ATTENTION 3/23/24

THIS STORY IS DISCONTINUED AND REWRITTEN UNDER THE NEW TITLE "FROZEN FIRE"

Please be sure to check it out on my profile!

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Epíphantos

Chapter Two:

As Petty as Fear

Not many people were able to understand the intricate tapestry that was Sam Manson's mind. The weaving was done in a way to conceal even the most miniscule of secret fibers, woven deep into the heart of the threads. Sure, people respected her, feared her even, but not many people could claim to understand her. They didn't understand the way she carried herself, for example. Why was she so self-righteous, they would ask? They didn't understand that the darkness of her clothing was in contribution to the everlasting mourning of her kin, rather than the gothic front she displayed in her defenses.

The truth of the matter was that even Sam Manson troubled to understand herself. Especially in regards to her actions.

Perhaps it had to do with the rush of adrenaline surging through her system as she ran amongst the ruins of Amity Park. Her freezing breath was before her, wavering icy tendrils that licked her cheeks. The tips of her fingers were numb in her fingerless gloves as she gripped her ectogun, poised and ready for the first sign of trouble. She couldn't understand the hysterical laugh that was bubbling at the back of her throat, forcing its way to freedom.

She should be terrified. But the emotion filtering through her body, dictating the actions of her nervous system and bringing goose bumps to her skin was anything but fear . . .

It was elation.

Sam couldn't contain the smile that pulled the entirety of her face taut, exposing teeth that glinted in the dwindling sunlight. She lived for freedom. To walk precariously along the line that differentiated life and death. She was on mission to waste the ecto-spooks that invaded her world, destroying them and dancing on the dripping ectoplasmic waste of their remains. She adored the morbidity of it, the thrilling rush of ecstasy that pulled her away from the horrendous world of order and safety she was forced live day by day.

She was an unhindered fire as she tore through the city that night.

She sprinted through the winding pathway that led to her park, dilapidated houses and buildings blurring as she passed them. Reaching her destination, she jumped onto a bench and pulled the goggles down over her eyes. They did not obstruct her normal viewing, merely adding the slightest hint of green that barely differentiated itself from the greenness of the sky. She brought her ectogun before her, holding it at ready with her finger brushing over the trigger. With bated breath and a heart that continuously leapt into her throat, she waited.

And waited.

In all the times that she had ventured from the underground sanctuary of hell she knew as the Compound, Sam had yet to come into contact with a spectral entity of any kind. Sure, when she went on excursions with the rest of her Warrior kin along the outskirts of the city's borders they'd met—and destroyed—many. But here, nothing. The silence permeated the air, thick with sarcasm as she stood exposed in the wavering sunset. The city was completely still.

It was unsettling.

Two years ago Pariah Dark had taken Amity from them. He had broken through their shields and commenced war amongst the Resistance. Sam's goggled eyes suddenly began taking in the scenery before her, evaluating the rubble and damage that was a direct result of that failed attempt two years ago. The once prospering city now lay in ruins. Corpses in the midst of their decomposition littered the streets and toppled buildings, rotting and stinking. And to what purpose? Sam found herself biting her lip in anger.

The battle of the spirits and the Resistance had taken place, and the humans had lost. That much she knew. What Sam found strange was that in the few months following the humans' defeat, the spooks had retreated. They had disappeared completely from the small heart in the center of the city, merely lurking along the borders instead. Were they trying to lull the humans into a false sense of security, to draw them out of their impenetrable hole in the ground and destroy them completely? Sam didn't know.

Sighing, she stepped down from the bench she was standing on. The furious beating of her heart settled into a calmer rhythm, allowing her rationality to begin to sync itself with her reason. She looked around once more before she dropped her ectogun from its cocked position. Her ectosensors remained blank, aside from the small twitch of the needle that reacted to the continuous amount of ectoplasm saturating the environment.

What had she honestly been expecting? That an ominous entity of unparalleled power lurked within the shadows, waiting for her to destroy it? If that had been the case she would have died months ago when she first began making regular trips upward.

Everything was empty. Void of all life and afterlife.

Slightly disappointed but yet immensely relived, Sam turned back towards the winding path intent on returning to the Compound. She had only just begun to pull the goggles off her eyes when she saw it.

There it was! Her heart was slamming in her chest.

Suddenly a bright green light invaded her vision as the goggles detected a spectral aura and began the process of rendering it into existence.

