if you put me in a box with a pen am I writing or dead?

"Nothing!" Wes said immediately.

Danny rolled over and forced his eyes open so he could give his intruder a thoroughly unconvinced look.

"Okay, so I may have discovered that he's a half-ghost like you and also secretly the mayor and now he wants me gone."

"Seriously? Ugh..." Danny forced himself up and out of bed. "Ancients, how do you get yourself into shit like this."

"It's not like I do it on purpose!"

Danny raised an eyebrow.

Wes held his ground for only a moment before his shoulders slumped and he gave in.

"Okay, so it's like this—"

[5 Hours Earlier]

If Kyle knew Wes was awake at six am on a Saturday, he would have torn him apart. But Wes was onto something, and he was nothing if not perseverant. Late last night, he'd been researching Danny's nemesis, the Wisconsin Ghost, AKA Vlad Plasmius, a lesser known alias Wes had only just learned recently. 

Mostly, he had been wondering why Danny's nemesis was from Wisconsin, when Danny himself lived in Illinois, and why a ghost who was famously from Wisconsin, had been regularly sighted in Amity Park in the last few months, while not being sighted in his usual territory at all.

That led him to the interesting discovery that the Wisconsin Ghost could often be spotted near Mayor Master's Wisconsin Mansion, which was also his former primary residence before he moved to Amity Park, and that sightings of the Wisconsin Ghost in Amity Park had increased exponentially after Mayor Masters won the election and made the Mayoral Manor his primary residence.

This, of course, gave rise to three potential theories. First, that the Wisconsin Ghost, in addition to being Phantom's nemesis, was also haunting Mayor Masters, for some reason. Second, that the Wisconsin Ghost was actually working with Mayor Masters. And third, that the Wisconsin Ghost and Mayor Masters were actually one and the same, a half-ghost, like Phantom himself.

Mayor Masters never seemed particularly bothered by ghosts, so the first theory—though most Amity Parker's would have considered it the most obvious one—didn't actually seem all that likely. Wes was not the typically Amity Parker, and he was better versed on ghost biology and behavior than almost anyone, including, arguably, the Fentons.

As for the second theory, Wes had thought it was the most likely at first. Half-ghosts were incredibly rare, so he didn't see any reason why two half-ghosts would be enemies, rather than allies. They would both have to be rather stupid to pass up that opportunity, or so he thought.

However, when he looked into news sources for stories about Mayor Masters' success, he discovered that most of the trades and mergers from which he'd gained most of his fortune had occurred without the other party having any memory of agreeing to them. There were also a few suspiciously timed bank robberies, and Wes remembered right after Mayor Masters was elected, no one could remember actually voting for him. Even his most vocal supporter couldn't remember actually going into the polls.

These accounts lined up with some of the accounts Wes had gathered regarding people who'd experienced being overshadowed by ghosts. Others could remember what happened, but felt as if they hadn't been in control of their bodies, or what they were saying or doing. So Mayor Masters having a ghostly ally on his side, controlling people to his whims would make a lot of sense.

Wes hadn't seriously entertained the third theory for the aforementioned 'they would have to be stupid' reasons. Then, he read a news report from not too long ago that noted another ghost (unnamed in the report, but Wes was willing to hazard a guess that it was probably Phantom) referring to the Wisconsin Ghost as Vlad Plasmius. That prompted him to give his third theory a second look. 

The security at the Mayoral Manor was surprisingly lax. It seemed that, like most of the people in Amity Park, the mayor had opted for a security system designed to keep out ghosts. It hardly provided any measures at all to stop a human from breaking in.

Honestly, it made sense, since the human crime rate in Amity Park was the lowest in the state of Illinois and third lowest in the entire country, but the ghost attack rate being the highest in the world. Obviously the people who lived here would be more worried about ghosts than burglars. And anyway, Wes wasn't about to complain, since it worked out in his favor more often than not. Although he did feel a little bit bad for all the security companies in Amity Park that went under because of the town's flip-flopped priorities.

So Wes snuck into the mansion pretty easily, stealthily made his way past the butler and poked around looking for... for... well, he would know it when he saw it. He was just looking for anything incriminating. Some kind of evidence.

Unfortunately for Wes, Green Bay Packers memorabilia didn't count as evidence, because if it did, he would be practically swimming in evidence. The stuff was everywhere.

