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Originally published on October 5, 2025
DEAD BOY DETECTIVES UNIVERSE
SUFFOLK, ENGLAND
Following their adventures in Port Townsend, Edwin and Charles--the famed Dead Boy Detectives--decide to take on one more quick case together before embarking on their next chapter as an expanded agency. When a client asks them to investigate the old Pleasure Pier, the boys find themselves in a rather ticklish situation.
Edwin stood beside Charles on the pier, looking out across the vast gray beach, all sharp and bulbous stones, towards the churning gray foam of the sea. The waves lapped at the pilings beneath them. Above, the gray sky was vast and dense and dark.
Gray, gray, gray.
"The perfect snapshot of England," Edwin said haughtily, framing his view between his hands as if he were taking a picture.
"You're telling me, mate," said Charles. "Can be so depressing at times, innit?"
Edwin shrugged. "At least we've got an amusement park to perk up our spirits." It was a sarcastic quip of course. Edwin's first language was sarcasm. He gestured up to the large glittering sign at the entrance above them.
"Pleasure Pier," Charles read aloud.
"An apt description." Edwin referenced the assortment of old, run-down attractions ahead of them beyond the ticket office.
"Don' look that pleasurable to me," said Charles. "And judging by the faces of this lot, I'm not the only one who thinks so." He referenced the scattered crowd of people slowly rolling through the exit at the front gates. They were ambling about, all frowns and lethargy, back to the gravel car park just off the old road that divided the shore from the distant moors.
"Shall we?" Edwin gestured for his friend to head on forward.
Charles obliged. The boys meandered their way their way against the foot traffic through the front of the pier, which was riddled with food carts and carnival games. Their soundtrack was a cacophony of squeaking, clattering metal--the rides--and screams that sounded more nervous than amused--the riders. An undercurrent of haunting calliope music and ocean surf completed the mix.
"Wish we could taste the food," said Charles. "Or smell it at least." He inhaled deeply through his nose.
Edwin grimaced. "Why? It looks terrible."
"Aw, c'mon! You remember candyfloss, mate? Donuts? God, milkshakes!"
"Never indulged," said Edwin, stepping ahead of his distracted partner.
"Hm. No wonder you're always so...gloomy."
"I'm a ghost, Charles," Edwin said proudly, tilting his chin up in confidence and pinching at the lapels of his signature coat. "I'm supposed to be gloomy."
Charles chuckled, shook his head, and clapped a hand against Edwin's back playfully. Edwin's heart fluttered and he was reminded of their journey out to Suffolk from London. They'd been able to hop through a mirror from their agency to the loo at the bus station, but from there, they were more or less earthbound, forced to hitch a ride alongside many other miserable looking passengers out to the coast. The trip--a rocking, rolling, rumbling route first through the streets of the city proper, then out into the country--had been unbearable. Yes, Edwin had found it dull, but more than that, it had forced him to sit with his thoughts, while also sitting unbearably close to Charles. His friend had, despite bus seats gradually freeing up, remained sitting beside him at the back of the bus, their shoulders touching.
Edwin's Adam's apple bobbed in his throat.
Now that the excitement from their time in Port Townsend had subsided--now that they had solved the case of Becky Aspen and defeated Esther--they had both regained some semblance of normalcy in regards to their day-to-day: solving supernatural cases to help stuck spirits move on; this, of course had been the condition for their asylum from the afterlife. Sure, their agency had since acquired two new members, but Crystal was still in Washington helping Jenny clean up shop--she wouldn't be on the boat back to England for another week--and their so-called "chaperone," the Night Nurse from the Lost and Found Department, hadn't turned up in nearly two days since she'd stormed out of their office in a huff. Edwin and Charles and promised Crystal that they would join her on her travels back from America, but in the meantime, they'd both agreed to take on at least one case. Something quick. Something easy. Surely anything would be cake compared to what they had just dealt with in Washington. If they could defeat a witch and literally escape Hell together, what couldn't they do? So, at the behest of a deceased carnie who'd claimed that his companions had started disappearing in the 'condemned funhouse' at the old Pleasure Pier in Suffolk, they'd set off to investigate.
Just the two of them.
Just like the good old days.
Except...
Something was different now, wasn't it? Edwin pressed his fingertips into his palms. Because he'd confessed his feelings for Charles, hadn't he? The memory was still so vivid, so clear...
"Oi!" Charles's voice snapped Edwin back to the present.
"What?"
"We're here." Charles pointed straight ahead, directing Edwin's gaze forward. There, before them, was a monument of strange, fantasia-like architecture from an era long passed. Gaudy. A relic of faded pink and yellow stripes. Flashing bulbs twinkled around the Welcome sign. It looked like the majority of the building occupied a large section of the pier furthest North, opposite the collection of other attractions and kiosks. Its entrance--framed with weak neon lights--was deep and dark and seemed to delve into another realm. Plastered across the opening to the queue was a thick strip of red tape that read CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
"Well, that won't stop us now, will it?" said Charles.
"I should say not," said Edwin.
