Ghost - Phan (#Wattys2016)

Chapter 2 - Rest in Peace, Dan

Dan's POV

*Present...*

I woke up on my bed, fully clothed and the sheets well made beneath me. I rubbed my head. I felt sore and hungover. I couldn't remember anything. Was I drinking last night? I moaned uncomfortably.

I stood up, my body feeling very light and airy, almost like it was a dream. I walked tiredly out to the lounge, where Phil was sat on the sofa, biting his nails anxiously and reading something intently on his laptop.

"Phil?" I groaned, but my headache and hangover feeling was quickly drifting away.

He didn't look at me.

"Phil? What happened last night?"

Still no answer. Had I done something wrong? Phil's intent stare at the screen bothered me. He looked red in the face. I noticed his hair was unbrushed. There was a bottle of some type of alcohol gripped tightly in one hand.

"Are you okay, Phil?"

Just then, Phil burst into tears. He turned a deeper, angry red and his throat made an inhumane sound of sadness and anger. His arm holding the bottle cocked back and threw it across the room, nearly hitting me as I flinched back, and smashing against the wall.

"Whoa! What the hell, man?! What did I do?"

Phil didn't look at me or act like he heard me, as if I didn't exist. He threw the laptop off of him onto the floor, and he ran for the bathroom and slammed the door, where I could hear him cry painful and deep sobs.

I followed him, banging on the door in hopes he'd speak to me. "Phil? Phil, come out! What did I do? What happened?! Talk to me!"

He still cried, ignoring me.

I walked back to the lounge, looking at the smashed glass that scattered the floor. There was no drink within the bottle – he drank the whole thing himself. I picked up his laptop to see what he was looking at. It was a Tumblr tag:

"rest in peace dan we love you"

What? Rest in peace? Me? I'm not dead. What does this mean?

I attempted to scroll through the tag, but I couldn't. I dragged my fingers over the mouse pad, but it acted like I wasn't there. I looked at my hand. It wasn't skin-coloured at all. It was white. Pale white, and almost like smoke or steam.

I attempted to type on the laptop, but I couldn't. My hands made no impact. I slowly stood up and walked back to the bathroom door and banged again. It made no sound. No sound?

I felt my pockets. I only had my phone, house keys and a pen. Why a pen?

I wasn't dead. I couldn't be dead. I was right there, living, breathing... almost. I felt like air. I was in a dream.

But Phil was in the bathroom, crying harder than I'd ever heard before. I heard him scream. No words, just a loud, deep scream of pain. Then I heard him coughing, and then he threw up. I could hear him go back to crying. Then he screamed again, this time a word:

"Dan!" he called out, angst and disbelief covering what his voice normally sounded like. It was followed by another word, held out for just as long as my name. "Why?"

"Oh my God," I said to myself. "I'm dead."