Phantom by Retifer M. (debian ebook reader .txt) đ
- Author: Retifer M.
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Before Iâve gotten the chance to pass out or just enjoy not moving, I feel my stomach bounce into my throat again and I wheeze before twisting my arms under my chest so I puke anywhere but on myself. It probably doesnât even matter at this point, though.
Offhandedly, I wonder if ectoplasm is like bleach, in the sense that I shouldnât throw it up âcause it already did enough damage on the way down, you know? With how my luck is today, thatâs exactly how it works.
ââŠny? Danny, oh shit, oh my god youâre-â I barely catch whoever it is sob. Their voice is almost entirely overshadowed by my own breathing and what sounds like running tap water full blast. âDannyâŠ? Ca⊠can you hear me?â
It takes a moment for me to process that. I nod, stopping myself from wiping off my mouth and rubbing more ectoplasm onto my face. Itâd be useless anyway; I gasp in a quick breath before I vomit again. My jaw is really starting to hurt.
âThatâs you, right? Youâre- you canât be- oh my god.â Itâs Sam, I decide.
They swore. Despite the dirty jokes and, well, everything, Tucker never actually swears. Itâs Sam who does it, though itâs more to rebel against her overbearing parents than anything. Her voice sounds as weird as they look right now, like sheâs talking to me with a can on a string. I have to do a double take to make sure sheâs still in the same room as me and not just yelling down from the kitchen.
Iâm overwhelmed by that feeling again, like a cold, fluttering fire in my chest and a detached sort of fear, like watching a horror movie. Itâs making the hairs that arenât plastered down onto my skin rise, giving me anxiety. Then, oddly, it just clicks.
It is fear, just not⊠mine.
âI just- I didnât mean- I swear I-â Sam stumbles with her words, but her talking is lifting the fog from my brain. I canât tell if thatâs good or bad, because now the numb is turning to pins and needles, and the static is turning to burning. The nerves in my right leg are still pleasantly nonexistent though. âI didnât notice it, I swear-â
I stare down at the floor, blinking at the radioactive-looking vomit, Samâs voice becoming garbled noise again behind the roaring in my ears. I wish I could hear her because that secondhand fear on top of the pain is making my vision go dark around the edges and I could really use something else to focus on.
I throw up again. A small part in the back of my mind cringes hard and reminds me that Iâm the one whoâs gonna have to clean that up; cleaning the lab is my chore after all.
I cough, noticing that behind the nausea-inducing ectoplasm, I can taste iron. I blink more ectoplasm out of my eyes, feeling the chill liquid drip down my cheeks, and try to focus my eyes on the ground in front of me. It doesnât work and all I can manage to see is green.
Closing my eyes, I focus on breathing again and calming myself down. Donât think about the taste, donât think about the pain or the almost tangible fear in the atmosphere or anything. Just calming breaths.
I inhale, then exhale. My mouth dries up so I try to slow it down. It feels awkward, like my lungs donât know what theyâre supposed to do anymore, but I keep bringing in air.
As I concentrate on my breathing, I donât notice Tucker come back, not until a towel drapes over my head. I hadnât even realized he had left, but now that heâs back I notice that the feeling of fear in the air had been less for the last minute. Now it feels doubled; I feel like I could suffocate in it.
Unfolding my hands, palms stinging and joints stiff, I reach up to grab it. I pull my eyelids open when itâs no longer there, but on the ground under me. I take it with a shaky, green stained hand and just⊠touch it to my face. I would groan, but I barely have the energy to wipe my face down, so I settle for a huff and lean into my hand, dragging the towel across my eyelids.
After rubbing it over the general area of my eyes a couple of times, I let the towel drop to the floor with my hand and stare at Tuckerâs now slightly clearer feet, my eyes half lidded.
I feel like Iâm gonna pass out, but Iâm too sick to my stomach. So I just sit, my legs kind of tucked underneath me in a sort of awkward but comfortable way, with one hand in my lap and the other twisted in the towel on the floor in front of me. No one says anything, probably because of the huge Oh Shit moment we all just witnessed firsthand.
ââŠDanny?â Tucker? Itâs definitely Tucker who says it. It came from in front of me, so yeah, Tuck. The roar in my ears has turned to a crackling noise, like eating Poprocks and soda at the same time. Itâs obnoxiously loud.
I canât pull up enough energy to speak, so I give a small nod. I donât even think they notice.
ââŠyouâre-â He starts but breaks off.
Thereâs a thickness in the air; hesitation from all three of us, apprehension from the two of them. I try to look up but my head swims so I continue to stare at Tuckerâs shoes.
âYouâŠâ He stutters, then blurts out, âThis is crazy oh my god- we just killed- y-youâre a ghost.â
I can almost feel the ââŠ?â above my head, in a little cartoony speech bubble.
