(Un)Happy Scratch Day! (The Ghost And Molly McGee, Scratch, M)

[SleepingPhlox]

So I was feeling under the weather recently, and everyone knows the best remedy for that is to inflict some misery on your favourite characters via a sickfic so here we are, one fic about a grumpy old ghost, suffering.

Summary: How do you solve the problem of a ghost not having a birthday to celebrate like everyone else? Give him a special day of his own - his very own Scratch Day! But what happens when said ghost gets sick just in time for his very first Scratch Day? Why, he tries to hide it of course. Problem is, he's really bad at hiding it.

Yes indeedy I'm on my bullshit again and I'm not even going to pretend I'm sorry because I LIKE my bullshit.  It keeps me entertained.

The characters: (Top to bottom, left to right) Sharon, Pete, Scratch, Molly, Darryl

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(Un)Happy Scratch Day! Part 1

The first thing Scratch did when he woke up was sneeze. That was odd, because usually the first thing he did when he woke up was launch into an indignant rant at whoever or whatever had woken him up. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he braced himself for ridiculously cheery morning greetings from Molly, along with a far too energetic rundown on what she had planned for them to do today...but he was greeted only by silence.

The silence should have been welcome, because he rarely got any precious peace and quiet or time to himself these days, plus he had a strange dull ache in his head. Instead, he found himself feeling a little disappointed and hurt. Had everyone forgotten about Scratch Day?

All the living humans in the family had birthdays – one day a year where they got to be celebrated, and get cake, and everyone had to give them presents, and they got to choose their favourite restaurant and get to eat whatever they wanted (although the words “within our budget” had been nervously repeated to Scratch several times). Of course, being a ghost, Scratch didn't have a birthday. The whole thing about ghosts was that they weren't exactly “born”, but came into being through the process that...well...was the exact opposite of birth, to put it lightly. But, with the added complication of his lack of memories beyond a certain point, he couldn't remember what his birthday might have been when he was alive, or even the date he'd become a ghost. He didn't even have the tiniest inkling of a memory what his name might have once been, so any of that information couldn't even be looked up in any public records anywhere.

It was decided, then, that since he was now a member of the McGee family, that he should have his own special day too. Not a “birth” day, per se, but a Scratch Day. It took a small amount of persuasion on his part, but once he got Molly on board with the idea it was only a matter of time. She was terrifyingly persuasive.  His Scratch Day would be a day just for him, with all the perks that came with a birthday: presents, and cards, and a cake with candles, and a special dinner of his choice (within their budget, blahblahblah). So after much careful deliberation, the perfect date had been chosen, and he'd been looking forward to it ever since.

Seemed like it had meant more to him than to everyone else, though.

Where had they gone? Shopping? Fun day out at the park? And nobody had even thought to wake him? Then again...maybe they'd all gone to do something horrible and boring like volunteer at the old folks' home or pick up litter, and for once they'd afforded him the small mercy of not dragging him along against his will.

You know what? Even if they were picking up litter, it still would have been nice to be asked. He'd rather at least have the opportunity to retort with an emphatic “NO WAY, ABSOLUTELY NOT!” than to just be unceremoniously abandoned at home.

Scratch sniffled, and flung the blanket from his glowing blue ectoplasmic body and started to float downstairs to see if he could rustle up enough food to celebrate his lonely Scratch Day all by himself...

...and promptly ended up flat on his face on the cold, hard floor.

Peeling himself up with a weary groan, he took stock of the sensations in his body he was now becoming acutely aware of. He'd noticed already he had a headache – that was one of the worst part about being a ghost. Everything could still hurt regardless of whether or not it should even be able to. He didn't have muscles, but that didn't stop them from aching right now. He didn't have sinuses but they still felt full and uncomfortable. How any of that was supposed to make sense, he had no idea. Smarter ghosts than him probably studied all about how ghost bodies worked and knew all about this stuff, but to him, it was a complete mystery.

He did, however, very much have a nose, so it wasn't very unusual to find it prickling and tickling. That nose of his was irritable on the best of days, he was used to it.

“Hahhh...nyahhCHOOO!”

Running his arm under his nose and snuffling, he unceremoniously turned away from the resulting gloopy mess that was someone else's problem to clean up later, and floated slowly downstairs muttering to himself a grumpy monologue about how it was just his luck and just so typical that it would be his special day that would be ruined in so spectacular a fashion and how it would serve everyone right if they encountered a bear while out picking up litter...not get eaten by one, he hastened to add. Just get chased by it a little bit. Maybe they'd have to climb a tree and then all cry together about how it never would have happened if Scratch were there, and vowing they'd never abandon him at home all by himself ever again.

The very thought of it made a wicked grin spread across his otherwise tired and droopy face. Yeah, that's what was happening, all right. Oh yeah, and then the bear would try to bite Pete right on the butt, and tear the back of his pants right off! Yeah! And everyone would see Pete's underwear, and they would have hearts on them...no, wait, unicorns! No, wait, unicorns and hearts! And Pete would start sobbing and wailing “Oh, how I wish Scratch were here to save us! I'm so useless, but Scratch would know what to do!"

But he wouldn't be there to save them. Because they abandoned him. That'd show them.

He still felt pretty lousy, and he was still upset at being left behind, but he was at least moderately cheered up now. Now he just needed some food to cheer himself up even more. He absent-mindedly floated toward the fridge, so woozy and distracted that he narrowly missed running into the cake on the counter and was startled by Sharon shouting a warning to be careful. She shouldn't be shouting anything at him because she wasn't here. She was up a tree hiding from a bear.

Except she was here, and so was everyone else. Scratch's mouth threatened to form a wide grin and betray the relief and delight he felt, but he used every last ounce of his willpower to force it to remain in a scowl to preserve his dignity.

