Day 25 : After the dissection, there were parts of him everywhere, organs divided into jars of formaldehyde and stored haphazardly, scattered across the lab. It was gonna take ages to put him back together.
Tucker: Man... I have to study for the test tomorrow...
Danny: Oh Im SoOoOoO sOrRy! I will make sure to request they wait untill the weekend next time!!!
“Would you like to know how much time you have left?” Clockwork asked.
Danny had never wished more that he’d died in something with pockets so he could hide his shaking hands. The endless ticking in the lair—hundreds of hands TICK TICK TICK -ing in perfect sync—had never sounded so ominous.
“I—” his voice rattled his throat, a raw thing “—I didn’t think you gave spoilers.”
With an absent spin of their staff, Clockwork shifted from adult to child and said nothing. Dread hung heavy in the air, Clockwork’s unblinking stare piercing through it all. Danny pointedly did not make eye contact. Instead focusing on the oscillating hands of the wall behind them.
He took a breath.
“Will it make it easier, knowing?”
Clockwork blinked once, face betraying nothing.
Dammit.
He wasn’t an idiot. There was really only one outcome of this conversation. Just as there had been the day he’d first pulled on his jumpsuit, walking—tripping—through the threshold. Life snuffed out of him in less than a second.
He brought his shaking hands together and met Clockwork’s even gaze.
And answered.
Thirteen days.
Seven hours.
Thirty-six minutes.
It was somehow both longer and shorter than he’d expected.
It was also a weight off his shoulders, at least in the beginning. It wouldn’t happen any earlier than the date Clockwork had recounted that night. Thirteen days of freedom. Peace. Liberation.
Because if he thought too much about the length of thirteen days, how three-hundred or so hours wasn’t enough time— it’s not fucking FAIR —he would be swallowed by the crushing anxiety that made its permanent home in his stomach.
So there was that.
He didn’t bother telling his friends. They were already all on edge, but if he could act like all was well he could ease their worries. Because ultimately they were just worried about him, and if he was fine they would be too.
He did, however, make contingency plans. Farewell videos on a USB drive taped to the underside of his bed.
He wanted Clockwork to be wrong. Some nights he laid awake, trying his damndest to find a way off this track. This self-fulfilling prophecy. But there was nothing. That moment had already passed with that stupid news broadcast that had glued him to the couch, shaking, as his parents had shouted and jeered at the screen. Dismissive. Furious. Invested.
They hadn’t noticed when he pushed himself off the couch and stumbled, shaking, to the bathroom to purge the contents of his stomach.
It was a miracle he’d only gotten a two-day suspension for slugging Wes in the face in front of the whole cafeteria. Even more so that no one had pieced it together from that.
No one saw him. But they would. When it was too late.
He couldn’t stop it. But as he didn’t acknowledge it in the waking world it wouldn’t exist. So he reserved his existential crises for when there was nothing to distract him from the looming, inevitable deadline.
He wished he could tell Mr. Lancer that whenever he was given detention that afternoon.
On the night of the twelfth day, he didn’t sleep a wink. No amount of coffee could keep his head above his desk that morning, and so, Danny spent his final hour in detention. He considered skipping. Detention was not the place for everything to come to an end.
But wouldn’t leaving—deviating from his normal routine—up the chances of putting events in motion?
Avoidance was his specialty, after all.
Jazz could write a paper on his coping tactics alone if she hadn’t already.
At nineteen minutes Mr. Lancer stopped in front of his desk. It was only him and Valerie today, and she sat somewhere three desks behind and to his left of him. Her hair was in a loose ponytail, loose yellow sleeves draped over her hands. The bags under her eyes rivaled his own, even though he was sure there hadn’t been too many ghosts in the past week or so—but then again, he’d not been the most attentive to things on the ghost front lately. It was probably his fault she was here at all.
“Mr. Fenton,” Lancer said. He forced his head to turn, a feat much more difficult than it sounded. His head felt full of lead. “Is everything alright at home?”
Danny forced himself not to cringe.
“Uh.” He ignored the sound of Valerie shifting in her seat behind him. Great. An audience. “Yes.”
“I’ve noticed you’ve been getting much less sleep of late, is all.”