They both fazed through the ropes of the queue and stepped up to the gaping maw of the funhouse.
"So, any ideas on what's going on here, then?" Charles asked.
"Not yet."
"What'd that ghost say again? About his friends disappearin'?"
"He thinks he saw a man break into the funhouse a few days ago. After hours."
"Right."
"And ever since, any of the ghosts haunting Pleasure Pier who've entered the funhouse haven't returned."
"Hm." Charles's lips puckered up as he thought. "You think the human bloke's a psychic?"
"Could be."
"Why are there so many ghosts 'round here anyway?"
"You really don't like to do your research, do you?" scolded Edwin.
Charles just grinned. "You're the brains. I'm the brawn, remember?"
"Even Crystal was skeptical of that, if I recall."
Charles reddened.
"Anyway," said Edwin, "Pleasure Pier was the site of a catastrophic fire back in the late Nineties. Several workers lost their lives unexpectedly, and I imagine had unfinished business as a result."
"Explains why our client looked the way he did." Charles referenced the fact that the carnie ghost who'd consulted them was covered, head-to-toe, in black soot and spoke with a crippling wheeze.
Edwin nodded. "What I find intriguing is the bit that he said about the laughter."
"Oh, right! Proper spooky."
Edwin stood at attention, perfectly poised and straight shouldered as he continued to study the strange, dark entrance of the condemned attraction. Whenever the pier closes at night, we'd start hearin' laughter comin' from deep within the funhouse. All frantic-like. Pleadin' and screamin'. The client's words--in his smooth Suffolk accent--rang in Edwin's ears.
"Well, you ready, mate?" asked Charles after a moment.
"Not until the pier closes," said Edwin, which caused Charles to whine impatiently like a child and hang his head. "It's nearly eight."
They remained at the front of the queue until the last of the light had drained from the sky, until the attractions came to rest and the last of the guests and staff had departed. Finally, when Pleasure Pier had shut down for the night, and there was nothing but the sound of the salty surf sloshing beneath the wooden planks underfoot and a few orange lampposts standing place of the veiled stars above, Edwin stood up.
"All right. Now I'm ready," he said.
"Geez, man. Finally."
"It wasn't that long," said Edwin. What was an hour or so to
"Finally!" said Charles. With a hop in his step, all swagger and confidence, he slung his arm around Edwin's neck and accompanied him inside, the latter's heartbeat--or ghostly equivalent thereof--drumming away again.
THE FUNHOUSE
"Bloody hell," said Charles as the two of them wandered through the darkness of the attraction. They'd entered into what amounted to be a strange museum of oddities. Enormous bell jars with shrunken heads and strange tentacled creatures floating in formaldehyde, taxidermy squirrels and rodents on crooked shelves. "This is aces." He broke out into a childish grin.
"You can't be serious," said Edwin, focused on a particularly strange sketch on the wall of a unicorn bisected unicorn. "And this unicorn's anatomy is completely inaccurate."
"Check this out!" exclaimed Charles. At the back of this first room were two dark corridors, one of which were comprised of funhouse mirrors. "So much for taking the bus. Shoulda just hopped here, yeah?"
"We didn't know where we were going."
"Well...any preference for which way we go now?" Charles asked. He looked up at the signage above each pathway. One read Corridor of Carnage--its entrance fashioned to look like an open pair of jaws with sharp teeth--and the mirrored passageway beside it: Hall of Hysteria.
"Well, 'hysteria' could signify 'laughter,'" reasoned Edwin. "Maybe there's some sort of connection there?"
"Worth a shot." Charles strode forward.
"Wait." Edwin held out his hand.
"What?"
Edwin called out, directing his voice into the corridor of mirrors. "Hello? This is Edwin Payne of the Dead Boy Detective Agency." He loved to announce their title. "Is anyone there?"
"Oi! I'm here too," Charles whispered, nudging Edwin's ribs.
Edwin rolled his eyes, but amended his greeting: "This is Edwin Payne and Charles Rowland of the Dead Boy Detective Agency. We're here to help!"
"Yeah, come on out! No use hiding. Or haunting." He laughed, turned, and winked at Edwin with a smile.
For a long moment, all was silent. Then--there came, from deep within the dark innards of the hallway, another sound:
Footsteps.
"Charles," said Edwin, pointing forward. Emerging from the veil of gray-blue shadow, he noticed a silhouette. "Look there."
"I see it."
Then, there came a mechanical lurch--the whirring of machinery--from beyond the walls. The lights stammered and coughed before spluttering to life--dim, orange, spotty glows that gave the funhouse interior an aged, eerie warmth.
"What's going on?" asked Charles, looking about.
Edwin glanced from the dusty, burning bulbs above to the figure at the end of the reflective corridor. The figure was dressed in some sort of long hooded robe. "I-I'm not sure," he said.
"Oi! Are you the man who came in here a few nights ago?" Charles shouted at the figure.
No response.
"One of the ghost workers?" He tried something else.
"Doubtful," muttered Edwin.
"What have you done with the ghosts who've come here?" accused Charles. He took a step forward, but this merely cued the figure to bolt suddenly away, disappearing behind one of the large mirrored panels.
