Sweet Revenge

Puzzled, I had taken the brown box with an assumedly addressed label on it, retreating into the house. Scrunching my brows, I frowned at it. This isn’t for me. I didn’t order anything. I thought hard about the person who had ordered and then widened my eyes. Natasha—                                             

And here I was, in a weird, mysteriously odd house as ghostly and ghastly as Halloween night itself with a full moon beaming unhappily down on a graveyard boasting of headstones.    

How did you get here? You ask.              

The bomb’s ticking noise had exploded. Not a real bomb, mind you, or I wouldn’t be here to write you this story. A fake bomb stuffed with mothballs, cotton balls, cotton swabs, Q-tips and other stuffy, suffocating material ready to make me choke and gag. They had all somehow evaporated into a witch’s castle.                                        

I have asthma. I have a mini heart attack whenever running track. So whoever planned this revenge would get a blast out of watching me struggle to breathe from all the fuzzy, unhealthy dusty stuff exploding right in my face! Good thing the sun wasn’t out to add to my misery.

I cleaned myself from the ugly grey and black tufts of yucky dust thrown up all over the foyer and carpet that was still in front of me although I was in the castle. I grabbed my phone, texting Natasha.

Who is she? You ask. Well, good thing I’m waiting for her response. So here goes.  

Nicknamed “Nashie” by her best friends (or “Nasty” by me), Natasha would always lie to the postal services by labeling her packages the wrong labels. Unfortunately, I had become her victim ever since I stated I had asthma way, way back in kindergarten. She’s been treating me like the slowpoke I never was. However, she nicknamed me “Wimpy”. Every Christmas and birthday, she gifted me with Diary of a Wimpy Kid. I always just shoved them in her locker with vicious notes and stale, moldy candy I would find stuck under my bed and family room couches, reveling in the misery she suffered from sucking on them the next day at school.

Best of all, I would get away with it all. Just like my parents. But if I were to avenge them, we’d never be a family. I had to prove somehow I was worthy! So, if my parents didn’t care, maybe Natasha would after awakening from the fact that I was right! So I yelled at her over the phone after giving up upon waiting many minutes. “Do you know what all this dust and mothballs and cotton swabs and muckiness did to me?! Well, I never!”

“Caramel, good news! I’ve been visiting Mrs. Trust, the banker. We’ve been talking about how you need to—”

But I had yanked the phone from my ear, hollering, “I’m not taking any more packages from you again! From now on, everyone can ignore you!”

I hit that red button and stormed out of my house towards Natasha’s way over on the street perpendicular to the main road. I crossed some miniature highways first, but when I rammed my fist on that door, I leaned forward, a satisfactory smile sliding up my face. I rubbed my hands together, reveling in the deliciousness of telling her to her face that she was going to—

“Yes, Caramel?”

I looked up, widened my eyes and stood still, smiling stiffly at an elderly woman. Mrs. Trust, the banker down the road, smiled back, beckoning me inside. As I stepped into the house, I heard a loud creaking noise. It was so much louder than usual! One foot was above darkly grey floorboards. I looked all around me. I was back in that weird, creepy house. I ran down a staircase towards the front door. But last time I went through it, I just ended in my real house.

I scratched my blond head. That’s weird…

I searched around for someone I could trust. I returned upstairs, seeing a chemistry table elongated on either end, decorated with flasks, bottles and funny-looking tubes. Jars of scarlet, sapphire and other vibrantly colored powder sat still, impatient for me to open them.  

I balled my fists, sighing impatiently. “Stop playing tricks on me, Natasha! Geez—I just have asthma.”

Suddenly, I coughed and then grabbed a nearby broom, ran around the table and shed some light into this nightly, eerie place. As I tried to swipe the upper window curtain away, something grabbed my broom! I fought, ordering Natasha to let go. She must’ve given up, because she then started walking towards me!

A jumbo-sized sheet of white floated in midair above me with the sheet’s bottom wavy like it had been cut with wavy-patterned scissors. Two black ovals for eyes, and the mouth was another oval. I instantly shielded myself, my eyes staring daggers right at it. It shook its head slowly, pleading, Noooooo!

I sighed. I was tired of everything being somehow. I was somehow here. I couldn’t just somehow run home. Natasha somehow made me feel I was a complete loser just by picking on me for my asthma. The ghost was somehow real, floating right in front of me. 

I backed away, manhandling the broom. “I’ll smash this broom right into you if you—”

”Look—I’m just a ghost.”

I rolled my eyes. What else was new? I told the ghost to stay where it was. It nodded patiently.       

“Look. A bomb blew me into this strange house, and I want out. I need to teach Natasha a lesson! She was the one who sent this Amazon package to me—”

The ghost frowned. “It’s not amazing?”

“Huh?”      

“It’s not from what?”  

“Amazon.” I shrugged. “It’s just a website. Never mind. Anyway, some girl was mean to me.” I know, I’m whiny. But Natasha. She could really use some fixer-upper.