“Ahh, don't look! It's not ready yet!” Molly exclaimed, stepping between him and his view of the living room, holding her hands up above her head. Which was stupid, really, because she wasn't that tall, and he could just float a little higher if he wanted to. “We didn't think you'd wake up until one of us came and got you and, well, we're still setting everything up.” She paused. “Uh...you feeling alright? You look kind of...off.”

“I'b fide.”

Normally Scratch would jump at the chance to play up his misery for attention. Aside from the actual feeling miserable part, being sick wasn't so bad. It was a chance to burrow into a nest of pillows and blankets and do nothing but watch TV and have everyone else cater to his every whim and demand. But if he was sick today of all days, he wouldn't get to enjoy his Scratch Day! And that just wasn't fair! He'd have to wait a whole entire year for his next opportunity to get presents and cards and special dinner and cake with candles. And that cake he'd nearly floated into face first was a thing of pure beauty. Three whole layers, and each one had a different theme: gummy worms for the bottom, chocolate spiders for the middle, and finally marzipan bats on the top. And the frosting looked to be of the most delectable chocolate. The McGee family really and truly got him. He floated closer to snatch a particularly yummy looking gummy worm, only to have his hand slapped away by Sharon. He pulled his hand back, rubbing it with an indignant huff.  Another thing that didn't make sense about ghost bodies - ghost bodies weren't even entirely solid, but a good hard smack like that could still smart!

“No you don't,” Sharon scolded. “Pete worked really hard making this and you're not touching it until after you blow out the candles.”

“Fide,” Scratch huffed, folding his arms and glowering at her. “As lo'g as he didn't bake it with carob.”

Now it was Sharon's turn to get suspicious. “Are you sure you're okay? You do look off, and you sound a little funny.”

“I said I'b fide, didn't I? I just woke up, okay? This is by just-woke-up voice. Jeez. Way to bake a ghost feel self codscious, you guys.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry I asked.” She rolled her eyes. Scratch, however, did not notice her making that particular expression, because he was too busy making one of his own. He thought he was doing a good job of hiding it, but the fact that his entire face was contorted bizarrely was pretty hard to miss. He was trying his best to avoid the onset of a sneeze at all costs, but it was a battle he was rapidly losing. After stretching his face one way, and squeezing it another, he finally had to admit that defeat was imminent.

“You kdow what...I thigk I left sobethi'g id the other roob...I'b just godda go get it...I'll be right back...”

He disappeared through the wall and the moment he was out of sight, a resounding “hyahhhTCHOOO!” echoed through the entire house.

“Uh...does he think we didn't hear that, or..?” Darryl asked raising an eyebrow though not looking up from the game he was playing on his phone for even a moment.

Sharon pinched the bridge of her nose. This was going to be one of those days, wasn't it? She had thought that perhaps once the family settled into their forever home, they might expand the family by getting a pet for the kids – a nice quiet pet like a goldfish or a turtle. Never in her entire life would she have dreamed that moving into said Forever Home would involve welcoming a cantakerous ghost into the family fold.

But she did have to admit that life just wouldn't quite be the same without him. Even if he was grouchy, messy, and had an appetite that constantly stretched the limits of the grocery budget.

Scratch reappeared, slowly passing through the wall, running his entire lower arm under his nose and sniffling loudly.

“And you're absolutely sure you're okay?” Sharon pressed. Judging from the way Scratch immediately puffed himself up to several times larger than his usual size and roared (Or, attempted to. It was clear from the surprised-annoyed look on his face that the raspy groan that ended in a squeak wasn't exactly what he was going for) he'd taken offense to that question. With a defeated sigh, he returned to his usual size.

“I said I'm fine,” he protested angrily. “I thought I left something in the other room but it wasn't there so I came back. No big deal. Okay? Sheesh. What's with all the interrogation today?”

Sharon was in no mood to argue. If he said he was fine, she wasn't going to press the matter. He'd soon get tired of keeping up the facade with all the activities they had planned for the day, and then he'd willingly give up and rest. Until then, playing along might just make life easier for everyone. Being a mother to two kids as different as Molly and Darryl had given her an infallible sense of when to interfere and when to let people - or ghosts - discover the consequences to their decisions all on their own. 

“Okay...” she said. “Well your party isn't ready yet, so why don't you go put your...uh...feet? Up.” He didn't have feet most of the time, was that expression offensive? He was perfectly capable of forming legs and feet if he wanted to. “And rest while-” He was glaring indignantly at her. Okay, even the merest suggestion of him needing to rest was off the table. She decided to try a different tack. “And relax while we get everything ready. It's your special day, so you get to sit back while we do all the work making everything just right, just for you."

That, at least, didn't seem to rub him the wrong way. He considered it for a while, and then thankfully seemed placated.

“Very well,” he declared haughtily. “I want my first Scratch Day to be perfect, so no slacking! And...I...hehhh...yeah, I left something in the basement...hehh...better...hehhh...go get it...”

This time he passed through the floor, and just after he disappeared from sight, a hearty “hahhhCHOOO!” managed to cause vibrations in the floor under their feet.

This was indeed going to be a long day for everyone concerned.

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To be continued...

[webmeistro]

This is cute 🤪

[funbusej]

This is highly amusing!!

[SleepingPhlox]

On 5/23/2023 at 8:39 PM, webmeistro said:

This is cute 🤪

Thank you so much. ❤️

On 5/23/2023 at 9:06 PM, Jess Starseed1111 said:

Awww I love this 🥰💎🩵💎 A cute Scratch Day 🌟 I love the way you write too! 🌟💎

Thank you so much for reading, and for always humouring my nonsense, haha! You're awesome!