Now this was a load of shit. Danny’s sleep schedule was normally trash. This current existential crisis was no more taxing than his normal night activities.
Lancer continued. “And your parents have—” he paused, eyes flitting somewhere behind him. “—in light of recent revelations, I just worry, Mr. Fenton.”
Hm.
Did he know, then?
Was this it?
Danny stared stupidly for a moment, forgetting to shut his mouth. And then shrugged.
Falling back on ignorance.
If he was honest, he hadn’t quite expected Lancer to be the one to put it together, but it also made sense.
Lancer’s mouth thinned. “I know they can be intense, especially with the scrutiny placed on our school now. No one should feel scared to come to school. Or go home,” he said, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. “This is a safe space.”
For a moment all he could hear was the drum of his heart in his chest. And then behind him, Valerie cleared her throat.
“With all due respect, Mr. Lancer,” she said, “nowhere is safe with that putrid ghost hiding among us.”
Danny didn’t turn around. Lancer’s reaction was subdued, but there was a protective fire in his eyes that confirmed Danny’s suspicions. He wondered how long ago he’d put it together.
“Ms. Gray,” Lancer said, “I see your point, but I’m just trying to ease tensions.”
Danny checked the clock.
Seventeen minutes.
Maybe he should’ve skipped detention after all.
(No escaping the inevitable. No do-overs this time.)
Valerie scoffed. “So what? We let our guard down?” he chanced a glance behind him, and Valerie’s eyes were red-rimmed—from lack of sleep or otherwise he had no idea. “Someone here is a walking weapon and we’re supposed to ignore this? Fenton at least knows he’ll be safe at home, but what about the rest of us? We don’t get to go home to ghost-hunting parents—we have to hold our own.”
Lancer nodded. “I understand. I just think that it’s very frightening for all of us, ghost hunters or not.”
Danny’s voice cracked when he spoke. “Yeah.”
Valerie’s expression softened. “I didn’t mean to make light—”
“No. No, you’re right,” he said. “It’s not safe with Phantom as a student here. Whoever he is.”
She sighed. “Danny, I don’t know what it’s like with your parents, but—”
“But what?” he cut her off. “Because they’re ghost hunters they’re automatically the safest people in the room?” He lowered his voice. “You would think that.”
She froze. “What does that mean?”
Hm. Whoops.
“People don’t know what it’s like, I guess.”
Danny turned back around. Lancer’s stare was dripping with sympathy.
Fifteen minutes.
There was a scrape of a chair, a thud of feet, and a warm hand on his shoulder. Valerie released him just as fast. When he met her eyes, they were as wide as saucers.
“D—Danny,” she said with a note of panic. “You’re cold.”
“Yeah?” he asked.
She took a step back. He hadn’t seen her this scared since they’d been stranded on Skulker’s island together. He could see the realization dawning.
“Val,” he said, knowing full well what was going through her head, “what’s wrong?”
“It’s not you,” she said, a desperate plea. “I can’t be this stupid.”
He sighed and Lancer stepped between them.
“Ms. Gray,” he said, “now let’s not jump to conclusions—”
“No!” she shook her head. “No, no, no! It doesn’t make sense. You’re—your parents hunt ghosts. Hunt Phantom.”
Danny crossed his arms.
“So do you.”
Lancer looked between them like Danny had announced that he liked eating golf balls. “What.”
Tears welled in Valerie’s eyes. “I trusted you!”
The minute hand inched forward.
Fourteen.
“You trusted me to what?”
Valerie clenched her fists. “Don’t do that! Don’t play stupid!”
“Ms. Gray—”
“I’m not playing.” Danny turned sideways in his desk, facing her head-on. “Tell me what you think I’ve done, Val.”
“Mr. Fenton—!”
“You replaced him. You replaced Danny. How long have you been pretending to be him? To be alive? How can you live with yourself, going home everyday and seeing his parents and—and—acting like you’re still—” she choked on her tears. “You terrorize this town, Phantom. I won’t let you take anything else from me, or anyone.”
Lancer’s eyes were wide. He’d never seen the man so shocked, in such foreign territory.
