This is published two days early since Tumblr mobile screwed up but I'm just gonna leave it so shhh
Day One: The Witching Hour
Words: 4648
Warnings: Kinda creepy? Pretty safe. One curse word.
Honestly, if Danny had to keep track of every little tiny thing he'd learned about the nature of paranormal entities since he became one himself, he'd have a very long and existential crisis inducing list. Most of it was little things, like holy water actually hurt him. It'd been a little crushing to learn that his entire existence wasn't worthy enough to be considered natural, that he was one of the 'evil' forces repelled by the will of good. Though, he does admit he expected it nonetheless; he was a ghost hybrid, so in the eye of nature, he was physically tainted, despite the fact that he had a strong loyalty to his moral compass. But again, that was only one of the small facts he'd learned from what it's like to be a part of the world of ghosts and unearthly creatures.
Ghost fights could occur any time of the day, but Danny often noticed that the night was much busier than the daytime for tedious invasions of the town. When he was new to ghost fighting, he assumed that it was much easier to use the portal unnoticed at night, since his parents were asleep and out of the lab. But as time went on Danny seemed to notice that ghosts were almost more... nocturnal? Even though they didn't sleep, it was like their natural clocks were prone to more activity during nighttime. He certainly had no trouble getting to sleep at night, seeing as he was always so exhausted after a day of school and daytime ghost attacks, but he wondered if it weren't for his human social life keeping him diurnal, if he would be naturally nocturnal instead. He couldn't really spare any sleep, though, so it wasn't like he was extremely eager to test his theory out by completely destroying his already irregular sleep patterns.
After he came to that conclusion, he approached his next revelation about what really made ghosts more active at night. Over a period of a few weeks of constant night attacks, he started noticing something. The ghosts he fought at night were stronger than the ones he fought during the day, and he... was also stronger at night. It had taken him a while to figure it out, since he hadn't really noticed that his opponents were stronger and he also had enhanced strength during those hours, but once he realized it, he couldn't ignore the sensation of strength that he acquired at night. It was weird – how much more refreshed and energized he felt at night, like his body had gotten some kind of natural power-up. And once he recognized that sensation, he realized that it didn't happen during the entire night – it only occurred between certain hours. He started keeping track of specific times and decided that it only happened between 3 and 4 AM, the most popular hour for attacks. Of course, none of it was a coincidence.
“Literally anybody could've told you that, Danny,” Sam rolled her eyes. They were sitting in her basement, and Danny had randomly brought it up after thinking about it for a few days. “The Witching Hour is common knowledge.”
“You're a goth encyclopedia,” Tucker argued. “You know everything when it comes to paranormal lore.”
“I mean, I knew about the Witching Hour,” Danny said, “but I didn't really realize that it was a thing that affected ghosts, and me.”
“Well at this point,” Tucker started, “I'm sure we can assume that every myth throughout history is real, so are you really surprised?”
“Good point,” Danny shrugged. “I mean, not really, anyway.”
So, the three of them brushed it off, since it wasn't really significant for anything. They spent the rest of that night watching scary movies, before Danny had to fly Tucker and himself home.
It was a few weeks after that when Danny realized that the Witching Hour had a much more thorough grasp on him than he had initially thought.
Jazz pulled all-nighters a lot. Sometimes even on school nights, which resulted in a considerable coffee demand until she could come home and take a well deserved nap. So there she was, dull red eyes staring into her computer screen, almost completely in the dark, typing up another essay for college applications. She'd lost track of time, and since it was the weekend, she couldn't really find the mind to care very much. She just couldn't stop typing, because she would lose her momentary vision for the essay. The words were in her head now, and she had to transcribe them somewhere, before she inevitably forgot them in the void of sleep.
She wouldn't stop typing until this was completely finished. She was determined that she would not comply to sleep, sleep would comply to her.
'I've found with experience that this is...' Jazz paused. What was the word? 'Important'? No, she decided, that word is too vague. Maybe the words 'vital' or 'crucial'? She pondered each of them, and decided on the word 'vital'. '...this is vital to my formation as an exemplary student' No. Rewrite that. '…this is vital to my outstanding high school career, and that without it I could have never accomplished my current...' She was stuck again. Why do words have to be so complicated? she lamented, almost deciding to give it up and go to sleep before she passed out face down on the keyboard again.
