A/N: Glad I got a few responses, hope you guys enjoy chapter 2. In case anyone's wondering, the name of the fic is Portuguese for "Stars", and in this case it originated from Final Fantasy 4's resident bard, Gilbert (Edward in the English version). More on that at another time if anyone actually wants to hear it.
Estrelas
Chapter 2
by Shimegami-chan
It was two days before Sam mustered the courage to go back up into the attic, on a sunny July afternoon when her grandmother was out in the garden, tending to her pansies. Logically, Sam thought this was a pretty safe arrangement, because Grandma would be within earshot, but far enough away that she might not hear any strange happenings from the third floor. Sam had located a baseball bat for her own protection and a roll of duct tape to further ensure the Box Ghost's confinement. She wasn't sure what other kinds of objects warded off ghosts, but she wore a silver crucifix around her neck and had "borrowed" a vial full of holy water from a local cathedral, just in case. It never hurt to be prepared (though she wasn't sure that vampire accessories were going to work against any other supernatural beings).
She also wasn't entirely sure what she was going to do once she got up there. Tape up the Box Ghost and leave? Try to communicate with that other mysterious voice? What if it was a ghost too, and she ended up possessed or worse? Sam was figuring she'd just play things by ear. After all, who really cared if she got hurt or killed up there anyway, except Grandma? She'd rather take the risk than leave the attic haunted and possibly put her grandmother in danger. If that really was another ghost, she'd figure out how to get rid of it.
Somehow.
Sam grabbed the cord on the ceiling hatch and pulled until the panel came down enough for her to situate the fold-up stairs on the carpeted hallway. Slinging the bat over one shoulder, she looked up into the darkened third floor, willing whatever might be inhabiting it to be nice and docile. She noticed with growing dread that the lights were off. Had Grandma noticed the illumination peeking out around the hatch, and gone up to turn them off? If that was the case, why didn't she ask Sam for help? Her grandmother got along fine most of the time, but she usually took her cane when she'd be doing any significant walking. She knew better than to go climbing ladders when Sam was right here in the house ninety-five percent of the time.
Biting back her fear, Sam climbed up the eight little stairs, holding the tiny railing for support. At the top, she hit the light switch, eyes trained immediately on the Box Ghost's corner as the light flooded the room. Nothing moved there or elsewhere in the attic.
Holding a rafter for balance as she walked around the perimeter of the hatch, Sam allowed the roll of duct tape to slide back onto her forearm, but kept her right hand wrapped tightly around the handle of the bat. She followed the path that led to the southeast corner of the house, passing the box of cutlery, the heap of clothes, the old train set, the crate piled with pots and pans, and finally the deflated air mattress, toeing it to one side as she approached the area. When she was about a metre away, she stopped, and merely inspected the box, anticipating movement of some sort.
When it remained silent, Sam tucked the bat under her arm to free her hands and tore off a wide strip of duct tape, choosing to lay the first piece down quickly in case the ghost sensed her and tried to escape, and deal with taping the box up good and tight once she was sure it could not get to her. Studying the way the flaps were closed over one another - in a clockwise fashion, each flap tamping its neighbour down - she decided to just tape over it all rather than unfolding and refolding them and presenting the ghost with the possibility of escape. Holding her breath, Sam gently laid the bat down on the floor beside her and stepped forward, securing the first piece of tape directly over the top of the crate, and extending an inch or two down each side. To her immense relief, the box did not move or indicate in any way that there was a ghost trapped within it. If there was still a ghost trapped within it.
Heart rate subsiding somewhat, Sam tore off several more strips of tape and continued to apply them until the surface area of the cardboard was entirely grey. Then, taking out a Sharpie from her skirt pocket, she scribbled "Do Not Open" on four of its six sides. The box continued to be calm and unmoving.
Satisfied, Sam placed both marker and tape aside on the floor and picked the bat back up, slinging it over her shoulder. Then, mustering all the courage she had, she addressed the voice that had spoken to the Box Ghost two days before.
