Chapter Two: Unrest in Peace
"Don't send me flowers when I'm dead. If you like me, send them while I'm alive." - Brian Clough
From a distance, the tombstones all look pretty much the same: smooth, flat gray half-ovals sticking up out of the ground. Up close, you can see the names written on each one. Eileen asks the question, and Reaper confirms that the names on top are the living names and the ones below are the names the person chose after death, assuming they did change their name. Underneath the ghost name is the person's date of birth and date of death. As we walk, I find myself scanning for names I know. Nothing at a passing glance.
"Is anyone else creeped out right now?" Tucker asks from behind me.
"A little," Jazz says. "We're about to visit the graves of people who are standing ten feet away from us."
Sam lets out a staggered breath. "It's almost too morbid. And, I'm a goth! Morbid is, like, my thing!"
Eileen looks over her shoulder. "You kids didn't have to come," she says pointedly.
"If you think we're gonna let Danny do this alone," Sam says, "you've got another thing coming."
My turn to look over my shoulder. "I love you guys. But honestly, I don't think it's that bad here."
"Me neither," Mira says. Reaper stops and so do all of us. Mira adds, "I thought I'd be weirded out, but the place is pretty peaceful."
Eileen and I agree. Our human friends look at us like we've totally lost it. Reaper sees this and explains to them, "As you can imagine, ghosts and graveyards go hand in hand. While you may find a place like this unsettling, it is…a place of serenity to a spirit."
"You mean, like…a zen garden?" Jazz asks hesitantly.
"An excellent comparison, Jazz Fenton," Reaper praises.
Tucker shivers and mutters, "To each their own."
Reaper ignores him and points at one of the tombstones. "You will find Bub's grave over there."
My pulse skips. I'm about to visit my son's grave. Meanwhile, I just saw him snacking on gummy bears and trying to recite the alphabet. And, I know that if I go back inside, he'll be there and be perfectly fine. I won't lie; that is pretty unsettling.
Eileen, Mira, and I head that direction, while the humans and Reaper give us some room.
Suddenly, I find myself staring down at my baby boy's tombstone, and I know how his human parents must have felt.
Anthony Alexander Pierce
Bub
July 9, 2006 - October 14, 2006
The engraving on the stone sears into me. There's an ache in my chest and a pit in my stomach. Memories surge. The first time I saw Bub, he was floating upside-down and sucking on his foot. Every time I visit, he shouts, "Daddy!" ("Danny!" before we knew he'd imprinted) and throws himself in my awaiting arms. On Christmas night, he'd joined me, Jazz, and Mira for some holiday cheer. That night was the first time he told me he loved me, and the joy I felt as I said it back was overwhelming.
Sweet images fill my mind before I remember that this child is dead.
Mira sniffles next to me. "He's a baby. He-he shouldn't be here."
Eileen says nothing, only folds her hands in front of her mouth and closes her eyes as if praying.
This is her grandson. And, he's my son. And, my son is dead.
I clench and unclench my fists as my eyes fill with tears. I don't know why I'm this upset. I know for a fact that Bub is fine. He's probably scarfing down candy as we speak, happy as a clam.
And yet…I feel as if he isn't. As if I'm the one who put him to bed for the night, only to check on him in the morning and find a cold body in a crib.
I want to collapse to the ground and weep, but I hold it together. My voice quakes as I swipe at my face. "I-I didn't think it would be this potent."
"Such is the way of these things," Reaper says kindly, walking up to us. "Because you all were once alive yourselves, you will feel in some way for the graves of the people you know. I believe I mentioned this to you."
Eileen blows out a shaky breath. "It's different when you actually do it."
Amen to that.
"Are you guys okay?" Jazz asks for all of our human friends.
"We will be once this passes," Eileen assures, brushing a hand over her eyes.
Mira wipes her own cheeks and looks up at her. "Have you done this before, Eileen?"
"Not in the Ghost Zone," Eileen says, "but yeah. I've been around a long time, kids."
I'll be able to say that in a few hundred years. So will Mira and Bub. We'll exist when our loved ones on Earth are long dead, and there's no guarantee of them joining us in our afterlives-
"Can we move on before I start thinking too much?" I beg.
Mira grabs my arm and pulls me away with a desperate, "Yes. Let's go." We're on the same wavelength.
With us out of the way, our curious and blissfully mortal friends step up to the grave. They stare at it for a while, but all I notice is how uncomfortable they are.
"Um, Reaper?" Jazz says. "Shouldn't we be - I don't know - crying or something?"
