Nobody really noticed things had changed in the Anderson household until the servants decided to leave.

Bernadette couldn't explain it, nor could Cooper.

Blaine didn't really care. If his mother was preoccupied by the departure of every servant on the premise, she wasn't badgering him about his health, or his studies.

He liked being alone anyway...well, unless Cooper decided to spend time with him. Then it was alright.

He was reading a book that wasn't the Bible when he heard movement outside his room. Maybe Cooper bringing him lunch? He wasn't allowed to enter the kitchen as there were no curtains, but maybe it would be okay to eat in the dining room?

"Cooper?" he got up slowly out of the chair at his desk, his knees sore. How long had he actually been sitting there?

"My name's not Cooper. What are you doing in my room?"

A boy around his own age -- a beautiful boy with brown hair maybe a shade or two lighter than his brother's, and blue eyes that sparkled in the little light that filled the room as they took in the space itself before settling on him.

Blaine screamed.

"I -- I'm not going to hurt you, I just --" the boy tried, but Blaine was too frantic, listening for something --

He could hear Cooper yell his name, the door of his brother's room slam open and shut --

"Help!" he screamed.

---

Kurt Hummel hated the house.

His father, Burt, had assured him it was lovely, but he really didn't care. What good was a pretty, huge manor house when you had no friends to show it off to?

He'd been ostracized at school due to the fact that he was a declared homosexual. Nobody bothered his step-brother Finn Hudson. He was popular, straight, and the quarterback of William McKinley High's football team.

He wasn't stuffed into lockers on a daily basis, or thrown into dumpsters. He wasn't banned from the Boys' Locker Room at school.

But Finn was gone now, living with his wife, Rachel in Columbus after returning from the War.

Plus, he'd heard the story of what happened to the people who'd lived there before and he had no desire to live in a house with that kind of history.

It was rumored to be haunted.

Kurt found that ludicrous. He believed in ghosts about as much as he believed in God: not at all.

Thankfully, his father and step-mother, Carole, had no problem with either his homosexuality or his religious views.

Burt had told him to go explore the house ("Are you kidding? This scarf is brand new -- and I'm not getting dust on it!").

However, he did want to see his new room. If they were really planning to stay here then he was going to redecorate his bedroom in anyway possible, because the previous owners had no taste.

He did not expect to hear someone call out when he approached the closed door.

"Cooper?"

What?

He reached for the door knob and slowly pushed the dark, mohagany door open. The room itself was moderately appealing (Kurt's only problem came from the dark, heavy curtains hanging in front of the windows), with a spacious bed covered in a navy comforter, a bedside table and a desk.

A desk by which stood a boy of around thirteen, with thick black curls, and pale, almost chalk white skin. He was dressed in a white and blue striped set of pajamas.

One of the old servants maybe? He couldn't be sure...

"My name's not Cooper," said Kurt quietly, "What're you doing in my room?"

Of all things, he didn't expect the boy to scream. The sound sent shivers down his back.

"I -- I'm not going to hurt you, I just --" he took a step forward, freezing when a loud banging noise errupted from down the hallway.

The dark haired boy looked like he was listening for something. Then he screamed again -- one word,

"Help!"

Kurt turned and ran, terrified, never noticing the boy vanish into thin air, as if he'd never been there in the first place.

---

"What were you thinking, leaving him on his own?!"

"Relax, Mom, it's not like he's an invalid --"

"Cooper you shouldn't have left him on his own!" cried Bernadette. "He's obviously worse, I mean he's hallucinating now!"

"Mom!" Cooper looked down at his little brother, who was curled against his chest, face streaked with tears, though he'd long since stopped crying.

"Cooper, you and I both know ghosts aren't real." said their mother. She turned a stern eye to her younger son. "I won't have you making up stories, Blaine Michael Anderson. Not about things like that.""But --"

"Now come downstairs with your brother -- there are new servants I've hired that I'd like you to meet."

---

When the three brothers reached the dining room, they found three people standing inside it. Two women, one an older woman in her late forties or early fifties with short blonde hair, dressed in a black shirt and pants (Blaine found it odd that she didn't wear a dress), the other woman also a blonde, but maybe in her late teens stared nervously at the floor, while the man, had brown curly hair.

Bernadette smiled at them.

"These, Ms. Sylvester, are my sons, Cooper and Blaine."

"Really? I couldn't tell." she said sarcastically. "I hate children."

Cooper snorted. Anyone who tried sarcasm on their mother rarely got away with it; though he could remember a time when he'd rather sit in a room meditating over a passage in The Old Testament than feel the slap of his father's belt for his rudeness.

"Well, Ms. Sylvester, you'll be happy to know that my sons are not children, and can look after themselves," she snapped. "Blaine only needs to call on me, or, now that his brother is back, him if he needs anything, which brings me to my next point." she pointed at Blaine. "Blaine is photosensitive. By that I mean, severely allergic to the light. If he is present the most light that can be allowed is that of a candle, or a lamp burning on low. Do you all understand this?"

When all three nodded, she looked at the younger girl.

"Quinn, you may begin on the very top floor -- please remember not to make a fuss. I don't like a lot of clatter."

Quinn was out of the room in a flash.

"Then why did you have me?" Cooper muttered. Blaine jabbed him in the side with his elbow, stifling a laugh.

"Mr. Schuester, if you would -- the garden!" Bernadette said loudly.

He smiled and nodded with a "Yes ma'am," before disappearing out the door.

She turned back to Ms. Sylvester.

"You can begin in the drawing room." she said. "Blaine, finish eating and then back upstairs for your lessons, alright?"

Blaine nodded and she left the room.

---

"Kurt, I told you -- there's no boy in your room. We agreed that won't happen until I'm dead."

"Dad," Kurt groaned. "I saw him --"

Burt sighed. He was exhausted after the drive, and they were staying a few days to tour the house, be sure it was everything they wanted.

"Kurt, there's no such thing as ghosts." he said wearily, staring at the fireplace for a moment. "You should get to bed -- you've got school tomorrow."

Kurt stared at him in disbelief. When his father made no further comment he was forced to head back upstairs to his room.

The boy wasn't there. He sighed and crawled under the covers, asleep within minutes.