Well, a day late is better than nothing. I had to take the ACT this morning so I "studied" last night for it and didn't get to write much of anything. We're at the final chapter of this short little fic, though. I really enjoyed doing something spontaneous for once. I should do it more often.

Hope everyone got a small scare!

TMNT, characters © Mirage Studios
story © Turtlefreak121

Wormwood
Chapter Eight

As the days wore on I realized that the turtles had been correct in their analysis and while I am bitter and discontent that they came to realize my purpose in life before I remembered it, I feel incredibly disinterested in pursuing my haunting of them.

For now.

Wormwood.

I am a fickle "manifestation," as they so called me. I have no reason for my bitterness, though I glower at the world and wait for an explanation. Some fallen spirits will always give me a new haunt, a new memory to keep alive.

Judging by the lives these turtles lead, I shall probably haunt them many more times as duty so calls.

In my enlightened time, where I am simply Wormwood and no other spirit but myself, I have a simulation of what the eldest turtle gave me: peace.

Usually I spend this time scowering the lands for my new vengeful strike, but now I am curious.

Instead I am still in this putrid lair and watching these abominations as they slowly ease out of their own worries. They are so sure that Wormwood is gone and will no longer be haunting them. In my bitterness I wish I could prove them wrong.

They are cleaning incessantly from that Halloween marathon they had only a few hours before. They wanted to have one last bash before their father's return.

They ended up not going to the Haunted House for some reason.

I wish I could take more interest in their activities but they are being so mind numbingly dull at this instant that I fear I may fade out of this home again before I ever get a chance to see if I am mentioned again.

If I leave before they speak about my haunting then I fear I have failed my mission to be remembered.

Thus far they have spoke not a word of me.

It is not too long into their cleaning that the sewer door opens and they all tiredly, still excitedly, turn to see their rat master enter the lair. He is content to see them and they are all happy as well.

Not at all interesting to the mind of a ghost such as myself. I simply roll my eyes for the most part and observe.

They approach and then embrace their father. He returns the sentiment.

"Did you have a safe ride home, Master?" Leonardo asks.

"I did, my sons," the master chuckled in agreement.

"You came home awfully early, Sensei," Donatello points out.

Raphael crosses his arms and grins. "Missed us that much?"

"More like he missed me that much!" Michelangelo explodes before squeezing their father, causing the rat to laugh warmly.

Sobering up some, Master Splinter composes himself and looks to his sons wearily. "A father's intuition told me that my sons were in some sort of trouble," he said very seriously. "I wished to believe your phone calls were true when you told me you were all fine, but I sensed mischief unlike any other in the air."

They all look to each other uneasily.

"Ah," the old rat says as he examines their reactions. "So I take that I was not acting upon the silly impulses of an aging and concerned parent."

Leonardo frowns. "Not exactly, Master," he admits.

"We had... a bit of an encounter," Raphael adds.

"Of the nether worldly kind," Michelangelo concludes with a nod.

"We dealt with it, though," Don assures his father. "Leo put the thing to peace."

The master rubs his chin as he hums to himself over the information. He looks from one son to the other and releases a breath.

"I sense a fading, embittered spirit among us, ancient and youthful all at the same time. Powerful and faded, full of its own contradictions yet refuting the concept that peace can be achieved by releasing those emotions which once made it so strong," he examines me. "A Wormwood."

"How did you know?" Leonardo questions.

The rat chuckles. "Many years of dealing with the unusual," he replies.

"I never could figure out why though," Raphael inserts himself into the conversation again. "I mean, why hang on if you're that miserable?"

Splinter hums to himself again and looks to his son. "Perhaps a sense of immortality that does not truly exist, Raphael, would be the best explanation," he informs his son. "One's body cannot live forever, but this Wormwood believes that by living the lost lives of others then it is maintaining its own legacy, truly becoming immortal by never allowing any of us who are living to forget it."

The father steps closer to his home. "If one does not seek the abyss in life, the abyss shall seek him in death." He does not look back as he carries on toward the kitchen. "Now come my sons, you may resume your cleaning after we enjoy a meal."

They breathe easier and follow their father, assured that explanations have been made and a haunting is no longer any of their concerns.

The rat is correct.

I am engulfed by my emotions and desires. I will move on from this haunting to the next without fault.

However, at least to these turtles, I shall always be remembered.

I am Wormwood.

...

A/N: Happy Halloween!