#phantom walter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

raaorqtpbpdy · 7 months ago

Text

Grave Discovery

Wes was so excited about having dug up some real evidence of ghosts that he forgets that police consider riding around with a corpse strapped to your bike suspicious behavior.

For the prompts: Wes Weston was proving it. Ghosts were as real as the dirt under his fingernails and the shovel he used to slice through grave earth. [from @ishouldgetatumbler], and Wes, tired and fed up with everyone not believing him, sets out on a mission. And this time, with the evidence in his hand, everyone will have no choice but to believe him. [from @ashboy-3]

Read also on AO3

[Warnings for graphic description of a corpse, police involvement, and grave robbing]

Wes Weston had bought a shovel.

It was more expensive than he would have thought, and he didn't get an allowance, but he did do odd jobs for neighbors every once in a while to fund his hobbies, racking up a respectable savings before spending it all at once on a new camera lens or basketball uniform. This time, he had spent it on a shovel.

He'd tried to borrow a shovel, but the apartment his family lived in only had a couple small potted plants, and you didn't really need a shovel for those if you didn't mind getting your hands a bit dirty. Nobody else in the building had any use for a large shovel like Wes needed either. And when he asked beyond his apartment complex, people started asking questions like 'what's a kid like you need a shovel for?' and he couldn't very well tell them he was going to dig up a grave.

So Wes had pulled together his savings, biked down to the hardware store, and bought himself a brand new shovel that cost him nearly twenty dollars after tax. Wes hadn't really been expecting it to cost more than five, but the clerk at the store assured him he wouldn't find a good, long-handled shovel cheaper anywhere else.

Wes had bought it, but checked elsewhere anyway, planning to return it if the clerk happened to be lying and he found a cheaper one. He didn't.

He grumbled in frustration anyway, as he rode home with the shovel zip-tied to the side of his bike. He'd wasted all that time riding to every hardware store and gardening supply store in Amity Park for nothing.

When he turned down onto his street, he noticed some of the neighbors looking at him funny when they saw the shovel, but he paid them no mind. Most of them already thought he was a bit of an oddball, so this probably wouldn't make their opinion of him any worse at least.

Wes locked his bike up in the apartment building's garage and headed upstairs. His father was working late, and Kyle was out skateboarding with his friends, so the apartment was empty when he went to his room to hide the shovel under his bed.

What he had to do would be an all day sort of task. Probably it would even take multiple days. He knew exactly what he was looking for, but he only had a general idea of where it was buried, or how deep. He would start tomorrow.

That night, he slept restlessly, anxious for what he planned to do the next morning, both excited and afraid.

He awoke early the next morning. Well before his family, who preferred to sleep in on weekends. He took his shovel with him down to the garage, and with it, he rode out to the edge of town.

There were miles of woods between Amity Park and Lake Eerie, but Wes didn't go very far. There was only so much distance three people carrying a hundred and twenty pounds of dead weight could have covered over the rough terrain of the woods. He wrapped his bike-lock around a tree just deep enough in to not be visible from the road, slung his brand-new shovel over his shoulder, and started walking.

There was a heavily marked up map in his pocket, but he'd memorized it by now, so there was no real need for him to consult it. Wes knew exactly where he was in relation to the road, the town limits, and Fenton Works, and that was all he needed. He'd done the math. He knew more or less where he needed to dig.

The shovel made a hollow metallic shink as it sunk into the soft forest floor.

He knew what he was doing. He knew the truth. And soon enough he would have all the evidence he needed to convince everyone else.

It shouldn't have been that deep, Wes thought. Even with three people together, it was doubtful they would have gone all the way down to six feet. In fact, he thought it was doubtful they would have gone deeper than three, but when his first hole got about four feet without finding anything, he shoved all the dirt back in and stabbed a stick upright into the ground to mark that he'd already dug there before moving on to the next spot.

Even if it took him all day, all week, all year, he would keep digging until he found what he was looking for. He was fed up with all the mockery and ridicule he faced from his peers and neighbors, and now he was determined. He was a man on a mission.

Wes Weston was going to prove it. Ghosts were as real as the dirt under his fingernails and the shovel he used to slice through grave earth.

He didn't find anything that weekend, and when he came home covered in dirt and leaves his dad made him do all the laundry. That didn't stop him from going out again next weekend.

He was so sure it was there. So sure he could find it.

On the third Saturday he spent digging holes in the woods, with calluses now forming on his hands and sweat dripping from his brow, he found it. His shovel hit something hard, and when he looked down into the hole he saw some dirty fabric that looked like it might once have been white, but was so badly stained now as to look brown.

