Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Scooby Doo.
A/N: Again, another story on crack that was written in the dead of night.
But You're Not Fooling Me 'Cause I Can See The Way You Shake And Shiver
Kurt didn't realize this until he was well into his first semester at Dalton, but it turned out that Wes and David were the unsung Mystery Inc of Dalton. Which didn't mean that they drove around in a psychedelic van with a Great Dane. It simply meant that they had a penchant for solving mysteries.
When Jeremy Rutherford's golden watch went missing, Wes and David were on the case, complete with magnifying glass and ridiculous looking Sherlock Holmes hat. The watch turned up behind Jeremy's dresser in his room, which was rather anti-climactic, but it was another case solved nonetheless.
It was the same sort of process with Derek Jenkins's missing DVD (left in the disk drive of his computer), Liam Smith's lost library book (under the couch in the senior commons), and Blaine's wayward Chemistry homework (he hadn't actually done it to begin with). By the end of the semester, Wes and David had racked up a perfect record, along with several cookies as a form of payment.
A success, all in all. At least, until the ghost arrived at Dalton.
It all started around Christmas. Kurt and Blaine were studying in the cozy common room, fire roaring in the fireplace, while a light snow settled outside.
Oooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhh! Came a shrieking howl from somewhere nearby.
Blaine looked up from his textbook. "Did you say something?" He asked Kurt mildly.
"Uh, no." Kurt raised an eyebrow. "No, that wasn't me shrieking in pure anguish just now. Honestly, this school..."
"Sorry," Blaine shrugged with a charming smile. "You get used to it after a while."
"Do people sound like they're getting murdered often?" Kurt said disbelievingly as he thumbed through his French notes.
Blaine frowned. "No, actually. Should we check it out?" He gestured towards the closed door of the commons.
"Well yes," Kurt rolled his eyes. "Don't you think?"
Blaine just shrugged again, standing and offering his arm to Kurt, who was so charmed, as usual, that he forgot to be stunned by all the weirdness that was Dalton boys. Of course, that didn't last long, because when they turned to face the door they found their way blocked by a transparent woman floating in midair. Her eyes were sunken holes in her skeletal head, stringy black hair hanging down to her twisted waist. Blood was soaked into her clothes and dripping from a deep and disgusting wound on the side of her face.
Kurt immediately clung to Blaine in sheer terror, and Blaine was not entirely composed himself.
Ooooooohhhhhh! The ghost cried again, shrill and piercing, before vanishing on the spot.
Kurt's knuckles were white where they were gripping the fabric of Blaine's blazer tightly. He released a shuddering breath.
"Like zoinks," Kurt whispered pathetically.
"You can't be serious," Wes cried, looking terrified as he shrank into a corner. "We're not the Ghostbusters for God's sake!"
"We just do this stuff for shits and kicks!" David chimed in, waving around his magnifying glass emphatically.
They were all gathered in the little dining room just off the main hall where the coffee was served, and apparently most of the other boys had agreed that Wes and David, the unsung Mystery Inc of Dalton, should be charged with getting rid of the ghost.
"Look," Kurt said, holding up his hands and standing to face the other students. "This can't possibly be real. Nobody here believes in ghosts—put your hand down, Ricky—so it's got to be some sort of... illusion." He said logically. "A trick. I mean, we've all seen Scooby Doo, right?"
"But in Scooby Doo on Zombie Island," Wes interjected, looking gravely serious, "the monsters were real."
Ricky raised his hand again. "And in Scooby Doo and the Witch's Ghost—"
"Shut up, Ricky." Kurt snapped. "Ghosts are not real." He stared at Blaine, almost for confirmation, but Blaine was staring back at him in an unsure way that didn't really inspire much confidence.
"They can't be," He said quietly.
It turned out they kind of were. Or at least, someone had done their research before pulling a very nasty prank. After snooping around in the very dark, very creepy library, Kurt and Blaine discovered that there had been a very grisly death on the Dalton campus fifty years ago.