"Hey...I know there's someone else in here. Show yourself."
No answer. Sam's resolve faltered somewhat, and she looked around the large room, trying to keep her expression neutral. "Don't pretend you can't hear me! I said, come out, whatever you are!"
"And what will you do if I do?" The disembodied voice was startlingly close to her ear. Sam jumped and spun around, but there was no one behind her, just boxes and heaps of clothes.
"That depends on what you are and what you're capable of," she replied quietly, grip tightening on the bat. "I won't allow anything to stay here that might put my family in danger."
"I've been here for decades, maybe centuries. If I didn't hurt them before, why would I start now?"
"I don't know. That Box Ghost guy seemed like he wouldn't mind hurting a few old ladies. What makes you any different?" Now that Sam had her back to the corner of the room, the voice seemed to be coming from there again. But when she turned, she knew instinctively that she was not going to be able to tell exactly where this thing was unless she could see it. "Can't you become visible?"
"I don't like people to see me."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm a ghost. In case that wasn't apparant."
"I'd assumed that." Sam didn't take her eyes away from the area where she thought the ghost might be. She noticed that the closer she got to the east wall of the house, the colder it was, despite the July heat outside. One of the vents from the air conditioner did go through the attic, but it shouldn't have been nearly enough to make it cold up here. She tentatively stepped closer to the wall, noticing a further drop in the temperature.
"I'm not going to hurt anyone, I swear it. I helped you back there. You think it was smart of me to reveal myself to someone and risk getting exorcised later by some of those nutjob ghost hunters? I did that because the Box Ghost could have caused mischief for your grandmother. If I hadn't stepped in, you would never have known I was here."
"That's true." Sam relaxed her grip slightly. She had wanted to ask the ghost why it had helped her, but it didn't seem necessary now.
She heard it sigh, a long, drawn-out sound that chilled her nearly as much as the frigid air did. "So please...just go back to your life, and forget I'm here, okay? That's all I want. Just some peace and quiet."
"Hey, wait." Sam paused, uncertain what to say. It was just too weird to think that a stranger - even a paranormal one - had been and would be living in their attic and only she knew about it. There was something about it that just didn't seem right.
And yet it had saved her from that other ghost, and was now asking for a favour in return. What good is it to repay kindness with malice? Her parents had taught her some socially-acceptable morals at least. Finally she lowered the bat and stood with one hand on her hip, eyes focused on the spot where she thought the ghost could be (but still wasn't absolutely sure). "Okay, I'll keep quiet about you. Just don't let me catch you doing anything weird to my Grandma."
"Of course not."
"Fine." Sam backed away slowly, not turning her back on the spirit until she was kneeling to pick up the marker and tape from where they lay on the floor. Then, cautiously but deliberately, she made her way back to the attic hatch without looking over her shoulder, half-expecting to feel ghostly breath on her bare shoulders, or her steps detained by ethereal hands. Instead, it allowed her to reach the hatch and climb down without incident, this time flicking the lights off before hurrying down the narrow stairs.
"Samantha, are you in there?"
"Mmm?" Sam looked up from her Keroro Gunso comic. "Come in."
Grandma Manson opened the door to Sam's room and peeked in, her short grey hair mussed from yard work. "There's a woman here to see you. A friend of your mother's, apparently."
"To see me?" Sam sat up and put the comic aside, wishing she'd thought to put some makeup on. Since spending all morning anticipating a fight with the ghosts in the attic, she hadn't really had a chance to think about her daily routine. Hurriedly she ran fingers through her chin-length black hair, glancing in the vanity mirror for reassurance.
"I'm as surprised as you." The elderly woman shrugged and opened the door the rest of the way for Sam to follow her into the hallway and down the stairs. "I didn't realize your mother had any acquaintances in Amity."
