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Phil walked into Wilbur’s room, wondering why his son hadn’t come out of his room yet that day. He heard a quiet groan from his son’s bed. He turned to his son, who was curled under the blanket.
“Wilbur, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t feel good, Dad. I think I’m probably sick.”
Phil’s eyebrows furrowed as he replied, sitting down on the bed near his son, holding his hand. He could see clear signs of fever as his son shivered.
“I’m sorry, Wilbur. Do you know what made you sick?”
“I was running around in the snow with Techno.”
Phil frowned slightly as Wilbur coughed into his elbow. He spoke, a slight smile on his face as he chuckled.
“That’s what happens when you run around in the cold without dressing warm enough, Wilbur. You get sick. But, I am glad you’re enjoying the winter. I’m going to get you some soup, okay?”
Wilbur nodded, watching as Phil left the room, before after a few minutes, he came back with a bowl of chicken noodle soup, and some saltine crackers. As Wilbur started on the soup, having an appetite despite being sick, he spoke.
“Thank you, Dad.”
Phil nodded.
“It seems like you just have a cold, so you should feel better soon.”
Wilbur looked out the window near his bed, seeing a phantom tilting its head at him. Phil looked after a moment, seeing the phantom fly to perch under the awning, the sun being a threat to it for now. Wilbur and Phil looked at each other, before Wilbur spoke, slightly nervous.
“You remember that superstition about phantoms lingering around people?”
Phil nodded, offering a gentle smile.
“It’s just a superstition, an old wives’ tale. It doesn’t mean anything, Wilbur.”
Wilbur nodded. Phil nodded and hugged Wilbur.
“Nothing will happen, Wilbur.”
After a while, Wilbur’s eyelids started to droop. Phil chuckled slightly, lightheartedly.
“Are you going to sleep, Wilbur?”
Wilbur chuckled softly, careful not to go into a coughing fit, as Phil tucked him in. Wilbur let out a soft yawn.
“Goodnight, Dad. I love you.”
Phil smiled softly, giving him a kiss on the forehead.
“Goodnight, Wilbur. I love you, too.”
As Phil left the room, turning off the light, he caught the sight of a phantom, watching Wilbur through the window. Phil spoke after he left the room to go to bed as well.
“Twice is a coincidence. It doesn’t mean anything. Even if it lingers, it doesn’t mean anything.”
The next morning, Phil walked into Wilbur’s room to wake him for breakfast, carrying a bowl of warm oatmeal. He smiled softly at his son before speaking.
“Wilbur, it’s time for breakfast.”
Wilbur didn’t stir. Phil’s insides froze slightly, just barely, but still noticeable to him.
“Wilbur?”
Phil lightly shook his son, but there wasn’t a response.
“Wilbur, are you okay? You should have woken up by now, I think.”
Phil held Wilbur in his arms, seeing the phantom watching them through the window.
“It’s nothing. The phantom doesn’t matter.”
He lightly shook Wilbur.
“Come on, wake up. You need to wake up, bud. Please?”
The phantom quietly whimpered, watching. Wilbur let out a small groan. Phil thought to himself.
“Okay, it’s just a superstition. It’s not a real thing. Phantoms lingering doesn’t mean anything for anyone.”
Phil shook Wilbur again.
“Please wake up, Wilbur. Please…”
Wilbur slowly and weakly opened his eyes. Phil hugged him close, seeing how rough Wilbur looked. The phantom let out a barely audible, soft, sad whine. A small smile formed on Phil’s face upon seeing his son open his eyes.
“Wilbur, thank goodness you’re awake! I’ve got to be honest, though… You don’t look great. You look really rough, son.”
Wilbur weakly smiled.
“I’ll be honest, Dad. I don’t feel great, I feel really rough. My looks match how I feel then.”
Wilbur chuckled, before launching into a coughing fit. Phil gently rubbed his back, waiting for the coughing fit to subside. Wilbur nestled into his dad, eyes starting to close.
“Dad, I’m so tired. Can I nap?”
Phil would have said yes, but one look at the phantom made him reconsider. The phantom looked, somehow, concerned and sad. It let out a couple soft, sad whimpers.
“Wilbur, I don’t think you should fall back asleep, yet. You’re really sick, bud. Please, don’t fall back asleep, okay?”
He sounded desperate at the end. The phantom let out a slightly louder, much clearer, sad whimper. Wilbur looked at the phantom, the movement feeling exhausting.
“How long has it been there, Dad?”
Phil shrugged before kissing Wilbur’s forehead.
“I don’t know, but I don’t get a good feeling from how it’s looking at you.”
Wilbur nodded before nestling closer to his dad.
Phil made eye contact with the phantom, and it felt like a silent plea, a silent message, between the two. A silent plea to stop prolonging the inevitable, to allow his son to let go, even if it hurts. A silent message that his son wouldn’t make it through this.