On 5/24/2023 at 6:53 AM, funbusej said:

This is highly amusing!!

This is a HUGE compliment to me, honestly and truly, thank you!

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Part 2 - The Party

The festivities commence and Scratch's misery deepens.

The next thing Scratch knew, he was suddenly yelping “The zebras! They're everywhere! Don't let them eat me!” and jumping at least five feet into the air.  Then, in the very next moment, he was coughing too hard to notice Molly's face next to him, frozen in a stunned expression.

He'd...fallen asleep?

It would seem he had.  On top of some boxes in the basement, no less.  Fantastic.  Cold, damp places were absolutely what his health needed right now. He hadn't fallen asleep in a very comfortable position, either, and now he was stiff all over. He was a little too groggy to remember why he hadn't gone back upstairs to find somewhere to get comfortable, but he was sure he must have had a good reason.

And, for the record, laziness absolutely counted as a very good reason.

With a groan, he stretched his aching body and blinked at Molly, who eventually unfroze into a much more relaxed position once she was sure there would be no more sudden nonsensical outbursts from Scratch.

“Come on, Sleepyhead!” she enthused.  “Your party is ready, and now you get to see all the fun stuff for your special Scratch Day.”

She grabbed his wrist, dragging him up the stairs behind her, chattering excitedly the entire way.

“You are going to love what we set up for you.  It was so hard keeping it all a secret because you are always popping up everywhere, but I think you'll be surprised.”

“You are pulling my arm very hard,” Scratch grumbled, to no avail.

“Ta-daaaa! The theme of your party is...YOU! We have Scratch balloons-” She gestured to the bunches of blue balloons with approximations of his face drawn on them with Sharpie. “A handmade, one of a kind, Scratch pinata-”

“Yeah, I hope you filled it with decent candy and not something weird like glitter or turnips.”

“A Scratch bean bag toss-” Okay, he had to admit the blue homemade bean bags and a repurposed cardboard moving box with a hole painted to look like a portal to the ghost world was pretty clever.  “A game of Pin The Nose On The Scratch.”

“I feel like the nose-to-face ratio you've drawn there is a little insulting, but I'll allow it.”
 
“Then we'll play a game of Scratch Trivia to see who knows you the best...spoiler alert, I'm gonna win that one 'cause I'm your bestie, and then for the finale, you get to sit on the Scratch Day throne-” (Which appeared to be a regular chair with a sheet over it.) “And wear the official Scratch Day crown while we all tell you our favourite memory of you.”

“Ooh, now we're talkin'!” Scratch exclaimed, grabbing for the crown with both hands. Though it was made out of construction paper, markers, and glitter, when she held it aloft it seemed to shine like the finest gold and jewels. He wanted it.  He needed it.  He deserved it.  “Gimme!”

Yet she abruptly snatched it's alluring golden (well, bright yellow) beauty out of his reach.

“Ah-ah,” she scolded playfully.  “You have to wait for the official coronation ceremony.”

“Hmph.  Telling me to wait on my own Scratch Day.  It's my day, y'know.  I should be the one calling all the shots,” Scratch muttered under his breath while idly rubbing under his nose with the back of his hand.  It took him a moment to realise why he was rubbing under his nose with the back of his hand and by the time his brain got the memo about the itch in his nose, the situation was hovering dangerously close to “too late”.  He looked around nervously as he racked his brain for a good cover story for suddenly making himself scarce, and managed to concoct something at the very last minute.

“Hey, do you...uh...hehhh...hear that...hehhh...noise outside?  I'b just godda...hehh...check that out real quick...”

He disappeared through the wall into the front yard as quickly as his tired body could possibly move.  Though, “disappeared” would not entirely be the right word.  The last glowing bit of blue ectoplasm was still in fact visible in the living room at the moment he unleashed a resounding:

“Hehhh...nyahhhCHOOO!”

He floated back into the room, doing his absolute best to look as nonchalant as possible, but failing entirely.  He was making the same faux-innocent face he made when he got caught polishing off the last of the family's cookies, or trying to pad out his monthly Scare Report by making mean faces at babies at the park.  He was met by an awkward silence that was eventually broken by Pete handing him a paper towel and stammering “You got a little something, uh, well, there...” He pointed at his own nose to try to get the message across to Scratch, who just stared at him blankly.  “It's, you know...you've got some...you know, a little, sort of dripping going on...”

Scratch's eyes widened when it finally dawned on him what Pete was trying, so inelegantly, to get across.  He looked at the paper towel in his hand, put two and two together and took the only logical action that made sense in that situation.

The entire McGee family cringed as he blew his nose raucously.  Nobody was sure what was worse, the sound, or the visual.  The name “Scratch” and the word “manners” never belonged in the same sentence, ever, unless the word "bad" was between them, but this was a hundred times worse than seeing him enthusiastically chewing with his mouth open, or hearing him loudly burp while everyone was trying to enjoy dinner.

And him unceremoniously depositing the used paper towel onto the end table with a squelch was a hundred times worse again.

“All right, lets get this show on the road,” Scratch said.  “What's up first?”

“Pinata,” Molly trilled cheerfully.  “I listed all the events in order.  Pretty handy, right? So, if you were paying attention, you'll know exactly what's happening.  Uh...well, I mean I listed the balloons but they're not really an event, I just wanted to make sure you noticed them.  I made them myself.  See, this one's your happy face, and this one is your surprised face, and this one is that one face you make when Dad says we're getting doughnuts, and this one is your grumpy face!”  She bobbed around holding the grumpy-face balloon in front of her own face. “Grr, I'm Scratch, I pretend I don't need friends because I'm scared of being hurt but deep down I'm just a soft squishy marshmallow.”