Only the most powerful species of ghost wielded the ability to disappear completely, utilizing both intangibility and invisibility to cloak their existence. Until recently, such ghosts were undetectable until they revealed themselves. Most species could be identified immediately by the ectosensors all Warriors had in the form of watch-like apparatuses on their wrists. But the powerful ones with the strongest cores were nearly impossible to track. Rare as they were, they were the ghosts that were to be avoided at all costs.

And Sam had run right into one.

She watched in a terrified sort of wonder as the green light latched on to the entity, dragging its form into existence. To her horror, the moment the ghost entered reality, her sensors spiked tremendously, the little arrow swinging from the green zone and into the high red. The readings were off charts, thus causing a shrill beeping to begin emanating from the face of her sensor in a vain attempt to warn her of the impending danger.

Sam scuttled backwards, tripping over her own feet and falling unceremoniously onto her bottom. Releasing a small cry of alarm, she quickly cocked her ectogun into position, suddenly wishing she had brought more to protect herself with.

As the light began to dim a familiar chill crept its away up her spine, one that signified the presence of a spirit. The already chilly air dropped into a temperature that had Sam shivering violently. She clumsily pulled herself to her feet in an attempt to face her foe. Lowering her brows she pulled the most intimidating scowl she could muster.

Only to be met with a sight that turned her blood into ice.

Eyes the color of pure, untainted ectoplasm entered her vision, glowing furiously in the permeating darkness of night. A tumultuous wave of shock white hair hung before its eyes and over a humanoid face of unbridled rage. The ethereal glow surrounding it almost had Sam squinting in its sudden brightness. This ghost was not to be trifled with. She could literally feel the power emanating off of it in a manner that rivaled the horrendous Fright Knight, Pariah Dark's main adherent. Maybe even Dark himself.

The ghost's terrifying neon gaze met her own. It snarled.

Through her petrified haze, through the hectic beating of a heart that leapt into her throat and chocked her, Sam did the only thing she could think to do.

She pulled the trigger.

It had been a long time since Sam had been this afraid. Terror was clawing its way through her veins, climbing the length of her spine and settling at the roots of her hair. It made her skin prickle, made her heart leap in anticipation. The spook's chilly aura settled heavily over her shoulders, causing her to shiver uncontrollably as she quickly and deftly disengaged the safety on her ectogun. It hastily powered to life and before she knew it, her trigger finger was depressing itself as if on its own accord.

When Sam was young, there had been a time when she feared the concept of fear itself, of the darkness that permeated the night. It was a time for terror, for indecision, for monstrosity. A time when she spent many nights sleeping amongst the warm, comforting glow of her pink nightlight. She had been nurtured by the horrible stories told by her mother and father—the ones that revolved around the war and the terrible battles that were fought between humans and spirits.

They had been above ground then, complacent under a sky that was tinged with green. During the summer, Sam, amongst other children, had played together in their city's park, located at the heart Amity. She could still remember the feeling of dandelions kissing her bare shins as she twirled about the grass. The pink frills of her dress would fan around her and she would imagine herself as one of the flowers, delighted by the warm sunshine.

Night, however, had terrified her. All forms of darkness had brought her running to her mother, lip quivering as tears spilled from her lavender eyes. She would scream that ghosts were chasing her, that they were coming for her soul and intent on eating the eyes from her skull. They would do their best to placate her terror, and she would try to be strong as the sun fell behind the horizon, but it was never enough. Her nights were spent with the constant companion of her night terrors. She would awake riddled with screams and tears and no amount of consolation from her parents would ever be enough to sooth her.

At night the humans congregated together under a Fenton Dome, a ghost protectant shield that seemingly could protect them from any spectral attack, regardless of power level. She could remember dancing under the glow of the shield, eyes wide in wonder as the light illuminated her pale skin. They had all been so happy. So free. At the brink of extinction humans, regardless of sex, age, and ethnicity had all banded together in the wake of the enemy. They served together as brothers and sisters, forming what would soon become the Resistance.

It would be a few years later, when Sam was eight, that Amity first fell under attack. It was the first time she had seen death and destruction. She had been in school at the time when a ghost had somehow breached Amity's perimeter. All hell had broken loose as a spook—soon become known as the Fright Knight—ravaged the South end of their city, massacring thousands of people, obliterating Casper High and Casper elementary. She could remember lying amongst the rubble of her classroom hurt, but miraculously alive, as the corpses of her classmates and teacher surrounded her.