But she resisted the temptation, opting to continue writing instead, though within minutes, she found that her mind was slowly delving into the thrall of unconsciousness, and she was starting to lose the battle against the irrepressible force. Darkness seemed to subtly drip within the words on her computer screen, causing the pixelated text to blur into formless black shapes. Her eyes became dull and her sense of focus was compromised, and her eyelids began to droop with finality.
She wasn't even aware that she was slipping away.
The keyboard didn't even feel uncomfortable when she blindly laid her head on it.
Her mind wasn't present, and her eyes were open by a sliver, but the sudden movement in her peripheral vision unnerved her, causing her heart to adopt an alarming tempo. She felt the invasive sensation of air being vacuumed out of her lungs, and consequently fell out of her chair when she attempted to sit upright. Her forehead met the carpet with a vengeance, and she was left reeling, scouring the darkness for what had startled her out of her near sleep. She pulled herself up once again, and glimpsed motion beyond her doorway, causing her heart-rate to escalate for a second time.
Her groggy brain lagged as it failed to comprehend the sight before her; a suspended figure, arms slack beside it, hovering as if it was being held in the air by a noose descending from the ceiling. It felt like some kind of surreal nightmare, and she probably would've believed it was just that, except that something in her head finally clicked into place, and the figure in the air was suddenly familiarly haunting. He was in human form, and his eyes were closed, and his face showed no hints of awareness as he floated slowly, as if his body had it's own awareness. Even though he was currently Fenton, his skin gave off a faint unnatural glow, which was only visible in the utter blackness of Jazz's bedroom. The light from his skin cast dark shadows, creating jagged blotches of darkness around his eyes and nose, which accented the barely visible green tint moving behind his shut eyelids.
She was used to watching Danny exhibit his powers, but seeing him so... lifeless, was unnerving. It sent pangs of fear within her, and if she hadn't been so sapped of her energy, she might have just scurried backwards along her floor until she was against the opposite wall, her knees buried in her chest. She remained where she was instead, opting to just gape in silent fixation.
But then, Danny disappeared from her field of vision, surpassing the space in front of her bedroom door, continuing his path down the hallway. It took her a few moments after that to disregard the eeriness clinging to her weary nerves. And it was like she had awoken from a trance. Her mind began to function properly again (as proper as it could in the wee hours of the night), she began asking the appropriate questions regarding the situation. For instance, why Danny was floating down the hallway, seemingly asleep, but conscious enough to use his powers without realizing it? If anything, Danny had exclusively told her that hovering in human form was uncomfortable, that his ghost form was much more equipped for defying gravity, so why was this the power that decided to manifest in his sleep?
It was almost like he was... sleepwalking. But that's not what this could be, right? Danny had never sleepwalked as a child, she was sure of it, so that meant that this had to be a recent development. So was he ghost sleepwalking/hovering? That's sure what it looked like, because when he had passed by her bedroom door, Danny was not there; he was definitely somewhere else, dreaming.
Since it appeared that he was asleep, Jazz wasn't keen on waking her brother up, but it wasn't like she could risk having him float out the front door and out into the street in the middle of the night, in human form, nonetheless. She had to wake him up and send him to bed so he could sleep uninterrupted.
She pulled herself off of the floor, her legs wobbling beneath her, and she tried to compose herself as she strode into the hallway. Danny was now making his way down the stairs, descending slowly over the steps, maintaining his levitation and never touching them. Shivers caressed her spine again, watching as Danny absently glided through the air with an otherworldly presence that he usually concealed with his liveliness; Phantom never unnerved her because she was always reassured that he was Danny, zoetic and aware of the world around him. But now his human quirks, what attested his earthly sentience, was absent, and all that remained was the uncanny eeriness within him.