By sheer coincidence, the grumpy face balloon matched the expression Scratch was currently making, perfectly.

“I do not sound like that,” he muttered. “That impression could not be more inaccurate if you tried.”

Turning away from the source of the indignity, Scratch found himself face to face with Darryl wearing a mischievous smirk and holding a baseball bat and he instinctively flinched.  None of that combination spelled good news.  But, no, Darryl was holding out the bat for him to take.

“Come on, Scratch.  It's your day so you get first swing.  Smash that bad boy open so that we can feast on the sweet, sweet candy inside!”

That sounded like a good idea. Scratch did enjoy a nice bit of harmless destruction, and he loved candy.  He grabbed the bat...and was immediately pulled down by it's weight to the floor.

“Ooh...uh...little heavy, ain't it?  But okay, we're busting out the heavy artillery for this pinata, I can get behind that.”  Scratch grunted as he tried, and failed, to rise into the air while holding the bat.

“Very funny, Scratch.  That's my bat from when I joined Little League when I was, like, six.  Before Mom and Dad realised that teaching me to accurately hit moving targets and then evade pursuit was not in anyone's best interests.” Darryl paused to chuckle.  “Quit kidding around and hit the pinata already.  We kinda got a full schedule to get to and I want some candy.”

Okay, if a six year old could swing that bat, he could at least manage to lift it off the ground.  Right?  But he couldn't get it to do more than drag across the floor.  If he'd been able to put his back into it, maybe he might have, but he simply didn't have the energy.  After a few attempts at getting the bat airborne, he was gasping for air – which was even more difficult thanks to a completely blocked nose, and was aggravating his sore throat with every strained breath.

“You know what, I just had a thought,” he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with one hand and letting the bat clatter to the floor.  “I should be sitting back and letting you guys do the work for me.  One of you guys hit that thing.  I'll take my fair share of the candy once it's ready.”  He clapped his hands together like a monarch issuing a decree as he settled onto the sofa.  “Go on, get to work!”

Sharon shot him a scowl of pure doom as she walked past him to retrieve the bat, but in the interest of not disrupting the celebrations, she decided to channel that annoyance into one mighty swing that pulverised the pinata and sent candy scattering in all directions.

“Every man for himself!” was Darryl's battle cry, as he dove toward the largest scattering of miniature candy bars.  Scratch looked around in horror as one by one each family member dove to the floor, scooping up as much candy as possible.  Even Pete was getting in on the action!  So much for this being his special day, it was all going to be gone before he had a chance to react!  Well, not if he had anything to say about it.  Over his undead body was he going to be left out of the chance to eat as much candy as possible!  He floated up into the air to rush to claim his fair share...and immediately (and painfully) faceplanted as the immediate dizziness overcame him.

Yeah, that was getting real old real quick.

Groaning, he peeled himself back up and physically dragged himself back to his spot on the couch, where he plopped himself with a huff, folding his arms.  Whatever.  He didn't want any stupid candy anyway.  It was all just dumb miniature bars and not a single decent full sized one in the whole thing, so why should he care?  He didn't care, okay? It was-

“Here ya go, buddy.  I made sure to get you some," Molly's cheerful voice broke through the fog of his self-pitying sulking.

Scratch's pupils grew until they nearly filled his bright yellow eyeballs, and his lip quivered for just a moment.

“You saved these...for me?” he asked incredulously, his voice rising in pitch through the sentence until it ended on almost a squeak, as if he still couldn't fathom the concept of anyone doing anything nice for him.  And, yes, it was partly because he still couldn't fathom the concept of anyone doing anything nice for him...but partly because if it had been him, he would have grabbed all the candy for himself without a second thought, and the thought of that made him feel a little guilty.  And a little emotional over feeling guilty.  What was up with that?  Well he was going to nip that stupid little “feelings” nonsense in the bud, right here, right now.  He cleared his throat and put on the best grumpy scowl he could manage.

“Well, now that's done, what's next?”

His answer came in the form of being handed two beanbags.  Right, the bean bag toss.  Even though it looked pretty cool, and it looked like they'd all put a lot of effort into putting it all together (which was making the pesky “emotions” thing come up again)...what were they thinking putting two physical activities one right after the other?  He was already worn out from his attempt at the pinata, how could they possibly expect him to get off the sofa, let alone aim and throw two beanbags?  Oh, there were six beanbags. That was even worse.  

Well, the sooner he got this over with, the sooner they could all move on to less active activities,  like the one where he got to wear a crown and hear good things about himself. That sounded like his kinda deal, all right!  So he attempted to float up from his spot on the sofa, and when his pounding head told him that was probably a bad idea, he slid off the cushion onto the ground and dragged himself across the floor instead.

The beanbags were heavy.  So heavy!  He groaned as he tried to lift one, and mustered all his energy to throw it, but it only flopped onto the ground.  Another effort yielded the same result.  And another, and another.  He was panting, coughing, and gasping from the exertion, yet his best attempt had only landed an inch in front of him.

The rest of the McGee family eyed each other nervously.  Traditionally, the birthday-person would go first, and everyone else would “just so happen” to do ever so slightly worse than their score to give them a believable win.  But it would be hard to believably do worse than whatever the heck Scratch was doing right now.  Also, if he kept this up they'd be here all day.  They'd miss their dinner reservation.  Finally, Pete had an idea.  He whispered something in Sharon's ear, and when she nodded enthusiastically, he decided to go for it.  