Something had snapped in her then. The severed arm of a classmate had fallen limp onto her abdomen, the warm blood spilling about her, drenching her white shirt and turning it pink. She had thrown up all over herself at the sight. Turning her head she had seen it, the Fright Knight. It had come back to investigate the damage it had caused and revel in the chaos it created. It had laughed. Laughed. The laughter had been so sinister, so dark, that it had terrified her enough to snap herself out of her stupor and cry.

That was when the ghost had noticed her.

Fright Knight's laughter had ceased immediately. A growl ripped from its throat as it began its approach towards her. Its raised palm had been charged with enough ectoplasmic energy to kill her—obliterate her instantly.

Sam did not scream. As the enemy approached, her terror replaced itself with an onslaught of adrenaline. The tears on her cheeks ceased completely in their decent, and her lavender eyes had shone bright with sudden rage. She'd bitten her lip as the ghost unleashed its terrifying gaze upon her, growling mercilessly.

And she'd snarled right back.

The ghost had hesitated, surprise evident in a moment of hesitation. It had leaned back, tasting the sudden arrival of new, raw emotions intermingling with her fear and desperation. Perhaps it was beginning to differentiate between them, understand that the liquid fire running through her veins and pumping thick into her heart was no longer a result of fear.

Shuddering under the weight of severed body parts restraining her, she had done her best to raise her head in defiance. She had glared into the eyes of her executioner. Fearing these monsters was a waste of her energy. Fear had become petty. And it was the arrival of these emotions that would prelude to a moment of hesitation long enough to warrant the arrival of her saviors.

The Fentons had come for her then, guns blazing. With a fire fueled by the death of their own children a mere three years prior, they had driven of the terrible spook and pulled her from the decimated remains of the other children. Never had she'd seen them so broken, so merciless. And never had she since.

Since then, she had given up her world of lace and frills and pink and white. Pink reminded her of blood on her shirt; white was too easily contaminated. She had taken to dressing to all black, in constant mourning of the lives that had been lost. Her attitude had darkened and she had thrown herself into physical training, working mercilessly towards a Warrior apprenticeship. She'd separated herself from her parents' ideals and carved for herself a path that allowed her to constantly walk the line of life and death.

And she had loved it.

She'd destroyed countless ghosts since then, ruthless and deadly in her tactic. Reveling in the midst of battle she was coldly efficient, brazen, and unstoppable. Ghosts had begun to recognize her, fearing her enough to retreat, and she would chase them—chase them down and slug her ectogun to their cores—and she would waste them. Ecotoplasm would shine over her armor, thick and heavy. She would smirk, watching as their remains dissipated in a cloud of white energy, fading away from existence.

But all of that had been child's play…

Especially in comparison to the matter she faced at hand…

In all her experiences, her years of training and battles fought combined, never had she come across a ghost powerful enough to top her ectosensors. The needle was erratic. Unable to pinpoint a reading from the ectosignature it identified, it instead unleashed a shrill whine, one that increased at a frequency so high that it shattered the face and went dark completely.

In her desperation, she had fired off a shot from her ectogun. It was petty, she knew, watching as a powerful ectoplasmic charge released itself from the barrel of her gun, bright green in the darkening light. With a morbid fascination, she watched as the charge was seemingly ricochet from the ghost's powerful form, tilting away and fizzling into nothingness. The ghost was snarling, with liquid green eyes alight and flaming in uninhibited rage. It was before her instantly, knocking her weapon away from her hands and sending it scuttling across the pavement at her feet.

Its bright green eyes bored into hers, snarls ripping from its throat and chilling her to the bone. It was then the claws of fear began to recede as the situation dawned on her.

This was a ghost.

Sam refused to be afraid of ghosts.

She skirted around it as quickly as she could, lunging again for her gun, but the ghost had anticipated this and reacted by grabbing her outstretched arm. It lifted her completely off her feet, dangling her by the arm it held in a firm grasp as she screamed obscenities at it. She swung her feet, attempting to kick it, but it compensated for this by lengthening the span of its reach, tightening its grip on her wrist.

And then everything was silent—save for Sam's rapid breathing and the chaos of her heart.

The ghost regarded her with a gaze that was cold and calculating. Brows furrowed over its terrifying eyes. She met its scrutiny with a scowl; teeth clenched in revulsion, even as it summoned a ball of powerful ectoplasmic energy at its palm and brought it to her throat. She would not back down. She refused to be afraid.

