Work Text:
He looked over his collection carefully.
Hmm, this was going to take longer than he thought.
The Box Ghost sorted through the pile of boxes, carefully arranging them by condition, material, and size. Several small, greasy boxes from the Nasty Burger went to his left. A shoebox that had been left unattended outside of the high school went to the left as well, but not without Boxy giving it a loving touch along its corrugated edge.
Who would abandon you, my rectangular friend?
He placed the box to the side and continued to sort. A container that used to hold tennis balls went to the right. It was of a pleasing shape and strength, but the plastic material was an affront to cardboard everywhere.
Next was a container Boxy had wrested from the archive in the mayor’s office. This box was a sight to behold. The walls gleamed from superior storage conditions. The acid-free, corrugated board smelled of aged paper and baking soda. Boxy had, of course, dumped the contents of the box in the dumpster behind the building. What use was a box if it was weighed down with unnecessary documents? The archival box went soundly in the middle of the left and right stacks of boxes.
Ah, is there anything better than this?
It was at that moment that Boxy caught a whiff of ectoplasm.
Right. That.
Boxy floated over to the back of the pile of boxes he had acquired and gazed disdainfully at a box settled smugly on the top of a very nice pizza box.
“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” he demanded of the box. The box did not respond.
“I AM THE BOX GHOST! I DO NOT FEAR YOU!”
The container before him didn’t so much as flinch.
Hmph. Of course this box would cause trouble.
“Fine. I will sort you like the others,” Boxy said, cowed by this particular container’s tenacity. “But do not expect to go into any pile but the shameful one full of plastic and disappointment. I will not allow anything more than that.”
Again, the box remained motionless. The only thing revealing its true attitude was the glowing, charred remains of one of the corners left by one of Phantom’s ectoblasts. This was why the box was giving Boxy so much trouble.
Boxy had innocently been floating around town looking for unattended boxes to add to his collection when he spied a most wonderful specimen of three-dimensional, cardboard lined space. It had been sitting, all alone, on the upper balcony of Fenton Works. Of course, Boxy had to fly in and see just how beautiful this box really was.
Close up, the container was even better than Boxy had thought! Not only were its edges crisp, its corners un-rumpled, and its lithographically printed labels pristine, but the box actually contained custom cut EPS foam that perfectly cradled the delicate contents. This was the best day of Boxy’s afterlife!
Boxy had scooped up his prize and hurried to get back to his lair. He wanted no possibility that another ghost could come and attempt to steal his impossibly perfect cargo.
“Hey! That’s mine!”
The Box Ghost flinched. He knew that voice.
“Boxy, why in Ancient’s name did you take that box?” Phantom had demanded. “You know Fenton Works is my home. ”
“I AM THE BOX GHOST! ALL THINGS RECTANGULAR AND CORRUGATED BELONG TO ME!”
Phantom sighed and raised an eyebrow at the ghost.
“Uhh… BEWARE?” Boxy turned and shot off through the night sky, knowing his only chance at keeping his prize was if he could somehow lose the halfa in the maze of warehouses in the Box Ghost’s usual haunt.
“I was really hoping to have a chill night for once,” Phantom had muttered and zoomed after the less-than-intimidating thief.
The ensuing chase had ended with mixed results. Boxy had expertly evaded Phantom right until the ghost boy had appeared out of nowhere and threatened to suck the Box Ghost into his cylindrical tube of hot liquids if he did not return the stolen box immediately. Boxy, of course, would not comply.
Instead, Boxy had begun throwing the box's contents at the halfa. To the Box Ghost’s delight, Phantom swore and desperately tried to catch all of the metal pieces raining down instead of pursuing Boxy. The ghost had decided to call this genius tactic THE METAL BARRAGE OF DOOM.
Boxy took the moment of chaos to escape his adversary and flew out of the warehouse. His escape was interrupted by one last attack from the ghost boy. Phantom shouted something about Boxy ruining his stargazing night and shot off a particularly spiteful ectoblast that the Box Ghost swiftly dodged. The box, however, did not escape as easily. The lower left corner of the box had been caught by the blast and was devastatingly damaged.
Returning to his task, the Box Ghost picked the box up shrewdly and inspected the box he had fought for so fiercely. It was as he feared, the corner was singed beyond repair. The label on the box, which had once so perfectly spelled out ‘ Dobsonian Reflector Telescope’ , now read ‘Dobso Refl tor el sco e’. Much less impressive. If that rotten halfa had only aimed a couple extra inches lower, Boxy would have made off with a box good enough to rival the absolute best of his collection. Instead, here he was with a box that was barely worth being a stand to elevate other boxes.
Boxy sighed and moved to set the charred box in the ‘disgrace’ pile when he paused. He had not yet checked the inside of the box. Perhaps, if he was lucky, there would still be something of worth inside.
The ghost recalled the pristine, custom cut foam that had laid snugly inside the cardboard box before Phantom had found him and inhaled sharply. The contents of this box could determine whether Boxy’s toils had borne fruit, or if it had all been for nothing. Boxy lifted the lid, careful not to damage the label further and inside rested the foam. It was perfect. Indescribably, wonderfully, perfect! The Box Ghost soared into the air, clutching his prize.
This really was the best day of the Box Ghost’s afterlife!