Summary: The Christmas season seems to start earlier every year...
Warnings: Minor injury
Words: 890
Story continues after the break. Enjoy, and thanks for reading!
Give me a break.
Danny was annoyed.
Scratch that.
Danny would be annoyed if he had encountered the red and white horror in the usual fashion, mocking him from a tolerable distance in the Henderson’s front yard like it did every year, beginning promptly at midnight on the morning of November 1.
But no. This time, Danny was much closer to the infantile inflatable.
So close that all Danny could see was red, his limbs tangled in the cheap canvas and the musty smell of underground spaces and mothballs filling his nose. A distant, wry corner of the ghost boy’s brain couldn’t help but appreciate the universe’s special brand of humor it reserved specifically for him. He would be flattered at the special treatment if it brought anything other than pain and humiliation.
Take this situation, for instance.
Both elements came into play, the blood (ectoplasm?) rushing uselessly to color his face and ears at the mad cackling coming from the Box Ghost, of all spooks, as he promptly slammed into a telephone pole.
And there’s the pain.
His forehead took the brunt of the force, the shock of the impact stopping time for a moment, only to resume with the sharp throb of pain indicating the formation of one heck of a goose egg.
“Danny!” called Sam in exasperation, Tucker howling with laughter somewhere off to the side, “Just phase through it!”
Danny did so, and with a sudden wave of vindictive fury, turned around and set the vile lawn ornament ablaze with an ectoblast from his palm, the Box Ghost slipping away silently in a rare and uncanny display of situational awareness.
Catharsis at the destruction faded quickly, to be replaced by the all-too-familiar stab of guilt, so Danny quickly smothered the blaze with a dome-shaped ectoshield. As the oxygen in the space expired, so did the flames, leaving the acrid, blackened remains on the concrete.
Tucker was wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.
“Dude,” he crowed, “you totally set a new record for securing your spot on the naughty list!” Danny was struck with a sudden fantasy of Tucker running around in circles, furiously swatting at flames engulfing his signature beanie.
Sam snorted.
“Yeah, nice going champ,” she popped the “p,” and emphasized the nickname with a roguish punch to Danny’s shoulder. “Way to kick off the season.”
“No way!” Danny protested. “The season hasn’t even started yet. Everyone knows Thanksgiving comes first, these people are just nuts.”
But still, staring at Santa’s mangled face only deepened the familiar guilt that was quickly becoming a Pavlovian response to the destruction of property. Nuts or not, the Henderson’s had loved the hideous thing to death, and because of him, it was gone.
Just one of the many casualties of Phantom’s movements. Danny couldn’t help but wonder if his presence incited more attacks than it deterred. Life would likely progress much more smoothly for the human population if he found new territory to occupy.
Sam rolled her eyes, and pinned a crisp hundred onto what Danny thought was the hat before unceremoniously dumping the remains on the pristine “welcome” mat.
“Don’t you even start,” Sam declared, knowing full well what was going through Danny’s head, as it showed a bit too clearly on his face.
“You know full well that if you left, the town would be overrun in a matter of days. This was the most haunted spot in America before the Fentons ever moved in.”
Danny, too tired to argue, just nodded, transitioning back to his human form with a burst of light and wandering back towards home with his friends, determined to enjoy the rest of the night.
~~~~~~
Danny stared, jaw agape, in disbelieving horror at the Henderson’s yard. He would have doubted that anything had happened at all here last night, if not for the inflatable elf, complete with slime green coat and hat, that stood proudly beside the twin of the destroyed Santa inflatable as if by some sick miracle the next morning.
Unfortunately, his friends weren’t the only ones to witness his horror.
Mr. Henderson’s sweater-vested chest swelled in pride at such open admiration for his beloved lawn decorations, and sauntered up to the picket fence, morning paper in hand and sporting a grin so wide it practically split his face in half.
“Aren’t they spectacular? I had a spare for old Santa here in the basement, but someone was kind enough to compensate me for the damages. I couldn’t let such kindness go to waste, so I bought the elf and had it delivered rush. I have to make up for my tardiness to welcome the season somehow.” Henderson’s comb over waved ominously as he bobbed to brush some imaginary dirt off of the elf’s waistcoat with an indulgent smile.
Danny forced a polite smile of his own, which was really more of a grimace, and continued quickly down the sidewalk, Sam and Tucker trailing behind.
“Just let it go, dude.” Tucker advised when they managed to catch up, clasping Danny’s shoulder, his own shaking with repressed mirth.
Sam just smirked at him, knowingly.
Danny, ripped his shoulder away, sulking, as he stomped down the sidewalk, followed by his oh-so-loyal friends’ laughter.
He resolved to set fire to the ugly things as soon as possible, by complete accident, of course.
This was going to be a cute little thing with Danny investigating his newly grown fangs in the mirror. Then I asked myself, “What’s his right hand doing?” and my mind did an angst.