Wes returned to his task with renewed vigor, digging wider and wider until the whole thing was visible.

For a moment he hesitated. It didn't... smell like he had been expecting it too. and though the white sheet wrapped around it was stained with mud, it didn't appear to be stained with... anything else.

Cautiously, Wes pulled back the edges of the sheet, wondering if what he'd dug up had been buried far far more recently than what he had been looking for. But no.

He had been expecting a reeking lump of rotting decay barely recognizable as the person this corpse had once been, but that was not what he found. What he found was the corpse of one Daniel Fenton, a student who still attended Wes' school, even in death, and the son of the town's local quote-unquote 'ghost hunters'.

It was perfectly preserved, like he was only sleeping, except his skin was deathly pale, his eyes glassy and sunken, his cheeks gaunt. The body was covered in burns, as was the jumpsuit it was wearing, holes melted right through the rubber in places, and black scorch marks on the surface. But though it must've been buried there for months by this point, there was no bloating, no decay, and no smell of death.

A cloud passed over the sun as Wes marveled at it in curiosity, and when the light dimmed, he could see that the corpse was glowing faintly.

Wes didn't know why, but he checked for a pulse. He pulled off one of the gloves, melted to the point of being nearly unrecognizable for what it was, and pressed his fingers to the corpse's wrist.

Nothing.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

Now all there was left to do was transport the thing back into town and show everyone. And this time, with the evidence in hands—or dragged along behind his bike, rather—they would have no choice but to believe him.

Wes wrapped the sheet back around the corpse and dragged it to where he left his bike, then took both of them to the edge of the road. He'd brought with him his skateboard and some rope. Wes almost never used his skateboard. He and Kyle had both gotten one from their aunt on their thirteenth birthday, but Wes had never gotten into skating like Kyle had.

He lifted the corpse onto the skateboard. It wasn't tall, but neither was the board very long, so it's feet still dragged on the road behind. It would have to be good enough, Wes decided as he lashed everything together and to the back of his bike.

The road was rarely busy, but on the weekend, there were a few cars carrying people out to the lake for fishing or camping or what-have-you, but Wes didn't especially notice or care.

So single minded was he in his mission, that he didn't even think about how it would look for him to be pulling along a corpse behind his bike until he was stopped by the police.

"Uh... what's the problem, officers?" Wes asked.

"You mind showing us what you got under that sheet there?" One of the officers asked.

Wes grinned. "Absolutely officers!" he said. "What I've got here is absolute proof that ghosts are real, and you two get to be the first to see it!"

He loosened the ropes only slightly, planning to tighten them again once the officers acknowledged that he was right and brilliant and sent him on his way. Then he pulled back the edges of the dirty sheet to show the police officers the sunken face of... Danny... Fenton's... corpse....

Once Wes was literally staring in the face of what he had done, he suddenly had second thoughts about so eagerly showing his proof to law enforcement. Well... shit. It was too late now.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," one of the officers breathed out.

"Lay down on the floor and put you hands behind your back," the other shouted. "Down on the floor, now!"

Wes did as the officer said, mentally kicking himself for being so thoughtless in his excitement to have proof.

He was pretty sure that, technically speaking, he hadn't done anything illegal here. Digging in the woods wasn't illegal. They couldn't exactly charge him with obstruction of justice, or accessory to murder, or even a cover up, because he had been very specifically uncovering up something. It wasn't illegal to show people a dead body someone else had killed, especially not to show cops. They wanted you to do that.

Yes, this looked very very bad, but once the misunderstanding was cleared up, Wes was sure he'd be let go without any charges being filed... probably... hopefully.

"I know how this looks," Wes said, as he was handcuffed and roughly shoved into the back of the squad car. "But I want you to know that this is just a big misunderstanding. I discovered the body and was bringing it back to town to show people. Someone tried to hide it in the woods, and I found it there. I am not a murderer."

The police officers did not look convinced as one of them read him his Miranda rights and the other called for back-up to deal with the... well... the crime scene, he supposed. His bike was a crime scene now.

"Hey, am I gonna be able to get my bike back after this?"

"You have the right to remain silent," the officer reminded him. "Fuckin' sicko."

Never in his whole life had Wes dreaded a call home as much as he did this one.

Despite having definitely broken the law before, usually breaking and entering and privacy violations, he'd never actually been arrested for it. Now that he was being arrested, he technically hadn't broken the law, but it was looking increasingly less and less likely that anyone would believe him.