Pete approached Scratch tentatively.  The ghost was becoming visibly more and more irate at every failure, and it seemed a loss of temper could be imminent.  That could come in the more benign form of Scratch shouting a few choice words and floating off to fold his arms and sulk somewhere...or it could come in the form of Scratch twisting his visage into the most pants-wettingly terrifying form imaginable, all pointy teeth and glowing eyes and Pete did not like that possibility one bit.  Really, it wasn't that he was scared of Scratch...he just...didn't like jump scares all that much, okay?

“Hey, Scratch...” he ventured, and was relieved when Scratch merely snapped “What?” in response.  No Scary Face jumpscares so far.  Good.  Pete continued: “Have you ever heard of a pinch hitter in baseball?”

“Nice try, but you can't distract me.  I've just about got myself all psyched up to win this game.  Now get out of my way. I need to concentrate.”

Another heavy groan, another attempt to fling the beanbag, another beanbag flopping unceremoniously to the ground. Scratch ground his teeth and looked as if he was going to unleash the Scary Face at any moment.

“I mean,” Pete soothed.  “That since it's your special day, you get the privilege of getting to nominate someone to do the beanbag toss for you.  So you don't have to worry, you can just sit there and watch.”

“Why didn't you tell me that in the first place?” Scratch ranted, but calmed after he'd thought about it for a moment.  “I have considered it, and I would like to avail of this privilege.”

Pete sighed in relief, though this now brought up an additional problem, and judging from the look on everyone else's faces, they were all thinking it too.  Scratch had not gone more than a minute or two without dragging one of his hands under his dripping nose, sometimes the palm, sometimes the back of his hand, sometimes his whole arm up to what would be his elbow if his ghostly body followed the normal conventions of human anatomy.  And then he would handle the beanbags.  With those same hands.

Well, someone was going to have to take one for the team.

“All right, then.  It's settled.” Pete said.  “I will be playing on behalf of Scratch-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Scratch protested.  “Yesterday I saw you take seven tries to throw a can into the garbage.  From two feet away.  No way.  I want someone good to do it.  I want Sharon to do it.”

“Who, me? But I'd be awful at it,” Sharon attempted to argue, with the most terrible poker face anyone had ever seen, her teeth gritted while her lips were twisted into the fakest of smiles.  She was terrible at lying, and from the looks on everyone else's face she was not pulling this one off at all.  Her shoulders slumped.  “Fine.”

But there was no way she was touching those things.  Not with her bare hands.  One trudging journey into the kitchen later, and a solution had been procured that would solve everyone's problem – rubber gloves!

Scratch, meanwhile, dragged himself across the floor and back onto the sofa.  His sliding himself on his belly could have been compared to the movement of a slug...except that slugs tended to have much more energy and vigour, and groaned a lot less.  The trail of slime he left behind him the whole way, however, was very slug-like.  By the time he'd made it back to his spot on the couch, everyone had taken their turn, and he, or rather Sharon on his behalf, had won a full sized chocolate bar.   He was vaguely aware that he should be happy about that, but in his current state it didn't look very appetising to him, nor did he have the energy to unwrap it, let alone eat it.

He tried his best to sit up straight to pay attention to the game of Scratch Trivia, which was surprisingly won by Darryl.  Molly did not take this well, and made grumblings that she'd find out how he cheated, but reluctantly conceded victory anyway, even the coveted prize that she had been looking forward to ever since she invented these games.  The winner received the honour of presiding over Scratch's paper crown coronation.

That, at least, perked Scratch up a little bit.  Finally, his moment of glory had arrived!  A wide smile spread across his face as the magnificent cut and glued piece of construction paper was solemnly lowered onto his head.

“By the power vested in me by totally killing it at the trivia game,” Darryl said, with as much gravitas as the situation demanded.  “I now proclaim you King Of Scratch Day.”

“Yes, dow you all have to tell be your favourite bebories of be!” Scratch reminded them eagerly, just in case they'd managed to forget, running his arm under his nose with a loud, obnoxious sniffle.  “A'd bake sure you put a lot id there about how great I ab!”

“I'll go first!” Pete exclaimed, nearly jumping out of his seat in excitement.  Clearly he had a really good one to share, and Scratch couldn't wait to hear what it was.  Something heroic? An amazing feat he'd performed?  Praise to be heaped upon him for some selfless thing he'd done?  “There was that one time there was a really big clog in the drain and nothing would fix it, and I thought I was going to have to call a plumber and it would be really expensive, but Scratch here snaked his arm right in there and grabbed the clog and pulled it out.  He truly saved us so much money that day.  I'll never forget it.”

Pete wiped away a single tear and looked toward Scratch with gratitude shining in his eyes. Huh.  Why was Scratch glowering at him?

“That's it?” Scratch demanded.  “That's your favourite memory? That was so gross and you blackmailed me into doing it! You get zero points for reminding me of that. No...you get negative points and...and I...hehhhh...”

Uh oh.  Talk about the worst possible timing.

“I...hehhh...oh hey, it...hehhh...looks like someone's ghhhh....going to let their...dohhhh...dog poop on the lawn. Hehhh...I'll just...go...hngghhh...” He just about managed to phase through the couch and the wall and make it outside, leaving his beautiful paper crown to knock against the wall and fall to the floor.  “hahhhPPPKtchhooooo!”

There was just one small problem with his attempt at hiding it this time.  It was Darryl who first spoke up and pointed it out.

“Did he, uh, forget how windows work, or what?”

“That,” Sharon said in a traumatised whisper. “Was the grossest thing I've ever seen in my life.”

Nobody addressed what they had seen or heard as Scratch passed back through the wall and slumped back onto the sofa, with Pete wordlessly passing him a paper towel and everyone doing their best to pretend their attention was elsewhere as Scratch loudly made use of it and then deposited the wad that was now more snot than paper onto the end table.