Valerie, on the other hand, was resolute. There was as much determination in her face as tears.
“I’m still me,” he said. “I died, but I came back. I never replaced myself, however that works. I am sorry, Val. There’s a lot that—”
“Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up! ”
“—that I didn’t mean to happen.”
Lancer slammed his hand on Danny’s desk.
“Can we all settle down!”
It all happened in a matter of seconds. The clock in his peripheral kept him tethered to the moment.
Valerie reached behind her and pulled a blaster.
A flash of red—
(The minute hand moves.
Thirteen.)
—and a burst of hot pain through his side.
He crumpled forward, his head meeting the linoleum floor with a SMACK and somewhere above him a distant shout.
Everything from his side to his cranium THROBBED and it wouldn’t fucking stop.
(He’d taken hits from Val before. This shouldn’t hurt so much. Why does this—?)
Iron pooled in his mouth.
Oh right.
Ectoplasm was thicker than blood.
Danny tried to push himself up from the floor but the world spun and his arms gave out below him and he slumped back down to the cold, hard floor.
The floor felt better.
Maybe he would…
Stay here for a while…
***
The television clicked on. A rerun of the six o’clock news.
He didn’t let Jazz turn it off.
“According to a recent report, there is speculation that our local ghost vigilante Phantom might be living among us. Care to tell us more, Lance?”
“Yes, Tiffany.” Lance Thunder’s stupid blonde hair was polished and perfect as usual and he wanted to wipe that stupid half-smile off the bastard’s face. “A ghost ID’ed as Walker —” at this, a crude picture that was mostly just a white blur appeared on the screen “— has publicly announced that our hero is a student at Casper High fooling us, flying under the radar.”
“And as far as we understand, tips from ghosts aren’t verifiable…?”
“Normally, yes, but there is evidence to suggest that—”
“This isn’t good for you,” Jazz hissed. “I know that it’s scary, but—”
“Exposure therapy,” he snapped back. “It’s gonna be the talk of the school anyway.”
She slumped back down onto the couch. “Take care of yourself.”
The door to the lab was thrown open. His parents marched through the kitchen and into the living room, perfectly eclipsing the TV.
“—telling you, Jack. The DNA scans are inconclusive at best. Their so-called ‘experts’ are out of their depths.”
“We’ll show them once and for all. If we can find out which student it’s using as cover—”
“—we’ll expose Phantom for the monster he is!”
His parents disappeared upstairs for the night, but he could still hear snippets of their vows to destroy him.
He shot Jazz a tired look. “Easier said than done.”
***
Someone was touching him.
Everything on his left burned. Far above him were LEDs and beige ceiling tiles. He wasn’t sure when he’d been rolled onto his back. But he was now, and someone was pressing down on the spot that burned burned burned—!
Blood trickled down his throat.
How many minutes had it been?
How many did he have left?
There were voices, somewhere, but everything sounded like it was underwater. Maybe it was. Drowning would be preferable to many of the other deaths he’d prepared for. Still terrible, sure, but vivisection lowered the bar considerably.
“—have you done!”
“He’s—” A girl’s voice wavered, quiet. “He’s Phantom. He’s not supposed to—to—”
Wow. Valerie had the decency to sound ashamed.
At least he could die knowing that his killer at least had a few shreds of regret.
(Is it sad that it’s more than he expected?)
“—little first aid.” The pain came in waves, and all Danny could hear was the rush of his stupid heart in his ears. “—expecting shootings in America, but not from a—”
Just as fast as it came, the world melted away. His last grasp on consciousness slipped away.
(As fast as the click of a button.)
***
Wes had a punchable face.
But hey—that’s what you get for talking to the press. The accusations were written off as pretty baseless, but the damage had been done. He got inquisitive stares now and again. After all, Wes was a joke, but his interview put Danny’s name on the list of suspects and that was enough to fuck his entire life over.
After his two-day suspension, Danny had little opportunity to survey his work. Honestly, more people asked him about how bad he fucked up Wes’s face than whether or not he was Phantom.
(From what he had seen, it was in a perpetual state of purple and that was enough to curb his anger for now.)
So. He had two days off from school.
Danny went to see Clockwork.
