Promise (A VenturianTale Fanfiction)

Work in the Jungle

Johnny excused himself to the bathroom, leaning against the wall instead of sitting on the toilet cover (because who knows where that toilet's been?), and tugged on his hood, making it cover his eyes. "Spirits of the 6th Dimension, come in through your extravagant door and banish the monstrosity that is hypnotizing my best friend back to the catastrophic 13th Dimension in which it calls home." He whispered this, because if he'd said it any louder, Tania would hear and hide from the 6th Dimension Dwellers. He wanted every last bit of life sucked out of her inhumanly then forcefully put back in. Jeez, it's like Toast wants to have him commit a mass murder.

Ding-dong. It's Jimmy Casket.

Ghost breathed in heavily. He wasn't going to let himself go insane on the family. Especially in front of Tania. If Tania saw, she'd force Toast to live with her due to "safety from him." It's preposterous. Toast had worked with Ghost for more than a decade, and not once had he had gotten murdered. Not once. That's because Toast knew him. He knew how to calm him down, say some sort of trigger words that the hypnotist taught him when they confronted him on the subject. He didn't know what the words were, because if he did, he'd know how to say the opposite and just keep on going with his blood lust.

He took one last deep breath, and walked out the bathroom, rejoining the group in the living room. Gertrude and Tania were exchanging a cheery and chattery conversation, the kids were all outside (probably testing out their new football), excluding Spencer, of course, and Papa was patting Toast on the back and doing other such dad-like gestures. They seemed to be getting along, talking about how the wedding service will turn out and other such nonsense until Johnny caught Papa whisper to Toast the seven words that made Johnny smile inside, "You don't know what you've gotten into."

It was true, he didn't know what he's gotten into.

But what was a best friend to do?

He did choose to marry an evil soul sucker. That's not Ghost's fault.

Johnny wanted to stop Toast from making the most terrible decision he's ever made. But that's something that takes too much energy. What he really needed to do was to continue his research. Most of his investigations weren't just your average Ghost-Buster exterminations. All of his jobs in people's homes, restaurants, hospitals, you name it, were only completed to solve the unsolvable puzzle of the 2nd Dimension. He remembered the time when he visited that poor man Bert NiceGuy's house. They had encountered a 7.6894503.02 leveler, which actually turned out to be the Toilet Toucher, again. Toast was right at the time, a 7-9 was the most accurate rating for the Toucher, but Ghost couldn't help but think that maybe the fact that that 7.6884503.02 level ghost was classified as a meek spirit (shying away from their true form, as to lure in bait) was some sort of key to the 2nd Dimension, mayhap the 7th and 2nd Dimensions have a connection.

Johnny usually left the piecing-together part to Toast, but since he was getting hitched to a demon, new schedules was a necessity. "Excuse me. I have to check on something very, very quickly." He stood up to leave, but Gertrude waved a hand. "But you just got back from the bathroom.. What came up so quickly? Especially on the new fiancées' engagement day." "Work, sorry Gertrude. Can't leave it hanging, you know?" Ghost let a nervous chuckle escape his lips. It seemed to sell Gertrude, because she simply pouted, shrugged, and continued her conversation with Ms. Devil.

Ms. Devil.

Ms. Devil.

That's a good one, Johnny.

Real nice.

He continued his way up the stairs, twitching uncomfortably as the steps creaked with every step he took, as if mocking him. The sunroom was looking lively as usual, the drops of water collecting at the tips of the leaves and flowers and waiting eagerly to drop into the water catcher plate below. Gertrude seemed to take amazing care of the plants, and some look about five or six years old. Hell, maybe even older. Some more pots had moved into the room, squeezing into what little space in the corners the sunroom had. On closer inspection, the moist dirt was housing tiny saplings with silvery branches reaching outwards in every direction.

"Birch trees."

Johnny heard Gertrude say from the doorway. He felt a rush a relief run through his system, mixed with a random sense of excitement. The word "birch" somehow made him really happy. Gertrude was now kneeling down next to him, "Found them in the kitchen, all torn up and tossed. It was really sad.. I had to at least try and save 'em. They seem to be healing up pretty well." "The kitchen? And how those that add up?" Gertrude shrugged, obviously not caring of an explanation herself, "Dunno. Must've been the kids, or the fact that Papa got them for me but didn't know how to give them to me. Do you need anything? Snacks? A drink? You hungry?" "Mm.. No, I'm fine. Thanks." "Alrighty then. Welp, I'm making breakfast, it'll be ready in about five minutes. Come down when you're ready." Five minutes. In truth, he was starving. But when it came down to standing in the same room with Tania or starvation, he would choose the latter in a heartbeat. Johnny tapped the left sleeve of his jacket,and from it popped five folded-up papers. Each one bore different numbers. He picked up the paper with the number "5" on it and placed the rest in the little compartment he had. He gave the sleeve three more taps, and the compartment closed, while another one, this one being long and slender, launched a number 6 pencil, which he had brought back from the 6th Dimension. The lead (which wasn't really lead at all) was actually a 6th Dimension exclusive ore which, over a short period of time, would sharpen and continue to become a more menacing weapon with every second of its existence, making it a very rare substance. The local Dwellers called it stropenscribere, which is broken down to "sharpened write" or "sharpened writing tool." The title didn't fail itself, last time, he was careless and nearly shot the pencil out the window. Unfolding the paper, he noticed two little papers scrunched up next to the cactus he'd nearly faceplanted into the day before. Johnny reached for them, straightening them out and searching for any signs that they were one of his dearest research notes.

Instead of finding the tediously planned out theories and possibilities on the paper, he only found but two words, one one each paper:

"Sally's Jungle."