She followed him to the bottom of the stairs. Once he had established himself above level flooring, she took a harrowing breath and cautiously reached out to touch his shoulder. She wasn't too surprised when his skin was cold to the touch, but she was concerned that his temperature was lower than usual in human form. She gripped her hand into his shoulder as his body continued to follow its nonexistent path throughout the house. And then, he suddenly ceased floating and collapsed into a hyperventilating heap on the floor, similar to what Jazz had experienced when she had first seen him outside of her bedroom. He didn't notice her at first, and instinctively held up a fiery green fist while he attempted to maintain his erratic breathing.
“Danny,” she said softly. At the sound of her voice, ethereal green eyes decimated her where she stood, and she nearly flinched at the malice in his defensive glare. Danny realized quickly that it was only Jazz and let his hand extinguish immediately, chastising his fight or flight response for almost accidentally pulverizing his sister. He was still on the floor, and his shallow breathing had already modulated into a regular pace.
“How'd I get here?” he looked up at Jazz, confusion evident in his unceasing green eyes. Instantly, her irrational dread vanished; the haunting version of Danny retired behind his usual human awareness. There was emotion in his expression, in his voice, and he was there – not just an empty vessel floating aimlessly through the house.
“You were sleepwalking,” she explained. “Uh – well, technically sleepfloating? Levitating, I guess. Scared the crap out of me so I thought I'd wake you up in case something happened.”
Danny stared at her blankly. Her words took a moment to process, but when they did he was incredulous. “Sleepwalking? I – I've never done that before, though.”
“I know,” she said, remembering her initial doubts. “It was really weird. Since you were using your powers – I didn't even know you could do that in your sleep – do you think it was a ghost thing?”
…
“Maybe?” he yawned. She could see the wheels in his head attempt to turn and just give up. It was too late to truly think about it, or too early, and now that this was over they both needed to go back to sleep.
“Let's go to bed,” she said. She suspected that he probably would've crashed right there if she hadn't suggested it fast enough.
They started walking back up the stairs. “What time is it anyway?” he muttered.
“Maybe like fifteen 'til four,” she guessed without thought.
He paused. “So like 3:45?”
“Mm... yeah?”
“I got an idea what this is, maybe,” he said. “I'll tell you in the morning, though.”
She didn't object. She was kinda too tired to care at this point. “Alright. Goodnight, Danny.”
“Goodnight, Jazz.”
They both fell asleep, and neither of them moved until late the next morning.
Jack and Maddie were unimpressed at the usual exhibit of teenage laziness, but let them sleep late, regardless. It wasn't until about 11 AM that both of them had ventured downstairs for some breakfast (more appropriately brunch now) and recalled the strange occurrence the night before. Danny, as he promised, explained his theory to Jazz. He told her about the inexplicable increase in ghost activity during the Witching Hour and how he had eventually realized that he was stronger during that time-frame.
“Wait, so you think that the ghostly paradigm during that time of night is causing you to use your powers in your sleep? Not just using them, but making you sleepwalk.” She sounded skeptical, but it was apparent she was intrigued by the idea.
He shrugged, “Weirder things have happened.”
And with an inappropriate lack of concern, they moved on, not thinking too much about it, since it was easier for both of them that way. It wasn't until the next incident that Danny actually considered that his unconscious haunting was more than just an odd, single occurrence.
Back in middle school, sleepovers with Tucker used to stretch far into the morning, typically concluding their crazy video game nights with a sunrise. Now that they were in high school, exhausted from homework and the responsibility of being a superhero, their rare sleepovers usually expired sometime before midnight. Tucker would sleep on the bed while Danny would roll out a sleeping bag, which was also different from when they were younger. Tucker used to sleep on his own sleeping bag next to Danny, but now that they were older, Danny insisted that Tucker got a good night's rest in his own bed. (“I'm half-dead, I sleep like it too, so don't worry.”)
So there they were, after a long week of school drama, hopeless assignments that neither one of them could expect to complete, and more strenuous ghost fights, Tucker on the bed and Danny in the floor. There wasn't much discussion before they passed out, and they each promptly hit the hay after a few seconds. The room was still and quiet, with the intermittent hum of the heater turning on and off to warm the fresh autumn chill in the air. Simultaneously, the numbers on Tucker's digital clock rose and rose, plummeting after midnight, and continued to climb again into the morning hours of the night.