At least there would be no way he'd want to continue on trying to do things.  He was clearly exhausted, barely functioning, his nose was running so profusely it was a wonder he had any ectoplasm left to form his body with...he couldn't even float properly.  Any minute now he was going to concede defeat, say he wanted to go to bed, and they could finish the festivities on a different day when he was feeling better.

“So...” Scratch said, his strength so low he could barely manage anything louder than a whisper. “We're goi'g out for tacos dow, right?”

_____________________________________

To be continued!

[webmeistro]

OMG this is adorable!!!

[Deuce Williams]

I'M IN LOVE WITH ALL OF THIS!

I've been craving some good Scratch sneeze lately, so thank you for providing! Your characterization for everyone is PHENOMENAL, all the dialogue sounds like it could be from an official episode! I really love how the rest of the family is 100% aware of Scratch's useless attempts to hide his sneezes but play along anyway

Following this in the hopes that you'll want to continue! I'll soak up any mention of Scratch sneeze I can haha (the fact that we've already had 1.5 canon ones is so encouraging, but I need mooooooore)

[SleepingPhlox]

Was it really so long since I last updated this??? Time is crazy. And I am a CHAMPION procrastinator.

This section has a lot of descriptions of extreme, cartoonish levels of mess.  If you don't like that, you are definitely NOT gonna like this.  But if you DO like it...come on in, enjoy, have fun!

Part 3 - Taco Time!

Everyone piled out the front door as hastily as possible, in a bid to get to the car - and therefore to the much awaited meal - as quickly as possible. An actual meal out was a treat in the McGee household, and the excitement was palpable, and not just from the youngest members of the family. Cries of “Race ya!” being met by shouts of “No fair, you were already halfway there!” rose up amidst the melee...and the protest of "No fair" was very distinctly Pete's voice.

And then...there was Scratch.

He was seemingly only able to float about a foot or so off the ground at this point. Not that it mattered, because he’d only manage to get a short distance and faceplant onto the sidewalk, peel himself up and attempt to float again, only to meet the same fate. Over and over and over again. After a few attempts at floating, he opted to drag himself along the ground using his arms. After far too many moments had passed waiting for Scratch to get himself to the car under his own volition, Sharon had had enough. They’d never get there by closing time at this rate. She picked him up off the ground and tucked him unceremoniously under her arm, something which did not go down very well with the ghost himself.

“Unhand me!” Scratch protested. “I am not a toy poodle to be carried around against my will! I am a ghost! With agency! And dignity!”

The irony of claiming he had dignity while his nose was actively dripping onto the pavement was apparently lost on him.

He made a weak attempt at struggling free but, to Sharon’s relief, seemed to be too exhausted to do anything more than a perfunctory wriggle. A headstrong blob of gooey ectoplasm could be nearly impossible to keep a grip on when he was adamant about not being taken hostage. And in speaking of gooey…she cast a quick glance at the bushes in front of the house, which Scratch had doused in a truly impressive amount of what Sharon chose to believe was ectoplasm, and only ectoplasm, the last time he was trying to fool them into thinking he wasn’t a miserable, sneezing mess. She couldn’t help but think that they should hose that down, lest anyone see it and become suspicious of their supernatural houseguest. But there simply wasn’t any time. If anyone asked, it was a fancy new fertilizer Pete was trying on his flowers. And, hopefully there would be no follow up questions on where to obtain said fertilizer.

Sharon plopped Scratch down in the middle of the backseat, where he scowled with folded arms…and immediately started listing to one side like a not-quite-set jello mold. She propped him back up. And then squished him up against the back of the seat in an attempt to keep him upright. It worked…mostly. It was as good as he was going to get, and besides, he was a ghost. It wasn’t like he could get hurt or anything. Wait…she had seen him express pain and discomfort before, hadn't see? Well, he was already dead, so he couldn’t die again in the hopefully unlikely event of a car accident, and that was good enough for right now. She took her place in the passenger seat, shutting the door firmly behind her.

“You know, I’m gonna remember that indignity,” Scratch grumbled.

“Really? You can’t even remember how you died, and that's kind of a bigger deal,” Sharon retorted, which she immediately regretted upon turning around and seeing the expression of pure fury that had contorted his face.

“That’s low,” Scratch spat, emphasizing his statement with a vehement finger pointing. “You know, if our roles were reversed, I would never-”

He immediately lost the rest of that thought when Molly shoved her phone in his face.

“Look! Scratch! Funny videos! Puppies playing in the snow, kittens on Christmas…”

“Forget that!” Scratch exclaimed, rudely snatching the phone from her hands and muttering to himself aloud as he typed. “Best skateboarding fails compilation…” A huge guffaw erupted from his lips as he found what he was looking for. “Ohhhh, yeah, that’s the stuff! Ha! Look at that idiot! Ohhh, hohoho! He’s gonna feel that one for days! Thanks, Moll. You always know how to cheer me up.”

“Well, I was kinda hoping we could watch the snow puppies together but…” She grimaced at what she saw on the screen, legs bending in ways legs should not ever bend, opting to look out the car window to watch the scenery pass by instead. “If you’re happy, I guess…”

“Oh, I am very happy!” Another riotous laugh punctuated his speech as he kicked the little blobs of ectoplasm at the end of his “body” as if they were feet. “Man, it’s gonna take him forever to pull all those thorns out of his butt!”

And then...

Like the eerie sense of calm before a tornado, Scratch suddenly went silent. The reprieve from his raucous, obnoxious laughter was appreciated for all of a few brief seconds, before the other occupants of the car realised what was going on. They now all questioned the wisdom of voluntarily shutting themselves in a small, enclosed space with a loaded snot bomb…a bomb that was now evidently about to go off. His face was contorted in a way that would be comical, if it wasn’t so alarming - lips curled so high they intruded into his eyeballs’ personal space, nostrils flared in an almost obscene way. He appeared oblivious to everyone else in the car begging them with every fibre of their being to please not do what he was very clearly about to do. Sharon frantically searched the glove box for a towel, or anything that might mitigate the damages when his nose eventually detonated, while Pete tried in vain to look for any place he could pull the car over.

