: legit today, debunked tomorrow. And it’s completely OK, because THE MORE YOU KNOW~

Also this author’s note: I keep calling baybayin alibata, because that’s what they were called when I was a kid and how it was taught by history teachers before the process called “being politically-correct” became the norm. It’s because alibata was supposedly an incorrect term which signifies that the characters were letters based on Arabic, but apparently it wasn’t so.. Yeah. I’m just saying, so the kiddies would know. And if you’re like me who also refers to baybayin as alibata, let’s get a high-five! (Cause you’re also old, but gold =D) Some biased history FTW lol ok let’s get started.

Handwriting Alibata Baybayin Strokes with a Bamboo pen (or Ballpen, or Pencil, w/e floats your boat)

OK, before I start I would be first putting here the somewhat traditional ordering of the baybayin, which is:

A BA KA DA E GA HA I LA MA NA NGA O PA RA SA TA U WA YA

As well as the borrowed/loan syllables (which correspond to C, F, J, Ñ, Q, V, X, and Z were apparently added some 6-7 years ago, in which I didn’t get the memo x__x)

CA FA JA ÑA QA VA XA ZA

OK, now that’s out of the way, it’s time for the actual stuff. For ease of practice and recall, I’m grouping the letters based on how I write them and in turn, their forms. This would make sense as the pictures move along, don’t worry. The forms are built sequentially, I tried making that a bit obvious in the diagrams, but there are red arrows in case I wasn’t that clear. For those that only have one picture or arrows in the sequence, I would be implying that the form is built on a single stroke.

Group 1: A, MA, PA, YA, FA, JA, VA

OK, let’s start with A:

Then MA:

PA:

YA:

FA:

JA:

VA:

Group 2: E/I (more on that later), KA, DA, HA, RA, CA, QA, XA

I’ll start with HA because it’s a foundational stroke:

I looks structurally like E, but only with a vertical stroke on its hat.

It’s because originally, E and I were the same character and whether it should be read as a syllable from the E or I line depends on how the reader would read it and the dialect used in writing the words, like it’s a fill-in-the-blanks kind of thing. It’s also the same with O and U, so if you see that part yeah they look alike. This is also the reason why revisions on writing the E-I and O-U consonants were made, but that would be for a later part. Just be patient for now. =D

Ok, moving on, we’ll go to KA:

DA:

RA:

A short note on DA and RA: In olden times, these two were only one character, and are used interchangeably based on word usage, thus for words such as doon/roon, which both mean way over there one is used for passive and one is used directly (sorry not a speech comm person). This is also the case for marami and ang dami (both meaning “there are many/there is much” but one is active and one is passive. Madami is, IMHO grammatically incorrect. But then again, I’m not a speech comm person so sorry if these are wrong. I’m just saying).

CA:

QA:

XA:

Group 3: O/U, GA, SA, ZA

Just like in E/I, O and U are also structurally similar. To make an O:

To make it a U, just put a vertical line on the right side:

GA:

SA:

ZA:

Group 4: LA, NA, TA, ÑA

I grouped this bunch based on having a downward stroke in the middle of the form. The initial strokes are written as a single stroke from left to right, like in the first group.

LA:

NA:

TA:

ÑA:

Group 5: I have no idea where to put BA, NGA, and WA so I just made a miscellaneous group lol but they deserve just as much love OK?

BA:

NGA:

WA:

How the E, I, O and U lines are written:

In writing E, I, O and U (as in the case for the example below, which is GE, GI, GO, and GU), the original positions of the additional marks (such as the vertical lines for I and U) were kept but in order to differentiate E from I and O from U, the marks were made to be further distinct. For instance, GE is basically GA which has a horizontal line above it, while GI has a dot above it. As for GO, it has a dot below and GU has a horizontal line.