Luckily, he was a minor, so they weren't allowed to question him without talking to his parent or guardian first, but unfortunately that meant they had to call his dad in on his day off after he'd been working over time all week. His dad was a patient and understanding guy, but even he got grouchy when his day of rest was interrupted after a 60 hour work-week.

"Wes..." his dad looked absolutely exhausted. He sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Why did I just get a call from the police telling me to come down to the station because my son had been found in possession of an unidentified corpse?"

"I didn't kill anyone," Wes said immediately. "He was like that when I found him."

His father sighed again, more deeply this time, and blinked tiredly at him.

"Why don't you explain this whole thing to me, from the beginning?"

Wes began to recount his theory about ghosts, about Danny Fenton. He explained how he'd learned that Fenton had somehow died, and that his friends, possibly with his help, had taken his body out to the woods and buried it. Then about how Wes had bought a shovel so he could find the body and show everyone the truth, that Fenton was dead, and ghosts were real, and he was one. Finally, he told his dad about being stopped by the police and arrested when they saw what he was transporting.

"But technically speaking, I haven't done anything illegal," Wes finished. "At least... I'm like 90% sure nothing I actually did was illegal. So this is all a big misunderstanding."

When he was done, his father just stared at him silently for a very long moment. When he spoke, he said only a single word, shaking his head, looking more tired world-worn than Wes had ever seen him

"Why?"

"Because I'm right!" Wes insisted. "People need to know the truth, that there a ghosts walking among us. They could be dangerous! And even if they're not, think about what this means for humanity! This is proof of an afterlife, that our souls can stick around even after we're dead. This is world-altering information, and I had to prove it, and I have the evidence now—"

"And you're in a holding cell!" His dad pointed out, tone cold and harsh. "Wes, you know I love you no matter what, and I never discouraged you from pursuing your hobbies and theories before, but this is a step too far, kid. There is a corpse involved now, and my fifteen-year-old son had been arrested under suspicion of murder. This is serious. Do you understand how much trouble you could be in if we can't prove that you aren't responsible?"

Wes snapped his mouth shut and swallowed before shifting his eyes downward and nodding guiltily.

His dad sighed once more and scrubbed his hands over his face. Evidently he'd rushed out of the house so fast he'd barely been able to change out of his PJs and didn't even get the chance to shave, because his face was scruffy, and his clothes were rumpled, and he hadn't properly aligned the buttons on his shirt.

"I'm sorry," Wes said. "I didn't mean for you to get dragged into this."

"No, don't... don't be sorry about that," his father said. "Be sorry about digging up a corpse and transporting it through the middle of town in broad daylight. I thought you were smarter than that."

"Yeah, I got over-excited," Wes admitted.

"Is this why you've been coming home covered in dirt the past few weekends?"

"Yeah. Are you mad?"

"Oh, you are doing everyone's laundry for the next year after this little stunt, mister."

"That's fair."

It wasn't long before an officer came to take Wes and his dad to an interrogation room, where Wes was handcuffed to the table.

"Is that really necessary?" his dad asked.

"It's standard procedure for suspected murderers," replied the cop gruffly.

His dad scoffed and rolled his eyes, and the cop sneered at him.

"You should really be taking this more seriously," the cop told him darkly. "Your son was discovered transporting a dead body through town without any indication of remorse for his actions. If the coroner determines it was murder, he could be tried as an adult."

"Maybe you should consider that I know more about it than you do right now, and take my lack of concern as a sign that you're blowing this whole thing out of proportion."

Wes gawked a bit at how coolly his dad was handling this. He knew the man was taking this situation as seriously as anyone, but he was acting very convincingly like he didn't think it was a big deal, and the cop seemed to be genuinely put-off by it. Wes had to hand it to his father, he was selling it well.

A few minutes later, a detective came into the room and dropped a thin file on the table. He sat down across from the Westons, took out a pen and notepad, and opened the file to reveal crime-scene photos of Wes' bike and the makeshift corpse trailer behind it.

In the corner of his eye, Wes noticed his dad grimace in disgust, but he kept quiet

"Let's start with who this poor stiff is," the Detective said. It wasn't a question, and it left no room for debate.

"Daniel Fenton," Wes replied. "He is a freshman at Casper High."

The detective's eyebrows shot up in surprise at how easily Wes had answered him. "Sounds like you're gonna make this go nice and smooth for me," the detective said. "In that case why don't you go ahead and confess for me."

Wes scoffed. "Weren't you listening?" he asked. "I said he is a freshman at Casper High, not was. He's still a student there. I can guarantee you he'll be in class tomorrow."

