The Phantom of Scranton Hill

17

Justine spent that night at the hospital, her quick and debatable thoughts driving her crazy. Supposedly, she miraculously escaped. Well, that's what she told them. She was questioned, of course, and she told them everything. And everything in her book was a complete and utter lie. The only truth in her statement was that her name was Justine. And at this point, she wasn't a hundred percent sure that was correct either.

After about four x-rays, seven different blood tests, and around six million 'so, really, what happened?'s later, Justine was clothed in a white hospital gown and forced on bed rest. Her mother was ecstatic, ecstatic meaning absolutely enraged that Justine was stupid enough to run back in. This was along the lines of how the conversation, or rather the furious lecture, went.

"I can't believe you would go back inside!" her mother ranted, her hands not staying in one place for more than a second. Having jazz hands was an understatement. "If you dropped your backpack-"

"It was a picture frame," Justine muttered, her head hung in shame as her mother expressed her disappointment.

"Whatever!" she shouted, earning glances from the passersby. Let's just say it didn't look too motherly when she was yelling at her hospitalized daughter. Still, she was just tremendously worried about her safety. "If you dropped your whatever off a cliff, would you jump down and grab it?"

Justine knew it was a rhetorical question, but she had to answer. Her brain wouldn't let her keep her mouth shut. "How high is the cliff?"

So that's why Justine's mother went to her grandmother's house and hadn't called or talked to her since. And Justine was just sitting there, bored out of her mind with a big, fat, nasty blue and green bruise smack in the middle of her forehead and a gash across the back. Luckily, her hair covered that one and it wasn't deep enough to require stitches. Amazingly, according to the doctors and nurses, there was nothing worse than that.

But something more eventful wasn't to occur until the sun went down.

As she tried to fall asleep on the ridiculously uncomfortable mattress of the hospital bed, a crisp draft swept through the room, turning into a chill. The temperature in the room dropped.

She imaged a little red ball of mercury sitting in a chair across from her holding a newspaper with glasses, like that round little green candy guy from Wreck It Ralph. Then as soon as the mysterious entity entered, he scurried away like Shaggy and Scooby in a haunted house.

Nonetheless, a part of her knew it was him. She could feel his presence like she had many times before, though was oblivious at the time. And she craved answers.

The coolest area was to her left, so like any human being would, she turned her head in that direction, instantly meeting his glowing dark eyes. A raw, icy breeze bit down her spine and she shivered.

He cautiously stepped away from her, his eyes full of concern. "You're cold," he whispered, slightly embarrassed.

"I'm fine," Justine replied sternly, trying her best not to show the mix of emotions that were currently thriving inside of her, feeding on her confusion and compassion.

Still, he took another step back, hitting the wall accidentally with the back of his head. In reflex, his hand jet to comfort his now throbbing head, pain flashing across his face.

"You're dead," she simply stated, expressionless.

He looked at her, but what she saw on his face, in his eyes, was something she had never seen before. He was in pain, horrendous emotional pain. His eyes held regret and despair, heartache and anguish. Justine couldn't help but feel somewhat, or entirely, responsible for it. But she continued anyway. She had so many questions that desired answers, and she wasn't going to leave him alone until she got them.