Chapter 3 has arrived (at last)! As always, I hope you enjoy. Sorry if this chapter seems a little forced or the writing style is odd, life's been out to get me the past few weeks. Enough of my blathering, but before the story;
Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise, be it Danny Phantom, Ghost Writer or whatever else it may be.
Ghost Writer stared at the double doors of the ancient cafeteria. Beyond those old doors, a terrifying fire-breathing dragon jealously guarded a precious treasure – which he was insane enough to try and steal.
He scoffed slightly at his thoughts and moved to open a door. Stop being dramatic he told himself sternly. Save the drama for the poem.
A roar, seemingly of anger, drifted through the gap between the doors. Ghost Writer paused, hand just about to push the door. Maybe the dragon part is accurate …
He took a deep breath (for reassurance; he was a ghost, after all) and eased the door open, wincing slightly when it creaked eerily. Ghost Writer knew that eerily creaking doors usually equalled something very bad happening in the near future.
No! He could not turn back now. The glorious, heavenly coffee was in there waiting for him to retrieve it. He could not disappoint it. That would be rude.
With that in mind (along with things such as you are insane, get out of here!) he floated through the doorway – and was immediately struck down with a dilemma.
To close or not to close, what would be safer?
Door open meant Lunch Lady might (knowing his luck; would) find it open, and figure out that someone was in her home; door closed meant if he needed to escape, he'd waste precious seconds opening the door and he'd kiss goodbye to his story and hello to the final afterlife.
Eventually he decided to leave the door open a couple of inches – that way, he could still leave slightly unharmed and the Lunch Lady might only think a stray gust of wind opened it.
The Box Ghost is the only one stupid enough to fall for that! a pessimistic voice shrieked in the back of his head. Ghost Writer blinked once or twice before floating deeper into the dragon's lair.
A few wrong turns and a savage attack from a mouldy cup later found Ghost Writer crouched at a doorframe, cautiously peeking around the edge. He was looking for the label with the divine word (coffee, of course. You were expecting something else?) while also trying to keep an eye out for a rampaging Lunch Lady armed with all manner of dangerous kitchen utensils (such as the fearsome spork). Needless to say, he ended up a little cross-eyed.
A sharp clattering sound from behind a counter brought his attention (very quickly) back to the room. Ghost Writer waited fearfully, not daring to move in case he was spotted. A bellow of anger pierced the stale kitchen air from behind a nearby cabinet.
Ghost Writer made a not-so-dignified retreat to a little way down the corridor where he promptly sat down and hugged his knees, looking like a deer caught in headlights.
A ceramic pot flew past the open doorway, shortly followed by a cheese grater and a tacky decorative teapot. The scared spook brightened slightly. At least she wasn't throwing the -
A huge meat cleaver slammed into the doorframe, quivering menacingly. The ectoplasm drained out of Ghost Writer's face. Oh dear is the theme of the words he thought at that moment.
The sound of a door slamming came from the room. Ghost Writer peeked slowly around the door frame, noting the absence of a very angry bi-polar ghost. He cautiously stuck one hand into the kitchen, waving it slightly as he did so.
His hand remained attached to him, and he relaxed slightly. He was safe for now. With that, Ghost Writer grinned insanely before diving behind a counter and began shuffling towards a pot emblazoned with the word coffee.
He snuck around to the pot, keeping low to the floor – just in case Lunch Lady felt the need to vent her anger in the kitchen again. He stopped and nervously glanced around to make sure the coast was clear.
It was.
Like lightening, he snatched the pot and flew out of the room, out of the corridors and then out into the green swirls of the Ghost Zone.
Well, that's how he hoped it would go.
Instead he tripped over his feet and slid across the worktop on his stomach, the coffee pot smashing into his nose before he fell off with an almighty CRASH!
Footsteps began to thunder down the hallway.
At least my glasses aren't broken. He thought dazedly. He frowned slightly and rethought that. Yet.
Gently, he reached for the pot in the vain hope that he still might be able to get away from the Lunch Lady before she reached the kitchen and the coffee thief. His fingers grasped for the smooth surface. Almost there… He grabbed the pot and his eyes lit up. Success! Cue victory dance!
A shoe crashed down on his arm, effectively cutting off all hopes of escape (well, if he went intangible he'd leave the coffee behind, and he was not about to do that) and his mental victory dance.
"And just what do you think you are doing!?" yelled the Lunch Lady. Ghost Writer's eardrums struggled to cope with the noise, and his brain with the fear it created.
"I, er, was looking for – um, no, wait, that's wrong… I-" Ghost Writer stuttered. Lunch Lady glared at him before hissing venomously "you were trying to steal my coffee, weren't you?"
Ghost Writer's mind was screaming for him to make up a completely believable and plausible excuse, but all he managed was a sheepish look of fear and slight embarrassment.
Lunch Lady snarled, eyes glowing. "Do you know what I'm going to do now?!" she screeched. Ghost Writer whimpered and curled himself up into a ball. Lunch Lady stepped off of his hand (I can't feel my hand!) and removed the coffee jar from his hand.
He couldn't take it anymore. So he took a page out of the Lunch Lady's book and had a mood swing. "I just wanted some coffee!" he bellowed before jumping up and ripping the pot away with his non-numb hand. Lunch Lady fell backwards in surprise, arms waving comically as Ghost Writer bounded over the counter where he stood cackling madly.
Lunch Lady looked at the Ghost Writer (or rather, his mop of scruffy black hair; the rest was obscured by the counter), and said "well, why didn't you ask for some? I would have given you some-"
Ghost Writer looked dumbfounded when she started to speak, as she was suddenly a 'kind grandma who bakes you cookies for no reason' person, and not an 'angry fire-breathing dragon ready to tear his head off' person. He took on a sheepish expression, radiating embarrassment. "May I please have some coffee?" He asked quietly, not noticing that he'd interrupted the Lunch Lady.
"Of course, dear, but-"
The lid slammed into the wall in his haste to get coffee, and Ghost Writer was faced with a painful feeling of familiarity.
"-I don't actually have any coffee."
The pot crashed to the floor, mercifully not breaking. Lunch Lady shook her head slightly. "Why do you think I was so angry, dear?" she enquired, a slight twinkle in her eye.
Ghost Writer numbly shook his head. "I-I'm sorry for disturbing you…I'll just g-go home now…" and with those words staggered out of the room.
There was a silence as he trudged down the halls, and the Lunch Lady shrugged and went about her business of ripping her home to pieces in anger.
A shout came from down the hallway Ghost Writer had disappeared to. "Mouldy cup on the rampage! Mouldy cup on the rampage!"
Ghost Writer trudged dejectedly to his home, moping and sulking and generally being a big bucket of misery. The only way that could truly describe the depression that poured off of him, would be to say that if Spectra was around, she wouldn't need to make anyone miserable for fifty years.
He walked on and on, not noticing a strange white light filtering from behind him. It was only when he turned around when warmth spread across his back, that he saw something that made his eyes sparkle and his body and mind fill with joy.
Before him was a Costa Coffee with the sign; A free bag of coffee beans with every large Cappuccino outside.
Ghost Writer shed a tear in happiness, raced inside and elbowed Poindexter out of the way.
"One large Cappuccino, please."
Hope you liked!
Thank you to Hordak's Pupil, purple almighty and witchdoctor42 for reviewing the last chapter!