A bundle of truth and lies
Prologue
Black is so not his thing. Then again, sitting here on top of this tree watching people bundled together like penguins isn't either. How did he get up here in the first place? Doesn't matter. What matters is the fact that he can see them – all of them, dressed in black standing there. Every last one of them.
God, he hates funerals.
The fact that people just stand by and cry over a corpse just baffles him. Why would they do that? But what annoys him even more is the pending doom of a new ghost crossing into Amity – all lost and confused – and that he must send them back to the Ghost Zone before they scare the crap out of everyone else in this idiotic town.
So, no, he doesn't like funerals and the concept of them is something he doesn't fully comprehend, but you can't really blame him. He's half dead. He knows what it's like.
And so he's sitting there on top of the tree; watching; listening; hearing; what goes down below him. And it's not a pretty sight. It never is, to be honest. Cemeteries were always just a creepy place to him, with the eerie fog always looming around and how it somehow always seems a bit darker at night…
This is the place where ghosts come from. No, not the Ghost Zone… the cemeteries. This is the place where unsettled souls emerge out of their graves and seek refuge in the Zone. Then, well, they come back to haunt the living… something that seriously annoys him.
But, oddly, they haven't done that for a while. Actually, thinking about it now… they haven't done that for a really long time. He doesn't even remember the last time he had to battle a ghost.
Not even the Box ghost.
Strange.
He's snapped out of his thoughtless haze when he hears the dreadful echo of tears. Someone's yelling out, crying, and their voice is all watery.
Well, obviously there are people crying. This is a funeral. You're supposed to be sad.
But what starts to alarm him is that he sees faces… familiar faces. His mum and dad. A quick glance at himself confirms that he is in Phantom-mode, and invisible. He floats down.
Yes, it's true: Maddie and Jack Fenton are crying their eyes out at this funeral. Maddie's hair is mattered; both of them out of their hazmat suits for once; she's gripping her husband's black blazer; who is meekly rubbing her arm in reassurance. But if one were to look into Jack Fenton's eyes you would know there was anything but reassurance.
Alarm bells start to ring in Danny's head.
God, why are they here?
There is also another, smaller, voice in his head asking: Why are you here?
But he doesn't care. It doesn't matter. What matters is that his parents are here. And their utterly heart-broken. Which could only mean…
Someone's dead.
No shit, Sherlock. He hears himself think. This is a funeral. What did you expect?
But it's different.
It's so different now.
This is a funeral of someone they know. Oh God… no…
He finds himself scanning the crowds. Scanning the faces, the people. He unconsciously floats higher, seeing more and the more he sees, the more he panics.
He sees Valerie for one – dressed in a long black dress with her hair in a tight bun – but feeling oddly misplaced. There is sadness in her eyes, but if you look at her face you can clearly tell she's frowning. Why? Why is she frowning?
He sees Dash, of all people, standing guiltily at one side. He sees Paulina (Also, dressed in black, but with a bit more 'fitting') and she looks sad as well. She looks incredibly awkward, standing by the side, but you can tell by the way her hands constantly wipe off tears in fear of her mascara running down her face that she's genuinely sad.
Why are all these people here?
Who died?
Panic grips his abdomen and doesn't let go. He sees more faces.
Jazz is crying hysterically; her once-braided hair now falling apart. Her eyes are scrunched up, her face a complete mess, and there's eye-liner running down her cheeks. Her black dress is loose and reaches till her toes. It looks so odd on her it's unsettling to his eyes.
And then he sees Tucker. He's wearing a black suit – complete with tie – and holding Jazz, keeping her steady. His face has a look of utter confinement, almost as if an emotionless mask was placed on top of it. But you can clearly see the unshed tears glazing his eyes.
No. No. No. Jazz… Tucker… Valerie… Dash… Paulina… Mum… Dad…
It could only mean…
Fear unlike anything he ever experienced slithers down his spine.
She's gone.
No. No way. He refused to believe it. He refuses to believe she's gone.
He can feel himself shaking. He's petrified. This can't be true.
No.
Her beautiful purple eyes, her lovely silky hair… her dazzling smile… her bravery, her hopes, her dreams… no, he refuses to accept that it's all gone.
It can't be.
He can hear his shallow breathing as he zooms forward, invisible past the crowds and to the coffin. He needs to see. He needs to know. His soul won't rest until he sees her.
And, right now, he's scared shitless to see what's over there.
The hole is already been dug, and they want to lower the coffin down. But they aren't. They are just standing there… watching. Watching what? He moves forward, and finds that it's not a what, but a who.
Relief shudders through him and his shoulders sag when he sees her round face. Shining as ever, her lips tight, her clothes comfortable and sweet, and her eyes brimmed with tears.
Sam.
She's not dead.
He wants to laugh. He wants to shoot up to the sky and make loopy-holes and laugh and smile because she isn't dead. She's still here. Still his.
But he doesn't. He doesn't laugh. He doesn't shoot up into the sky. He just stands there, and takes up the picture before him.
And what he sees almost makes him cry.
She's kneeling in front of the black rectangle and crying. Silent tears… no huge gasps of air, no big loud voices… just her tears slipping out her pretty eyes and her sleeve coming up to wipe her nose every so often.
Her left arm is in a sling.
She's hurt.
Her stomach is big and round. No, she's not fat.
She's pregnant.
Voices. Loud, loud voices in his head. Why are you here? What are YOU doing here? WHY ARE YOU HERE?
She gets up and shuffles backwards; and then people – people whom he doesn't know – lower the coffin under.
What are YOU doing here?
They start to pile up the dirt into the hole.
What are YOU doing here?
And then, Sam unleashes a heart-breaking sob, which echoes through the graveyard and nearly breaks his heart in pieces.
On the pale gravestone, in neat cursive handwriting, it says:
Daniel Fenton
A loving friend; Son; and hero.
The voice was quiet again now. So quiet, so small, so frail: why are you here?
Because I'm dead. He heard himself reply. And I'm watching my own funeral.
And then, memories hit him in a rush of nauseating waves.
Trust me, this is not what it seems.
There is only 1 death in this Fiction... and it's not Danny. ;)
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