Long Now welcomed him with welcome arms, and he broke down into a fit of whines and gripes about how it seemed like everyone was out to get him, that everyone wanted to put his head on a pike. Everyone wanted to ferret out the wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Clockwork shared their sympathies.
“No matter what I do, I just—I’m a wreck. I think someone’s figured it out. That they know, but then I mention it to Jazz or Sam or Tucker and I’m just paranoid and I think I’m paranoid now and—” he groaned. “I don’t know what to do. I’m losing my mind.”
“You do know that it’s inevitable that the truth comes to light.”
He froze. “What.”
Clockwork shifted from senior to adult. “Your paranoia isn’t for naught. It’s a matter of time.”
No. This couldn’t be happening.
He’d figure a way out.
There had to be something.
“I thought nothing was inevitable.”
“Not nothing,” Clockwork hummed. “Often, it is nothing. But not this time.”
Their words shook him to the core. He’d suspected it, sure, but confirmation was—
“I know it isn’t fair.”
“Don’t tell me what is and isn’t fair!” Danny snapped. “Your entire life isn’t—isn’t under scrutiny for everyone. If they know that I’m me, I—”
He pressed his hands to his chest.
He would be finished.
One way or another, someone would find a way to put him on their table.
The government.
His parents.
Maybe someone else out for his blood.
(His body.)
“I can’t see what will happen past them learning the truth,” Clockwork said. “But it is a fixed point. Everything past that diverges, a thousand roads. Timelines. Possibilities. I can’t tell you what to expect. The best, the worst. I cannot offer that reassurance.”
“Oh.”
They nodded. “It’s a lot to take in.”
“I don’t want them to find out,” he said in a pathetic whine.
For a long moment, Clockwork said nothing. If not for the constant ticking of clocks, he would have thought they were frozen. But then Clockwork’s expression shifted.
And they asked:
“Would you like to know?”
***
…
……
………
Warbled voices were around him again. Different.
But this time more in focus.
“Sir, Ma’am, if you could leave the room—”
“I will NOT. That is my son, and I am not leaving until someone tells me why there is a HOLE in his chest—!”
And somewhere else, a shriek of sobs.
“We’re transporting him to the hospital, you can’t—”
“I did it,” said that same, sobbing voice. “I shot him. I shot him.”
More people were touching him and Danny didn’t like it oh god no no no —
“—get him on the stretcher—”
“—the hell DID you—”
“—Ms. Gray, you—”
“—no! I want to know why—”
“—securing him, just—”
And now time did slow.
The EMTs lifted the stretcher.
And his face lolled to the side, giving him a clear view of the clock.
The minute hand moved one last time.
Just as:
“I didn’t mean to! I didn’t—he’s Phantom, I didn’t think that it would—!” Valerie, cut off, sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Danny. If you can hear me, I’m so sorry.”
And then there was silence.
Crushing darkness.
***
If he had any last doubts that his secret was out, they were snuffed out when he woke up in the hospital to the pained faces of his parents. Jazz was in the chair to his left, hair mussed up and asleep. His parents’ eyes were red with tears. In his delirium, he also noticed Sam’s backpack discarded in the corner.
How long had—?
“Two days.”
Clockwork appeared before him in their adult form. They swung their staff, looking rather pleased with themselves. Danny then realized the occupants of the room had been frozen as long as he’d been awake.
“You’re recovering well, all considered.” Clockwork tapped a clipboard on a nearby table. “I will say, I am surprised that we took this route. It is what you might call a ‘spoiler,’ but it’s kinder than most.”
“Is it,” he said, voice hoarse.
Clockwork waited for him to finish coughing up his lungs before speaking again. “They’re handling it as best they can. I won’t say it’s great, but you’re on the way there.”
“I—what happened, again?”
And as he asked, it came rushing back.
Lancer. Valerie.
And paramedics?
Clockwork gave him a knowing smile. “Your teacher called an ambulance. In his panic, he might have let it slip that you were having a reaction because of a ghost weapon, and your parents were looped into the call.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Danny’s eyes found his frozen heart monitor, time stopped between beats. Below, his mother had tied off the top half of her HAZMAT suit and was wearing a black shirt beneath. He did notice that the contents of her weapons belt were emptied.
