Your Biggest Fan

I’m not exactly sure how to begin this. I guess I’ll start with me.

I was in my bedroom. It was late in the evening. I can’t exactly remember what I was doing, but it could be anything from sleeping to reading to just sitting and thinking. But I know that’s where I was when it happened.

I don’t live alone. I have friends who come over a lot, I’ve had several pets over the years, (when this happened, I had a cat who disappeared and reappeared at random, and every once in a while I’d get a visit from, weirdly, a black raven who would fly in through an open window.) and then there was, of course, her. She-Who-Will-Remain-Nameless only showed up at night, when I went to sleep, at which point she would curl up next to me and pretend to sleep. You’d call her a girlfriend, but really she isn’t, whether she loves me or vice versa. If all that I just said makes me a freak, or at least an eccentric weirdo, you don’t know the half of it. But my point is, I wouldn’t be all that surprised if, say, I heard my front door open. Which I did.

I went to the bedroom door, opened it enough that I could stick my head out. “Hey.” I said loudly into the hallway. No answer. I repeat myself, still nothing. I start to think I imagined it. I mean, there were no footsteps, no other sounds to indicate that someone was there. And if it wasn’t a someone that had footsteps, well hey, I knew they weren’t going to hurt me. Just accept that as a fact, and don’t ask questions.

Anyway, I closed the door and turned around- only to hear a tap tap tap on the other side of the door I had just closed. Slowly, I turned around again, and reached for the door handle. “Is this a prank?” I demanded, hand on the [removed], “Because it isn’t funny.” There was no way someone could have moved from the corner to the door that fast. Absolutely no way.

Finally, I opened the door as slowly as possible, the only noise being my breathing and it’s soft creaking. And there she was.

It was not the she who came at night, though in the dark she could have passed for her. They both wore variations of the trademark flowing white dress/nightgown, and looked pretty close in age. Both had long, dark hair that wasn’t straight, and, well hey, they were both obviously white. Maybe it was the similarity that got to me. Or maybe it was just the way she looked at me. Just a few feet away, standing perfectly still, looking right at me. But not evilly, like in the horror movies. No, there was no malicious grin or soulless black eyes on this ghost. She looked at me like a curious child does at a zoo for the first time, seeing something they had only read about in person. It was so obvious, it could have been comical: the wide eyes, mouth slightly agape, head tilted to the side. She was fascinated with me.

“H-hello.” I stammered after a long period of silence. She said nothing. Just stared. “Are you okay?” No response. I stood there, having no idea what I should do. “Who are you?” Nothing. I stopped trying to talk to her.

Instead, I walked towards her. Reached out and touched her shoulder. Yes, she was real. Felt her wrist for a pulse. No, she was not alive. While I was closer, her mouth closed and head righted itself without my noticing her move. But she still stared at me with wide blue eyes. That was another similar difference between her and this girl; Her eyes were blue gray, and this one’s were sky blue.

I waved a hand in front of her face. Her eyes remained focused on my face, and she didn’t blink when I did it fast. I walked past her and down to the corner, figuring if I ignored her she would go away.

I stopped dead when I heard the noise. I didn’t have to see her to know what had happened, but I looked back anyway. Her head had turned around completely to face me. It even made the neck-breaking noise they have in movies.

And she was still staring.

I glared at her. She didn’t react. The fascinated stare became a glowering arrogance in my mind. I started to get mad. There was a bookshelf around the corner, within arms reach. I pulled a book from it- a heavy dictionary- and threw it at her as hard as I could. It missed. I got madder and grabbed another book. It was, ironically, I collection of Edgar Allen Poe’s works. Big, hardback book, at least an inch thick. I got closer and threw it down on her. It passed through her, but she flinched like she was expecting it to hurt.

I grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her body around. Slapped her across the face. Insulted her. Screamed and yelled. Finally I tackled her and started to really hurt her. Punching and kicking and letting loose a whole string of profanity. And I’m not the kind of person who swears. She didn’t bleed, she didn’t bruise, or even make a noise.

But she did cry.

I stopped. Tears were pouring down her cheeks, but not from pain. The awestruck look was still there, but with the tears, it suddenly had new meaning. Now she was looking at me like I was such a wonderful thing that it was worth crying over. Because I was trying to hurt her.

It was sickening.

I crawled backwards, around the corner, where she couldn’t see me. But I felt her stare through the walls. I hid my head and started to cry. I just wanted her to leave me alone.

I sat there for what felt like hours. I could still feel her eyes on me. Finally I stood up and walked back around, ready to finish this once and for all. She was standing again, facing me. Her tears were dried up now. I took a deep breath. I must have looked horrible, with my hair all messy and my eyes red (and probably my nose, since that turns red too) from crying. “Leave now and never come back.” I said. Nothing. “Leave now or I will force you.” Still nothing.

“Leave now and let the other come.”

There was no blinding flash of light, rush of wind, or any such theatrical display. She simply vanished. I breathed a sigh of relief and went back into my room, practically falling into bed.

Somewhere, a clock struck midnight, and someone crawled in next to me.  Cold lips kissed my forehead, like they had when I was a child, and an icy hand grasped mine.

The world was quiet again.

A/N: And that is a day in the life of the Fernchise’s most marketable character. :D

Maestro: The what?

Me: I made it up two seconds ago so I could semi-quote the Nostalgia Critic.

Maestro: … and how am I the most marketable character?

Me: What makes you think this is about you?

Maestro: points

Anesha: Hi, I’m dead now. waves

Maestro: That, and I’m the only person I know whose nose turns red when they cry.

Me: And you blush like a Japanese cartoon character…

Maestro: dry stare

Me: ^^’ runs away