An alternate take on how I usually portray ghosts. Normally, I envision the ghosts of the "DP" world to be just like human people, with emotions, just…undead. This isn't one of those 'shots.
This was adopted from a prompt written by russianmoose on tumblr. Just search her url, same as username, if you're unfamiliar with tumblr, and then type the tag, "100 word short story," into the search bar to the right of her blog. It's the second result that will come up. Thanks so much for letting me write this, Miss Moose, even though it's very short, I hope it doesn't disappoint!
DON'T LET IT GET TO YOU,
because it'll get you.
It was my grandmother's funeral. For most people, something like this was a sad occasion. I was different. I didn't really flinch at dead things like other people. That would kind of be hypocritical of me, considering I was already dead. That was a long story, and not a story I was very willing to mull over at the moment. I'd spent enough time trying to wrap my brain around it, and honestly, it just kind of gave me headaches. Place for everything.
Her name was Marie Groschke. She had been a little plump around the edges–where else could have my dad, Jack, gotten it from? Her eyes were a deep brown, the blueness of mine was inherited from my grandfather, Peter's, side. She was meek and quiet in personality, and, well, my father wasn't. I have no idea where Jack Fenton got his endless bluster. Grandpa Pete was thoughtful and punctual, in a manner that reminded me a lot of Vlad Masters, if he hadn't let his own desires get a hold of him.
"Oh dear, it's been a very wonderful ceremony," Her lips formed the words, wrinkling in a new and more grotesque way with each vowel, "You looked absolutely lovely." Her eyes flickered, glazed over with time and experience. The creak of her eyelids was audible. It disturbed me, considerably, to see the old woman I'd adored so much like that. But, she was still herself. I could see it, underneath the veil of death. It was one thing to confront a ghost, fully formed and functioning. It was another to witness one forming.
"Thank you."
I suspected she tried to hum–she failed, and gave up on it, as if it had never happened. I smiled a bit at that. For a lady so insecure in other ways, when she was comfortable, she recovered from mistakes with ease. "Oh yes, it was an honor to be part of it all, a real thrill." Her breath smelled of age and chemicals. Time had scratched her mind, she repeated herself like a decrepit broken record. Ghosts rarely completely understood that they weren't alive, anymore.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it, ma'am, it was all for you." And with that I closed the coffin lid.
The room was empty. I heard footsteps. Sam and Tucker approached from behind, "What's the deal?" Tuck began, shoulders squared, prepared. A grown man. Sam, Samantha, these days, a woman. And I...
I calculated, "Less than five hours. We've got plenty of time to prepare." I started barking orders. By midnight, the last remnants of my grandma would be gone. I wondered what her obsession would be. Sentimentality was no longer an option. I'd said my goodbyes. My best friends left me for a moment, to give me some space. I hadn't even needed to look at them. We'd been doing this for awhile.
When the moment came, we'd do as we'd taught ourselves. Duty called.