“Oh!” The kind ghost floated downstairs. I followed it, my arms crossed. Maybe I’ll talk to it when I’m about to go insane from the inability to escape. But I’m smarter than that. I can escape. I dashed to the front door, and opened it. I spread my arms as I dashed down the front stairs. I was free!

Then I pounded across the street. The sound of creaking floorboards flooded my ears. I skidded to a halt and looked down, picking my feet up one at a time. My shoulders sagged. I’ll never make it out of here.

“So what is it, ghost?” I snapped. “What do you want?”

“Huh?” The innocent ghost asked plainly.

“What do you want with me? I’m here. Didn’t you bring me here for something?”

“No—no, I’m not your captor. I’m just a ghost. You see, I’m here, too. Somehow. I just want to be a Halloween ghost, or a ghost befriending the gravediggers. You know—something to do.” It nodded in front of it, and I turned around. “This was my chemistry set. It was given to me by that witch—”    

I uncrossed my arms. “Why can’t you scare the neighbors?”

“Well, I did! But when the witch left, this place became just an illusion, and everyone saw me as just a friendly ghost. I wasn’t scary at all anymore.”

“Like Casper?”

“Yeah. But, anyway, I live in this house. It’s old, stuffy and boring. I’m bored doing the same thing every day—chemistry set after chemistry set. It gets old—older than this house. I just—”

“Want a life?”

“Stop interrupting? It’s annoying!”

I laughed—sincerely. Then I found a glass bottle (I guess, since it was so dark). “Can we get some light in this horrible place?”

“Only if you mix the right potions.” The ghost floated up to the chemistry bottles, and took one (like the VeggieTales characters did whenever picking up and holding something). I stared in awe at the ghost’s ability to not only know where things were but also to make a small firework in this oppressively unlit lab.

“How’d you do that?”

“The ghost looked at me patiently. “Just watch.”

I did. A real grin actually went up my face as I made my own fireworks appear from emerald, sapphire, ruby, gold, onyx and aquamarine powder and food coloring. I really enjoyed making the fireworks become various shapes and sizes all with the way I spread each powder around in what the ghost said were Erlenmeyer and Florence flasks. However, the navy blue and black atmosphere distracted me, only reminding me of a bruised eye.

“The only way I could ever even see Natasha again was to teach her common sense—that she should think about how she hurts others before she reacts!”      

“What’s your name?”

“Caramel.”

“That’s a confection used to flavor puddings and desserts.”

I squinted at it. “Yeah, well, it’s my name! Don’t you understand? I don’t have anyone—like an orphan, I’m alone.” Once I get out of this place, I’ll make her admit she’s a wickedly guilty person.     

I said goodbye to the ghost, who understood, and went on my way. I got to the front door, said goodbye to the house and—        

“People who won’t accept ‘no’ for an answer.” 

I jumped, and spun around.

“Even if you do reach Natasha in reality, she wouldn’t listen to you.” The ghost nodded. “I can read feelings, Caramel. You’re not happy unless someone else is suffering. Your fireworks display is nice, but I hoped it’d help you see the bright side of things. You want to shed some light in this room, but you wouldn’t wake up even if a bright lightbulb appeared above your head. Point is, you’re just treating someone else the way they’re treating you. How are you ever going to reconcile?”  

I didn’t laugh. “Natasha is the bad guy here—”  

“No,” the ghost’s eyes closed when it shook its head. “You are.”

“You know what,” I laughed, “I’m talking to a ghost! It’s so stupid. I should be—”

“Just remember: you can’t avenge everyone around you. That’s like—”   

“Don’t start comparing me to a gingerbread cookie! I’m a human being. A daughter. Or used to be. My parents abandoned me. Can’t Natasha see that I’m all alone in my own house? She has parents, she has siblings and she has her best friends. Can’t she love someone else other than her loved ones?”

The ghost nodded, like it understood. 

No! I ground my teeth. I don’t have anyone this Christmas. Black Friday isn’t a special day where I get a certain percentage off every year. It reminds me of my loneliness, an endless hole devoid of the light of life. Of the joys of Christmas.   

The ghost spoke, startling me a little. But he spoke softly. “No one listens to me.”

“Well, I am.” I folded my arms. The ghost nodded sarcastically. 

“Look—your parents’ abandonment doesn’t define you. My entrapment in this house doesn’t make me anything. I’m just a ghost. You’re just you. We can’t allow other things to change us.”

I burst out laughing, shaking my head at this weirdo. Who is a ghost to tell me to grow up? I dashed out that door, going through life for the next few days, not caring whether it was an illusion. Soon, I grew tired, huffing and puffing. Like the Big Bad Wolf, I didn’t give up. Back inside the dumb house, the ghost had taken to its chemistry set. But I needed Mom, Dad and I to be shopping together at the mall today.        

I raised myself. I was an only child. I didn’t dare share with the ghost, but I did say that he wouldn’t matter to me even if it had taught me revenge wasn’t the answer to my problems. That when I walked out of this dumb house, I would walk peacefully up to Natasha, demand her forgiveness and then walk away, knowing we could be friends one day. Someone who loved and accepted me as I am. 