He turned back to Clockwork. “How did they take it?”
They shrugged. “Why don’t you ask them?”
“Wait—wait, I'm not ready.”
“How about this? I tell you how much time you have left.” They raised their staff. “Three—”
The elaborate tableaux and plays that would generally be planned for the Moon Masque… hadn’t been. For obvious reasons.
Obvious reasons being that said planning was what the family had been about to do when most of their older members were killed. Moon Masque continuing in any capacity was nothing more than an attempt to ensure that all requirements for the trials were fulfilled.
Opinions on whether or not that was necessary varied.
"Mom," said Danny, leaning backwards over the arm of the chair he was sprawled in, "if you're really that worried about it, and hate the idea of it that much, we could just… not go."
Gwensyvyr, standing just behind Maddie, made the near universal hand gesture for are you crazy?
Danny scowled at her. As far as he'd been able to determine, there wasn't anything actually vital or fundamental about the Moon Masque.
Now, Danny did plan to sneak out to it, regardless. So much of the family together would be a tempting target for the murderer (or murderers).
Maddie sighed. "I might not see eye-to-eye with my cousins, but I'm not going to abandon them to some murderous ghost."
Right. Sometimes it was easy to forget, but he had learned his morals from his parents.
"That's right! Especially with us being the ghost wrangling experts! No one better to protect everyone and show that ghost what-for!"
… ghost-related biases notwithstanding.
"Why are you so sure it's a ghost in the first place?" asked Jazz, resting her elbows on the back of the couch. "Humans commit murder, too."
"Of that many people all at once, with no method immediately apparent? Don't be ridiculous–"
"Of course it isn't a ghost," said Iris, entering the sitting room with a pronounced frown on her face. George followed in her wake, holding an open book in front of him.
"Why, because ghosts are so well known for their benevolence? Nearly all cultures agree–"
“I mean,” said Iris, sitting down on the couch. “There have been so many studies, so many tests and experiments, and how many ghosts have people found? None. It’s a scam,” she finished, staring directly at Maddie.
“Haha,” said George. “Yeah, evidence of absence isn’t absence of– No, wait, I’m saying that backwards. Absence of evidence isn’t evidence of absence.” He nodded and sat down next to iris.
“Huh,” said Jack, emerging from the little side room whose original intent had been to serve as a butler’s nook but which currently contained a large amount of coffee-making paraphernalia. “I thought all you people believed in ghosts! Got an awful wrong idea about them, though.”
Jazz bit down on her lower lip. “Dad,” she said, finally.
“What? It’s true! Now, who wants some FUDGE espresso? It’s a Fenton family specialty!”
Danny had never heard of FUDGE espresso before. Then again, both his parents had seemed rather sleep deprived lately. Not that Danny was doing much better in that department, what with being constantly haunted.
Your ancestors (hopefully your ancestors - it’d be even weirder for unrelated ghosts to be doing this) silently staring at you while you lie in bed is not conducive to peaceful sleep.
Oh, well. Danny was used to it.
“I don’t drink coffee,” said Iris. “Caffeine is a drug.”
“A delicious and legal one! If you guys don’t drink coffee, then why’s all this back here?” He hooked a thumb towards the nook.
“Martin,” said George, shortly.
There was a moment of silence, broken only by Jack sipping his espresso.
“Have you heard from Cousin Alicia?” asked Iris.
“Not yet,” said Maddie. “But Alicia has always been… very independent. She’s– She’s probably fine. Running would-be bodyguards all around Spitoon and all that.”
“Spitoon?” asked George.
“The name of the town,” said Maddie.
More silence.
“So, what have you two been doing?” asked Maddie. “How have you been… holding up?”
“Fine,” said Iris, hands clasped tightly in her lap, back entirely straight.
“We’ve been working on finishing our premed requirements,” offered George. “We’re taking online courses to fill in the gap, since we’ll probably be out for the rest of the semester.”
“Oh,” said Maddie, “that’s nice. Are you planning to become surgeons, general practitioners…?”
“Pharmacologists,” said Iris. “Medicine is Avlynys’s biggest export, and we want to contribute.”