Then he saw it. 

Despite his obvious obsession with the Green Bay Packers, Wes knew for a fact that Vlad had never played football himself, so that football trophy on the library mantel with his name on it was suspicious. Suspicious and extremely pathetic.

Upon examining the trophy more closely, he realized that it was some sort of trigger, and when Wes pulled on it, a secret door was revealed. Carefully, Wes snuck through it and... bingo. Top secret lab, hidden behind a top secret door hidden behind a not-so-ordinary fireplace would almost certainly contain something incriminating.

"Hello, may I help you?" 

Wes jumped and turned to see a hologram of Danny's mom standing behind him, wearing a hollow, fifties housewife sort of smile that he'd never seen the woman wear in real life.

"Uh... hi," Wes said. "I'm Mayor Masters' new apprentice? He uh... he told me to go to his lab ahead and get started on digital inventory while I waited for him to get here. Didn't warn me about his holographic assistant, sorry for startling so bad. I just wasn't expecting you."

He didn't actually think the hologram was sentient enough to be offended, but he also wasn't stupid enough to take that risk in a secret ghost science lab of all places.

"Processing," the hologram said. "I can find no information regarding an apprentice in any of my honey-bun's files."

Honey-bun? Creepy.

"He only just agreed to take me on," Wes assured her. "Literally, like, twenty minutes ago upstairs, and then he sent me down here to get started. He hasn't had the chance to put me in the files yet."

"Understood. Please state your name."

"Mikey Weissman," Wes replied. That was his go-to fake name whenever he was doing anything illegal. Mikey was verifiably a real person, a Casper High freshman, and a redhead. However, he'd never been in in the news, wasn't well known at school, let alone around town. He played clarinet. He was invisible.

Yeah... Mikey got in trouble for a lot of shit he knew absolutely nothing about because Wes gave the cops his name.

Much to Wes' surprise, that actually seemed to work, and the holographic Mrs. Fenton didn't question his further, though she did supervise him as he started to take 'digital inventory', reading Mayor Masters' files, watching videos. He did his best to make sure it looked like he was actually trying to inventory everything. And more importantly, to not look like he was surprised by anything, even though there was some pretty surprising stuff among all the junk and bad poetry for one 'stupendous and beautiful Maddie', whom Wes could only assume was Maddie Fenton.

If he hadn't known already that Mayor Masters was a creep, he would have figured it out incredibly quickly.

It was weird to do this kind of thing with someone—or at least a close approximation of someone—watching him, but the hologram didn't try to interfere. Hopefully that meant she was buying his act because he didn't really have a plan B.

There was... wow... there was a whole lot of evidence on the computers in here. Apparently The mayor had attempted to clone Danny with middling success. Most of the clones hadn't been viable, but of the baker's dozen that had, twelve destabilized, and only one remained at large DC-013 AKA Danielle. Tracking data showed her in Thailand. Masters didn't seem to be controlling her at all, just keeping tabs on her. Wes wasn't really sure what to make of that.

There was also a massive folder full of numerous files, each one detailing a different plan to murder Jack Fenton. Another folder was full of poetry, gift ideas, playlists, and other various ideas to woo Maddie. And a third folder was full of potential schemes for bringing Danny over to Masters' side and/or convince him to let Masters' adopt him. There was no folder regarding Jazz, which, honestly, said as much about the guy as the three folders on the rest of the Fenton Family, if you asked Wes.

Additionally, there was a folder on Valerie Gray that was incredibly stalkery, even by Wes' standards. Apparently, Masters was the one funding and resourcing her little ghost hunting hobby.

The creep factor was already dialed up to eleven when Wes found what he was actually looking for. 

It was a folder labeled 'test flights' and it was full of video documentation of him transforming into the Wisconsin Ghost AKA Vlad Plasmius, in order to test or train his various ghostly abilities. So that was it, then. Theory three for the win. Mayor Masters was a powerful half ghost beefing with a fourteen-year-old. And also an incredibly pitiful old man.

"When did my sugar-cake say he'd be coming down?" the holographic assistant finally asked after Wes had been going through the computer for about an hour.

That sounded like a cue, if ever he heard one. Wes made a big show of looking at his watch. 

