phantombur still has a lot of bird tendencies from before he died, a big one being preening. he has no wings to preen now, and neither does ghostbur, so his "preening" is nuzzling through ghostbur's hair with his nose to "straighten it out".
It had only been about two weeks, but man life was great.
Being physical again was great.
He liked to trail her hands along whatever it was he was passing by-- a store front, windows, poles, even the benches in the park. His favorite feel was rock. Smooth, hard, jagged-- stone was the weapon of power. Solidity. It was so prominent and physical. Easy to bash a head against.
He wanted to remember what blood on his hands felt like.
But it was still a little too soon for that. Even in a place like Ashkent Creek. Rebecca Rothbard was almost too popular and he couldn’t just go around killing people with her bare hands. He needed to be more subtle than that.
Besides, he wanted to tear her life apart first. He wanted to make sure that even if, somehow, she managed to come back, there would be nothing but shambles to come back to. She’d already started him off great by abandoning her friends with no word.
Today, he decided, he wanted to feel the grass beneath his toes. It was only forty degrees outside, but the cold never bothered him anyway.
With no one else wandering around the park, not even another spirit, an eerie silence had fallen over the place. To him, it was calming, but he could hear Rebecca growing more anxious inside his mind. Something was off. He might have been a ghost, but she could sense them and something was off.
He stopped, pausing in his stride as he noticed a swirl of blackness start to form on the grass a few feet away from him. Rebecca wouldn’t stop nudging him to get out of there, but he found the idea of fear useless. He was already dead, after all. If this body died-- which would be unfortunate-- he’d still live. It’d be a pain to find another body again, though, so he took a tentative step back. The grass still felt cool between her toes and sent a child up her back, putting him on alert. He had ways to fend things off, and if it was another ghost, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t eager to try out this exorcist skills. And it wasn’t like they could actually possess her, too. His spirit was much stronger. And older. And angrier.
The mist, by the time his thoughts came back full circle, had formed into a partial figure by now. Definitely spectral. The scientology creation myth had more solidity to it than this creature.
“Oh, buddy,” he said, their voice icy and cocked, a matching smirk on her lips. “You picked the wrong fight.”
Don’t.
He made to step forward, but was stopped by the sudden command. Flicked her eyes to the side, then back at the creature, only off it for a second and-- it was right in front of her.
“Hey! What the--!” Stumbled back, swatting at it.
The salt.
“I didn’t bring any salt!” he hissed back. “I’m a ghost too.”
Not right now.
He rolled his eyes, but in their distraction, the creature had encroached again. He froze, staring straight into its hollow, white eyes. Glowing, glowing. Rebecca’s own reflected in the orbs, tainted red with his anger.
“Don’t even--” he started, but the creature then reached out and-- tapped him on the chest. He sprung back, as if expecting something more to happen. Perhaps pain. Perhaps his own soul to be ripped from this body-- but nothing else happened.
The creature just disappeared.
He was left alone again, and just like that, the breeze started up again, trees creaked quietly with empty branches and dead leaves rustled the ground.
He looked around. Had he just hallucinated?
That was weird.
Amnon scoffed, leaned down to pick up her shoes, and popped her neck as he headed off.
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