Charles immediately gave chase. "Hey! Come back!"
"Charles, don't!" shouted Edwin. "It could be a trick."
Charles halted and spun around. "Well, yeah, mate." He smiled slyly. "Obviously."
Edwin raised a brow. "If it's obvious, then why are you about to chase the creepy--and, if I'm honest, a bit clichéd--funhouse villain?
"Because. We're the Dead Boy Detectives. It's what we do, innit?" He winked, then resumed his pursuit.
Edwin tossed his head back, but he knew there was no stopping his impulsive, erratic, (unfailingly courageous) best friend. So, he too took off into the corridor after him.
EVERY WHICH WAY
Through the darkness and the twist and turns of the funhouse's mirrored halls, the Dead Boy Detectives tried not to lose track of the mysterious figure who had lured them further in.
A left, two rights, then a left again.
"Wait up!" shouted Charles. "We just want to talk!"
"Charles," said Edwin through labored breaths. "If that is the man who broke in here, and he's been making ghosts disappear, then I believe"--he swallowed--"I believe he's trying to get us lost." He slowed his pace. Of course, he couldn't catch his own reflection in the shifting, curving panels around him, but he was quickly losing track of the way back.
Charles slowed to a stop, panting now too. "Yeah. Maybe."
"Perhaps this is how he trapped them."
"But...we're surrounded by mirrors, mate." Charles reached a hand tentatively through the beveled glass closest to him. It rippled as his limb passed through, just as it should. "Couldn't any of them just escape when they wanted?"
Edwin tilted his head to the side in thought. "Yes, one would think."
Footsteps again. Boom, boom, boom! The boys turned this way and that, catching brief glimpses of the hooded figure ricocheting about, as if the reflection were bouncing around them. Then, suddenly--
There he was. He'd appeared again, standing at the end of another long passage to their left.
"Right then," said Charles. "Enough games. Who are you and what are you doing here?"
The figure, predictably, didn't answer him.
Charles found himself slowly reaching into his satchel for one of his trusty weapons.
"Easy," said Edwin, placing his hand on his best friend's shoulder. "We don't even know if he's the one behind the disappearing ghosts."
"Really? Seems to fit the part, don' he?"
The figure darted away again. Charles shot Edwin an exasperated look, then he took off again. As they pounded down the hallway and made around the next corner, they saw the hooded stranger down at the end of another wide corridor, but he was crouching now, ducking down at a point where the ceiling sloped towards the floor.
"We've got shrinking hallways now," said Charles. "Brills."
"Hardly seems safe," said Edwin.
"Don't think you can fit down that way, mate," Charles called to the cloaked man. "Nowhere to go. So why don't you come on back this way, and we can talk, yeah?"
But the man swiftly ambled forward on bended knee, slipping further down the narrowing passage.
"Oh, c'mon!" Charles grunted, but he showed no signs of giving up. He and Edwin ducked down, then, as the sloping glass above them continued to drop, they got down on their knees. At its lowest, point, the passage was about two feet high, but still quite wide. Charles lowered himself onto his belly and began to army crawl forward.
"Charles, what are you doing?" hissed Edwin, still perching on one knee.
"What's it look like?"
"There's no way that man crawled through there."
"Where else would he have gone?"
Edwin hesitated. "I'm not about to crawl about on the floor with you." He preemptively rubbed his gloved hands against his coat, as if wiping it off.
"Aw, come now, man. Nothing wrong with getting a little dirty." Charles gestured to the space beside him. "We can go together."
The way he'd said it, the inviting look in his eye... Edwin's resolve crumbled. Of course, still sulking as he always did, Edwin gingerly lowered himself onto his stomach and belly crawled forward so that he was beside his friend.
"There now. S'not so bad, right?"
"This...person...is clearly playing games with us," Edwin whispered.
"Well, maybe we beat him at his own game, then?"
"And crawling down this tunnel will somehow accomplish that?" asked Edwin. "God, why does an old funhouse even have spaces like this?"
Charles shrugged. "Maybe why it was closed down, innit?" He tugged on Edwin's shoulder to move forward with him.
Edwin sighed again, but of course, he complied. He and Charles shuffled forward for several paces. The ceiling didn't seem to get any lower, and the passage remained roomy enough for the both of them to remain side by side.
"Where the hell did he go?" Edwin grunted. "He's got to be another ghost."
"You think he went through one of the walls?"
"I'm starting to think so, yes."
"Well, if it gets too tight, we can always hop through one of these," Charles reasoned. He reached up and touched the mirror above them, which still rippled and allowed him through. "But for now"--he scooted forward on his bellow, pulling himself with his forearms as if he were doing a mud crawl. "It's like we're in the services," he joked. "Proper soldiers."
"This is not how I envisioned this case going," Edwin said. Side by side, they bellycrawled until they reached the end of the space, which, unsurprisingly happened to be another long rectangular reflective panel. "Really? This is hardly safe for a living person."
"Good thing we don't have claustrophobia, huh?" Charles joked.