Phil held his son closer, tears forming in his eyes as he looked down at his son.
“Wilbur, please don’t leave me. You can’t go yet. I’m not ready to let you go. You still have a whole life ahead of you.”
Phil turned to the phantom as it let out a sad whine, louder than before. He felt tears roll down his face as he quietly spoke.
“Please, can’t you keep my son with me for a bit longer? Just a little longer? Please? I can’t lose him… Not yet…”
The phantom let out a sad pained whimper. Phil felt his insides freeze as the realization hit him. The phantom and him have the same amount of control over what happens. None.
Phil felt tears rolling down his face as he looked back to Wilbur, cradled in his arms.
“Please, son. You can’t leave me. Please don’t go to sleep. Please. Please stay with me. You can’t leave me, not yet.”
As Wilbur’s heartbeat and breathing grew weaker, fainter, softer, the phantom’s pained, sad whines grew louder. As this continued, it laid its head against the window, seemingly pleading with Phil to let it in. Phil held Wilbur even closer, trying to keep him awake.
“Stay with me, Wilbur. Don’t close your eyes! Please, I’m begging you… Stay with me.”
As the phantom continued whining and whimpering, Phil realized something. The phantom can’t come in without being invited inside. Phil’s brows furrowed as he tried to figure out why the phantom wanted in the room so badly.
As Wilbur continued to slowly die in his arms, his eyes drooping closed, Phil moved to the window. He let out a sigh, before looking at the phantom again, which was starting to whimper and whine more insistently. He reached for the window, opening it. He quietly spoke, voice wavering.
“Alright, you can come in…”
The phantom flew a bit, landing on his shoulder, letting out a quiet whine. He thought he could make out words, wondering to himself if he was hallucinating due to the stress.
“I am sorry, but I cannot interfere. I do not have that power. It is time to say goodbye.”
Phil shook his head before looking at the phantom, barely feeling the phantom gently and softly nuzzle his cheek.
“You can’t be right. I don’t want to say goodbye. Please don’t make me say goodbye. Can’t you do something? Please, just save my son.”
The phantom went quiet before whining what sounded like some sort of goodbye to Phil. Then, quickly, before Phil’s eyes, it flew into Wilbur’s chest as he stopped breathing, and his heart stopped.
Phil watched as his son stayed still. He could feel tears falling off his face as his heart broke.
“No. No, Wilbur. Please don’t leave me. Please wake up. Come back. Please. Don’t let that superstition be right. Please don’t let it be right.”
He clutched Wilbur to his chest, kissing his son’s forehead as he cried.
After a few moments, he heard Wilbur… breathe? It was almost inaudible, a slow, faint rhythm. Wilbur was breathing. Wilbur’s heart started to beat again, faint and slow. His skin quickly gained a blueish-purple tint to it. Phil looked at his son, watching as his canines turned into fangs, and his avian wings transformed into wings that looked much more like phantom wings.
As Wilbur slowly opened his eyes, he could see the sclera had changed to a yellowish color, and his irises had taken on a muddy green. He realized Wilbur was quite cold, but to his surprise, wasn’t shivering at all. He realized what the superstition about phantoms lingering around someone actually meant, what it was actually saying. Phantoms linger around the dying, and sometimes, the phantom would become one with the person to bring them back to life, albeit as a phantom, or in this case, a phantom-avian hybrid. He realized it was probably a rare occurrence, given how fast the phantom seemed to have to be to pull something like this off.
As he looked at his son, tears streamed down his face, a mix of stunned amazement and overwhelmed confusion and relief, and even a hint of gratitude overwhelming him.
“Wilbur, are you back? Are you alive? You’re really back! You’re alive again! I can’t believe that superstition was right. You came back as a phantom, or phantom-avian hybrid. You came back.”
Wilbur smiled, hugging his dad. He spoke, his voice sounding a bit like a mix of a phantom’s and his own, prior to all this.
“Dad, I think we misunderstood the superstition. I think the phantom might have fused with me or became part of me to bring me back to life.”
Phil hugged him tight.
“You’re right about that. Are you still the same, Wilbur? Same person, memories, stuff like that?”
Wilbur nodded.
“Just part phantom now, I guess? I have all my memories, but there is something that is kind of weird, or you might find weird.”
Phil tilted his head, silently telling Wilbur to go on. Wilbur took in a breath before speaking.
“It feels sort of like… I can pick up on how much sleep people in the house get now? I’m also kind of energized.”
Phil looked outside, seeing the sun starting to set, wondering if his son would become nocturnal like other phantoms. He smiled, chuckling softly.
“It’ll be helpful around the house if you know when people need sleep. I’m glad you’re back, Wilbur.”
Wilbur nodded, before thinking for a bit. He gasped quietly.
“Dad, if I’m part phantom now, I don’t think I can be in the sun now.”
Phil nodded.
“We’ll find out a way to deal with that. I promise, Wilbur.”