So this is how she was going to die, Sam realized. In the grasp of a powerful ghost, not from battle, but instead because of her masochistic sense of fulfillment. Oddly enough, it didn't bother her. She would die alive, in rebellion against both the spirits and the conformity of the Compound. She didn't welcome death itself per se, but rather the idea of being a martyr of her own ideals.

Which is why, in complete disregard for the outcome of her actions, she suddenly spit in the ghost's face.

The green light of its energy shone bright in the lavender of her eyes. She repelled the urge to close them, refusing to give in to its sadistic satisfaction. The energy began to burn at the sensitive skin of her throat, strengthening at the proximity of its charged palm. Every fiber of her being, every nerve ending was on fire. Even the freezing touch of the ghost's hand on her arm was burning her, searing her through her suit. She could feel the invasion of her consciousness as the ghost observed her, tasted her emotions on its tongue.

"What are you?" it suddenly asked. Its voice was otherworldly.

Sam sputtered, caught off guard as the burning sensation from her neck disappeared completely. It released her arm and dropped her to her feet. Its gaze was suddenly questioning, staring at her through a fall of shock white hair. If it weren't for the ethereal glow and its eyes, the ghost almost seemed human. It was unsettling.

Free from its grasp, Sam regained her composure and glared back at her assailant. She refused to let her guard down, opting to instead take note of her surroundings without removing her eyes from the specter before her. Her fingers twitched, longing for the ectogun that lay far beyond her reach. There was no way she was getting past this monster. Its power was at such a high caliber she doubted her gun would do much damage, anyway.

Simply put: she was as good as dead.

So, she did the only thing she could do: "Human," she said, finally answering its question in a voice laced with sarcasm. "What, you all brawn and no brain or something?"

The corners of the ghost's mouth turned up into a hint of a smirk. It cocked its head to the side, regarding her with a look that Sam found odd to see a ghost's face. "Are you not afraid of me, human?"

"No, I'm too busy overcoming my revulsion and figuring out how to destroy you," she responded, trying her best to sound nonchalant. She braced herself, expecting the ghost give up its toying with her. Instead, she was surprised as the ghost threw back its head and laughed.

"What's so funny?" she snapped.

The ghost chuckled again. "You act as if you are not in company with one of the most powerful ghosts in the Ghost Zone; I think that's what you humans call it, right? Where others cower in fear, you actually manage to challenge me," it said. "I'm impressed. Though I have to ask, what is it that sent you looking for trouble in the first place? Sam."

Ice was suddenly running through her veins. "How do you know my name?" she asked dangerously.

The ghost smiled knowingly. It backed away from her and went to retrieve her weapon. Observing it carefully, it seemingly admired her weapon's craftsmanship whilst her blood continued to run cold. "Samantha Manson, Warrior extraordinaire." Its voice was full of faux bravado. It made a show tossing her gun into the air once and catching it, before suddenly throwing it into her direction for her to catch. "You've made quite a name for yourself in the Ghost Zone."

The freezing tendrils of fear finally began to lick their way down Sam's spine. Her hands shook as she once again charged and pointed her ectogun at the ghost, though she knew it was futile. There was no stopping this monster. It could do whatever it wanted to her and she was at its mercy. And it knew it too. She could see it the curve of its grin, the way it looked at her as if she had no escape. It reminded her of a biological situation in the ancient wild—a predator and its prey. The cat and the mouse.

"Okay," she said. She hoped it didn't hear the tremble in her voice as she attempted to regain her composure. "So you know who I am. Who are you?"

"I am Phantom," the ghost said simply, its eyes watching her carefully as if to gauge her reaction.

Shit.

Sam's mind went as blank as her face.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

She had always wondered why the spooks never entered this part of Amity. Ghosts were primitive and territorial, often claiming areas from their world or the material world, as well as all the objects and occupants within its limits. A territorial ghost was exceptionally more dangerous than a haunting ghost, known to be both possessive and ruthless.

What was worse still, however, was that the spook who had decided to take up residence in Amity Park was none other than Phantom, a ghost that even Pariah Dark regarded with a sort of grudging respect. This was bad. This was really bad.

Sam tried her best to stifle the chaotic beating of her heart. She released the tension in her arms, letting them fall slack at her sides. Her ectogun powered down with a whine.

The ghost finally sensed her fear and smiled. "What? Now you're afraid of me?"

"I am not afraid of you!" she exclaimed, completely livid. "I would never waste my time being afraid of ectoplasmic scum like you!"

"Then what are you afraid of, Sammy? The fate of your humans buried pathetically beneath our feet?" the ghost challenged.

