Phantomverse Stories

Sam Phantom (Part 1)

This takes place in what has been dubbed the "Reverse Trio's" universe, in which Sam is the titular hero, Tucker is a techno goth, and Danny is an astronomy nerd. Happy Reading!

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Wiping sweat from my forehead, I gritted my teeth as I grappled in the arm-wrestling challenge of my life with a poor imitation of a tough saloon dweller, who was also sweating profusely.

"You ain't jest about ter be welcome 'round here, matey," growled the pale glowing cowboy, who looked like he was straight out of an old western with his discolored appearance. His eyes widened, and he coughed, his tough western accented voice briefly being replaced by the sniveling voice of a nerd.

"I-I mean, 'pardner.'" He corrected himself, but it was too late. Taking advantage of his momentary weakness, I heaved with all my might with my right arm and slammed his to the table. All the onlookers surrounding us in the saloon counted down from ten, with his arm shaking beneath mine in vain to regain its height. Upon reaching one, all the cowpoke whooped and tossed their half-gallon hats into the air. Scowling, the cowboy phased through my arm and hovered above the table, then snapped his fingers.

The entire saloon faded away, leaving behind our true surroundings: a grimy dark alley in the middle of the town of Amity Park, the "safest place to live" or whatever they say around here. Yeah, right. Ghosts like this "feller" prove them wrong, and he isn't even one of the most dangerous ghosts around here.

With the disappearance of the saloon, bar, and cowpoke, the cowboy's adornments- half-gallon hats, bandana, checkered shirt, and bushy mustache- also vanished, leaving behind a nerdy looking schoolboy with glasses, pimples, and a bow tie, with a haircut that not even your mother could love. Meet Sidney Poindexter: resident ghost-nerd of all the oldie-but-goldies: Gangsta, Pirate, political dramas, action-adventure- you name it, he knows it. Today was clearly an imitation of an old western.

I returned Poindexter's scowl with a nasty grin. "I guess you could say this ain't my first rodeo." I couldn't resist throwing that little pun in. While I don't really go for the awful quips and puns, this one probably wouldn't hurt. "Show's over. It's rally tomorrow." Opening the ghost thermos, Sidney wails as he's sucked into the blue vortex.

I couldn't help but grin wider as I thought about tomorrow. One perk of moving to the city: variety of beliefs and ideals. It's a plethora of environmentalists, animal rights activists, Pride activists, obscure religions- and I'm happy to say I'm active in all of the above. Tomorrow and the entire weekend happens to be an environmental rally, and the first one I can actually go to without driving over two hours and my parents complaining the whole time about driving me there. I would've asked my grandmother to drive me back then, but she's over eighty and hasn't driven in years.Though now that I had these powers, things may have just gotten a little easier...

Yeah. Powers. The last thing anyone would have expected would be for spunky little Sammy Manson to get powers. Especially ghost powers. She may be mouthy, and a wild activist and rebel, but she wouldn't be the one who gets zapped by her parents' ghost portal to become what most ghosts have dubbed a "halfa:" half ghost, half human, with all the bells and whistles that come with both.

But here I am. I didn't even get a chance to tell anyone I'm close to about it; we moved away so soon after the accident. I think my parents didn't want Child Services to hunt them down after sending their daughter to the hospital for a week. But that's their problem. I'll probably never see Olivia, Mel, Austin, Jake, or Bet ever again. Or Owen. He's the one I wanted to tell the most, but he's the only one who hasn't called or texted me since the move. My friends say to give him time, but don't think time is going to heal what went down between us.

I glanced down at my jumpsuit, which was minty green and white. Before the accident, it was a deep shade of purple and black; my parents had been experimenting with different color schemes. The portal seemed to have a somewhat polarizing effect on the colors. I knew I needed to get home and change back in case my parents happen to notice their daughter is missing. They usually don't, as they're so engrossed in ghost-hunting endeavors, but just my luck if they decided to check on me. I may seem like a troubled child if my parents don't seem to care for me that much, but that's why I had the support system of my friends back home.

Now that they're gone though, it's been rough. No one really cared quite as much about cliques back home in rural Ohio, but here in this almost-city it's a nightmare. At the lunch tables by the window, soaking up all the sunlight, are the cheerleaders and football players, though in the winter and spring sports change but the people don't. Then we have band kids, nerds, that group of girls whose moms have been setting up playdates and spa days and movie nights and pictures by hired photographers and group shopping trips since kindergarten, theater kids (who usually mingle with band kids), skater kids- the list goes on and on.

Then there's me. I could sit with any of these groups, and some I'm sure probably wouldn't mind too much if I sat with them. But I still feel separate: like I could never truly fit in with them. I don't have that dramatic flair, or that much money to spend on parties or clothes, and I can't play anything except "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" on the piano. So I've been a little isolated in school. Currently my lunch placement is at the edge of thespian land, I've talked to a few skater/heavy metal band t-shirt kids in some of the classes we collectively hate (Ancient World History we're looking at you), but other than that I've had no luck socially.

But I keep telling myself I'll be fine: I don't need anyone. I've struck out on my own before; it isn't too hard. But sometimes I keep wondering how long I'll last like this.