GI and GO can have either a hollowed dot like in the sample, or can also be filled like the samples below. It’s based on personal preference. Also I used G for the samples because it looks nice, fun to write, and most other examples of alibata on the internet use BA as their examples for this portion. Whoops, I meant, baybayin. XD

Vowel Killers: Invented by People who Needed It

I’m not entirely sure why vowel killer was the term used but it does tell it exactly what it does: it silences the vowels in the characters (because baybayin is composed of syllables) in order to make separate letters. It was invented by some Spanish friar who couldn’t properly write the native words because words that have consonants at the end were written incompletely. I.E. the word DOON (over there) was written as DO-O in baybayin. It was such a drag that he decided to introduce the Spanish/Latin alphabet by making baybayin characters that acted as alphabets, which is essentially killing all the vowels and leaving the consonant behind. So instead of using dots, the friar made a cross underneath the symbol which they called a kudlit (for obviously non-secular reasons), so that the words with consonant ends can be written and read as they were. As per the revision that was instated a few years ago, in order to make the baybayin a bit more secular, more forms of the vowel killers were made, which in my opinion look better than the original kudlit, because they look more organic with the forms.

As you can see in the pic of the letter G above, the first on the left is the original kudlit, which is shaped like a cross. The next one has an X, or sinawali (it’s literally based on the patterns of hard, woven rattan walls called sawali which look like X’s), the next one is called a kawil (sorry dunno where that came from) and the right-most one has a pamudpod (which may have come from the word “pudpod/pudpud” literally meaning grinding or repeatedly striking something on a hard surface or on a whetting stone till it disappears or becomes flat/dull, so pamudpod is the surface that makes the item pudpod like a used pencil or eraser. Do I even make sense anymore? Oh well, YOLO).

Stringing them All Together

My personal preference is using a kawil on horizontal writing (left to right) and using a pamudpod when writing vertically. I think the overall impact is better. But then again, it’s just my personal idea. Using any of the vowel killers are, like the filled or hollow dots on I and O are personal preferences, as long as there is consistency in usage.

If you can read the above and understand where the reference came from, you probably also call baybayin as alibata, and we should totally get some tea together. XDD It pretty much means “What is there, yonder?” smth idk but yeah, it sounds like that. Old and formal Filipino/Tagalog.

Langit - sky or heaven, Lupa - ground or earth, Araw - sun, and Buwan (or Bulan in Ilokano) - moon

Soliman - A variant of the name Sulaiman/Solomon

Amihan - the northeast monsoon, the nice wind that brings in cool, dry air around November-March. Or if you watched the old and new Encantadia, she’s the protag. XD

The third sampler is a phrase (I ran out of space it was supposed to be a sentence), and vertical double bars are used to end the sentence. I just made them into diagonal slashes to make them look cool. Also I ran out of space. x__x It’s transliterated as a wailing mom looking for her child: Ai anaku (bunga) - Ah, my child (fruit). No space for fruit so it ain’t there.

Author’s extra rant note: Of course, some early Filipinos didn’t wanna use the kudlit due to being comfy with whatever they had at that time, but eventually they gave in. Fast forward to a century later and the baybayin was pretty much dead, as it was for the next 4 centuries or so. Romaji became the norm (except for some of the native tribes that have their own awesome writing systems), but then again some Filipinos didn’t forget it entire time, as many of the revolutionaries’ battle flags had the syllable KA, which is the first syllable of Katipunan, their group which can also be transliterated as “the entire group of the people who meet and come together”. I can’t say more because this is a long-ass post and it’s not about Philippine history. But we can talk about that if you want. Just hit me up with an ask. Warning though: I might just say “thanks for asking but please ask something else” lol j/k XDD

Writing Baybayin using a Straight-cut Calligraphy Pen/ Dip pens with Straight/Oblique Nibs