“I…” Scratch managed to squawk in a strangled voice. “I’m…ghhhhhhh…gonna see…hehhhhh…what the hhhhhhhh…hhhholdup is with all the trahhhhh…traffic…” This made no sense, because traffic was actually flowing reasonably well for this part of Brighton at this time of day, but nobody had time to question it before he phased his head through the roof of the car, leaving the rest of himself dangling in the car's interior, and…

“Hyahhhh…CHOOOO!”

Thank goodness for his stubborn commitment to the thinking-he-was-fooling-everyone-about-not-being-sick bit.

Pete looked into his rear view mirror to witness the car behind them veer precariously from side to side and then turn on the windshield wipers to clear the thick and copious visual obstruction that had, from the driver's point of view, suddenly materialized out of absolutely nowhere. Pete winced sympathetically. Maybe bringing Scratch out in public today wasn’t the best of ideas. Scratch floated back down to his seat, where he did an incredibly convincing impression of a semi-cooked egg before sliding onto the floor with a groan.

At least they had finally arrived at their destination. They could trade being trapped in a small enclosed space with a snot bomb waiting to go off with…being trapped in a larger enclosed space with a snot bomb waiting to go off. With other people. Yep, this was definitely a terrible idea.

Scratch, by now, had given up the insistence of moving under his own free will, and decided, instead, that the best mode of transportation was draping himself over Pete’s head and shoulders. Pete would have refused, on the grounds of "eew", except for the last minute discovery of a dirty old fishing hat under one of the seats of the car, that he could not for the life of him remember buying. It smelled like a mixture of gasoline and some odors that were definitely better off left unquestioned, but - given that Scratch had decided to drape his ample nose over the top of Pete’s head, so that the tip was bobbing ominously over Pete’s forehead right in his line of sight…the hat was the lesser of two evils by far. On the plus side, since Scratch was seemingly giving in to his misery and attempting to hide it less and less, maybe the notoriously ravenous ghost wouldn’t have too much of an appetite, and the bill wouldn’t be too excruciating.

Pete wasn’t sure if he imagined, out of pure self-consciousness, the weird looks people gave his grimy, and now probably gooey, hat as they went inside, but he couldn’t wait to get to their table and get the gross thing off his head as quickly as possible. The uncharitable thought that “gross thing” could have meant either the hat or Scratch did cross his mind, and he felt bad about thinking it, but it wasn't like Scratch could read minds or anything.

Scratch...couldn't read minds, right? He concentrated hard on the thought Hey, Scratch...want unlimited access to the sundae bar? Give me a thumbs up if you do! When Scratch failed to react even the tiniest bit, he figured his thoughts were perfectly safe.

They were seated near the window, with the sunlight streaming in and a perfect view of the sidewalk with the occasional passer-by…or piece of litter gently blowing in the breeze. Brighton was doing a lot better these days, but there were still some things that needed work. Pete deposited Scratch on the end of the bench seat nearest the window. Scratch groaned, and started to resemble a melting ice cream sundae, but somehow managed to stay mostly upright. Mostly. At least he didn’t look as if he was about to cause any nasal catastrophes in the near future. Hopefully, it would stay that way.

“Um, excuse me,” Molly said, flagging down a passing waitress. “Could we have an extra place setting right here?” She gestured to where Scratch sat, though of course he was in his invisible form, only seen by those he’d chosen to be able to see him like this, so all the waitress saw was an empty seat. “It’s for…um…a very important family member who can only be with us in spirit.” Molly looked every bit as pleased with herself as she felt for coming up with that absolute bit of genius, and offered up her very best puppy dog eyes to influence the waitress into giving her what she wanted. The waitress simply said “Sure, I’ll be right back.” And turned on her heels and left. She simply was not paid enough to put any more thought into it than that.

And then, Scratch suddenly and visibly got a jolt of alertness. That wasn’t good. There he was, making that tell-tale contorted expression again. Just as the panic set in for the rest of the family, he mumbled “Did you guys hear that…weird nohhhhhh…noise outside? Just gonna check that out…” before phasing through the window. This time, they got front row seats to the whole spectacle…his entire self arching backwards dramatically, his nostrils growing so large his nose nearly doubled in size…and then…

“Hyahhh…TCHOOOO!”

His nose unleashed a truly impressive torrent of goo. Somewhere just out of view, a woman screamed in horror and disgust.

Scratch floated back to his seat, as the rest of the family stared down at the table, trying to erase the memory of what they’d just witnessed. Scratch ran his entire arm under his nose, which did nothing for the dripping said nose was experiencing, except for transferring some of it to his arm. This was another thing the rest of the family tried to block from their minds. Scratch...said nothing and did nothing. He just sat...and occasionally groaned a little. This was very uncharacteristic of him. Sure, he had a lazy streak, but he managed to inject his own personality into the simple act of taking a nap. Right now, he was just listless, and it was a little sad to see.

Even the arrival of the “Tabletop Taco Bar” didn't elicit much of a reaction from him. And it was exactly the sort of thing that he'd usually get excited about. It was a magnificent creation. Empty taco shells flanked a huge bowl of steaming hot spicy beef, surrounded on each side by every taco topping imaginable, so that each person at the table could create their own, perfect tacos. The toppings ranged from juicy tomatoes, to spicy jalapenos...to three different types of cheese. And though Scratch's eyes were pointed in it's general direction, he was more looking through it than looking at it.