"Yeah," Tucker agrees. "I mean, it's sad that Bub died that young, but…he's still here, so…"
"You all are still alive," Reaper explains. "Only a spirit will have a strong reaction to the graves of their fellow spirits."
"What about you, Grim?" I ask. "Do you feel anything?"
Though I can't see their face, I know that they are not offended by my question. "But, of course. However, recall that I am a demon, a being that formed in this realm and has never experienced dying firsthand. What I feel lacks the severity that a ghost who once resided on Earth would feel."
I suppose that makes sense.
Sam eyes Bub's tombstone thoughtfully. "Not to kill the mood - uh, no pun intended - but is it wrong that I'm considering putting a tombstone with my name on it in my room?"
That gets a resounding "yes" from most of us. Reaper just laughs.
We continue our trek, and tension has risen now that we have a better idea of what to expect.
"Up ahead lies Mira Scott's grave," Reaper says after a while.
Mira sucks in air between her teeth, and I reach for her hand. When Reaper stops and points out the grave, she jerks her hand back, brings her fists to her chest, and grits her teeth. "You guys go first," she begs.
I don't blame her for being scared. I'm scared too, and it's not even my grave.
Eileen puts her arm around me, and we walk up to the tombstone.
Mira Katherine Scott
March 29, 1988 - August 20, 2006
Oh, Mira.
The day we met, Mira had just become a ghost and was out of her mind with fear. Now, she wears her new form with pride. She was a dear friend for so long before I realized I had feelings for her. She's so kind and carefree and a little bit insane at times. Like when I confessed to hating myself, and her reaction was to challenge me to a fight so I could blow off steam. Or Christmas night, when she brought along Bub and Cujo so we - including Jazz - could all goof off together and avoid my parents' annual "Santa vs No Santa" debate. Or, when she snuck off during the incident in Nashville so she could sample the local cuisine (for context, we were running from the government at the time).
I love her so much.
And, she was so badly wronged.
A low growl rumbles in my throat. Mira's only dead because of her then-boyfriend. Levi, assuming that's his real name, was a Shapeshifting ghost who'd been posing as a human to date Mira. He didn't think she'd accept him for what he truly was, and his solution was to kill her in hopes that she'd get lucky and become a ghost as well. He did it so that they could be together forever.
That fucker is currently residing in Walker's Prison. I want to fly out there and do whatever Walker's doing to him but ten times worse.
"Where is that ex of hers?" Eileen's voice is carefully neutral, though her fists are clenched at her sides.
"You know about that?" I ask. She nods, and I tell her, "I dropped him off at Walker's Prison."
"Good place for him."
Alas, no punishment will ever fix what he did to Mira.
"How bad is it?" my girlfriend asks, reminding me that she's still around because Levi's plan worked up to a point.
I spin around and charge at her and crush her against me. I need to touch her, to feel her presence. I need physical proof that she's okay, even if her human body isn't.
"That's enough, kid," Eileen says, pulling me off. "You're freaking the poor girl out."
She's right. Mira's eyes are wide, and her teeth are still gritted. "I'm not looking forward to this."
"You don't have to do this, Mira," Sam says kindly.
Mira takes in a breath and narrows her eyes. "I can do it."
I lean against my Mama as my girlfriend walks up to her tombstone. None of us know what to expect. Reaper said that a spirit's reaction to their own grave is stronger than their reaction to others. My core quivers in my chest, anticipating the need to help. If Mira cries, I'll hold her. If she attacks, I'll protect everyone. If she does nothing… Well, we're in good shape.
We are silent while we wait. Then, something happens. Mira's hands curl into shaking fists. She lets out a roar and gives the tombstone a hard kick. Then another and another. The stone is unaffected, which seems to piss her off more. She keeps kicking and lets out the occasional roar. I want to run over to her, but I don't know if that would make things better or worse.
"Shouldn't we do something?" Tucker asks for me.
Reaper rests a hand on his head. "She will calm soon. Let this run its course."
I don't like that plan. That plan means I have to stand here and watch the woman I love suffer. But, I'm not going to argue with the Master of Death about…death.
"Reaper," Jazz says, "what exactly makes a ghost react the way they do?"
"There are several factors in play," Reaper replies. "The cause of death is a big one. Also, their life, their afterlife, even their personality figures in."
Mira must be thinking of Levi. Before she and I were dating, she confessed that she thought she was in love with Levi before he did what he did.
Mira gives the stone one last good kick. With a grunt, she whirls around and marches over to us. There are tears on her face but also an oddly satisfied expression.
I meet her halfway. "Are you okay?" I ask, cupping her face.
