He's Gone
By Cybra
A/N: I know you guys weren't expecting this POV and may or may not be disappointed that there won't be much more to this left. (Just one more part to go.) Although Arnold has affected many people in his life, I don't have ideas for other people. At a later date, I may or may not add more. Who knows?
Disclaimer: If Hey Arnold! were mine…you'd see some pretty weird stuff happening on the show. Therefore, Arnold and his buddies aren't mine.
ArnoldThey're all gone.
Phoebe, Gerald, Helga, Stinky, Sid, Harold, Curly, Eugene, Rhonda, Nadine…
They're all gone.
Even my grandparents and the boarders are gone.
Grandma died a year after getting sick at my funeral.
Grandpa died soon afterward. (Despite what the doctors said, I know it was from a broken heart.)
The boarders moved out since the boardinghouse was being set up as a kind of museum.
I should feel honored, I guess. I mean, the museum's about me and all that I did…
…but I don't care anymore.
I just don't care.
My friends have moved on with their lives. They're no longer a part of PS 118.
Helga no longer visits me to keep me up to date.
I guess she got sick and tired of talking to a ghost…
…or maybe what happened to the others happened to her:
She forgot.
I noticed things were changing after they all moved on to fifth grade. Nobody was glancing at the shadows anymore. (I could make myself fully visible then with no problems at all, but I didn't want to scare anybody not in on the fact that my spirit roamed the halls.) No one just lingered about so that I could talk to them anymore.
It's like summer vacation made them forget.
I was there at their graduation from elementary school. (Man, was I excited for them!)
I stepped right out in front of them…
…and they passed me right by, not noticing me.
That's when I realized that not only had they forgotten but that they were unknowingly blocking me out.
As far as they were concerned, my ghost hadn't existed at all.
I was just a figment of their imaginations.
My heart just broke in two when I figured this out.
I had then retreated back to the boardinghouse/museum. The workers there knew about me. After all, I was the resident specter who sometimes would play with their kids if I was bored and they couldn't find a babysitter.
I had been so upset by the rejection that I rearranged things just to take out my frustration…
…Of course, I added to other people's frustration when I did that.
Still, I didn't really care because I knew the truth when my friends walked past me:
I was truly alone.
I aimlessly wandered around the Sunset Arms and PS 118. Most of the time, I was invisible.
Sometimes, I just let myself be visible to anybody, not caring who saw me.
That's how I found out that I was becoming even more famous. Just the other day, I listened in as a kid (Gerald's replacement, I assume) told a story about the spirit who haunted PS 118.
The little girl had said, "Within the walls of our very own PS 118 lurks a ghostly figure. This strange spirit will simply appear for no rhyme or reason in the form of a boy with a football-shaped head. He has been seen walking the halls by many a kid. His unearthly footsteps have been heard echoing through the school. Some say that they've even heard the sound of someone crying even though nobody was around."
I had almost started laughing then, but I didn't find any reason to. It sounded just like one of Gerald's own tales…
I had swallowed, trying not to sob and be noticed.
"Nobody knows who this ghost boy is," the girl had continued. "Some say that he was killed in a freak accident. Some say that he's a demon, searching for an unsuspecting victim. Some say he's just some kid that the teachers are hiring to spook the younger kids. Whoever he is, he still roams the halls to this day. Who knows who will be the next to sight The PS 118 Ghost. The end."
The other kids who had gathered around clapped.
Seeing no harm in it (and deciding to do Principal Wartz a favor by getting rid of these lingerers for him), I then appeared before them, clapping my own hands and smiling mirthlessly.
They all stopped clapping and stared at me before shrieking in fright and running off.
The job done, I disappeared from human vision, still smiling mirthlessly.
Nobody had even thought that the ghost of the boardinghouse and the ghost of PS 118 were one and the same.
Helga knew…Phoebe knew…Gerald knew…And I don't know who else knew…
…but I guess they don't know anymore.
I often times wonder what happened to all my friends. After they left PS 118, I never saw them again.
Not good considering that my concern for them keeps me chained to this world.
I want to cross over, but I can't. I still have unfinished business.
I have to know…
Did they succeed? How are their lives now? Had they learned anything from me to help themselves?
Most people would think this obsessive. They probably are the ones who would suggest "You're dead. They're not. Get over it and go on with your afterlife."
I can't do that.
I care about them too much.
I care about my grandparents and the boarders, too, of course, but I have to know if my friends are making it okay.
To be honest, when my friends did the right thing, I was overjoyed each time. It made me feel good, especially if all I had to do was just give them a gentle nudge in the right direction.
Their successes, to a small degree, were my successes.
Thirty years have passed since I last saw them, and I still don't know what happened.
I've lost hope. Since I can never discover how well they're doing, I'm forever bound to PS 118 and the boardinghouse.
Long after their lives are over, I will still be held here, my business still unfinished.
I am trapped for all eternity in a never-ending Hell.
I walk down the hall close to Mr. Simmons' old classroom. (He's been retired for about three years.) I sigh to myself as I think of all the good times I had in that classroom.
Then I sigh sadly as I remember my last moments in that room.
~Thirty Years Ago…~
"Arnold, could you please go up to the board and work out this problem?" Mr. Simmons asks.
"Sure."
I rise from my seat and walk over to the chalkboard. I reach for a piece of chalk, grab it, and raise it to the write on the board. Nothing out of the ordinary. It's just a simple long –
My thoughts end in mid-sentence as a sudden explosion erupts in my mind.
Surprised, I jerk my head back, my eyes wide and my mouth open.
In that second, I feel dizzy and lightheaded.
When my mind stops spinning, I see myself lying down on the floor.
It takes a moment for me to register all this and another moment for me to recognize what is going on from all that weird stuff I read in magazines.
An OBE, an out of body experience.
I then realize the truth:
I'm dead.
With a strange detachment, I watch as Mr. Simmons perform CPR on my body. It's unreal.
I then turn and face a strange tunnel with a light on the end of it.
I walk forward, drawn to the light…
…then stop…
…and turn around.
Hands from the tunnel wall reach out to grab me as I start to run back the way I came.
I'm not ready!
I'm not ready to be dead yet!
I still have too much to do!
My friends need me!
So, I turn my back on whatever Paradise that is waiting for me and go back to the school.
~Present Time…~
I didn't know it at the time, but I had doomed myself to an eternity of loneliness.
If I was still alive, I could kill myself right now.
As I glance uncaring at the bulletin board in Mr. Simmons' old room (being a ghost has its perks; no keys needed to get into locked rooms is one of them), I notice something out of the corner of my eye.
The graduating class I could've been a part of was coming back for a thirty-year reunion and holding it in the school gym next Friday!
Now I may have a chance to leave this place!
My excitement quickly fades, just like it always does.
It doesn't mean they'll tell me how they're really doing. They'll be trying to top one another's stories, some parts of these stories being real while others are false.
I still won't know…
…and besides, they wouldn't even know I was there.
Dejected once more, I walk through the door and into the hallway once more.
Part of me can't wait for the dance.
The rest of me can't help crying over it.