(Old fanfic. I'm only keeping it around because it's cool to see how much I've improved since. Go ahead and read if you want; it's very short.)
The ghost silently watched as the chase came to an abrupt halt.
The pursued quickly noticed the pursuer's absence and began to warily retrace his route. "I am the Box Ghost!" he yelled. "If this is a trick, I am definitely not falling for it!" He was answered by naught but silence. No quips, no puns, no sudden sucking sensation from that horrid cylindrical containment unit. Nothing.
Confused, he phased back into the warehouse where he had last seen the ghost boy. Even surrounded by the boxes he loved so much, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was not right. The Box Ghost rounded another aisle of boxes and finally realized why Phantom had stopped chasing him. On the ground sat a box. A box containing twenty steel anvils. The very same box that he had enthusiastically hurled at the ghost boy before escaping the building.
There was a vibrant green puddle spreading outward from underneath the box.
The observing ghost gestured with his staff at the screen, freezing the image just as the Box Ghost began to panic. In his tower, while gears turned steadily and pendulums swung in time with every second, Clockwork closed his eyes and sighed softly. The boy had had so much potential.
If only the Observants hadn't ordered his destruction.