"So, a dead end. Brills."
"That guy's gotta be a ghost," said Charles. "Must've disappeared through one of the walls."
"So, what now? Should we do the same?" Edwin asked. The space was just high enough for him to lift his head.
Charles thought a moment. "Hold on." He crawled forward and stuck his head through the mirror in front of them. "Oi!"
Edwin heard his voice from through the wall. "What? What is it?"
Charles scooted back so that he was back on the same side of the wall with Edwin. "There's another room behind there, mate! It looks pretty big! Maybe this is, like, a trick wall or something."
"Really? Strange," Edwin muttered.
"C'mon! We're almost there!" Charles encouraged. Again, shoulders nearly touching, the two boys belly crawled forward, first their heads passing through the mirrored wall, then their shoulders, their torsos and then--
With a strange sound, almost like pooling liquid, the wall around their thighs solidified. Edwin and Charles felt the pull and by the time they turned their heads to see the glass rippling in the mirror, they realized that they were stuck.
"What on earth??" Edwin huffed. He tried to pull himself forward or up, but the wall held fast. "What's happened?"
From beside him, Charles grunted and tried to free himself as well, but with his waist secured in the mirror, he could only just barely lift himself onto his elbows before falling forward onto his forearms again. "What the fuck? This is-- This isn't possible, right?"
"Umm... well, I mean, it's certainly possible, because it's happened, hasn't it?" said Edwin. He looked around to ascertain his surroundings. The room they'd tried to crawl into was similar to a parlor--perhaps another part of the museum of oddities? There was an enormous stuffed grizzly bear in one corner, its fanged mouth hanging open. There were more strange prints and drawings all framed along the far wall. A large armchair to their right housed a sitting skeleton wearing a top hat no less. Above them hung a dusty, bulbous chandelier. The floor on which they were stuck was carpeted, dusty and red. Otherwise, the room seemed empty. No sign of the person they'd been pursuing.
"How are we stuck halfway through a mirror, mate? This is bollocks!" Charles growled. He tried to lift himself again, tried to faze back through the wall, the floor even. His body flickered blue for a moment, like a blip of static, but he remained in place.
"It must be some sort of spell," said Edwin. He recalled his experience with the Cat King back in Port Townsend, the charmed bracelet on his wrist that prevented his hand from passing through a mirror and back home to London. He felt similarly now, except the entire lower half of his body was stuck on the other side of the wall. "Charles. Can you still feel your legs?"
"Yeah," said Charles. "Can still move 'em." He kicked his feet up and down on the other side of the wall, though he didn't have much space to move them much.
After a few more seconds of grunts, shifts, and failed fazes, both boys gave up and rested their chins on their forearms.
"Well, this is a bit of a jam, innit?" said Charles with a bashful smile. "Can't even get to my bag." His trusty satchel, which normally hung just at his waist, was also stuck midway through the mirror and would not give to one of Charles's tugs.
Edwin looked over at him, rolled his eyes and slammed his head down into his hands with a moan.
MIRROR, MIRROR, IN THE WALL
"So...now what to do we do?" asked Charles.
"I don't know, Charles," Edwin muttered through gritted teeth. "Crawling through this wall was your idea, wasn't it?"
Charles's mouth twisted up. He shrugged. "Okaaaaay," he said. "I will admit... I got a bit...carried away. In the moment."
"And now we're stuck in a bloody mirror."
"Kind of stuck through a mirror."
"Semantics," said Edwin.
"You think this is what happened to the other ghosts?"
"It's quite probable." Edwin looked around again. "The ghosts must have wandered in, maybe tried to escape through one of these mirrors, then got themselves trapped."
"Aces," said Charles sarcastically. "Well, it's a nice view, at least."
"Nice? This room's just as tacky as the last one," said Edwin, but when he looked over, he saw that Charles's eyes were on him. He winked again and pushed himself gently into Edwin.
Edwin felt a flash of heat and looked away. "W-well." He cleared his throat. "Aren't you quite the charmer?"
"Lighten up, mate," Charles said with a chuckle. "I'm teasing." He tried to move again, lifted himself, failed, then fell back down onto his arms. "Bloody hell."
"There's got to be something we can do," said Edwin.
"Well, we can't go back through the other way. And it's not like we can detach our limbs."
"This is where being a zombie would really come in handy."
Charles laughed. "That'd be brills."
Another few minutes went by -- Edwin and Charles ultimately remained restring their chins on their folded arms, staring into the empty room. Completely helpless.
"Wonder how long we'll be here," muttered Charles. "I'm bored."
"You're bored? Bored?" snapped Edwin. "I'd say we have more pressing things to worry about than boredom."
"Not like we can starve to death."
"If we can't figure out how to break this spell, we might quite literally be here forever! What about Crystal? What about the grand ol' Night Nurse?"
Charles chuckled. "Hey, yeah! I'm sure she'll turn up at some point."
"I don't know... She was pretty mad about being forced to work with us."
"Yeah, she was pretty steamed."