"Fuck you!" she spat. "You're nothing but a monster!"

The ghost's brows furrowed as if it was truly considering her words. "Quite the contrary, actually," it murmured. "Would it appease you to know I have no intention of harming you or your precious underground sanctuary?"

"And what if you were lying?"

The ghost regarded her challenge silently. It met her fiery gaze with one of its own. The pair stood in the darkness of night, illuminated by the lively glow of the moon. Its eyes were bright and ominous, surreal even, as its gaze bored into her so intensely she felt as if she would combust at any moment. The wind caught the edges of the cloak it wore, billowing and revealing the dark fabric of a tunic it sported underneath. It suddenly stuck Sam how closely the ghost's form resembled the anatomical structure of a human male, and she briefly pondered the oddity of it.

The ghost immediately noticed the redirection of her gaze at its torso. A sly smile slipped at the corners of its mouth. "See something you like?"

Her eyes instantaneously snapped higher to meet Phantom's. She was disgusted with herself as the familiar feeling of a blush heated her cheeks, utterly embarrassed to have her actions misinterpreted. Unwilling to play into the ghost's mockery, she snapped, "No, actually, I don't. But you are avoiding my question."

Phantom's grin slipped from its face and it sighed heavily. One of its hands was suddenly running through its hair, which seemed odd to her because the gesture seemed almost human. "I'm not lying," it said. "I have no qualms with your humans."

"So you say."

A growl emitted from Phantom's throat, obviously annoyed. "You are the one who forced me to show myself." It gestured wildly at the goggles that had fallen to hang loosely around her neck. "I have been here for nearly two years now, and up until this point, you have taken absolutely no notice of me. Sam." It said her name venomously, its brows falling low over its eyes.

"Which reminds me," it said again, stepping closer to her. "For your entire prowess, your reputation is exceeded by your actions. What is it that causes you to leave the safety of your cozy little human hole in the ground? What is it that you are looking for?"

Sam's stomach had twisted itself into several uncompromising knots. The ghost was uncomfortably close to her now, looking down at her furiously. Its confusion was evident in the way it regarded her; eyes wide, hands splayed. It was almost completely dark now and Phantom once again summoned energy at its palm, causing an eerie green light to cascade in a shower around her. Shadows were dancing on the planes of its face, and again she found it hard to believe that the face she was seeing was not that of a human.

The absurdity of the situation was dawning on her. Never had she held a conversation this long with a ghost, but then again, never had a ghost gone this long without trying to destroy her. She figured it was ancient, confident in its power. Perhaps it was bored, opting to indulge in the intellectual complexity of a strange human such as herself. Maddie Fenton would have been beyond herself in attempting to dissect Phantom's behavior, as he—it—was rapidly defying many theories Sam had learnt in her studies.

Sam took a calming breath and discharged her ectogun. She brought it to her chest, using her thumb in attempt to rub out a scuff that ran along the length of the barrel. She looked up to see Phantom's curious gaze, one eyebrow higher than the other as it watched her, seemingly fascinated.

There were many nights that Sam spent accompanied by her indecision. She relished the battle of foe to foe, romanced by the idea of shaping the world by her own hands. To reclaim what the enemy had taken; to avenge the lives that had been lost. She had always been an individualist and an activist, wanting nothing more than to change the world for the better. The urge to do so in battle correlated with her desire for adrenalin. She was, in all matters of the phrase, a thrill seeker.

And in all truthfulness, she resented the Compound and its conformity. The biggest difference that had always existed between herself and her fellow Warrior prodigy, Valerie Gray, was all a matter of loyalty. Valerie was loyal to their mentor and the Compound, whilst Sam's loyalty had always been with her ideals and the people she cared about. Her Warrior status just happened to be a result of good aim and a talent with weaponry.

What was she looking for? She had no idea

The realization that she had no answer for the ghost before her utterly derailed her. Much of her life had been spent at the crossroads of her decisions, but she felt the second stupidest decision she had ever made was when she placed the gun into a holster she had for it at her waist, sheathing her weapon completely.

She couldn't believe she was still alive.

Phantom must have deduced her mindset through the backdrop of her emotions. Stepping away from her, it settled into a demeanor that was much less menacing. It again ran its free hand through its snowy locks, cocking its head to the side as it studied her. A pregnant silence filled the air between them.

Uncomfortable under Phantom's gaze, Sam began to absentmindedly rub the wrist where the ghost had grabbed her, surprised by how sore it was.