For this portion of the post, aside from posting pictures of the baybayin in black and white ink I would be pointing out that the techniques I used here are based on Western traditional calligraphy techniques used by scribes of the past, so some of the stroke patterns would be a lot different from the handwritten strokes above. But then again, if you clicked the link to get here straight away instead of reading the previous portions, well you won’t be having that much problems then. Also I will assume you already learned how to write baybayin so I’ll leave you at that. For the black baybayin, I used a calligraphy fountain pen with a 2mm straight-cut nib from the Visual Deck Set – Calligraphy box, not sure where you can buy it online but I bought mine at the National Bookstore because nobody wants to buy it. (Should’ve also bought the other calligraphy set while they’re on sale. LOL Just saying XDD). The surface is just the back of old calendars because I was just testing the strokes. For the white baybayin, I used a Speedball™ C-2 oblique-cut nib and for the ink, it’s glittery silver poster paint from Reeves™ (diluted with dH2O), and the surface is some random paper with nice surface and sizing which my father got from the office. (Apparently you can’t print anything on it so it aged well there until my father disturbed the papers’ sleep and brought them home. Now I ran out of both the calendar and the weird red paper so business is halted for a bit. XDD) Again, these are all based on how I write stuff so it’s pretty much a personal opinion, it’s not absolute but it certainly works for me so here you go.

Group 1

MA:

PA:

YA:

FA:

JA:

VA:

Group 2:

E/I: I’m just putting I here because E and I basically have the same strokes. To make E, just omit the final vertical stroke.

DA:

HA:

RA:

CA:

QA:

XA:

Group 3

O/U: Same with E/I, I just placed U here because O is practically the same, minus the vertical stroke on the right.

GA:

SA:

ZA:

Group 4

LA:

NA:

TA:

ÑA:

Group 5

BA:

NGA:

WA:

E, I, O, U Lines

Vowel Killers

I didn’t make any full sentences or words because I ran out of nice papers, so maybe I’ll post some next time. Sorry. ._.

Author’s final note on writing using baybayin: I’m still on the fence in using the loan letters C, F, J, Ñ, Q, V, X, and Z because in my opinion apart from having redundancies with some other letters, they were just invented to spell out proper nouns that are foreign in origin. I wouldn’t even spell my full name using baybayin, except my nickname and would just rather use the Romaji/Latin Alphabet for ease. As for using baybayin to write foreign words, well, that can be as tricky as using kana to write foreign words. Both methods boil down to localizing a foreign word into how it would be pronounced based on the original language that the writing system belongs to. For instance, the Japanese waifu (as in “My waifu”) is the Japanized form of the English word “wife”, but because their spelling system is a bit different they had to estimate which kana would be suited to approximate how the word would be pronounced and in turn, be spelled. It is also the same case for some Filipino loan words that got Filipinized (and bastardized because long words are hard lol not kidding tho) such as the word istambay which originally came from “standby” and is now shortened to “tambay” which means “just loitering and doing nothing” or in how the young ones use it now: to hang out with friends (and probably just loiter and do nothing lol don’t kill me ok?). Thus, the usage of baybayin (or kana, or hangul, or Arabic because I think their writing is very lovely or whatever writing system you like that works as syllables more than letters) in writing words from another language would take extra steps such as following the rules of the written language or localizing the word first before writing them in whatever letters or syllables that you want. It’s like using what you have then making do with it/winging it out.

The End!!!! No just kidding. But it’s the last part.

To be honest there are a lot of stuff in the internet about baybayin so I’m not that entirely sure if what I have here is pretty much redundant or not. There are a lot of sites so just use your Googling skills to find what you need, although it may be a bit difficult for readers/users who simply try writing and not understanding the entire language so just use with caution. It’s hard to end up with THAT tough guy who has a kanji tattoo that actually spells “poop” instead of whatever it was supposed to be. I actually saw a guy sporting a tattoo that reads FUUBEN in Japanese, which translates to inconvenience. I lol deep inside but the guy seems happy with that so I just let him be.

Well, I hope this long-ass post helped you a lot, or at the very least the stuff made sense to you and it was worth your time reading. Please leave an ask if you have other questions, I’ll try to answer them if and when I can. Have a great day and may the force be with you. =D

#how to write baybayin #how to write alibata #how i write baybayin #baybayin handwriting #baybayin handwriting stroke order #baybayin calligraphy stroke order #baybayin calligraphy

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