Her name was Shirley Williams, and she had been a French teacher at Dalton when the school had first been founded. She had taken a job in Westerville to escape her past, which eventually came back to haunt her in the form of her crazy husband who publicly stabbed her to death on the front steps.
"That's horrible," Blaine grimaced as Kurt finished reading the passage aloud. "But doesn't that imply she's just a lost soul or something? Like, waiting to be at peace?"
Kurt sighed, closing The History of Dalton, which was very pretentious and Harry Potter-esque, with a thump. "It implies that somebody stumbled across this book and thought this would be a funny prank."
"Why the hell would they think that?" Blaine asked incredulously. "It's not even Halloween or anything! I don't know about you, but I've never heard of 'scaring the shit out of people at Christmas'."
"Clearly you've never seen my dad's credit card bill after I use it on Black Friday," Kurt chuckled to himself. Blaine didn't laugh.
In the end, Kurt, Blaine, Wes and David formed a sort of Fab Four of demon slaying, having being appointed by the rest of the student body, who were apparently fantastic cowards. And although Kurt still steadfastly refused to believe in the existence of an actual ghost, he had to admit that the pronounced lack of any teachers or administration was a bad sign.
"Do you think this could kill a ghost?" David asked the other three as he held up a hockey stick, brandishing it as wildly as his magnifying glass and almost hitting Blaine in the head.
"Well maybe not a ghost," Blaine said irately, ducking out of the way.
"Sorry, sorry." David threw the stick down on the floor of his dorm room as if it had burned him. "I'm just nervous. I don't know what to do."
"If someone says 'split up and look for clues', I am going to kill them," Kurt said darkly.
"And we can't afford to have another ghost on our hands," Wes said, in complete seriousness.
Oooooohhhh! Came a distant screech from somewhere in the halls. The four boys froze and stared out the open door of the dorm room.
"This one's already fucking terrifying enough," Wes finished shakily.
David ended up leaving the dorm room wearing all of his hockey gear and wielding his stick, while Blaine carried a baseball bat and Kurt clutched several of David's table knives and maybe a fork or two. Wes was carrying a toaster.
"What the hell is that supposed to do?" Kurt asked him disbelievingly.
"I don't know!" Wes cried desperately. "Maybe we could... shoot toast at her?"
"And maybe some jam and butter too, if we were so inclined?" Blaine snapped at him, clutching his baseball bat tighter. Obviously, ghosts tended to get Blaine on edge.
"Well maybe she likes toast and maybe then she'll go away!" Wes argued.
"Stop fighting about toast!" Kurt closed his eyes in exasperation. "Let's just find these projectors and get this stupid thing over with."
The other three exchanged worried looks behind him, all of them fairly certain that there was no part of the ghost of Shirley Williams that was a projection. And when this fact was revealed, Kurt would most likely pee his pants.
"EEEEAAUUUUGGHHH!" Right on cue, a bloodcurdling scream echoed from further down the darkened hall. Kurt froze, and behind him Wes, David, and Blaine grabbed a hold of each other tightly.
"Maybe we should go that way," Kurt squeaked.
It turned out that the terrifying bloodcurdling scream had not been Shirley, but instead Ricky, who they found near the bathrooms with his toothbrush stabbed through his forehead. Wes and David began to scream like little girls. Kurt wasn't too encouraged by this either.
"Um," Blaine said slowly as he approached Ricky's still form, propped up against the wall. "I think he's dead, you guys." David whimpered.
Ricky's body began to slide down to the floor, a line of blood drawn on the wall behind him from the toothbrush wound. He slumped to the ground, lifeless.
"Well," Blaine pointed to the line of blood on the wall. "We'll always remember he was this tall."
"I think we should get the hell out of here," Wes said desperately, hugging the toaster to his chest. "Like, get the hell out of Dalton. Every man for himself, I say."
"Still think there's no ghost, Kurt?" David asked, shivering.
Kurt sniffed. "I refuse to admit there's a ghost. A murderous psychopath, maybe. But a ghost? Never."
Movement caught Kurt's eye, coming from the hall behind Wes and David. He stared at the spot where a pale figure had just emerged from the darkness and was floating steadily towards them. From where he was standing, he could make out the dark discolorations where a white dress was marred with bloodstains.