"I apologize for that," Phantom said, nodding its head in the direction of her hands. "You caught me by surprise earlier. I didn't mean to harm you."

Again she was brought up short. A ghost was apologizing for hurting her? She hoped the incredulity didn't surface to her face, though she was sure Phantom could sense it. She opted to redirect the conversation instead. "Why are you here?" she asked with slight distrust. Her eyes flickered over to the ectoplasmic energy that was undulating in a sphere over the ghost's hand, currently the only source of light aside from the faint green glow of the moon above them.

"The same reason you are," he—it—replied calmly.

"You've been watching me," she deadpanned. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Phantom said after a pause, verifying her suspicions.

"Why?"

He sighed. "I haven't been watching you exactly, merely cataloguing the goings of my territory. Your actions have always been intriguing, especially in regards to your reputation."

She nodded as if what he had said had made sense, though her mind was reeling with confusion. "Why is Amity Park your territory?" she asked, hoping to gather as much information as he was willing to divulge.

"Why not?"

Sam gnashed her teeth, annoyed. She found herself extremely exasperated by the ghost's infuriating smirk, but as she caught herself from snapping out a snide retort, another thought occurred to her. "Why are you so different from other ghosts?" And it was a question asked in complete honesty. Any other ghost would have killed her by now, but Phantom refrained. It hadn't even touched her since releasing her from its initial hold after she rendered it out of hiding.

At this, Phantom smiled. "What makes you think that what you know about ghosts is all there is to know?" The challenge was evident in his tone, a single white eyebrow arched as he looked at her sideways, obviously enjoying his stance in their conversation. He shifted the orb of light to his other hand in a flash, spinning it so it shimmered in the leeching darkness.

Fed up with his evasion of her questions, Sam crossed her arms over her chest and unleashed a vicious glare. She couldn't help but shiver as the frigid wind licked through her clothes and settled into her bones. Finally, she asked, "What do you want with me?"

Phantom suddenly frowned. "Want with you?" he repeated, obviously affronted. "I had no intention of even revealing myself to you. If I wanted you dead, I assure you I had many opportunities to do so in the past. The only reason I am here before you now is because you"—he pointed at her accusingly—"made it happen. And I must say, Madeline Fenton has really outdone herself with this new invention." He was once again eyeing the goggles at her neck, shaking his head with a light chuckle.

It truly bothered Sam that the names of people she knew and cared about rolled so easily off the ghost's tongue. The fact that he knew names of Residence members at all bothered her, but then again, it had never been kept secret. She resisted the urge to reach into her holster and blast this ghost into oblivion, even despite the fact that her first attempt had ended in failure. Her fingers were twitching.

"What are you going to do now?" She tried her best to glare at him, pushing as much malice into her voice as she could, but a pathetic bout of shivers was racing through her body in response to the chilly air, and effectively ruining what was left of her dignity.

Phantom rolled his eyes. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to disappear, and you are going to go back to your home." He looked her up and down, shaking his head as if she was the saddest sight he ever saw. "You're freezing."

Sam found his concern more than a little disturbing. "I can take care of myself," she snapped. But then it dawned on her. He was letting her go? She must have heard him wrong.

Amusement was dancing in the neon of Phantom's eyes, his former smirk now the slightest of smiles. The dangerous ghost maintained a steady distance between them, but he continued with his infuriating evaluation of her as her looked her up and down. He then cocked his head to the side, eyes once again meeting hers as his expression became openly curious.

Sam glared with all the furiousness she could muster whilst she continued to shiver uncontrollably. Her heart was pounding and she crossed her arms firmly across her chest. Somehow knowing that she might come to regret the question later, Sam couldn't help but ask, "Why haven't you killed me yet?"

Without missing a beat, Phantom said, "Eh, killing pretty girls really isn't my thing."

What?

The expression that flitted across Sam's face in a moment of horror must have been amusing because Phantom was laughing again, deeply. Once he sobered his expression had darkened mischievously, green eyes dancing in mirth. He approached her, closing the distance between them in three long strides. It had happened so fast that she didn't have time to back away. Towering over her, Phantom leaned in and whispered, "Goodnight, Sammy."

And then everything went dark.

Three things struck Sam in the moment that the green, flickering light of the ghost's energy disappeared.

Number one: she was still alive.

Number two: she was alone.

Number three: Phantom had let her live.

Thanks, everyone, for your continued support! I really appreciate it!

-Roar