"Now how's he gonna do that when he's stuck in a drawer at the morgue?"

"The same way he's been doing it for the last several months despite being buried in the woods," Wes said. "He's a ghost. Or... ghost-adjacent maybe. He's not an ordinary human, at least. And I didn't kill him. You can call him up yourself to come identify the body. I'll even give you his number."

"That's real cute," the detective said with a sneer. "But I'll take that number."

Wes gave it to him, and he wrote it down on his notepad to check later.

"Now, if you're really gonna claim you didn't kill him, why don't you explain just how his corpse happened to end up tied up to your bike while you rode into town?"

Wes explained again, just like he had to his father, the whole story, from the first time he realized Danny Fenton wasn't quite right, to finding the body and taking it into town.

The detective nodded along, occasionally interrupting to ask for clarification, or details, but it was clear he was just trying to catch Wes in his lie and didn't actually believe a single word he was saying.

"Alright, well we're gonna send someone to verify every single part of that story of yours," the detective said. "Until we get a cause of death back from the morgue, there's not much more we can investigate, since clearly you didn't kill him on your bike in the middle of town. We're done for now, but don't think for a second that this is the end. I'll send someone back to take you back to your cell in a minute."

There was no way Wes' dad could afford bail, so Wes made himself as comfortable as possible in his holding cell. Luckily, he didn't have to share it with anyone. That didn't really mean there was any privacy, just that he wouldn't have some drunk falling all over him.

He spent most of his Sunday there, bored out of his skull, although one of the beat cops let him have her newspaper when she was done with it. Then, late in the evening, the detective that had interrogated him came to the door of his cell, his face pale as a ghost, and opened the door with trembling hands.

"You're... you're free to go," he said, his voice weak and cracking with... fear?

"What changed?" Wes asked, stepping to the door of his cell.

The detective moved out of his way with a look of terror as Wes stepped around them. The fact that Wes was a good few inches taller than him probably wasn't helping him calm down.

"The uh... the victim," he managed to get out. "He's still alive."

Wes raised an eyebrow, and that was apparently question enough before the words just tumbled out of the man in a rush.

"He came to the morgue and... and he looked just like the corpse. Same DNA, same everything. Hospital records confirmed he doesn't have any twin, no explanation he just... he just said 'that's me, don't worry about it' and... and-and then he walked out afterwards like nothing was even wrong, like nothing was... fucked about the whole thing. He said you didn't kill him—that-that-that it was an accident and... fuck. I don't know how you did it. I don't know how anyone could do something like this, but if the victim's not dead, then... then...."

He shook his head. It seemed like he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

"You're free to go," he repeated finally.

"Don't supposed there's any chance of me getting the corpse back?" Wes asked.

The look the detective gave him wasn't just horrified, or baffled... it was broken. He gave Wes the most broken look the boy had ever seen, then mutely shook his head and stumbled down the hall as if he was either very drunk, or very much wanted to be.

"Can I get my bike back at least?!" he called after the man.

"That's... a question for impound," came the warbling reply.

Wes frowned, but did not pout as he walked out of the holding area and to the front desk to see who he had to talk to about getting his bike out of impound. He couldn't get it back right away, and had to make an appointment to reclaim it. He would also need a photo ID and proof of ownership. He wasn't sure he even had proof of ownership. He'd bought that bike at a garage sale, so it wasn't like he had a proper receipt for it.

He'd have to figure something out before next Wednesday, but for now, it looked like he was walking home.

The next day at school, Danny found him and gave him a very angry talking to about violations of privacy, and the severity of disturbing someone's grave, unmarked though it may have been.

"I'm going to show everyone the truth, Fenton," Wes told him, unafraid of the monster before him. "Maybe I lost the corpse, but I'll find new evidence. And when I do, everyone will know the truth about you. Everyone will know what you really are."

Danny scowled and threw his hands up in frustration and left Wes alone.

The was nothing in the news about Wes' arrest, or the corpse. It seemed the police had chosen not to release any information about Wes' initial arrest until they had more information—and once they got more information there was simply no plausible way to explain it to the news outlets, so instead they decided to cover it up.

Maybe Wes should have been grateful that his arrest wasn't in the news, but he was mostly just frustrated that his evidence wasn't either. He'd worked hard to find that corpse, and now it was just going to sit in a drawer in the morgue, or a pauper's grave... not rotting.

#danny phantom #dp #wes weston #walter weston #corpse au #phic phight #phic phight 24 #fic #things i wrote

58 notes · View notes