Neither of the boys were aware of the transition between 2:59 and 3 AM, but there was definitely some sort of supernatural liminality that occurred. The clock fell from fifty-nine to zero, and rose from two to three. Something in the air shifted, something cold, even though the heater was still running, and something... restless filled the room. There was an atmosphere of heaviness, an indescribable ambiance churning in the shadows. If anything, the energy in the room was akin to the poise of power, feeding off the darkness, growing. It was unnatural.
There was no build-up, no anticipation. It simply happened. The insubstantial
energy in the room (it wasn't just in the room, it occupied the moment) flexed and twisted, growing heavy around Danny's core. It left him as he was, asleep, and his body was animated, almost like a marionette. His skin adopted a translucent glow, a light only faint enough to be seen in complete darkness, but unwaveringly present. In the same instance, his body sensed an obstacle – the sleeping bag still had him trapped – and automatically phased through it. His rhetorical strings were pulled upwards, and he was instantly vertical, afloat in midair.
Now that he was hovering, his body naturally leaned into the movement of flying, a dormant action, which was inexplicably guided by some unconscious knowledge of the location of his surroundings. He moved across the room, towards Tucker's window, somehow avoiding crashing into a tall shelf.
The dim light his skin emitted was enough to gradually wake Tucker from his sleep. The black boy stared across his room, seeing the blurry outline of a figure in white hovering around his room. Petrified, he didn't make a sound, squinting in utter confusion since his unaided vision was downright awful. Eventually, Tucker's muddled brain collected the courage to reach for his glasses, and pressed them to his face slowly. When he reexamined the floating figure in his room, he choked out in disbelief.
“What the fuck, Danny?” he sputtered.
It was when Danny's eyes frantically shot open, causing him to unceremoniously fall to the floor, that Tucker realized that his friend might have not been flying around his room like a creep intentionally.
“Wha-?” Danny exclaimed. He pulled himself up, and looked towards Tucker for an explanation. His green eyes were the primary highlight of his current appearance, and his skin hadn't ceased glowing. Tucker was initially taken aback, since usually Danny only glowed and had green eyes in ghost-form.
“Dude, you were like floating in your sleep, going all around the room and stuff and I couldn't see you at first, creeped me out, God,” he blurted in a single breath.
Danny blankly processed his words, “Really?”
“Uh-huh. Yeah,” Tucker confirmed.
Danny didn't seem to hear him, and looked down questioningly. “Again?”
Tucker barely heard it, and found himself concerned. “What?”
Danny showed no indication that he had heard Tucker and bit his lip curiously. “What time is it?” he asked, instead of responding.
“What do you mean 'again', Danny?” Tucker didn't have the patience to play games.
Once again, Danny ignored him, and moved to the other side of Tucker's bed so he could get a clear view of the lamp-like digital clock. Besides Danny, it was the only thing that was currently providing light to the room. It read 3:13 with a haunting sort of elegance.
Danny's jaw dropped to resemble a sort of “oohhh” expression, and Tucker continued to glare at him interrogatively.
“What's going on, Danny?”
The ghost boy's eyes darted between the clock and his friend. He decisively sat on the edge of Tucker's bed and started to explain.
“Remember what I was saying about the Witching Hour making me stronger? Well a few nights ago Jazz found me sleepflying and we sort of decided that it was an extension of that. For some reason my powers kind of turned on without me doing anything. I hadn't realized that it would be happening more than once, though, I just thought it was a glitch....”
“Wait, so some paranormal force in between 3 and 4 AM can basically make you sleepfly? Why though? Because it's creepy or something? Cause it was creepy to me, man. No offense, but when you're asleep, you look really, like... dead. I mean actually like the scary kind of dead you see in horror movies. Absolutely terrifying.” Tucker froze, realizing that he'd said a little too much. “Oh God, I didn't mean for it to sound like that, I'm sorry dude. You know that-”
Danny gave an ironic laugh, “It's fine, Tucker. I'm a ghost, how can I be offended by the fact that I look dead?”
“True, I guess,” he admitted. “So, does this happen some nights, or is it every night and you've just now noticed it? Oh, and if it's only some nights, then why not every night?”
