Sally wasn't the gardening type, if Ghost could decide. She'd be more... Extremely dangerous zookeeper of extinct animals that her father somehow brought home dead, and is now alive type person. Looking back, Sally did help us survive on that island by growing mutant plants. That... That didn't make much sense until now. But why were these papers crumbled and balled up? And why were there two? Couldn't Sally just have wrote on one and saved some darn paper? Well, this is Sally we're talking about here. Along with the birch trees Gertrude had brought in, there were a few other pots hidden behind some bigger plants with moist soil, tiny, curling stems and leaves just barely visible on the dirt. Besides the standard plant colors, (green, dark green, 5092 other shades of green) the sprout had a strange, unearthly purplish glow to it.
The most stupidest (yet most effective against his career) move Johnny Ghost, Paranormal Investigator Extraordinaire, has ever made was to poke the indigo-aura sprout.
A stinging pain, almost as if he'd touched a hot plate for too long, shot through his index finger. A strangled scream escaped his lips as he fell over, the blown-up mattress being the only thing keeping him from a painful face-to-hard wood collision. After a long eternity of silence, a small sob emanated from the corner of the room. A girl, by the sounds of it. "Sally? Gertrude?" Ghost stood, scanning the room for any of them, before a striking recognition washed over him. "Box Friend?"
If as angered, the sobbing girl shouted, barely audible, but still quite annoyed-sounding, "John!"
Ugh. Aimee.
Only Aimee would call him "John," much more with a clearly identifiable French accent. "Do tell, what causes such a disgusted grimace to cross your face?" Aimee's voice rang through the room. "Show yourself, Aimee. I can't talk without seeing you." "Yes, I do believe you can.." "Just show yourself!" A small glint shined from the corner of the room, and Aimee assembled from naught but air, a firm yet grim look on her face. "John.. I wish to see Johnny." Aimee had always called Toast Johnny, and it always got on Ghost's nerves before. Mostly because Aimee neglected to understand that he liked to be called Johnny or Ghost. "Yeah. Right. D'you still like him?" Aimee's expression took a desperate turn. "John.." "Don't talk to me. Lover boy's downstairs, probably rolling in the glory of a new girlfriend." Another sob, followed by a sniffle. "John, I don't mean it like-" Ghost held up a hand, staying silent as he tossed the two papers Sally wrote aside, picking up the number 5 paper. As he unfolded, he took careful mind not to crease the folds too much. That's what kept the papers new-looking and nice. "John! Would you just listen to me!" Aimee was standing now, her dark green gown falling perfectly over her. Ghost stayed silent, nodding. "I'm not here for Johnny." "Then what are you here for?" "Would you just listen, for once in your gods darned life?"
Ghost was silenced.
"I don't love him. I've seen what happened with him and that girl. You.. You hate her.. Right?" He nodded, Aimee taking a step towards him. "Don't go. I see it happening." She shook her head, taking two more steps towards him. "You're dead, Aimee. You can't help me. I'll be long passed murder stages before you can do anything." She shook her head again, this time reaching out for his face. "I can help. I will." Her hand, cold and pale, glistened in the sun's noon light. It reached his cheek, even though its owner was deceased, and therefore nonexistent. Aimee opened her mouth to say something, before a loud and high pitched shriek followed by shattering glass filled the house. Aimee's fingers jerked backwards before she gave Ghost one last sorrowful look. "John.. I don't-" Her words were lost, for her image disintegrated into nothing. Toast stood at the door, holding his favorite knife in one hand, and grasping Sally's hand in the other. "Sir!" The knife clashed against the ground as Toast rushed over to Ghost in a blurry mass of... British stuff. Ghost expected a slap to the face, or possibly a wave of protest about not exterminating Aimee's spirit beforehand.
But instead, he got one of the very few things Ghost could imagine Johnny do.
A hug.
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Promise (A VenturianTale Fanfiction)
FanfictionWinter was here. Fall had passed. Halloween, the time when P. I. E. Seemed to thrive the most, had passed. Christmas was here, and Johnny Toast and Johnny Ghost were invited to the Acachalla's home to celebrate. Ghost had obliged to go, since his be...