Not said, but heavily implied: the Fentons weren’t contributing.
“What about you, Danny, Jazz?” asked George. “You two must be thinking about what you’re going to study in college.”
“I was also thinking about going into the medical field, but I hadn’t decided which part,” said Jazz, picking at one of the couch’s seams.
“We could make it a thing- a family thing, then,” said George, attempting a smile. It didn’t quite fit on his face. It dropped quickly into something more contemplative as his gaze shifted to Danny.
Danny fidgeted. “I haven’t decided yet,” he said.
“Maybe you could go into security,” said Iris.
“What?”
“You noticed the poison.”
“I was just lucky to be paranoid and right,” said Danny.
“Hm,” said Iris. “Lucky.”
Danny turned his flinch into forward momentum and stood up. “Speaking of schoolwork, I’ve got some things to take care of.”
He fled.
.
The costumes for the Masque were simple, and the same for both sexes. A white domino mask and layered white robes over black clothing.
Wearing this in the woods in the middle of the night was going to make them look like cultists.
Still, it was better than past costumes. Danny looked at the album Jazz had unearthed from somewhere, and the elaborate, almost Venetian, and completely anonymous masks that had been popular at previous events.
No, that wouldn’t be good to wear now, when recognizing each other, and keeping out others, was so important.
There was also, of course, the ritual knife. Six inches of steel forged with traditional - and traditionally secret - techniques. Members of the royal family, unlike everyone else who would be attending, were expected to be armed and dangerous. Danny rather expected that Matthew would also be bringing a gun, and that his parents would have ecto-weaponry, even beyond Spector Deflectors (that Danny absolutely wasn’t wearing, even if it would ‘be invisible under the robes’).
Danny put away the album, and started to figure out how much of his first aid kit he could carry under his robes.
.
Part of the original idea of the Moon Masque - overgrown as it was by decades and sometimes centuries of cross-cultural exchange and superstition - was that it gave citizens the opportunity to speak directly to the nobility without fear of being recognized, censored, or punished.
That, of course, wasn’t happening this time. Not physically, in any case. What was being done instead was a sort of anonymous social media mailbox that would be randomly drawn from at different points during the Masque for the royal family to read and respond to.
The elder generation seemed positive it would be a hit.
The younger generation was equally sure it would simultaneously be a hit and a disaster.
Danny, for his part, eyed the cameras dubiously. Matthew had made the members of the press who were attending undergo even more rigorous checks than at the aborted coronation, but they made Danny feel uncomfortable anyway. He knew that the papers, in absence of other information, even their English names, were calling him and Jazz ‘the mysterious young Lord Dannyl Ymaz’ and ‘the mysterious young Lady Yazmyn Roz,’ and, well, speculating a lot.
The woes of being a public figure. He probably had another wikipedia page at this point, to match his Phantom one. He’d been too shy to check.
Beyond the cameras… The Masque was sparsely populated by Assembly members, members of the College of Heroes, Avlynys’s few non-royal nobles, and security personnel.
They really did have to be pulling people from the police force to staff these things. That was the only explanation.
Simple decorations - lengths of white cloth, mirrors, and lights - hung from the trees. There were small tables and chairs, also white, set up wherever there was enough room. The largest clearing was set up for dancing. Music played over high-quality speakers. There was no food, due to concerns about another poisoning attempt.
It was all sort of surreal. The sort of environment that made everyone look like ghosts. Except the ghosts, who, for the most part, were wearing regular clothes.
Matthew and Irene were making a good show of dancing, although they were the only ones. Joanna and Eugene were also dancing together, but… it honestly couldn’t be called good. Jack was bouncing on the sidelines, looking like nothing so much as a giant, jiggly marshmallow, while Maddie stood watch, arms crossed.
Everyone else was… around, Danny supposed. The identical costumes actually made everyone much harder to recognize from a distance than expected.
Danny skirted the fringes of the party, trying to keep an eye on everyone while staying out of the cameras’ line of sight. Nothing seemed out of place, despite the eerie atmosphere, but… Danny couldn’t help but be on guard.
Rather, he had to be on guard. He wasn’t going to let any more of his family be hurt. No matter how ridiculous they were being about ghosts, traditions, language, or loyalty.