“I think it's only some nights. I don't know why some nights are different than others. I know I'm awake a lot at 3 AM, but not always, so I don't know what determines if I sleepfly or not.”
Tucker put his hand under his head in thought, “So you don't know a way to prevent it, then?”
“If I can't predict it, then I can't really prevent it,” he replied. “So, nope. But to be honest, I don't know if there's a point to preventing it – it's not really harmful, and it's beyond our control, so it's just another thing that I've decided to let go for now, unless it becomes relevant.”
Tucker realized that he was right. If Danny sleepflew around his house for less than an hour while everyone was sleeping, it wasn't really dangerous for anybody. He voiced his agreement, and the two boys simultaneously expressed their wish to go back to sleep. Danny returned to his discarded sleeping-bag, and Tucker surrendered his glasses for the night, burying himself underneath his blankets again.
Their breathing evened as their minds entered a secure tranquility, and the numbers on the clock continued to rise....
It was about a month or so later when Danny was awakened during one of his sleepflying excursions for the third time. He'd been somewhat aware of some nights that it occurred, because every once in a while he would notice that he'd wake up on top of his covers instead of underneath. He never pondered it much, and usually forgot about it after a few minutes of his daily routine.
That particular night was a nice one for Danny. He got all of his homework done for once, he had managed to stick three ghosts back into the Ghost Zone, and somehow fell asleep before midnight. It was honestly too good to be true, which probably explains why his luck turned sour later on. But in the moment, he was grateful for his momentary break.
Elsewhere within FentonWorks, Maddie meticulously cared for Jack, who had caught the flu at an unfortunate time; they were so close to completing one of their latest projects when he had spontaneously grown ill. At first, both scientists were convinced that Jack's sickness was the scheme of ghosts, and had dragged the Fenton Ghost Catcher out of storage so they could purge all of the ghost energy supposedly contaminating his body. However, Jazz (who had been seriously unimpressed) talked down to them and reminded them of their last attempt at using the Ghost Catcher to cure their sickness. They had camped in a tent by the Ghost Catcher for about two weeks expecting their sickness to go away, when in reality, the only thing that alleviated their flu was over-the-counter medication and ample rest.
So, reluctantly, Jack agreed to combat his sickness 'the normal way' and rest in bed with medicine until he got better. It was only the second night, and even though he was improving, he wasn't in a good condition. The only thing he could eat without throwing up were crackers, the bedroom had to be kept boiling hot at all times, and he had already gone through two boxes of Kleenex. Even though she wanted to be by Jack's side at all times, Maddie couldn't bring herself to sleep in a room so hot. She had tossed and turned and sweated nonstop the previous night, and was not willing to repeat that experience. So instead, she discretely snuck downstairs to sleep on the couch. It wasn't a pullout, so it wasn't as nearly as comfortable, but with a good pillow, it was so much more tolerable than the sauna upstairs.
Somewhere past 2 AM she woke up, and went upstairs to check on Jack for a few minutes. He was sound asleep, but she noticed that the glass of water on his night-stand was empty. She figured that he'd been waking up and falling asleep intermittently, as one usually does when they have a fever, so she decided that she'd refill his water for the next time he woke. She quietly trekked downstairs, being extra careful not to step on the extremely loud floorboards. It was a school night and she couldn't afford to be responsible for her children not getting sufficient sleep.
She reached the kitchen, and used the filtered tap on the fridge to fill up Jack's glass. She walked back upstairs and placed the cup where she found it, making sure not to cause any disturbance. Satisfied, she left the room and habitually closed the door behind her. It made an audible squeaking sound and she cringed at the sound, hoping that it'd been quiet enough not to wake Jack.
“Mads?”
Damn, she'd woken him. She peeked back through the door, and saw her weary husband looking at her expectantly.
“I – My head is hurting again.”
“I'll get you some Ibuprofen, sweetie,” she whispered, making a second trip to the kitchen and back. She returned with two of the pills, and double-checked the time. It was nearly 3 AM now, so it was safe for him to take another dose. She put them in his hand, and watched him attempt to swallow them while laying down, too worn to try and sit up.
