Chapter Text
Mr. Darner had never liked ghosts.
Amity Park had long been known for its ghost sightings, but up until a year or so ago they had been few and far between, and Mr. Darner had liked it that way.
Children rarely came to his side of town, too afraid of the ghosts rumored to wander around the graveyard just down the street, and although Mr. Darner didn’t like the ghosts either, they at least stayed in the graveyard and the children stayed away from him. He had a nice quiet corner of the town to himself, and he liked it that way.
Then the Fentons activated a stupid portal and suddenly Amity’s ghost sightings had nearly tripled practically overnight. Rumors flew everywhere, and soon enough nobody could go more than a few days without seeing one of the spirits.
Mr. Darner hated it. All these ghosts flying around, wreaking havoc, making noise all night, capturing peoples’ interest faster than that antique store down the way they built three years ago. So much noise and for what?
Mr. Darner praised the swift actions of the GIW against these pests. They studied the ghosts’ feral nature and classified them as an invasive species. That is to say, shot on sight. For a brief period of time, the ghosts ran away scared. But Mr. Darner was still not happy, because even though the ghosts were gone, these new GIW people were shooting everyone and everything ghost related, making even more noise. All Mr. Darner wanted was some peace and quiet.
Then Phantom showed up, and Mr. Darner wasn’t the only one who hated him. The rest of the town was dubious and wary of the self-proclaimed protector of Amity Park. But he had to admit that Phantom driving away the ghosts
and
the ghost hunters did make Mr. Darner’s corner of the town a little more bearable.
Then the strange Fenton couple that started it all volunteered at the local hospital, and suddenly there was a new sect of ghost protectors.
They said that the ghosts weren’t invasive, they were actually
endangered.
Mr. Darner was dubious of them as well, wondering what they could possibly do to make this town a little more liveable that Phantom or the GIW hadn’t already done.
Turns out, they could do a lot. Abandoned places were preserved for the ghosts, and instead of exterminating them, the hospital gave them a new place to stay, protected from the harsh world of ghost hunters and humans. Sure enough, Mr. Darner’s corner got quieter, and he reluctantly started to admit that maybe getting rid of the ghosts wasn’t the best way to deal with them.
And then one day he went walking around the block, feeling relatively safe for the first time in over a year, now that most of Amity’s ghosts had settled in the abandoned places dotted around town and Phantom dealt with the rest. He walked by the graveyard and saw the usual ghosts milling around, still there even after years of hectic new changes.
And Mr. Darner walked past it like he always did, but this time something started following him. A little girl, no older than ten, her long white gown stained dark with mud and dried blood, her smile innocent but her teeth too sharp. She attached herself to him, and no matter what he did to shoo her away she kept following him.
He contemplated calling the GIW to come and remove her, but she was always quiet and far too careful with his things to break anything, so he let her stay. She wisped around his house, watching TV with an unblinking green stare from over his shoulder. She refused all the food he tried to give her with a polite shake of her head, preferring ectoplasm and ghost pests to munch on instead. It was certainly a strange diet, and the sickening crunch of a ghostly rat being crushed by her jaws made him wary of just what she might do if she ever went hungry for too long. But, somehow, they co-existed.
Mr. Darner hated to admit it, but the girl grew on him. He had never been married or had kids, his girlfriend of almost five years had died of cancer long ago and he had never found anyone since, choosing the reclusive life of an old, cranky man instead. But the ghost who worked her way into his home was almost like the child he never had. It was only when he caught himself teaching her how to spell words with the magnetic letters on the fridge that he bought just for her a week ago that he realized he didn’t actually hate ghosts at all. At least, not this ghost.
He visited the hospital, asked about the little ghost info pamphlets they liked to hand out to just about anyone they could get their hands on. He read it, asked questions about what ghosts were actually like, and adjusted himself accordingly.
He left spaces of his house empty and dusty for her. Any bugs that might have accumulated from that were quickly snatched up and eaten, so he didn’t mind. She seemed to enjoy it anyway. She liked to play with the lights sometimes too, so he kept a box full of spare bulbs just in case one broke, but she was exceptionally careful and his electricity never gave out from her playing. He appreciated it.
And he took her walking to the graveyard with him sometimes too, until one day she led him to a lonely, moss-covered headstone so far back that he had never seen it before. On it, he learned her name.
Violet Henderson
1961-1970
May She Rest In Peace
It was sad, she was born not long before himself. Beside her on either side rested both of her parents, Mary-Anne Henderson and John Henderson.
Violet was deathly still, staring at the headstones before her with an intensity to her gaze that might have unsettled him months ago but didn’t then. He walked forward and, with fingers shaky from old age, he wiped away the moss adorning their stones. Even if they didn’t have any living relatives here anymore, they still deserved to have their graves taken care of.
She seemed to settle at the motions, and she was oddly distant and listless on the way back home.
The next time they went, he brought some supplies with him. Some water and rags, an old toothbrush, the first stone polish he could find at the store. And he spent nearly two hours doing his best to clean up their stones to the best of his abilities. By the time he was done, he could read their names much clearer, and Violet gave him a bright smile with her too-sharp teeth. She had recently caught another rat, and ectoplasmic blood was still dripping down her chin. It made her look scary, but Mr. Darner didn’t mind. That was just how Violet was. She was a ghost after all, and he was loathe to try and change anything about her. After everything she’d been through, she deserved to live her afterlife the way she wanted to live it.
Every visit after that, he brought flowers. Mr. Darner used to hate flowers, always getting pollen everywhere, and far too bright and colorful for his eyes. But Violet had somehow managed to convince him that daisies were alright, and he made a point to bring daisies to her and her parents’ graves ever since.
Life moved on. Mr. Darner stayed on his little corner, with a new addition to his house that his neighbors talked about in hushed tones and terrified glances. Mr. Darner found his peace and quiet again, and realized that ghosts weren’t nearly as bad as everyone made them out to be. Violet was content with chasing the little ghost pests away for him, and munching on their tiny bodies when she got the chance. She made a home for herself in the attic, and liked to grow daisies in the yard.
They went to visit the graveyard every week, and Violet’s headstone sparkled in the sunlight. Wild daisies grew in the grass, and she flashed him her too-sharp smile.
Amity Park was always known for its ghosts, but rarely did anyone ever put the effort into knowing them. Mr. Darner figured that if more people met ghosts like Violet, maybe they wouldn’t be so quick to judge.
Life, and afterlife, moved on.