"We got lucky, Charles." Edwin remembered how they'd hugged after being informed of the news. The sheer relief that had washed over the both of them.
"Yeah, mate. We did."
Edwin's eyes lingered on Charles and Charles, unsurprisingly, held his gaze. "Charles?" said Edwin after a moment.
"Yeah?"
"We, um. We never really talked more about..." His voice trailed off. "I know you said that my confession didn't change anything between us, but--"
"And I meant it, mate."
Edwin nodded. Strangely enough, he was kind of hoping that things would change. He was starting to realize that he didn't fancy the idea of things just carrying on as usual, especially now that Charles knew. "I just... I was wondering... if you've had any thoughts since...?"
"Since what?"
"Well, since I told you."
"Thoughts on what?"
"I don't know." Edwin started to redden. "Anything."
Charles's mouth twisted up, as if he were considering his next choice of words. His eyes flickered with something. His forehead softened, his cheeks pulled back as he started to smile. Such a beautiful smile. But then his eyes went wider, a little crazed and confused. And his brow conveyed worry. And his mouth--still smiling--let out a strange, broken laugh.
"He-HAH!"
Edwin frowned. "What?"
Charles looked a little panicked, but he was still grinning. "H-heh-haha!" He laughed again. It sounded as if he were trying to hold it back. He tried to turn to look over his shoulder, but given the way he was stuck, he couldn't do much, but whip his head back and forth. "W-what the f-fuck?" he yelped. "Ha!"
"Charles, what is it?" Edwin said.
Charles looked over at him. "I-I dunno," he spluttered. "Heheheh!"
"What's so funny?"
"N-nothing!" Charles squeezed his eyes shut, continuing to flash his pearly whites. "I-erm--hehe-- you're n-not going to believe this, but I th-think...heehee... I think something's t-tickling me!"
"What?"
"Y-yeah! Heehee! I c-can f-feel it! On my feet!"
"Charles, that's impossible." Edwin needn't remind him that they couldn't feel physical touch.
"S-stop saying that!" Charles slammed his hands down onto the carpeting, and tried to pull himself forward, but his attempts were in vain. His palms nearly slapped against the floor. He arched his upper body, pushed himself up for a second, then flopped back down. "N-noho! Heehee!"
"Charles..." Edwin was growing concerned. "Th-this isn't funny. Stop it."
"I know it's not bloohoohoody f-funny! Christ! Noho! HAHA!" He turned his head to the right, and giggled as he struggled. "Nohohohaha! STOP! MAKE IT STOP!"
Edwin tried to move himself. Kicked his legs. Attempted to lift himself again. But it was useless. He grunted with frustration. "We've got to figure this out," he hissed to himself.
"HA! UHAHA!" Charles yelped. His hiccupping bursts of giggles ricocheted around the empty room. Quick, rapid intakes of air between quick notes of amusement. He propped himself up on his elbows again, head still swinging back and forth. His eyes were closed. His smile wide. "Heeheehahah! Oi! Hoho! Quit it! Pl-pleheeheease make it stahahap!" And then, suddenly, with a sigh of relief, he flopped down onto the floor, breathing heavily. "Oh....ph-phew.... oh, god.... Th-that was c-crazy."
"You're serious?" Edwin's jaw dropped. "Something was...tickling you?"
"Aye," said Charles amid grateful panting. "On my f-feet." He gulped for air. "Damn, I f-forgot how ticklish I was."
"This doesn't make any sense! How could--?" said Edwin, with a shake of his head, but then...
He felt something on the sole of his foot.
And then it hit him:
His feet had been bared. Or, at least, it felt like they had.
A REAL BRAIN TICKLER
The last time Edwin had been barefoot, he'd been trapped in Hell, forced to run across endless floors covered in blood and shards of glass and debris as he did his best--over and over again--to outrun a giant spider demon made of baby doll heads. His soles had remained agonizingly sensitive, despite his being in Hell for decades. He could feel every prick, every cut and scratch, every slip of bloody flesh against flooring.
It was something that would forever haunt him.
As it dawned on him now that, somehow, someway, his footwear had seemingly been removed--his boots and stockings no longer a barrier to the fluttering feelings on his foot--he couldn't help but be reminded of the ways in which his ghostly wardrobe had been forcibly altered before. Sure, he and Charles had the ability to change up their clothing at will, but he'd never opted to go barefoot since escaping back to the world of the living.
Edwin's soles--pale and long--were face-up on the other side of the mysterious mirror. Unlike their appearance in Hell, here they were clean and blemish-free. The cuffs of his trousers were snug around his bony ankles. He curled his long toes as the first sensation rippled up from the ball of his left foot. Something soft and wispy fluttering across his skin, up near the base of his toes.
Edwin FELT it.
And it did, indeed, tickle.
He hadn't remembered what it was like to feel such a sensation. Sure, he'd experienced plenty of emotions; he also had the ability to exert his energy against objects and even other ghosts...but this? All of his previous interactions in this realm had merely been...spectral. A sensation beyond touch.
Now, it was like his nerve endings were being resurrected.
