Resolve
a ParaNorman story
by Marcipie
xx
"Uh... Hello?"
The boy couldn't stop his hands from shaking or the tremor in his voice. His throat was constricting. Why was he doing this again?
"You're not welcome here. Go away."
Oh, that's right.
Because of her. The witch. The three-hundred year old ghost who wasn't really a witch at all.
He was really the only one who could talk to her since his uncle passed on. At least, as far as he knew, he was the only one. Maybe he should ask around before making assumptions. He swallowed thickly and took a few more steps toward the spindly tree. It would be an easy task if the tree itself wasn't producing a large, swirling tornado of energy.
No, not the tree. It was her.
Trees, as far as he knew, couldn't produce supernatural energy. Unless they died, chopped down in their prime. He tried to imagine a ghost tree. It ended up looking like Casper the Friendly Ghost in Neil's tree costume from the play. The image wasn't as frightening as he thought it'd be.
He fought to get his thoughts in order.
"Ahh... I - I really need to speak with you." He took a small step in her direction, hoping his slow advances were going unnoticed. There was a pause. He could almost feel it in the air.
"Who are you?"
"I - I'm Norman. Norman Babcock? Y – You... You don't actually know me. But I know you." Well, technically not, but he did know of her. He wished he would stop stuttering. "We're actually kind of the same, you and I."
He could do this. All he had to do was talk to her. He just had to calm her down. Norman was great at speaking. He just spoke to the whole town and scolded them. Norman felt his chest swell with hesitant hope. He took another step in her direction.
"You're not dead." Her accusing words seemed to come from all around him. Norman blinked and stopped advancing.
"Well... Well, no. A – Apart from that." He wrung his sweaty hands together and shrugged.
"And you're a boy."
Norman paused. Okay, maybe he wasn't so good at speaking. Anxiety replaced the hope.
"Well, yes. That too." His eyebrows creased when the wind grew a bit stronger in defiance.
"You're not like me at all." She snapped. He took a deep breath as his heart pounded in his ears.
"Well... I – I know how you feel?" He felt like he needed a pair of thin glasses, a long chair, and a clipboard with her on a similar adjoining chair as if he were her psychologist. Her totally normal not-speaking-to-the-dead psychologist. Maybe he could open up a clinic for all the wandering spirits in the town.
The swirling tornado of light flickered as if lightning struck, and soon, thunder rumbled above him. Norman winced.
"No, you don't. You don't know anything about me."
Norman quickly tried to think of something else to say. What else did he know about her? He knew she wasn't an actual witch, just a misunderstood girl. He suddenly recalled the flashback he'd witnessed of her trial as well as when Judge Hopkins addressed her from his podium. Her name sprang to the forefront of his mind like a whip.
"I know your name is Agatha Prenderghast." He pointed out.
"What?" She sounded surprised. He felt confidence spark within him again. Maybe this could work.
"A – And I know you're probably tired, right?" Heck, he knew he was exhausted. He didn't know about her, but he'd been running all over town way past his bedtime. "Because, I mean, it's – it's really late, and it's been a long night. And we're like only eleven years old—"
Everything suddenly grew really quiet and Norman forced himself to stop talking. The air stopped flowing. Even the thunder and lightning silenced themselves. Norman felt goose bumps travel all over his body as the air surrounding him grew colder and then she was suddenly right next to his ear.
He held his breath.
"I don't want to go to sleep. And you can't make me."
Norman froze and chills shot down his spine. The childish comment, while under normal circumstances would cause someone to roll their eyes, made him wish he were at home under his covers with his grandmother sitting at the foot of his bed with a frying pan.
A rumbling from the ground gathered his attention and he jumped back just in time to avoid a large wooden spike that had come shooting out of the dirt and dry leaves. Eyes wide, he began running toward his main goal – the glowing tree in the center of all the spectral activity. As he ran, more and more spikey tree roots stabbed at him as they tried to either block his way or kill him.
When one came dangerously close to slicing his chest open, he quickly rolled away and decided that they were definitely trying to kill him.
Norman looked ahead and saw Agatha had made a large blockade of spikey tree roots to keep him from getting any closer to her. With no other option, he leapt through them to avoid the advancing roots still trying to pierce his flesh. He rolled to a stop and saw with relief that the wooden spikes had stopped trying to end him. He fought to catch his breath as he sat up.