I decided I’d take out the ghost myself once and for all. I searched for my phone, found it and turned on its flashlight. Then I found the broom, grabbed it and slowly crept up the stairs towards the chemistry lab. Jamming the phone inside my back pocket, I clutched the broom with all my might, swung it backwards and killed the ghost!  

Grinning like I had saved the world, I looked at my work of vengeance. The broom lay diagonally under the ghost. It was still there! I tried again. The ghost just worked at its chemistry. I gritted my teeth, hurled myself onto the table and kicked, threw and stomped my way through the table, destroying this ghost chemist’s dreams of ever becoming a world-famous chemist. Or whatever it was!    

“Sorry, ghost, but you’re not going to become a huge chemist in the human world! You’ll never become anything but a simple nobody—”

“Caramel.”

But I wouldn’t stop ranting and raving. Soon, I chucked the broom, pounding on the rest of the chemistry bottles and glasses, breaking them to smithereens. I didn’t care that I cut myself when I broke a massive part of the assumedly precious set with my bare hands. Yearly family vacations weren’t going to cut it. What about Thanksgiving meals? Not the same without us threesome together! What if I needed other people—  

“Caramel!”

Even the dust seemed to be still when I was done screaming and yelling, tears streaming down my face. I was gasping from having sobbed so hard. I looked all around me. Nothing was broken—it was all there, as before. Was this stuff an illusion, too?

“You cannot just get what you want. Sorry, but you cannot attack others. They don’t deserve it. I don’t!”

“I’m avenging someone who attacked me. I have nothing else to do other than my dream job at a radio studio recording people’s live singing and doing so myself, especially every Christmas and New Year’s. I’m nobody. My parents simply up and left me—”

“Then go talk to them.”

“How? I cannot escape this house.”

“Are you going to avenge your parents? They abandoned you.”

I looked at the ghost. Its words echoed in my ears.

“Natasha’s the one who attacked me—” 

“Your parents abandoned you. Doesn’t that require vengeance, too?”

“If I avenged them, they’d never accept me. I’d never be able to break, smash or crack them of their negligence.” I studied my hands. They were bleeding, red lines of blood like slivers of rivers. But…I hadn’t touched the glass, did I? I wondered aloud how things that were illusions could cut me. Besides, I thought. What if I did go after my parents? Would they just be an illusion? Could I live like that? Could I just stay an angry, frustrated, sad child whose parents desperately needed to see her desire to be their daughter?   

“I need to focus. How about you answer your own question.” The ghost worked, refusing to answer or even to talk anymore. I was on my own.

I couldn’t break anything. I couldn’t get out of this house. Rage flowed through me like a roaring river. I hurled myself throughout the house, striving to crack, snap or rip anything that would tear, pop or be taken apart. But I achieved nothing. I couldn’t. I stopped, heaving. Fine. Then I dashed away, out of this house, back to my house. When I got there, I took quite a few deep breaths and went into my room. I crawled into bed and went under the covers after washing my hands. The blood had washed away, but the cuts remain. I had bandaged my hands with First Aid tape, and sighed. I guess…Past, I’m sorry for trying to change you. 

 My phone rang. I answered it, striving not to yawn.     

“You fall asleep like you always do weeks before Christmas! Don’t you have some Christmas shopping to do?”

I widened my eyes and ripped the sheets off myself. “Yeah, I do! I deserve a whole lot of stuff this year—for me and my friends back at the radio studio.” When we were leaving my house, I stopped. Was everything real? My face filled with fear, and I pulled my shoulders up to my ears—I hoped not to be transported into that ghostly house anymore!

Then, a hand went towards me. I studied my unusually kind neighbor. “Let’s go!”

“Natasha—how—”

“I want you to forgive me, too. Here,” she handed me $100. “Pay for my gifts. Besides, it’s Black Friday today. So you can keep the change!”      

As we walked to the mall a few blocks from here, I ripped away from her and, seeing a manhole, dived right into it. My friends at the studio weren’t my family. I truly had no one. Soon, daylight immersed me, I looked up. Natasha was crouched down, and she stuck out a hand. “Come on!” She invited. “Don’t just talk to yourself. You’ve got others, too.” 

With pursed lips, I lifted my hand. She helped me up and onto the cracked sidewalk again. I waved goodbye to Christmas shopping and her. I wished I had a coat to warm myself against this cold wind. 

Christmas isn’t the same without family. Natasha’s changed, somehow. Maybe that’s a good thing. I mean, I shrugged indifferently, a snowball fight—we’ve had those until fifth grade. They only make us laugh.

Laughter’s the best medicine, right? Besides, I nodded firmly to myself, they’re my parents. They’re my family. They’re Mom and Dad. I can’t celebrate Christmas with strangers. I must laugh again. I’m their daughter, and they’re my parents. Anger won’t reunite us. Only love will.

I returned home, packed and started hitchhiking, a thick, fuzzy coat warming me. 

I needed to find them. I needed them, and they knew it.