“Go on, Scratch,” Molly said encouragingly. “It's your Scratch Day, you get to go first...”

It was clear from her tone of voice that she was hesitant...and everyone else shared the sentiment. To serve himself, he'd have to lean across the table and...potentially...drip...on or near the food. Scratch lifted an arm, then let it drop back down to the table.

“It's my Scratch Day,” he said with a miserable, thick sniffle that did absolutely nothing to stem the tide flowing from his nose. “So you guys should serve me. I'm the king of Scratch Day, right. So, go on, make me a taco.”

His voice was nothing but a quiet mumble, with none of his usual sass, and it was pathetic to the point that nobody could really get all that mad at him for attempting to order them around. Molly took it upon herself to build him what she was sure was the worlds most epic taco: so much meat it spilled out of the shell, some of each kind of cheese, some raw onions, tomatoes (because even though they were a vegetable, he'd tolerate them if they served as toppings on food he liked) and a couple jalapenos. She set it down on his plate and gave him a gentle, sympathetic pat on his head.

“Happy Scratch Day, buddy.”

Scratch mumbled something unintelligible in response.

Once Scratch had had the honour of the first taco of the evening bestowed upon him, it was a free for all for the rest of the McGee family. Sharon staked a fierce claim on the jalapenos, as if anyone else in the family would dream of letting anything that spicy cross their lips. Darryl began work on a creation he dubbed “The Ultimate Crunchinator”, while Molly and Pete constructed their tacos carefully with the perfect amount of each ingredient in harmonious balance, giving each other's efforts a nod of approval and a thumbs up when done. The official Scratch Day taco dinner was ready to begin, and not a moment too soon.  Aside from the sick blob of ectoplasm among them, everyone was voraciously hungry.

“Hehhhh...”

All eyes turned to Scratch in alarm.  Everything felt as if was happening in slow motion. He was making that telltale face again, but even more dramatically this time, his mouth stretched wide in a terrible grimace, nose stretched even further than before. Being free of the constraints of a physical body allowed him to do some pretty fantastical things and most of the time it could be funny or fascinating. Now, it was just horrifying.

“Hehhh...”

He was going to do the same thing as before, right? He was going to float outside and pretend he was skillfully hiding his sneezing from everyone. Right?

Right?

“Scratch...” Sharon said nervously.

“Hyehhhhh...”

“Scratch, NO!” Molly begged. Pete reached for the napkin dispenser and tried to pull out as many as possible...which amounted to a torn off corner of a napkin. He held it out anyway, pleading “Wait, Scratch, just-”

“HyehhhTCHOOOOO!”

They managed to duck before the typhoon hit. The other restaurant patrons...weren't so lucky.

The entire Tabletop Taco Bar had been covered in what everyone was steadfastly choosing to believe was ectoplasm, and only ectoplasm. The surrounding tables had been met with the same fate...and so had part of the ceiling. The room fell silent as everyone sat in shock, trying to process what had just happened, the only noise that could be heard was the drip, drip, drip... of what every McGee was choosing to believe was ectoplasm. And ONLY ectoplasm.

Scratch surveyed the ruined food in front of him, and let out a strangled “Ghhhk!”. The family braced themselves for another onslaught, but it was merely followed by a plaintive “My special dinner...”.

Scratch let his head drop down to the table, and he sobbed. And wailed. And then sobbed some more.

Not long after, they found themselves standing on the sidewalk, along with all the other confused and slightly traumatised restaurant-goers. The current working theory was a burst pipe somewhere, which needed to be urgently repaired before the place could be open to the public again.  Though the restaurant owners had kindly offered to make everyone's meals free, regardless of how much had been eaten, Pete had insisted on paying.  He'd done it under the guise of "Supporting local businesses when they need it the most" but it was guilt.  Profound guilt.

_______________________________________________

To be finished in the next part!

 

[Deuce Williams]

While I'm absolutely DELIGHTED at an update, my first reaction upon reading this was:

"Oh no that's SAAADDDDDD 😭" (In a 100% positive way, might I add, I haven't  had a lot of opportunities to feel positively about this show since the finale so I thank you profoundly)

I loved the progression of how tired Scratch got, and how he gave up the "I'm not sick" charade little by little as his energy drained. It sucks feeling that ill, and I hope he gets some good family love and comfort! Great chapter, really enjoyed it!! 👍

[SleepingPhlox]

On 2/29/2024 at 10:20 AM, Deuce Williams said:

While I'm absolutely DELIGHTED at an update, my first reaction upon reading this was:

"Oh no that's SAAADDDDDD 😭" (In a 100% positive way, might I add, I haven't  had a lot of opportunities to feel positively about this show since the finale so I thank you profoundly)

I loved the progression of how tired Scratch got, and how he gave up the "I'm not sick" charade little by little as his energy drained. It sucks feeling that ill, and I hope he gets some good family love and comfort! Great chapter, really enjoyed it!! 👍

Thank you! I wasn't happy about the ending but my brain is very happy to go "Welp, Official Canon, that was fun, but here's where you and I part ways" at a moment's notice, so as far as my imagination is concerned, none of that actually ever happened and lots of fun stuff did instead. 

I promise Scratch will get a warm and fuzzy ending but in the meantime you might like this new one I just posted where he gets to have a warm and fuzzy ending. (I'm going to be doing as many warm and fuzzy endings for Scratch as I can think of in the foreseeable future! ) Flower Show Folly

[TheCakeIsAlive]

The truly-implausable-denial is great fun.  I love how a cartoon premise works on completely different rules of suspension of disbelief.  Looking forward to see how you're rounding this one off!