"Actually... you know what? He should have been down a while ago," he said. "Maybe he got caught up with something. You know what, I'll go upstairs and check-in with him. I have some questions about how he wants these Fenton Folders organized, anyway. I'll be right back and finish my inventory."

"Alright, Mikey," she said. "If you need any help, just ask."

"Thanks." He left the secret lab and walked right out of the mansion without anyone noticing.

[4 Hours Later]

"If you gave a fake name and walked out without being seen, why is he after you?" Danny asked. 

He'd had enough time by now to fully wake up, but he was still in his pajamas, sitting on his bed, staring at Wes with the most absolutely done expression he could manage. Because he was absolutely done with Wes. Honestly he wasn't even sure why he was still listening except that he wanted to know exactly how to mock Wes for his failure.

"He still thinks my name is Mikey, but his hologram of your mom was apparently recording me the whole time," Wes explained. "I don't know how, because I didn't see any cameras in there, and I don't know why anyone would even put cameras in a top secret lab, but he knows my face."

"Yeah, still fucking creepy that he made his holographic assistant look like my mom, but also very Vlad," Danny said with a sigh. "So why'd you come here?"

"I figured if anyone would know how to deal with him it would be you," Wes replied obviously. "I mean he is your nemesis."

Danny raised an eyebrow.

"Come on, you have ghost powers! You've fought this guy before! Please, help me!"

Another, deep, tired sigh left Danny's lips and he shook his head.

"Alright, fine. Obviously he doesn't know you're here yet, or he would be too."

"I think he's using traffic cams to find me, but they always fritz out around your house because of all the ambient ectoplasm, so I guess it's slowing him down. It won't for long."

"Then why wait for him to find us and destroy my house to get to you?" Danny asked. "Let's take this outside."

In a flash of light, he transformed into his ghost form, grabbed Wes, and flew right out the window while Wes shouted in alarm. If there was going to be a fight, he might as well get it over with.

[2 Hours Earlier]

Wes was minding his own business. No really, he was. He'd done all the investigating he wanted to do that day, and he was bird watching in one of his favorite spots on the outskirts of town. He liked bird watching, although obviously it wasn't something he liked to advertise. He got bullied and mocked enough for being a conspiracy theorist—even though his theories were all true and none of them involved actual conspiracies—and he didn't need people at school knowing he was a dorky bird watching loser, too.

It was actually lucky he was watching the sky, because otherwise, he wouldn't have noticed the three, talking, glowing, fez-wearing vultures flying his way. It was obvious from the get-go that they were after him. They made it no secret that they'd been ordered to take him out, and Wes had a pretty good guess of who'd given that order.

He ran.

He ran fast and far, weaving through side-streets and alleys, and staying under every cover he could find so that he couldn't be seen from above.

The vultures weren't particularly smart, and Wes knew the area extremely well. It wasn't his favorite birding spot for nothing. It wasn't long before he gave them the slip, maybe twenty minutes or so, and he made his way into town, keeping to the crowds and making sure to look away from any cameras so they couldn't get clear shots of his face.

Unfortunately, once he got to the downtown area, he was found by the man himself, or rather the ghost. Vlad Plasmius floated above the crowd of shoppers and declared:

"Mikey Weissman, you will pay with your life! Show yourself!"

Much to Wes' surprise, the actual Mikey Weissman also happened to be out shopping this fine Saturday morning.

"What did I do?" Mikey shouted, his voice cracking badly and sounding exceedingly distressed.

"Who are you?" Plasmius sneered.

Wes did not show himself. He ducked his head down, crouched, ignored both Mikey and the Wisconsin ghost, and took off running again, this time toward Fenton Works.

Like the vultures, Plasmius was not an Amity Park local, and Wes knew the place like the back of his hand. He had the home court advantage and he was going to abuse the hell out of it.

He managed to make it all the way to Fenton Works without being followed and snuck in through Danny's window as he had many times before, although Danny typically wasn't home when he did so. This time, however, Danny was home, as Wes knew he would be, and he was also quite cranky at having been awoken, despite the fact that it was nearly noon.

[1 Hour Later]

Danny had landed them both on the top level of a parking garage, and waved at the CCTV cameras pointed at them, though they no doubt didn't pick up anything resembling a clear image of the half ghost.