A not quite natural flutter of white caught Danny’s eye, and he spun to see Gwensyvyr, and, behind her, Vivian, with a long-suffering expression on her face. Gwensyvyr had used her… Could Danny call it shapeshifting when she only used it to change her clothing? Anyway, she was dressed in the same clothing as the living, which would probably do wonders for public perception of his sanity if he mistook her for someone else.
She smiled and made finger guns at him. Because of course that’s what she’d picked up over the centuries. Finger guns.
Other than that, though, she looked as uneasy as he felt.
A bell tone rang through the woods, making Danny jolt. He was going to destroy his neck at this rate.
Reluctantly, he walked back to the central clearing, where the news crew had set up. The interviewer, a black woman with red-dyed hair, beamed at the family, then at the cameras. “Hello,” she said, “and welcome, everyone, to the first round of questions with sy Hys Dyryse! With us, we have Regent Matthew and Lady Irene, their children, Iris and George, Lady Sophia and her children, Lewis and Leo, Princess Joanna and her son, Eugene, and Princess Madeline, her husband Jack, and their children Jasmine and Daniel. Say hi, everyone!”
Danny waved desultorily.
“Thank you,” said the interviewer. “Now, every half hour of the Masque, we are going to have a question and answer session! If you have a question for the members of sy Hys Dyryse, please send it to our website, listed at the bottom of the screen.” She raised a finger and pointed down. “And onto our first questions!”
The interviewer accepted a tablet from one of the producers, and her face instantly froze into something that couldn’t more clearly indicate ‘this has swearing in it’ if she’d written it on her face in sharpie.
“Ahem,” she said, after a too-long pause. “The first question is, what is your…” a pause to edit out a word, “stance on gay marriage?”
“On- I’m sorry, what?” asked Matthew. “Is that- Is that a joke?”
The producer who had handed off the tablet made a slightly dismayed face. Danny couldn’t help but wince as well. This was… not off to a good start.
“Did an Englishman write that? Do we have the English writing in? No, you wouldn’t know,” said Matthew, making a short, dismissive gesture. “Marriage is a religious affair. The institution isn’t recognized by the government of Avlynys in any official capacity. People can do what they want with their free time. Why should I care who is married?”
Joanna, Danny noticed, sent Matthew a mildly affronted look at that.
The next three questions (‘Princess Yazmyn, are you single?’ ‘What is your quest?’ and ‘Can your country answer for the damages done by offshore oil drilling?’) didn’t go much better. As the interviewer retreated, Danny heard her asking the producers if they could limit the website availability to people actually in the country and, possibly, put on a profanity filter.
Danny felt like he was retreating, too. But he needed a moment to gather himself. He leaned against a tree and closed his eyes.
His moment was interrupted first by a spectral hand on his arm, and then by the cold chill of his ghost sense. Gwensyvyr had her hand on his arm, and was staring back towards the central clearing. If his ghost sense was going off, that meant there was someone here who wasn’t before. Someone stronger than the dozens of silent spirits that had haunted him since the plane landed.
He reached inside his robes, fingers finding the hilt of the ritual knife.
And then there was a scream. A shout. A “No!” and the sharp zing! of an ectoblast and a grunt of pain.
Danny sprinted back to the clearing, and, oh, if anyone wanted a tableau–
There was Maddie, there was Jack, blasters in hand. There was Matthew, standing in front of them, arms outstretched, a greenish, smoking singe on his shoulder. Behind him, Sophia, who was, in turn, shielding–
Vivian?
No, definitely not Vivian. Vivian was standing next to Danny, looking absolutely horrified, Gwensyvyr gripping her arm with teeth bared and sharp, eyes glowing fiercely.
The cameras were watching.
“Move, Matthew!” said Maddie. “I know what you think, but that’s not Vivian!”
Matthew barred his teeth, looking, for a moment, remarkably like his ancestress. “Can you not accept the proof of your own ey–”
“She’s right!” shouted Danny. “That’s not Vivian!”