“Thanks, Mads,” he muttered, finally swallowing the pills.
Normally she would've kissed him, but she was hesitant, in case she caught his sickness. “Go back to sleep,” she smiled.
He didn't reply. She wandered back downstairs, definitely ready to return to sleep herself. But before she could carelessly flop onto the couch, however, she was paralyzed.
She wasn't literally frozen, but... there was some kind of intangible fear clouding her intuition, petrifying her, turning her sense of reason into molasses. She was at the edge of the living room, and it was like her mind just... stopped processing.
And then, the merciless paralyzation dissipated, releasing Maddie from her disorientation, allowing her to comprehend the sight before her. Her heart immediately drummed with an insistent urgency in her ears when she realized what exactly she was looking at. In the center of the room, above the coffee table, there was a figure, shrouded in unearthly white light, suspended in the air like a silent, menacing wraith, awaiting her arrival. She couldn't decipher many of it's features, but she could see that it was small in stature for a humanoid ghost, which oddly incited more inexplicable terror within her.
With her composure forfeited, Maddie gave little thought to her actions, and she was screaming before she even realized that the sound had left her lips. Her scream not only startled herself, but it also caused the floating figure to fall out of the air.
The specter crumpled to the floor helplessly, and Maddie reflexively took a step back, hoping to find protection in the kitchen. But before she could flee, her eye caught something, something much more horrifying than the ghostly invader in her living room. Because she could see the fallen figure's identity now, and she could see his frightened green eyes staring up at her.
She could see that Danny (her son) was afraid of her. And she could see that something was very, very wrong with him.
Alright, so this is going to be a series of oneshots, but the first two themes sort of ran together, so I decided to make it a two-parter. All other entries will be standalones. This will be continued tomorrow for Disappearance.
When a ghost attacks while Star’s stuck in detention with Fenton, she’s sure they need help—but he’s not acting like the scared loser she’s used to.
Star didn’t deserve the detention she’d gotten. She wasn’t the one who’d planted the whoopee cushion on Lancer’s chair. She didn’t even know who’d done it. She’d just been the one unfortunate enough to still be snickering when Lancer stood up again to survey the class.
Protests about her innocence had fallen on deaf ears, and no one—not even Paulina—had backed her up.
Which is how she’d wound up in detention with Fenton, who’d dashed into class halfway through Lancer’s lecture on respect.
They were supposed to be writing an essay on the subject—something Lancer said he’d use for extra credit, which Fenton needed more than she did—except she was too angry and embarrassed to think straight, and Fenton was beginning to nod off. She’d been staring at a blank page for at least ten minutes, her pen shaking in her too-tight grip as she tried to figure out who had set her up to take this fall—and if she’d even been the intended target of Lancer’s wrath.
Fenton’s sharp gasp came about the same time as the crash down the hall. Lancer sighed and got to his feet. “I’ll look into it,” he said. “You two stay here.”
Even from across the room, Star could see Fenton’s wide eyes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Lancer.”
“Mr. Fenton, I do appreciate your concern, but—”
“Can I at least go to the bathroom first?”
“No, Mr. Fenton, you may not. I’ll be back in a few minutes, and then you can go.”
“I don’t know if I can hold it.”
“And I don’t believe you wouldn’t have said something five minutes ago if that were truly the case. You may go when I come back,” Lancer repeated, cutting off Fenton’s protests.
The classroom door closed behind him. Star expected Fenton to slump in his seat, but instead he sprang to his feet and walked to the windows. He obviously didn’t find whatever he was looking for, because he spun on his heels and dashed to the door.
He seemed surprised when it didn’t open.
“What, you think Lancer trusts you after how many times you’ve cut class on the excuse that you had to go to the bathroom?” Star muttered under her breath.
Fenton heard her. “He wouldn’t have locked it,” he countered. “It’d be a safety hazard. And he’s never locked me in before.”
She was bored, which was the only reason she was having this conversation with him. “So? Things change.”
Fenton was shaking his head. “This is a ghost.”