"Yeah," she says as I brush my thumbs over her wet cheeks. "I think I am."
"This is why many ghosts choose to seek out their graves." Reaper steps forward. "I find that spirits harbor a lot of pent up emotions in regards to their death. Many are not even aware that they are doing it. It is a refreshing experience for them."
Despite whatever just happened, Mira smiles. "It was kind of cathartic."
I wonder if I'll feel the same way when we reach my grave.
Our human friends gather around Mira's grave. They stand there for a moment before looking at Mira, unnerved by the sight of her.
"You were right, Tucker," Sam says. "This is creepy."
Tucker forces a cheeky grin and waves at Mira. "Hello, dead body."
Mira only kind of laughs, and I'm not the only one glowering at Tucker. "Dude," I warn, "leave the morbid humor to me and Sam."
Tucker cringes and mumbles an apology.
We move on. Reaper tells us that Eileen's grave is next. Mama hangs back with the humans so she doesn't maul us.
Mira and I join hands once more, seeking comfort, and approach the tombstone Reaper points out.
Eileen Merryweather
May 12, 1672 - June 30, 1692
She was only twenty years old. I didn't know that.
I know how she died. It was the Salem Witch Trials, which was apparently a terrible time to be gay. She was caught cheating on her husband with a woman, and that was that. Both women were accused of witchcraft and hanged because no one back then could comprehend the idea that a person could be attracted to their own gender.
It's just plain unfair. I know it's a time period thing, so of course I don't understand, but even so. Eileen is a wonderful woman. So wise and nurturing and occasionally sarcastic. Not to mention a dedicated teacher who actually cares about her students. Not enough teachers go the extra mile like she does.
On the first day of school, she saw me being picked on and instantly came to my rescue. That's how I knew she was different. Nobody but the few friends I have ever comes to my rescue. Least of all, teachers. I wasn't happy when I found out that "Ms. Mae" was a ghost, but I was relieved when I realized she had no ill intentions. Our bond started when she began helping me perfect my Duplication so that I wouldn't have to keep missing school to fight ghosts. She listens when I talk and offers advice and recently became a gamer. (Mira introduced her to "Rune Factory," and it was all downhill from there.)
Mama didn't deserve what happened to her. Affairs are bad, but there was no reason for her to be killed. And, she was so young. She wasn't much older than me.
Mira sighs heavily and lays her head on my shoulder. We're still holding hands. "Do you know how she died?"
I nod. "Mm-hm. Do you?"
"Yeah. It's awful."
Nothing more needs said.
We turn back to our group, and something hits me the moment my eyes land on Mama. I feel like a little kid who hasn't seen their family in years. I let go of Mira's hand and throw myself into Eileen's arms. I lay my head on her chest and relish the feeling of a mother's embrace, cold and sweet and safe and here.
"I love you, Mama," I breathe.
Eileen kisses my head. "Love you too, kid."
Mira nudges me. "Hey, I want hugs."
Eileen laughs and moves her arm so that she's hugging both of us, and I feel so loved.
Our human friends graciously gave us some space and went over to Eileen's grave the moment I ran up to her.
"Whoa," Sam gasps. "Ms. Mae, were you seriously twenty years old when you died?"
Eileen releases us, and I wish she hadn't. "Consider the time period, Sam," she says. "Twenty was basically middle-aged back then."
That doesn't reassure anyone, but we move on. My grave is next, and goosebumps crawl over my skin at the thought.
Beside me, Eileen sighs. "I wish I didn't react the way I do at my grave. That tombstone is the closest thing to an actual burial I have."
"What do you mean?" I ask quietly. Eileen is whispering, and I have a feeling it's because our human friends don't know how she died like Mira and I do.
"Witches," Eileen says with disdain, "weren't considered deserving. They just threw us in a hole in the ground. And, it was so shallow that I use the word 'hole' loosely."
"That's terrible!" Mira whisper-shouts.
Eileen shrugs with a hard look straight ahead. "That's what they did, Mira. Nothing to be done about it now."
No wonder she gets violent. I rest my hand on my mother's back while I imagine myself going back in time and slamming her executioner's head into a wall.
Then, I catch sight of something and stop cold.
I feel all eyes on me. "What's up, Danny?" Tucker asks.
"Uh…" I drawl, trying to process what I'm looking at. "You guys go on ahead. I'll catch up."
Reaper urges them all along when they try to protest. Grim can see that I've found the grave of someone I know well.
