Phantom’s Disjune. Dismay was last month.

Phantom woke up just like every other day, shaved that one recurrent pitch black, needle-like hair by setting himself on fire and scratching two diamonds together in a way that would make a human hold both sides of their face in their hands and release an “eeeeeeeee” sound, poured himself a bushel of uncooked oatmeal, and tried to figure out how he would eat his daily human.

Then, he went to the sacred cabinet, turned on a filthy looking machine, poured some dark brown powder into it, and waited for an even darker brown liquid to come out. The humans called this coffee, but Phantom called it flarpminpo which roughly translates into “true love” in human verbiage.

Phantom lived a life of mundane existentialism, and flarpminpo was his escape from this trivial existence. He drank two gallons each day. Why he did this exactly, was a secret that Phantom kept closely guarded, and refused to let the world know about… but he took pleasure in doing like the TV shows and books he sometimes watched and read, and telling his daily human meal before they were gobbled up.

“Yeeeeeeeeeeeejickkkkkkkkkkkkinflapppppp,” Phantom yawned.

He moved his seating to the window viewing side of his breakfast table, and looked to see if any movement was coming from the human trap he had set the night before.

The table wobbled as his fists came down on top of it, angry that the humans were walking into the hole less and less often. He would have to think up a new way of catching them soon, and that would require thought he didn’t want to spare. It was taxing for a half-immortal being like Phantom to be thinking too much. Just let the thoughts come as they do, you know?

The funny thing about being half-immortal is that your life lasts for half of an infinite amount of time. And given that there is no end to an infinite amount of time, it’s rather hard to tell how long half of that is. When he was a younger being, Phantom had been told that one day death might just come… or not. He never would know until it either did or it didn’t. And it would usually not, because if it did, it would be too late to know.

KNOCK KNOCK.

Phantom’s lips curved up in a coffee tinted smile. His human trap being empty wouldn’t matter now, because his faithful steed was here.

Sammy the Unicorn had been Phantom’s best friend for fourteen years, and during that time they had gotten plenty of human meat to eat together. They both had the curse on their heads which is only natural when dark spiritual beings choose to spend a vacation of a few hundred years or so on a planet like Earth. And together, they usually would be able to find humans to eat if they couldn’t apart in their own respective human traps.

They didn’t get along in every sense though. Sammy the Unicorn had a bad habit of wearing skinny jeans and listening to popular human music, which Phantom found distasteful at best. But each to his own.

Phantom reached for the door handle and opened the door with half of a smile before it was ripped away and replaced by a smile three times bigger.

Instead of Sammy the Unicorn, there was a bright red human child. A suitable meal for a dark spiritual being such as he. He was surprised, but not too surprised to be rude lest he chase this food away, so he said what any self respecting phantom would say.

“WHY HELLO THERE SMALL EARTH BOY”. Phantom reached out his arm and patted the child’s head.

“Hi,” said the child, grinning. “Are you a Mister Phantom?”

“WHY YES I AM SMALL MORSEL,” Phantom said with glee all over his voice.

“I’ve just cut your unicorn friend’s head off and I won’t put it back on unless you pay,” the child said.

Phantom gasped.

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