A ghost. Of course. Maybe he was his parents’ son after all. “Just because this is Amity Park, doesn’t mean every inconvenience is ghost-related.”
“I wish,” mumbled Fenton. Then, louder, “I never heard the lock turn. Did you?”
Star rolled her eyes and got to her feet. “Then it’s stuck and you’re just too weak to open it.” Sure enough, the handle turned under her grip. She pulled, already turning to look back at Fenton and berate him for being such a weakling, but the door didn’t move. She frowned and pulled harder.
Nothing.
“What kind of ghost locks you in?” She couldn’t quite keep the panic out of her voice now. It was stupid. Being caught in a ghost attack wasn’t new. She was used to that. But she wasn’t usually locked in.
“Someone new.”
The grimness in Fenton’s voice caught her off guard, but Star latched onto it. “You have some of your parents’ weapons, then?”
Fenton shook his head. “Everything I have is in my locker.”
“That’s not going to do us any good!”
“Don’t panic yet. We’re on the ground floor. See if the windows open.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“Listen.”
Listen? What the heck was that supposed to mean? But arguing wouldn’t get them anywhere, and checking the windows wasn’t a completely stupid idea even if she had a feeling it was futile. If a ghost could lock a door on them, it could lock a window, too.
When Star reached the windows, however, she didn’t even need to try them to know they wouldn’t open. Even as she got closer to them, she could feel the cold. “They’re frosted over, Fenton,” she said. Ice grew on them even as she watched, thickening to the point that the intricate frost patterns became completely obscured. “The door’s probably frozen shut, too.”
“Good.”
“Good? How is that good?”
Fenton shot her an apologetic smile. “It means whoever it is probably isn’t after Lancer.”
“Wait—”
“Hide. It’ll want me, not you.”
“Where the heck am I supposed to hide? Under my desk? It’ll see me.”
“You might be small enough to squeeze into one of the cupboards in the back. Just move the books.”
She stared at him.
He didn’t seem to realize how ridiculous he sounded.
“Why would the ghost want you? Aren’t you the one who normally runs and hides whenever there’s a ghost attack?”
Fenton scowled. “I don’t always…. Look. You guys trusted me before, right? When Youngblood and Ember brainwashed all the adults? I helped you then and I can help you now. I can do this.”
She frowned. “How do you remember their names?”
“That’s what you’re—?” He broke off, and she blinked. Had she just seen his breath? Sure, it was getting colder in here by the minute, but it wasn’t that cold, not yet. “Hide,” he hissed.
Normally, she’d love to hide, but normally, there was someone other than Danny Fenton who could help her get out of a situation like this. “I don’t—”
With a crack, ice crystals burst from the ceiling, jutting down towards them like razor-sharp stalactites. Star screamed and dove under the nearest desk, not remotely convinced that would help. When she looked back, Danny was in a crouch, still in the open, head swivelling as if he fully expected he’d be able to see a ghost that could make itself invisible.
He’d already said he didn’t have any of his parents’ tech with him, so why play at being the hero now?
“You’re crazy,” Star hissed. “Just call your parents for help.”
“I don’t know if this is someone they can handle,” he said quietly. His matter-of-fact tone unnerved her. Why did he make it sound like he could take more than they could? They were professionals. He was…. He was Dash’s loser punching bag, and she could count the number of times she’d seen him fight ghosts on one hand.
Before she could figure out how to respond, the temperature in the room plummeted and she heard a deep voice say, “You’re weak when you wear that skin, halfa.”
She huddled, trying to make herself smaller and not breathe too loudly. The shadows in the top corner of the room by the door coalesced into a bluish white monster of fur and ice. There was no mistaking its fangs and claws, and ghost or not, Star was suddenly, horribly convinced that it could kill her in an instant if it wanted to.
Fenton’s eyes widened. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.
“You do not deserve the title my brother gave you,” the ghost continued.
Star officially had no idea what was going on. Fenton swallowed, but his eyes narrowed and he stood up straight. As if he could face down a ghost!
“You’re Frostbite’s brother,” he said slowly. It wasn’t a question. “So he got to be the leader of the Far Frozen and you got to skulk in the frozen wastelands until you found a portal? Sounds about right. Even Klemper wouldn’t waste his time befriending you.”