He didn't even notice when the swirling vortex of energy dove into the earth and vanished.
She must really not want me here. He mused briefly.
Norman had to shield his eyes when a flash of lightning suddenly lit up the area. His eyes burned from the bright light and he really wished this whole thing were a lot easier than it was turning out to be. Thunder rattled the sky and he peeled his eyelids open and looked up. His mouth dropped and his eyes widened.
She was glowing a bright yellow. Her body shot off lightning and her hair had been replaced with a giant electrical storm of spectral energy. Every now and then, her head would spasm violently. Her image would most likely scar him forever. As Norman stared up at her in complete horror, he noticed her eyes were glowing a bright scalding golden color and another thing he noticed just as quickly was that they were narrowed in pure rage.
Agatha Prenderghast was certainly was a sight to behold. She wasn't like any of the other ghosts he'd come into contact with. She was nothing like his grandma, or the hippie, or the pilot on the tree, or even Neil's dead dog Bub.
What have I gotten myself into?
Norman wanted more than anything to run in the opposite direction to get as far away from her as he could. She was definitely the stuff of nightmares. Her head twitched a few more times before she clenched her tiny fists.
"I burnt the book into dust. Now I don't have to listen to that stupid story anymore!" Agatha immediately raised her arms and mercilessly attacked Norman with bolts of energy. Norman squeezed his eyes shut, stumbling on his feet, but managed to stay upright. When she continued to rain the attacks on him, he found himself unable to take the hits and was knocked into the trees behind him, her lightning lashing at his back harshly.
The pain was unimaginable. His teeth clenched. It burned through him like fire, igniting his skin, and preventing him from moving to escape the nonexistent hold she had on him.
And then, by some miracle, it stopped.
Norman groaned softly as he slid to the forest floor on his hands and knees. Air passed heavily through his gasping lungs and his head hung as he struggled to catch his breath. He heard her energy crackling behind him and knew she was still watching him.
She spoke again, finality in her tone. "Leave me alone."
Her voice echoed in his skull. It caused a shiver to run down his sore back. He was more than ready to obey that voice. He was more than willing to go home and just pretend none of it ever happened. He would love nothing more than to return to his family alive and well and tell them he gave it his best shot.
But he couldn't do any of that. He knew if he turned his back on this girl now he'd never forgive himself. And he'd never be able to help her.
On top of that, he'd promised his crazy uncle he'd do it.
One major important fact still remained. Agatha was in pain. She had been for three hundred years and she chose to express her pain by being destructive and furious with everyone. He really couldn't blame her. She'd been through much more than a little girl should ever have to go through and she didn't deserve it. An image flashed through his mind – one of Agatha standing before the judge and jury and her face streaming with tears as she tried to curl in on herself beneath their withering glares. Her expression was scared, confused, and hurt.
Norman had wanted nothing more than to comfort her and to dry her tears. Her terrified voice rang in his ears and his heart clenched. But as he'd watched her during that flashback, he saw something very familiar in her wide blue eyes.
He saw himself.
And he knew exactly what it was like to be himself. He had always been alone, he was misunderstood, and he was shunned by society because he could see and hear the things others couldn't. For a long time, he didn't think anyone would understand him or treat him as an equal.
That was until he'd met Neil.
Neil had showed Norman that there was indeed some good left in humanity and that all hope wasn't lost. Neil brought Norman back from the dark void of despair just when he thought he'd be better off by himself.
But nobody had been there for Agatha.
Even her mother had been absent during her final moments. She'd been alone, abandoned in her time of need, and dragged off against her will to be murdered no less. Norman couldn't ever imagine that feeling - didn't want to imagine it. He couldn't even begin to try to decipher how much pain and anger Agatha was feeling toward the judge and those men and women in the jury. But Norman knew now that not everyone was bad and that not everyone in society was out to shun or hurt him.
Norman raised his head and his eyes narrowed.
He was going to prove her wrong.
xx
Author's Notes: Hey, thanks so much for taking time to read this drabble! I've always loved the ending to ParaNorman and wanted so badly to write out what Norman may have been feeling before he got such an intense look on his face. I also wrote out the entire part up until Norman grabs Agatha's hand, but I erased it for the sake of making this short and to the point. But I could always add that on as a second chapter should I need to.
As always, thanks for reading!