"Um... never?" He choked out.
"T-the ghost is right behind you," Blaine stammered, grabbing Kurt's hand as he pointed behind Wes and David. The two of them looked terrified, naturally.
"Surely you must be joking," David said shrilly.
"Nope," Kurt clenched Blaine's fingers in one hand and a table knife in the other, staring in horror at the approaching figure. "That's Shirley."
When it came down to it, Kurt was actually an amazing fighter, the true unsung hero of Dalton Academy. He discovered this quickly after Wes and David shot past him, faster than two equally terrified speeding bullets. Blaine tried, bless him, but when he chucked his baseball bat desperately in the general direction of Shirley Williams, it missed her entirely. So Kurt had no choice really. He was suddenly the leader of this rag-tag group of adventurers, and it was time to break out the cutlery.
Looking back on it, Blaine had never seen anything hotter in his life. As he backed away, tripping over his own feet and looking the very picture of the guy who gets killed first in a horror movie, he couldn't help but stare in wonder at how Kurt was whipping the table knives around like they were dangerous weapons. Even Shirley looked a little surprised.
Ooooohhhh? She wailed, puzzled.
"That's right, bitch," said Kurt, channeling his inner BAMF, "I'm an expert with sai swords. Self taught. And even though Ricky was a douche," he twirled the table knives, looking deadly, "I just can't have dead people at my new school."
Blaine's mouth dropped open. He made a snap decision to find an empty room after all this was over so he could express his feelings to Kurt. Fully. Over and over again.
Kurt glared at Shirley's blank face as he flipped a knife, holding the blade between his thumb and forefinger.
"Ghosts. Aren't. Real." He snarled, before flinging the knife forward, straight into Shirley's translucent heart. Shirley clutched desperately at the knife in her chest, but to no avail. With a piercing wail, she exploded into dust. All of the lights in the hall suddenly flickered on, illuminating a pile of dirt on the floor, all that was left of the late (late) Shirley Williams.
"Gross," Kurt wrinkled his nose. "I didn't think that would actually work."
Blaine stared at the pile for a fraction of a second before leaping to his feat, grabbing Kurt and hugging him tightly. "Oh my god, you did it!" He cried, pulling away only to grin wildly at Kurt.
"I can't believe that ghost was actually real," Kurt pouted. "I was so sure..."
"Oh shut up," Blaine said fondly, cupping Kurt's face with his hand. Kurt only had a moment to look surprised before Blaine's mouth was covering his, Blaine's other hand warm on his waist. Blaine pulled away after what seemed like an eternity, but it still wasn't long enough for Kurt.
"My hero," Blaine whispered, leaning his forehead against Kurt's.
Kurt smiled, blushing. "Jinkies," he said.
When Toby Michaels lost his favorite t-shirt two weeks later, Wes and David sprung into action, quickly finding the article of clothing in Liam's laundry basket (for whatever reason).
"And so our record remains untarnished," Wes proclaimed happily, munching on a cookie as he and David entered the commons where Kurt and Blaine were cuddling on the couch.
"Get a room, you two," David said through a mouthful of crumbs, shoving Blaine's feet off the couch unceremoniously.
Kurt extracted himself from Blaine's arms grumpily. "We had one," he said pointedly, glaring at David. "Until you two—"
He was interrupted as, off in the distance, a foreboding groan was heard, accompanied by the sound of clanking chains. Wes and David froze, crushing their cookies in their white-knuckled hands.
Kurt sighed, turning to look at his boyfriend.
"That would be the ghost of Crazy Lou, who escaped from the Ohio State Penitentiary thirty years ago and froze to death in the woods outside Dalton," Blaine said helpfully as he pulled a table knife from his back pocket. "Go get 'em, tiger."
Kurt plucked the knife from Blaine's hand and leaned in for a quick kiss. "Ghosts aren't real," he said cheerfully before standing and clapping Wes on the shoulder. "C'mon, Wes," he told the other boy. "Grab your toaster."