Matthew’s gaze snapped to Danny, widening in shock, and he started to twist, taking a step to the side and away, but the thing wearing Vivian’s face was moving, too. A long, narrow knife flicked first across Sophia’s face, then dove for Matthew’s side.
Danny threw his knife, then wished he hadn’t a split second later. Something physical like that would just pass through–
But it didn’t. The thing was hit in the lower chest and wrenched sideways, its knife skittering across Matthew’s shoulder blade. Dark green dripped from its wound.
It looked up at Danny with sharp red eyes, face warped into something unrecognizable, then melted, ectoplasm sublimating in seconds. Danny’s knife hit the ground with a ringing sound.
Summary: The Amity Park forest is haunted, in many and varied ways.
Warning: Implied death, murder, drug usage and sexual situations among minors.
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The Amity Park forest is haunted, you need only hear the screams coming from the thick darkness of it.
If you pass by in the night, you will hear the howling of the animals deep within yourself, hollowing you from the inside out until you're shaking like an autumn leaf, about to fall off from the tree that is your life.
Whatever you do, don't follow the laughter. Don't follow the melodious singing and the hollers of youthful joy, because if children can be cruel, teenagers more so, and they wait for you to lower your guard and think them your friends.
Do not harm the fauna here, it is protected by s̶͈̹̭͉͚̬̯̠̰̳̮̫̪̞̐́͂̃́̓́̇́̈́͛͜͠͠ȏ̶̘͔̺m̷̡̛̘̮̙̜̹͕͈̖̲̟̍́͆͐͑̾ȅ̸̱̽̒̒̆̍̎̇o̷̟͙̟̖͂̔͛̿͌͛̐̀̑͒͊̀̑̒͐ń̴̠̊͆̈́̒́̒͋̏e̶̩̹̱͓̱̽̒͒͛ else. There is only one hunter here, and if you try to take his post, you will find you have become the prey.
If you see the pale boy with the white hair and the green eyes, and he asks for help, help him. He will take you through the thickness, and know exactly where to turn, when to duck, how to step around the obstacles on your path. Soon, you will start seeing the light filter through the treetops, making the dust dance in the air around you.
The boy will take you to the clearing, with joyous birds singing, beautiful blue flowers blooming at your feet, and the sound of the running river nearby. The boy will smile and take you by your hand as you look, speechless, at his unmoving form three feet under you. His hair will be black as the feathers of the ravens singing around you, and his eyes the pale blue of the sky above your head, beyond the treetops where you m̸̪͈͉̙͖̟͔̋̀͗̽̓͒̆̋͆̓u̵̡̱͉͌̀̽́̅̃s̸̢̨̠̫̦̣̪̜͛̄͠ṱ̶̨̳͍͖̯̪͈́̿̽́̒̅͗̒̈́͘͜ņ̸̗̲̯̱̼̺̤͉͎͋͂͗̒̋̈́̒͂͘'̸̨̘̲͚̊̍̍̄̃̉̈́́̽̚͘͝t̵̡̤̭͖̹͍̰̞̻͕̝̃̒̒̌́̂͠ look —though some are reminded more of ice, like the one running down your spine when you look into those dead eyes—, but it will be him and you will know it. And as you look upon his half-buried corpse, the boy will push you into the second hole, which he dug himself for you.
You will lie there, unmoving, wordlessly watching him throw shovel after shovel of dirt on you; you won't complain, you won't say a thing, because dead men tell no tales.
You didn't heed my advice, you howled with the wolves and the wild dogs, you laughed and took delight in the carnal and the drugs as you sang your throat raw, you hunted and were hunted in turn so as to know what is like to be predator and be prey.
The boy cried for you and took you to your grave, but don't worry, for he is kind; far kinder than I was with him, and the one before me was in turn. He will bury you properly, and put the blue iris that grows in the clearing atop your grave, and speak on how you will be missed. There won't be need for coins in your eyes, neither of you had any after you followed the laughter of the manic youth, but he will make sure you cross the river nonetheless.
You may rest in peace, as do I, even as the boy stays back, trapped in the forest.
Should have postes this one yesterday, but my mom nd my nieve are sick and someone's gotta help my sister with her new baby too, so I didn't have enough time before my bed summoned me and kept me there, any how, for day