Phantom

Impact

With a yelp, The Little Brat staggers to the railing, barely noticing how sore he is from sleeping on lawn furniture. He grasps the cold metal and leans out, green eyes wide. The wind tugs his chestnut curls away from his face, but the only thing out of place is the row of bushes directly beneath him. He takes a second to ponder whether or not the lack of corpse upsets him before making his way down to the kitchen. 

The state-of-the-art kitchen, that is unfortunately barely used, deteriorated a mess by the time The Little Brat gets there. The new maid had dissolved into a blubbering wreck, stuttering "Fantasma...Fantasma!" again and again, while Maria attempted to console her. Shattered glass lays scattered across the floor, mixing with what he assumes was his dinner. 

The teenager hops awkwardly through the glass and pasta concoction, towards the coffee pot. he pulls a tumbler from a cabinet and calls, "Marie?"

"Yes, Signorino?"

"Hey, can you ask her what the 'fantasma looked like?" He asks pouring himself a healthy dose of pitch black caffeine. 

Marie gives him a disapproving look, she found his coffee etiquette deplorable, but she turns and converses with her coworker. While she is busy, he adds sugar and milk to his steaming cup, which would have earned him a long lecture in tradition had she seen. 

"She says that the ghost was as white as a sheet," Marie says, a slight tremor in her voice. "It had pale eyes in dark, sunken sockets. Cloaked in black."

The teenager raises an eyebrow, "Is that all?"

"She says..." Marie made the sign of the cross "It had a demon smile."

"Where did it go?"

Marie relays his question, then replies: "She said it vanished as soon as it arrived."

"Uh-huh, thanks." He doesn't feel like explaining that his bodyguard is a freak, so he entrusts the new maid to Marie and goes out into the garden.

Summer had drained the life out of the flora and fauna, and the colors had begun to fade out of the flower beds shortly after his arrival. He finds the spot were Cheshire landed, and follows the faint trail, sipping sporadically from his tumbler. Following the little twigs and imprints in the grass makes him feel like a detective, and he begins to think that he could have kept up with some of his favorite fictional characters, when he completely loses the trail. 

Fortunately for him, Cheshire is not subtle. 

Unfortunately for everyone besides Cheshire, he had found a can of red paint-and was "improving the statues".