The sensations bubbled through him, fluttered about in his stomach, and were trying to force a smile from him.
"Oh. Oh no." He gasped, expression reflecting both shock and panic on the other side of the wall.
"What?" said Charles quickly. "You feel it too?"
Edwin closed his eyes. The soft, fluttering, wispy sensations traveled up his sole to his heel, then back down again. The muscles gathered in his jaw as he tried to maintain his composure. His mouth twitched. He breathed in sharply through his nose.
"Edwin?"
Edwin nodded. "Th-this is impossible," he whispered, hissing with every use of the letter 's.' The downy touch against his soft, pale skin was driving him mad. Electric. Incessant. Exploring every inch of his wrinkling sole. As it neared his toes again, creeping into the crevices between them, like the whispering touch of angel's wings, Edwin's eyes slammed more tightly shut than before. His brow furrowed in ticklish agony. He whimpered as the laughter threatened to spill from him.
"Edwin! Mate! Are you okay?"
"Pffffffttttssstssstss....."
"Edwin!"
"F-for f-fuck's sake, Ch-Charles..." stammered Edwin. The more he talked, the more he started to smile. "I am clearly...n-not...okay!" The feathering around his toes was increasing in swiftness. He tried to kick the feelings away, frantically moving his feet about, but it didn't seem to help much. Whoever--or whatever--was working its away long his sole would disconnect for a second or two, before returning with that same, incessant need to explore his soft skin as before. "O-ohhhhh...." He snorted and snickered. He kicked furiously again and, finally, the sensations subsided, leaving his nerve endings abuzz. Edwin tentatively relaxed, his jaw unclenching, his breathing returning to normal. His chest loosened.
Both of the boys waited a moment--anticipating another ticklish attack on their soles from the other side of the wall, but nothing happened.
"What is going on, man?" Charles muttered.
"I'm... I'm not sure," said Edwin. "It's got to be some sort of dark magic. There's no other way this could be happening." He made another pointless attempt to free himself from the wall.
"But...tickling, bruv?" Charles snorted. "Why would someone--?"
"Or something," Edwin interjected.
"Right...something want to...tickle us?" Charles looked sheepish as he said it.
"Your guess is as good as mine," Edwin spat. "I think what we really need to do now though is figure out how to free ourselves."
"More motivated now, are ya?" Charles winked.
"Aren't you?"
"Of course, but there's not really much else we can do now, is there?"
Edwin struggled and struggled. He tried to faze out again, tried to press his hands through the flooring, but the strange spell that was surely holding him captive prevented him from doing so. Finally, with another huff, he gave up. "This is useless."
"Oi! N-not again!" exclaimed Charles unexpectedly from beside him, which made Edwin jump. "Oh! Hohoha!" Charles threw his head back, chin jutting forward, jaw sharp, and he started to laugh again. On the other side of the wall, the fluttery, feathery feelings had resumed upon his feet again, which were also seemingly bared--long and soft and shapely just like Edwin's--but the tops of which were tan, his soles a blush of pink and brown hues. The wispy sensations danced downward into the shadowy spaces between his toes. "Hahaha! Oi! St-stop that! HaHA! Heeheee!" squealed Charles.
Edwin grimaced in frustration. He hated feeling helpless, but at least, it seemed that whatever was tickling them could only focus on one of them at a time.
"Oh makeitstop, makeitstop, makeitstop!" Charles giggled, the stream of words flowing from his smiling mouth.
"Charles, get ahold of yourself," Edwin insisted, reaching over to place a hand on his friend's forearm.
Charles shook his head frantically. "I c-can't! Heeheehahaha! I-it t-tickles!"
"I know, but maybe, if we don't react, it will stop."
"Pfffftttttttssssseeheehee!" Charles tried to suppress the laughter spewing forth. He also kicked his legs around, but as with Edwin, this didn't do much to stop the sensation from exploring his soft soles after a few seconds. "God, Edwin, th-this is horrid!"
"I wish we could know what was doing this to us. Perhaps then we could could figure out a way to--" Edwin started, but then he felt the tickling return to his own feet. The sensations danced around his left and right soles in a strange, zigzagging choreography. Still feathery, still soft, but simply relentless.
"Ah-h! N-n-no!" Edwin gritted his teeth and tried to resist. It was all he could do. Resist. He'd endured agony in all forms; his tolerance for pain was off the charts--it was the very reason why Esther had targeted him in Port Townsend. But for some reason... for some god awful reason, he found this to be so immediately unbearable...
Charles had calmed down beside him, but that meant that Edwin had to endure being watched by him.
Just. STOP, he demanded inwardly.
But the tickling did not stop. The wisps seemed to sift into the grooves of his wrinkling foot so effortlessly...
"N-no..."
"Edwin, just laugh, mate." Charles chuckled. "You look like you're about to have an aneurism."
"I will not give this thing what it wants."
Charles sighed. "We don't have much of a choice."
"We a-always h-have a ch-choice," Edwin stammered. "Maybe w-eehee can--"
But, on the other side of the wall, the soft, curious sensations suddenly transformed, flipping into something pointed and sharp--thought not painful--but with a strong enough pressure that the effect was instantaneous and electric.
