I own nothing!

The Haunting of Harry Osborn

He stared in dismay and amazement at the weapons before him. Small round bombs lined neatly up on shelves that seemed to go on forever, the glider and its spare parts were littered nearby. And the mask. It smirked at him from across the tiny space. Come on, what are you waiting for? It seemed to ask. Harry shook his head to refuse and placed the cylinder back on the stand. He turned to leave, the motion detector lights dimming as he moved away. The hideous disguise faded into obscurity along with it.

While carefully navigating around the mirror shards, Harry stopped. Something was following him. A rattling clank and then the sound of something rolling along met his ears. He strained to see in the dark. It was the vial, tumbling atop the rotten floorboards. With a clink, it stopped at his feet, the label facing upwards. An audible snicker rang throughout the room. A sound that was getting to be very familiar.

"Go away." Harry mumbled weakly. He continued on through the glass.

"But Harry, I'm your father. You need me…" It moaned.

Harry was outraged. This thing was not his dad; he had died at the hands of Spider-Man, his best friend Peter Parker. The realization of this hit Harry again and a wave of fresh tears came forth. His own friend, how could he? The tears burned, scorching a path down his face. He made a fist and punched the couch where Peter's face had been.

"Yes, unleash your anger, kill him…avenge me…" The voice hissed hungrily

"But I can't… I won't, he's like a brother to me. How could I hurt him?"

Thoughts and images fluttered in Harry's head. Peter and his father fighting, no, Spider-Man and the Green Goblin fighting, the goblin lay fallen and a victorious Spider-Man closing in to finish him, fangs protruding from his bug like visage. Harry's stomach churned at the thought, the disgusting taste of vomit rising to his lips. Pete would never do such a thing; he was a harmless nerd not a savage murderer. But the fight with Flash, ever since then Harry knew something wasn't right. Peter wasn't so helpless anymore. But who knows, maybe the side effects of his powers also warped his mind? Like his father and the enhancer drug.

Harry moved over to the smashed remnants of the looking glass. The green tube was still there. The lightning storm outside worsened and the wind whipped the curtains about him. It whispered to him. "Take it; use it for the payback that the insect deserves!"

"That insect is my friend. I just can't…" He picked it up and flung it as hard as he could over the rooftop. "No!" It screamed. With a heavy sigh, Harry dropped back to the couch. He would listen no longer to that deranged shell of his father. He marched back to the secret room and plucked the remaining cylinders off the wall.

"You will not bother me anymore!" Harry yelled defiantly as he walked over to the ledge with his armload of chemicals.

The laughter began again, starting softly at first but growing louder and louder. Harry winced at the noise and fought his way to the edge. The city lights dimmed and brightened at the flashes of the chaotic light storm. The ruckus was earsplitting, the pain immeasurable, driven by pure insanity. Harry let go of the canisters to block his ears. The containers shattered and bled green liquid underneath his feet. Emerald fog immediately enshrouded him and clogged his airways. Choking on the thick smoke, his eyes watering, Harry saw something rise up from over the balcony where he had thrown the other cylinder. It was the Goblin. His jade armor ripped and bloodstained with sickening yellow eyes blazing through the haze, the glider silently humming beneath him. His son waved a hand to disperse the dense vapor to make out more details. Was his mind playing tricks on him?

"Harry…" He groaned. He sounded pathetic, feeble.

He could see that the older man had his arms crossed around his stomach, as if hurt. Something shiny was in his hand.

"Help me Harry, I need you. Let me rest in peace."

With that statement his arms dropped to his sides, revealing several large gashes in his torso. Harry had to look away as he realized that he could see through the injuries to the building beyond. That's how he died, that how Spider-Man killed him. Harry thought. He closed his eyes so that a queasy feeling passed.

"You're weak." Norman snarled at his son's revulsion.

"No son of mine will ever be weak!"

The Goblin tossed whatever he had in his hand at Harry. Through watery eyes, Harry saw that it was the vial he had discarded earlier. Now it was fragmented along with the others on the ground. The voluminous cloud intensified and Harry was lost in its opaque darkness once again. But this time was different. He fell to the floor, doubling over as if socked in the gut. He pulled his legs to his chest and tried to wait out the pain, it felt like his whole body was on fire, like he was a piece of clay in the kiln hardening into a mold. But what was he being molded into? He clutched at his arms which seemed to swell and enlarge, his chest tightened under his shirt. The final thing he saw was the figure of his dead father disappearing into thin air, "Nighty Night Harry." He snickered. Then his eyes rolled back and all was dark.

The next morning was like a rainbow after the storm. All was calm and peaceful. Soft sounds of the usual morning rush met his ears as he awoke. His eyes opened and slowly swept over his surroundings. He was still crumpled on his terrace, one of his advisers staring uncertainly over him.

"Mr. Osborn, are you feeling well sir?" It was Richard Wallace; an acquaintance of the family.

Harry moved to stand, the floor tilting slightly as he did so. Wallace helped him into a chair.

"Must've been the Vodka." Harry commented lamely. His head pounded.

"Do you need a doctor?" The businessman wrung his hands nervously.

But Harry shook his head, "No, I'll be fine. Give me a minute."

He nodded and backed out of the room.

Once the door clicked shut, Harry stumbled to a mirror. He did appear to have too much to drink, his eyes red and glazed, his hair unkempt and everywhere. His button up shirt which was the right size ripped at the seam when he reached up to smooth his hair as if sizes too small. What had the gas done to him? He left that mirror and went to the other one which lay in pieces. Peering up at him was his father's face grinning wickedly, multiplied by the jagged shards.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?" Harry yelled angrily and stomped out the face.

"You are my son, the Goblin's son. No longer weak, no longer powerless. Now you are ready. Follow my footsteps, become your worst fear!"

Harry walked numbly into the passage, the mask popping up on its stand out of the gloom. He grazed it tenderly with his fingertips. He didn't want to do this, but he had no choice. If getting rid of Peter ended his torment, then so be it. Slipping on the grotesque disguise, Norman's son emerged from the broken mirror, punching out the shards with a heavily armored hand. He felt the surge of adrenaline kick in, he was unstoppable, no one could stop him. Except for one. With an animalistic growl he went to the window and pressed a button on the armor. Bricks showered the veranda as his glider erupted from the wall and flew to his side. He hopped on was about to gun it when a voice drew him back.

"Mr. Osborn, are you alright? What was that noise?" It was Richard, standing in the doorway. A horrified look crept into his face as he saw him. "Harry…?"

Harry chuckled darkly and stepped down, one hand behind him.

"Harry is dead. Just like you!"

The villain pitched the spherical bomb at the stunned man. With a fluid motion he leaped back onto his machine and took flight. He cackled gleefully as the room behind him exploded in a flurry of stone and splinters. The Goblin was back.