Vladimir Nathaniel Masters
Vlad Plasmius
October 13, 1961 - January 11, 1984
January 11, 1984 -
That must be what Reaper meant about my grave not being finished. Like with Vlad, my human body doesn't have a true end date.
I gaze down at the simple stone with my arms crossed. One would expect me to feel smug or infuriated. But, nothing is ever so cut and dry in my life, is it?
My animosity with Vlad is much, much more personal than with any of my other enemies. We met when I was fourteen, just a few months into my powers and still working out the kinks. My parents dragged Jazz and me to their college reunion in Wisconsin. It was being hosted by their super rich friend, Vlad Masters, and we would be spending the night with him and attending the party the next day.
I was skeptical at first. One reason was because he screamed at my dad out of nowhere, so he clearly wasn't over the accident (that gave him ghost powers, though I didn't know it at the time) that Dad caused when they were in college. Another reason was because he was blatantly hitting on Mom. A lot.
Once we got settled in, Vlad said that he would start on dinner for us. Something was itching in my chest and propelled me to seek out the kitchen and offer my assistance. I didn't know about cores and Obsessions yet. I just knew that helping people relieved the sensation. I liked being useful anyway, so it wasn't too much of an inconvenience.
"Um, Mr. Masters?" I said as I stepped into the kitchen. "Do you need any help with dinner?"
Vlad turned from where he was cutting some kind of meat. His expensive-looking suit was gone, and he stood there in a white undershirt with the sleeves rolled up. He smiled humoredly at me. "My boy, I could never ask a guest for such a thing."
I shrugged. "Well, the guest is offering."
Vlad chuckled. "If you insist. Do you know how to make scalloped potatoes?"
While he worked on the meat - this would end up being the first time I had lamb, and it was pretty good - he instructed me on how to prep and cook the potatoes. Meanwhile, he asked me about school and what I did outside of it, even drawing a few comparisons to his own time in high school. Our conversation flowed smoothly, continuing even after we'd finished cooking. At one point, Dad poked his head in and was thrilled to see us getting along.
Just before dinner, I asked Vlad why he didn't have anyone to do the cooking and cleaning for him. "Don't rich people usually pay someone for that?"
I liked Vlad's response. "I see no reason to pay someone to do something I am quite capable of doing on my own."
By that point, I was no longer worried about staying at his house for the night.
Until he found out I was a halfa like him and locked me in his lab so that he could overshadow Dad and make him attack the partygoers. The only reason I was able to stop this was because a nice ghost came along and let me out.
I could have handled Vlad being the ghost I'd fought the night before. Neither of us knew the other's secret at the time. But, he showed his true colors during the party. The betrayal had hurt, and Vlad just kept getting worse.
"Oh, Uncle Vlad," I sigh.
Vlad is capable of being good, of seeing the error of his ways. The problem is that the events that inspired that side of him were so horrific that Clockwork ensured that they would never come to pass. Don't get me wrong. Words can't describe how relieved I am that he is no longer a threat. But, it sickens me to think that it would take something so drastic to make Vlad resemble the man I'd cooked dinner with that day.
I indulge myself by thinking of how things might have turned out if Vlad wasn't such a jerk. His offer to train me and teach me about ghostkind wouldn't have come with the stipulation that I renounce my "idiot father." Vlad and I would have worked together, been good friends. When I called him "Uncle Vlad," it would have been sincere instead of mocking. And, if people heard Danny Phantom calling Vlad Masters his uncle, the man wouldn't have needed to rig the election. Maybe we would have become a crime-fighting team. No, Vlad's too cowardly for that. He could have helped me from the sidelines, though. He could have gathered information for me and the team, been a spy of sorts. He's good at reconnaissance.
I shake my head and walk away. I see what Reaper meant about this being enlightening. Even when I learned the truth, I hadn't thought this hard about the possibilities. Looking back, maybe I was simply too busy being angry. After the big reveal, Vlad stopped making me want to like him.
Something slams into me out of nowhere, breaking me out of my musings. Mira has her arms tightly around me and is sniffling into my chest.
"Mira," I gently pry her off of me, "what's the matter?"
"Sorry." Eileen floats to my side and presses me protectively against her. She isn't sad. There's a subtle fury in her even tone. "We were just at your grave."
Mira nods and wipes the tears off her cheeks. "It was something."
This is not encouraging.
The ladies stay on either side of me, Mira clutching my arm with both hands and Eileen still with her arm around me, as they lead me to the spot our friends are clustered around. The closer we get to the group, the closer my heart rate gets to that of a full-human.
Everyone turns around at our approach, and I see my own nerves reflected in their faces. They don't know what will happen next any more than I do.