BAM.
Edwin yelped, arched his back, and helpless caved. His composure crackled away into laughs: "N-NOHO! NOHOHO! HAHAHA!"
"There ya go," Charles said.
"OH! HAHA! CH-CHARLES, IT'S A-AWFUHUHUHUL!"
"I know, man." But Charles didn't know--he had yet to experience what Edwin was experiencing--and when this newer, sharper, tickling sensation jumped back to him, Charles's own reactions were dialed up to eleven.
"F-FUCK! HAHAHAHA!" Charles screamed, his foot flailing around, but with no means of escaping. The scribbling was maddening. It worked his heels, alternating between each, drawing circles, before meandering down his soles to his toes. It dug in right beneath his big toes. "SH-SHIHIHIT! HEEHEEHAHAHA!"
"This is ridiculous!" Edwin was growing more and more desperate, more and more angry. He felt helpless for himself, helpless for his friend. How long was this supposed to go on? He simply had to watch Charles lose his mind from beside him.
Not that, you know, he didn't look...well...adorable.
The way his face was lit up with laughter.
And the sound of it, so uninhibited and infectious...
"E-Edwin! Heeheehahaha!" Charles grabbed his hand and squeezed, as if this would somehow help him better endure the tickling. "H-hehehehelp! Hahahaha! ACKPTH! HAHA!"
"There's nothing I can do, Charles!"
"F-figure s-something ouhowhowhout! You a-always doohoohoo!" His laughter shot up an octave as the scribbling drilled into the flesh at the base of each of his toes, despite his trying to curl them. "EEEEHEEHAHAHA!"
Edwin slammed his left fist against the ground and directed an outburst into the empty room. "Hello! We demand to know who's doing this! Stop this now or-- AIEEHEEHAHA!" The tickling interrupted him, crackling across his foot again like a little whirring, bulbous drill head. Edwin continued slamming his fist against the floor, drumming, drumming... "HahahaWAIT! I s-said STAWHAWP! I d-demand you sh-showhowhow yourself! HAHAHA!" His body shook as his laughter increased.
The tickling stopped. Both Edwin and Charles caught their breaths, their nerve-endings abuzz and alive.
But no one answered Edwin's demands. No one came. The funhouse fell silent again save for the electrical hums of the lights and the creaks and crashes of ocean waves on wood somewhere below.
"Well, this is just brills," said Charles.
"Insane, more like."
"I mean, out of all the cases we've taken--all the things we've been through--this one's...out there."
Edwin ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He groaned. He dug into his coat pockets, but they came up empty. "Charles. I... I really don't see a way out of this."
"So... we just have to sit here and get tickled to death?"
"We're already dead."
"I know, but imagine? What a way to go out."
Edwin sighed. "I'm sure there's a room in Hell where something like this happens."
"Better than being chased around by a spider-baby-doll demon, yeah?"
Edwin closed his eyes. He reached over and held Charles's hand. "Yeah. It is."
After a few moments, he realized that he was still holding his mate's hand. Soft. Warm.
MARCH 2025
HOLLYWOOD, CALIFORNIA
CASE CLOSED
"Perhaps I can help with that," said a strange, new voice.
The boys snapped to attention and looked up. Standing beside the arm chair was the tall, burly hooded figure. He pushed the skeleton aside rather dramatically. Its plastic bones clattered to the floor.
"Excuse me," the man said, and he sat himself down, then slipped back his hood, revealing a rather surprisingly handsome face. He's a bit older than the boys--late twenties or early thirties, if either of them were to guess. His skin, though lighter in shade, has a brown under glow, similar to Charles's. His hair is wavy--almost curly--and flows down around the tops of his ears and just around the nape of his neck. He has very striking eyebrows. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, bringing his hands together, which looked quite large.
"Who are you?" asked Edwin. He grew frustrated with himself for even thinking that this man was attractive. Attractive men, he'd learned, meant trouble. There was Monty, who'd turned out to be a crow. And, of course, the Cat King--such a mischievous trickster.
But then again... that rule hadn't applied to... Charles.
The stranger smiled. "I've finally gotten the attention of the famed Dead Boy Detectives."
"You know who we are?" said Charles.
"Boys, I've had my eye on you for a while now."
"Who are you?" Edwin asked again. "Or rather, what are you? A psychic? A warlock? A demon?"
"A fan."
Edwin wasn't expecting that one. "A...fan?"
"You know we accept fan mail, mate," Charles said. Both boys were struggling now, but of course, with their lower halves stuck in a wall, there was little to be done. "Or, you can always just come pop in at the office."
"No, no." The stranger shook his head. "Because I highly doubt that you would've taken me up on my request."
"A case to solve?" asked Edwin.
The stranger considered the question, then shrugged, his face conveying interest. "I guess you could put it that way. More of a...question really."
"And what question is that?" Edwin asked. "Are you the one that's done this to us?"
"Guilty."
"Well, let us out, man. You've got our attention. Let's talk like civil people yeah?" said Charles.