That is utterly ridiculous. After dragging myself out of that portal, I know Iâm not dead. If I had just died, I would not feel like someone short-circuited my brain and tried to drown me in refrigerated Ooze Toobz. Plus, if I was dead, Iâd either be pleasantly nonexistent or⊠I donât know, doing whatever ghosts do. Haunting. Spooking?
I wouldnât have thrown up that much, thatâs for sure. Do ghosts even have insides? Maybe when you die you like, puke them all up.
I laugh morbidly- or try; I canât do much of anything right now. It comes out as a particularly rough breath instead of anything near a laugh, and I think they take that as me about to throw up again âcause Tucker scoots back bit. Iâm still breathing; dead people donât do that. They donât hurt this much.
Definitely⊠probably not dead.
âWhaah-?â I manage to say on an exhale.
âDudeâŠâ
âTucker.â
âSorry.â
I donât have time to decipher whatever theyâre saying to each other before my stomach launches itself into my throat; I hunch over and am once again spewing my guts.
âOh jeez. You okay?â
âHeâs-â Samâs voice hitches. âLook at him, Tucker, I donât think heâs okay.â
âItâs a standard question Sam. I know heâs not okay!â
I shake my head but I donât think they notice because I hardly did and I was the one who did it. I steel myself, take a deep breath, and cough out some words, finally.
âNot⊠okayâŠâ
The bickering instantly stops and after a second I feel a towel on me again, but this time whoever it is does the work. They scrub my hair and work down from there and I let them, because thereâs no way in hell Iâm sitting here covered head to toe in ectoplasm and refusing help. That and I donât really have a choice.
Also it kinda feels nice.
I feel their hands shake against me through the towel as they clean off the ectoplasm, hear their unsteady breathing close to me.
I force my eyes open- I didnât even realize I closed them again- and see Tucker crouched in front of me, lip worked between his teeth, furiously scrubbing against the neck of my hazmat, Iâm guessing so he can take the thing off me. He looks like he might start crying or hyperventilating at any second.
âDanny?â He stops and leans in to look me in the eye deliberately, like he has to really think about it. Or maybe itâs just me; anything past Tucker is a mess of colour and oddly shaped shadows.
I furrow my brow at the glare on his glasses and then I canât see him because I go cross-eyed. Breathing suddenly doesnât seem that important as the cold burning in my chest turns to real burning, suddenly spreading like wildfire to every inch of my body.
Tucker lets out a choked jumble of incoherent noises and grabs me as the room turns sideways. My ears pop and my eyes slide closed for a moment, dots of light dancing across the back of my eyelids. Thereâs a scuffle near my head, a few words that I canât understand.
I blink. Tuck is several feet away, tentatively moving closer. My cheek, slimy and sticky, is pressed against the cold basement floor, soothing compared to the sudden blazing heat.
Tucker reaches out, fingers hovering over me, a look of⊠relief on his face? My breath rasps in my throat and I take my arm out from its scrunched position under me to push myself back, only succeeding on half propping myself up on an elbow.
Tuck reaches out but backs up again when I whine. I push myself back up onto my hands and dip my head, almost retching on my arms. I want to ask why heâd be happy all of a sudden, but canât so I focus on trying to stop being sick.
âWhat was that?â Itâs Sam, I can tell because that is her voice, in the same room instead of a million miles away behind a wall of white noise.
âI-I donât know.â
I cough to the side until the remaining grossness is out of my throat as Tucker continues taking a stab at getting my hazmat off. Towel over his hand so as not to touch any ectoplasm, he scrubs at the zipper.
This time the zipper gives and it slides off of me easily. I feel someone hook their arms under mine, lift me to the side- though the proper word would be drag- and lay me on my back on the cool floor away from the mess of ectoplasm and vomit.
It feels good, the cold settling my stomach down momentarily. They continue scrubbing my head with a towel, and I let myself tune in to whatever theyâre saying.
âI donât know!â
âHow is he still alive!?â
âStop asking!â
âIâm just kind of freaking out here, okay!?â
âFreak out quieter then!â
âI canât! My best friend just fell into a death trap and was a ghost for a minute!â That is definitely Tucker. âSo-or-ry if I canât exactly keep calm!â
âHeâs my friend too, you know! And he wasnât a ghost- it mustâve just been some side effect or somethingâŠâ A sigh. âLook, just help me out over here, okay? We need to get this off his leg somehow.â
âFine, okay⊠fineâŠâ Thereâs a small pause before Tucker asks, voice dripping with anxiety, âAre you sure this is what weâre supposed to do?â
âNot really, but I donât think we should just leave it either.â
âIt⊠itâs stuck to his pants though.â
âI know.â
âItâs burned.â
âI know.â
Tuck whimpers. âThis is why I hate hospitals.â
âYou hate hospitals for a billion reasons, Tucker.â She doesnât put as much into her tone as she usually wouldâve, only sounding kind of defeated and scared.
Whoever is massaging my head is an angel sent straight from the heavens. I let my eyes drift up and spot Sam over me. At the look on her face I
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