Oh, no. No no no, this cannot be happening. I'm standing at the top of the basement steps, not willing to go any further. Hearing it is sickening enough. It's the middle of the night, for God's sake. I'd been up in my room studying, when I'd heard a series of loud noises come from downstairs. I barely registered my parents' excited voices. After all, we're talking about the same people who get excited when there's a sale on jumpsuits at Wal-Mart. So I flipped through the pages, determined to ace my biology midterm. Around 11:30, I started to get a little worried. My parents should be sleeping by now, or upstairs at the very least. I crept downstairs, and let out a groan when I noticed the lights in the lab were still on. Of course, they were working on whatever insane invention they'd dreamt up this time. I decided to pour myself a glass of milk and grab some goldfish before heading back upstairs. I barely made it to the first step when a wail pierced through the otherwise silent night. Then my mom's voice, except it sounded harsh, like she was talking to a misbehaving puppy. They say curiosity killed the cat, and curiosity might kill that ghost too if I wasn't careful. I'll admit, I was a bit surprised when I realized my mom must've been talking to something that could actually understand, and I'm fairly sure my parents weren't down there with a voice-activated Fenton gadget. They'd actually caught a ghost. I was about to descend the steps and say something about how this could wait until tomorrow mixed in with a congratulations, when I heard something that made me pinch myself, to make sure I wasn't dreaming.
"Stop squirming, Ghost Boy. You're only making this harder on yourself." So here I am, teetering on the edge of the doorframe, deciding whether to go down or not. I'm hoping for the best, but expecting the worst. I start running thorough the possible ways they could've caught him, when the reason what they're doing makes my heart stop.
"Let's pull it apart molecule by molecule!"
"Don't you at least want to dissect the remains first?"
No no no, this isn't possible. I walk down the stairs slowly, as if I'm about to enter a room of nightmares. And in a way, I am. I have to tell them before they start the dissection. I just peek over the railing, and the sight almost makes me keel over.
I'm too late.
There he is, covered in something green that I can't stand to look at. It's dripping over the edge of the table, outlining his gloved hand. I want to run and snatch the scalpel right out of my father's hand. But I can't bring myself to walk any further. What's the point? I try to convince myself he might still be alive, even though the possibility is next to nothing. I shake the lead out of my limbs and walk another step, when it creaks. My parents turn around, visibly surprised.
"Jazz, sweetie? What are you doing up this late?" And suddenly I feel hatred, pure rage course through my veins as I see her stand in front of the bloody mess, as if I won't notice. How stupid does she think I am?
"Studying." I answer through gritted teeth. "Looks like you guys have been too." It takes all of my willpower to not shove them aside and stitch my poor little brother up.
"Jazzy-pants! Look at this!" My dad was smiling excitedly, as if he weren't conducting gruesome surgery on an innocent teenage boy. I think I surprised even myself when hot tears began streaming down my face. It really was him. Lying there, cold and lifeless. He'll never be able to speak again, even if it's only to tell me what a snitch I am. He won't ever open his eyes again, never be able to do anything, just a shell of what he was.
"Y-you don't understand!" I was choking now, backing away from my parents. My parents exchanged looks, giving me a glimpse of him. I suddenly darted towards the table, wanting something, anything, to show them what they'd done. My breath hitched in my throat when I saw it up close. His glassy eyes were still open, as well as a good chunk of his stomach. I could see the little spots of red that were covering the surgical knives. Where'd my parents get those anyway? Another wave of waterworks racked my entire body and I turned back towards my parents, fingers shaking. "Don't you care? He-he's not just ghost scum!" I took a deep breath for my next words, so they could hear me perfectly.
"That's your son."
Ehh, I didn't really like this one. It's also kinda rushed because I'm supposed to be doing History homework. xD Whatever, I think I'll rewrite it sometime later. If you guys have anything specific you'd want me to write for tomorrow's theme (Ghost Stories), tell me! Because I'm totally blanking haha.