"A spell, I assume?" Edwin seemed more preoccupied with the stranger's methods.
"More or less," said the man.
"What about the other ghosts?" Charles grunted. He tried to faze through his surroundings again, but whatever was holding him in place was unrelenting. It felt so awkward--his position. From his torso up, he was free. He could push himself up on his hands, raise his head, but his waist was immobilized, and his legs, though free to kick around, had little space to do so. It was like a large weight had settled itself around his midsection. "What have you done with them?"
"Oh, they're fine, I assure you," said the man. "No harm has come to them. But from what I've learned about the two of you, I figured it was only a matter of time before their disappearance put me on your radar."
"What about the laughter?" Edwin asked. "Our client told us that horrid laughter's been coming from this place for the last few nights. Is that your doing as well?"
The cloaked man raised a brow, and a Cheshire-like grin spread across his face. He had pearly straight teeth. "That, my good chap, is the best question you've asked so far."
The boys looked up at him, expressions both suspicious and weary. Neither of them enjoyed feeling so stuck, so helpless. They'd been through this a few times before, most recently at the hands of Esther, painfully corporealized by iron shackles. At least this time around, neither of them were in pain, but the vulnerability still did not sit well.
"See, something rather...interesting has brought me here."
"To Pleasure Pier?" asked Charles.
The man chuckled. "Ah, sweet Charles." He shook his head. From the folds of his robe, he withdrew a thin, ivory rectangular box. "No. Not to Pleasure Pier. To this realm."
"Realm?" Edwin asked.
"What are you on about? Are from the Afterlife?" said Charles.
The man shook his head again. "No." He didn't care to elaborate. "See this?" He removed the lid of the box and withdrew from it a brilliant purple plume.
"Is that...a feather?" asked Edwin. He was intrigued again. He had a fascination with supernatural objects--even considered himself a purveyor of such, as was indicated by the shelves and his desk at the agency--and there was something about this one that just smacked of the metaphysical. Something new to research!
"Yes. The Amethyst Feather," said the man. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" He pinched the tip of the shaft and drew it up along the soft barbs. Its purple hue shifted under the soft lights, almost reflecting something cosmic, as if containing the very essence of the aurora borealis. "I have another one just like it. Crimson. A bit larger. In a different form. A quill."
"What's this got to do with us?" asked Charles. He was clearly growing impatient.
"Well, Charles." The man knelt down, balancing himself on the balls of his feet. "I've learned something about these feathers. Something...fascinating. And it's led me to theorize some things. But I haven't had the opportunity to test my theories on anyone other than the living. That is, until now." He reached forward and lightly brushed the ends of the purple feather along Charles's face.
"Oi! Quit that!" Charles scrunched up his nose and batted the item away, but only a second passed before he realized something...
He'd...felt that.
"Charles?" Edwin asked, clearly noticing the look of awe and horror on his face.
"Wait." Charles said as the cloaked man stood up again, taking the feather with him. "How did you do that?" He hadn't felt something physical since before his death. Sure, he'd enjoyed feelings. And he had the ability to exert his energy against objects and even other ghosts...but all of those interactions had merely been...spectral. A sensation beyond touch.
But the wisps of that feather against his face... he had FELT them. It was like his nerve-endings had been resurrected.
And he craved more.
"Do what?" Edwin asked.
Charles tried to stand, tried to push himself up, but his body remained firmly stuck to the floor, stuck in the wall. "Wait! Come back!" He called after the man, who was retreating towards a door at the opposite end of the room.
"Don't you worry, little ghost boy," said the man, drawing his hood up again. "What you just experienced was only a taste of what's to come." Taking his mysterious feather with him, the stranger slipped out of the room, leaving
"Shall we?" said Edwin.
Charles shook his head. "Why don't we take the scenic route?"
Author's notes:
It's a damn shame that Netflix's Dead Boy Detectives was cancelled after one season, despite its popularity and critical success. No surprises though, all things considered. I absolutely fell in love with this show, not just for its strange, fantastical horror and macabre elements, but also for the bold ways in which it explored queerness, friendship, and existentialism, all wrapped up in a pretty young-adult(ish) package. Though we will most likely never see the adventures of Edwin and Charles finish out on screen (especially after the scandal surrounding creator Neil Gaiman), but I consider it an honor to carry their adventures forward in this silly little tale. Hopefully fans of the show will enjoy this for more than just a mere tickle fic! I really tried hard to capture their characters honestly and keep with the lore of the show as best as I could. And--as a bonus--I also learned that both boys are ticklish in real life, thanks to a Cameo video that I requested. You can view it on my Instagram!
DISCLAIMER:
This story is a work of a fiction. The use of George Rextrew's portrayal of the character Edwin Payne and Jayden Revri's portrayal of the character Charles Rowland, along with references to other characters and events from the Dead Boy Detectives series on Netflix, is done solely for the purposes of entertainment; this work is not affiliated with, nor endorsed by, any of the actors or creators associated with the show or the works by Neil Gaiman on which the show is based. .
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