"Neither did I," Sam replied, a little suspicious. She attempted to put on a friendly smile for her visitor, failed, and ended up going to the door with a neutral expression. "Hi."
The woman outside was fairly tall, with bright red hair and purple-rimmed sunglasses. She wore a business suit in a shade of magenta that was almost blinding, and a fake-looking smile. Yeah...seems like a friend of Mom's, all right.
"Well, hello there!" the woman cried, immediately sticking her hand out. The teenager shook it with some hesitation. "You must be Samantha. My name is Penelope, and I was just wondering how you were doing, dear, so I thought I'd drop by. Your mother asked me some time ago to check on you when I had the chance."
"She didn't tell me anything about it," Sam replied, hiding her reaction to the low temperature of Penelope's hand. It was icy cold, worse than the air in the attic.
"Tsk, how like her, to call me all the way out here and not even prepare you! She always was like that. Avoidant personality when we were in college, too, let me tell you."
"Oh, you went to college with Mom?" Sam wasn't quite sure yet if this was a bad thing or a good thing. She hoped the woman would give her something else to work with.
"I certainly did! She lived in the dorm room next door to me. Sweet girl, very sweet girl. How has she been?"
"You've probably been talking to her more recently than I have," the teenager replied dryly.
Penelope laughed "That's probably true! Now, do you mind if I come in? We can have a nice chat. I've got all afternoon!"
"Er...sure." It probably couldn't hurt to entertain her for a few minutes, Sam decided. She hoped Penelope didn't think she was the same kind of gossip-monger her mother was as she stepped back and allowed the woman passage before shutting the screen door behind her. Once the door had latched, Sam led the way to the kitchen, where she gestured at the wooden chairs around the table. "Here's probably okay."
Her grandmother entered the room through the other door, very deliberately arching her eyebrow once she had caught Sam's eye. "Ah, Penelope, was it? Will you be staying for tea?"
"Oh, yes please, Mrs. Manson. I'm here to talk with Samantha and see how she's doing. Her mother's so very concerned about her."
"I'm sure," Ida replied dryly.
"Of course, we'll wait until we're alone before we talk about anything important," Penelope assured Sam, earning herself a curious look from the gothic teen.
"Alone?" Her grandmother looked a bit shocked. "Oh, well, I understand. I'll leave you in private, then." She turned and left through the same door, closing it quietly. Sam was starting to get an unpleasant feeling about Penelope, not just her demeanour, but her motives for this little visit.
Somewhat apprehensively, she turned her attention to the redhead. "Well...Penelope. It seems as though you have a particular discussion in mind?"
The woman inspected Sam carefully. "Now now, no need to get your back up about it. Your mother's been concerned for your well-being, so she asked me to come speak to you about some specific things. You're essentially recovered from your illness now, is that right?"
"Yes." Sam didn't ask how Penelope knew she'd been sick. Her mother clearly had once again opened her big mouth, looking for attention and sympathy. "I'm still pretty exhausted most of the time, but I'm up and about now."
The redhead tsked again. "Yes, mono certainly does drag on, I had it once myself when I was a teen. But you poor dear, it hit you at a terrible time, didn't it? Right in the middle of the school year?"
"Yeah, that's right."
"I tell you, Samantha, Amity Park is a perfect place to recover. The air is so much clearer here than it is in the city - I never understood why Liza wanted to stay there. But won't you just have an awful time adapting when you get home?"
"What do you mean?" Sam asked, her mouth dry.
"Well...having to repeat a grade and all. I'm sure you're disappointed that your friends are graduating and you have to stay back."
"I don't have any friends," Sam muttered, averting her eyes. Hell, she'd probably be better off with this year's twelfth graders, they didn't know her enough to make fun of her.
"Really?" Penelope looked shocked, angling her head down until she forcibly caught Sam's gaze. "That can't be true. A lovely, smart young woman such as yourself...?"
"Ah...no." For some reason, the compliment was more depressing than uplifting. There was something in the woman's face that made Sam want to frown. "I never was the social type."
