Danny Phantom Fan Fiction ❯ Ghost of a Chance ❯ Chapter 2

There's some nastiness of words in this chapter. I'm sorry, but that's how I'd react. I don't know about the rest of you.

Oh, and lots of hatred towards the rich. I apologize to the rich people.

 

Ghost of a Chance

Chapter Two: Postmortem Messages

 

“What's the headline?” Sam asked as Tucker held up the next day's edition of the paper.

 

“Artic seals eat penguin population,” he answered. “Environmentalists pissed.”

 

“Shut up and let me see,” she said, snatching the paper from his hands. “'Inviso-Bill: Menace or Misunderstood?' Nice.”

 

He shrugged, sitting down. “He's getting publicity.”

 

“He needs a publicist,” she muttered. “'Inviso-Bill?' Who thought up that cripe?”

 

“Writers for the news station I think. They love coining stupid phrases.”

 

“Damn,” she said, skimming the article. “'A malevolent spirit?' An evil soul from beyond the grave? What are we: tabloids? I saw Bigfoot marry a zombie. They've got three kids now.”

 

“Come on, Sam? You've never seen anything spooky?”

 

“Sure I have. I live for spooky. Sometimes I do séances and talk to my grandma.”

 

“…Your grandma isn't dead.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

He shook his head and pulled the article away. “You just refuse to make sense.”

 

“It's the side affect of being a reporter. You have to lay everything all nice and neat before people, so later you just freak out and babble so they don't understand a single thing you say.”

 

“Why are we friends?”

 

“Because I always pay for lunch. Come on. I'm hungry.”

 

---

 

The day ended much as it started, with friendly bickering and the threat of unemployment. (If Molly had her way, they'd be hanged with nooses made of unfinished stories.)

 

Sam kicked her door open, trying to stare over the huge box in her hands. Her parents had sent her another useless item, she just knew it. Probably filled with pink frilly dresses and coupons for lessons on being a rich white girl. Curse them. Curse them and their rich white people ways. She could imagine them sitting over fancy wine and broken dreams of people not as rich as they, planning how to force her to be happy in their lifestyle, or at least not so rebellious in it.

 

She dropped the package, disappointed when there was no sound of breaking glass. Messages blinked on her phone, and she tried to imagine who would call her.

 

(Her parents again. And maybe Tuck, but she saw him ten minutes ago. Molly didn't call home numbers, just cell phones, and she usually ignored those.)

 

Yes, yes, her imagination was definitely getting away from her. She didn't mind so much. It gave her something to do during the day when the computer screen finally burned through her cornea.

 

The box peered at her through the kitchen walls, and she stared back, narrowing her eyes at it. Probably a travesty of a dress to wear to the stupid party. She imagined the kitten nose pink and giant, obtrusive frills that would swallow her whole.

 

She pulled scissors out of a drawer and attacked the box with them. For a minute she thought her parents had sent her something live and dropped the scissors in horror. The box shuddered, shook, and suddenly burst open. Sam screamed and fell back, grabbing the scissors and holding them out as deadly weapons. Fabric burst out (not pink or frilly, she realized, but pink and frilly had never jumped out and attacked her) and fell over her, causing another scream. She tore away the dress and jumped up, and her eyes widened at what she saw.

 

A man stood—floated, oh how she wanted to scream—before her, chubby and dressed tackily, and glowing.

 

(Floating and fucking glowing! She was going to need therapy. Or alcohol. They worked in the same way.)

 

The man glared at her, and she stared back, the scissors dropping to point towards the floor. He raised his arms, and she cringed, expecting the worse. And then…

 

“BEWARE!”

 

She peeked an eye open, staring towards the apparition.

 

“Beware!” he bellowed. “For I am the Box Ghost!”

 

She stopped cringing and her stare changed from shock and fear to something more like quizzical annoyance.

 

“I'm sorry,” she said, pointing the scissors at him. “What?”

 

“I am… THE BOX GHOST! Fear me and my mastery over box-shaped items!”

 

Fear was not something she was doing. “Look, um… Box Ghost… was it? I would really…” (Oh, what was she doing?! Reasoning with a ghost! Or a crazed little man with an incredibly stupid idea for a prank.) “You can't just… leave? Um… Please?”

 

The specter blinked, clearly perplexed by what she was saying. He took a minute to think before screaming another “beware” and disappearing through the wall. Sam was left with one simple thought:

 

What the fuck just happened?

 

---

 

“No, I swear, Tuck. He called himself `the Box Ghost.'”

 

Tucker chuckled, kicking his feet back on the table as he clattered a few keys on his laptop. “It's really farfetched, even for you, Sam. Your parents sent you a haunted package? I know you think they're evil, but come on.”

 

He could see her simmer. “Okay, so maybe they specifically did not send me a haunted package. But it's definitely from them. Guess what it had inside.”

 

“A box from your parents?” He imagined the abomination hidden therein. “A dress. Is it atrocious? They love sending you atrocious things.”

 

“No… actually. I was surprised. It's… beautiful.”

 

He frowned. Parental brainwashing? Not Sam. She had anti-brainwashing walls installed in her mind. Except by crazy cults that worshiped demons (that had been a crazy week) and goth kids.

 

”You'll be seeing it on Friday, I guess. I get to welcome some famous millionaire. Or billionaire. Or I-own-an-entire-country-and-drink-wine-with-my-pretentious-friends-aire. 221;

 

“I don't think those are real things, Sam.” Something blinked on his computer screen, and he leaned forward. “I'm gonna leave you. Recount your thrilling tale to me tomorrow. Sounds like the thing was harmless anyway.”

 

“Fine, but if it comes back, do I have permission to club it?”

 

“As long as there are no witnesses.”

 

“I'll see you tomorrow then.”

 

Tuck set down his phone and groaned. Stupid owing of favors to crazy rich friends. He'd forgotten about Friday already. At least she wasn't making him wear something fancy this time.

 

Sam and Tucker had been friends since high school with a falling out in college. After he got his job at the paper they worked for, he'd found himself seated right beside her, and they decided to catch up. Since he'd known her he'd been her “date” for the fancy parties she hated, and they usually snuck out and went to Nasty Burger. It would probably be easier this time without her parents there to catch them, and since they both had cars, it would be easier than walking.

 

He clicked a few buttons on his computer, trying to see whatever message he'd missed. It blinked across the screen, and he sighed. Just someone signing on. For some reason he'd thought it was something else.

 

He closed the laptop and wheeled himself over to the fridge to grab a sandwich, when he stopped himself and hurried back to the computer screen.

 

PhentomDan has signed on.

 

Notes:

You'll figure out why this is such a shocker next chapter.

I don't think as many people would fear the dark if they realized all that was there was a half-assed ghost who had “mastery over boxes.”

I'm back on Rilo Kiley. Damn. They're what God listens to when he's high.

((I'm gonna get burned for that one. I know it.))

Next Chapter: Everybody dies.