Star couldn’t remember who Klemper was, either, though the name sounded familiar. She wondered wildly why Fenton was on a first name basis with so many ghosts, even considering who his parents were; it wasn’t like ghosts would befriend the son of ghost hunters, right?
The snow ghost snarled. It raised a hand—paw?—and ice shot towards Fenton. He dodged with a grace he never showed in gym class, rolling out of the way and springing back to his feet. “You got brain freeze or something? You’re a little slow.”
Stop taunting it! You’re just going to make this worse! But she didn’t dare say anything now. If Fenton was somehow managing to hold his own, she couldn’t be the one to distract him. Not now. They just had to hold on until Phantom showed up. Or the Red Huntress. Or the Fentons, assuming Mr. Lancer was able to get off a call to them.
“You’re an abomination.” The ghost’s feet hit the floor, and ice shot out. Star shivered and tried to keep her teeth from chattering. Fenton didn’t seem nearly as affected by the cold, probably because he kept moving, but the ice had to make it more difficult to keep his footing. “You don’t deserve to know the secrets of our people.”
Fenton pulled a face. “Okay, I don’t like that nickname any better than the one Frostbite gave me, but you? I’m pretty sure you have no say in who learns what. Frostbite agreed to teach me. To help me. As payment for what I did and as a gesture of friendship. So even if he’s the reason you’re acting like Frosty the Snow Monster, I’m kinda more inclined to side with him on this.”
“My name is Icebreaker!”
“Funny, you didn’t really start this conversation with a good one.”
Icebreaker roared. Ice formed at his summons, sharpened spear points of shards, and he flew at Fenton in a rage.
Star flinched.
Fenton held his ground until the last second before diving sideways. He hit a patch of ice and skidded into a desk. She shrieked in spite of herself, and Icebreaker turned his gaze to her.
Fear clawed at her insides, gripping so tightly she couldn’t find her breath.
“Foolish little human,” Icebreaker jeered, “caught up in a world you’re never meant to understand. You’ll have to die for that, just like the halfa.”
There was that name again. He meant Fenton, but what—?
“No!” Fenton shouted, and he was in between them so fast it looked like he’d flown. “If you’re mad at me, don’t involve her!”
Icebreaker bared his teeth, and Star felt the ice forming around her. She scrambled out of her hiding spot, clutching the desks to keep her footing. Fenton—Danny—couldn’t protect her. Not when he didn’t have any weapons. Why wasn’t Phantom here yet? He was never this late.
Danny’s fists were clenched. “Leave her alone,” he growled.
Icebreaker just laughed and flew over his head. Star backed up, bumping into Danny. “We’re going to die,” she whispered. Even in Amity Park, even when it got bad, there had always been someone to protect them. The Fentons had their Fenton Ghost Shield, the Red Huntress could definitely hold her own in a fight, and Phantom…. Phantom stopped every ghost that dared to cross him.
But now none of them were here, and she couldn’t do anything.
“No, you won’t,” Danny murmured. “Just trust me.”
She looked at him. His eyes burned bright blue with a fierceness she didn’t associate with him. The tips of his hair were turning white with frost, and he was cold—colder than she was. Determination alone wouldn’t let him last much longer, even though she couldn’t see him shaking with the cold like she was. Whatever adrenaline rush he was on wouldn’t last forever, and with this cold, he’d crash sooner rather than later. “We need help,” she repeated.
He shoved her to the floor in answer as more ice shot where they’d been standing. “Trust me,” he repeated as he got off of her. “I can help.” He put his hand on her back and pushed her again.
Instead of being held against the ice, she fell through the floor and landed on a stack of empty boxes (possibly stashed there by the Box Ghost). She was too shocked to be in pain. Her heart beat a wild tattoo in her chest as she gulped in warm air. “What…what just happened?”
This was a fun one! Honestly, I wasn’t sure I was going to be doing anything today (staying consistent with Inktober is hard) buuuut I took all the motivation I was planning on using for writing fanfiction and used it to draw this instead. :D Princess Dora, ‘cause she was all I could think of.