"What a crying shame," Penelope declared, catching the girl's chin in her fingers. "You have such beautiful eyes, Samantha, you know? And you're saying...no friends? No boyfriend?"
"Please, call me Sam. And my parents have tried to get me to date sons of their friends, but I'm not interested, so no."
Penelope's expression changed slightly. "Why do you think you have trouble making friends, dear?"
"Ah...why? I guess the reason's partially because of my personality, but also might be partly my parents..."
"Go on."
Sam frowned and propped her chin up in her hand. It seemed as though if she kept her eyes on Penelope's face, the woman was less inclined to go grabbing at her with those manicured claws. "Well, they don't really seem to like the people I meet and bring home. I had a friend a few years ago that I really liked, but my mom said that he was 'too low-class.' Not the first time they'd said something like that, but it was the last."
"I see." Penelope gazed intently at her, and Sam noticed that the woman's eyes were a rather disconcerting shade of green. They were so bright that they practically glowed. "What else?"
"They...only seem to want me to make friends with people they approve of first. And I really don't like many of those people."
"Hmm, yes, Liza did say you were a bit abrasive with your classmates."
"She said that?" Sam's cheeks flared with anger and a little embarrassment. "Why would she tell you that?"
"Oh, Samantha dear, don't be angry. Liza was just preparing me to talk to you, and she wanted me to have all the facts."
"Well, that's not a fact!" the teenager growled.
"Oh, no?" Penelope's eyes were like chips of ice. "She also told me that you were suspended three times last year alone for getting into fistfights at school...and that was before you were ill. You don't think that's 'abrasive?'"
Sam deflated visibly, easing back down into her chair before she even realized she'd been on her feet. "I...guess I was a little out of line there, yeah."
"And why do you dislike your classmates, Samantha? Do you think these violent tendencies have anything to do with not being able to make friends?"
"I can make friends!" Sam argued. "There just isn't anyone around that I want to be friends with! And...I'm not violent. I was provoked." But once she thought about it, she'd been the one doing most of the provoking. Sam Manson was not the kind of girl who allowed herself to be picked on.
"And yet you don't seem to have any?"
Sam shot to her feet, all defenses now on high alert. "Listen," she told the woman through clenched teeth. "I don't want to talk about this. I'm sorry you came all the way out here just to see me, but you can tell my mother next time to stay the hell out of my personal life. I'm not interested in her or you prying into my thoughts."
Penelope inhaled slowly, eyes closed and expression complacent. "Of course...Samantha."
Furiously, Sam turned her back on the woman and stormed to her room, holding back angry tears. How dare that woman barge in and start asking her those kinds of personal questions? And what on earth has possessed Sam to answer them? How much information had her mother been telling people? She was grinding her teeth so hard in her frustration that they ached, and her stomach felt like she had eaten lead. How dare that woman insinuate that there was something wrong with the way Sam lived her life? She wanted to cry, but muffled it in her pillow, knowing that her grandmother was in the next room and well within earshot.
So what if I don't make friends easily? A true friend is someone you feel a connection with immediately, not like those girls with their stuck-up attitudes and little clique societies. There isn't one person at that school who could ever understand me.
No one will ever understand me.
This thought more than any of the others brought a choked sob to Sam's throat, one that she could keep down. I can't cry. I can't let Grandma see me like this.
She had to get away. Throwing the pillow aside, Sam ran out of the room and down to the porch, shoving her feet into her combat boots before she spotted Penelope standing in the driveway, leaning against her red sports car and chatting on a cell phone. Damn that woman, why can't she just leave? Turning again, Sam rushed back up the steps and into the hallway, yanking so hard on the attic hatch that the stairs nearly unfolded themselves on her head.
Then, without a second thought as to what or whom she might encounter, she fled into the attic.
-to be continued...
A/N: Again, I love the feedback. Reviews are what keep me going. ;)