When Vlad didn't show up in ten minutes, Danny considered actually calling the fruit loop. He didn't want to wait around all day. 

Thankfully, he didn't have to.

It was just a few minutes more before Vlad showed up in full Plasmius form to get at Wes.

"Give him to me," Vlad said.

"No," Danny replied with a casual shake of his head.

Vlad created five duplicates to help him menace the two teenagers before him. "He broke into my house, Daniel," he said flatly.

Wes looked like he might piss himself, but Danny remained nonchalant. He was more concerned with what he was going to eat for lunch than whether Wes lived or died, if he was being perfectly honest, but that was more because Wes had woken him up so early than anything else.

"So? He does that to me all the time?"

"He accessed my private files. He knows my secret, and no doubt yours, too," Vlad insisted. "What if he tells someone?"

"You know, I'll tell you exactly what's gonna happen if he tells people," Danny replied. "Not only will people not believe him, they with also completely write him off as a kook and a nutcase, and they will ostracize and mercilessly mock him forever and ever. I know because he's known and been actively trying to expose my identity at school for, like, almost six months, and that's what happens.

"You think people are gonna be any more likely to believe him when his target is the actual mayor, and not just some random kid?"

"And what if they do?"

"Then, you can kill him," Danny replied with a shrug.

"What?!" Wes shouted. "I thought you were gonna help me?"

"I am helping," Danny insisted. "Be realistic Wes, no one will ever believe you."

"You seem rather confident," Vlad said.

"I have literally never been more confident about anything in my life," Danny told him. "You could transform, in-person, in front of a hundred people, and if Wes was so much as standing there gesturing at you, they would all instantly think it was a hoax."

Wes opened his mouth with an indignant expression, looking like he wanted to argue, but at the slightest raise of an eyebrow from Danny, he shut it again. Either he knew Danny was right, or he knew that it would be stupid to argue with him when his life literally hinged on having zero credibility. Probably both, actually. Wes was a smart kid, even if most people didn't know it.

"Trust me, Vlad, you have nothing to worry about from this guy," Danny assured him. "So if you want to fight me, fight me. I would love to take out my early wake-up call frustrations, but just let Wes go. He's absolutely not worth it."

Vlad glared down at them for a long moment—all six of him.

Then, at last, he reabsorbed his duplicates and lowered himself to the concrete below him.

"Very well," he agreed. "I have other matters to deal with today, anyway. But know this," he looked pointedly and intensely at Wes. "If you expose me, the punishment will be a slow, and excruciatingly painful death. Do I make myself understood?"

Wes swallowed hard, and nodded rapidly, his eyes wide with fear.

"Good." With that, Vlad vanished.

"Welp, looks like my work here is done," Danny decided.

Point25Back: Danny Fentwerp is a a weenie looser hiding mehind the much cooler Phantom Phantom you shoulen’t have to deal with this share my account we can be mods together

My Hair: I’m only here because I’m covering the cake bake, but… isn’t this a school?  Aren’t there laws about weapons in schools?  Couldn’t you just tell them not to come in, then call the cops?

Point25Back: @Phantom (MOD) I’m way better at modding I mod my whole school basically.  All those nerds know not to mess with Dash Baxter and my rule is law.

THE RULES (TEMP MOD):  The law, you say, punk?

[@Point25Back has been banned for one thousand (1000) years.]

merknlurk: no because acab

THE RULES (TEMP MOD):  You’d best take those words out of your mouth, son, because there’s a new sheriff in town.

[@merknlurk has been banned for one thousand (1000) years.]

Tubalover: I think the safety of children rates a little higher than whatever ideology merk doesn’t have.

Tubalover: OMG he was banned for that????

THE RULES (TEMP MOD): The rules are paramount, punk, and cracking heads with the rulebook is the only language some punks understand.  Punk.  

THE RULES (TEMP MOD): My advice to @12th Knight (OP) is to always follow THE RULES and put those RULE BREAKERS in their place.

.

Danny stared incredulously at his phone. Then he looked up, at Walker, who… did have a phone, actually.  Who gave him a phone?  More than anything else, that was against the rules.  Walker and phones did not go together in any way, shape, or form.  

Except they apparently did.  

Danny didn’t even know they had a temporary moderator feature in the forums.  Had Tucker put that in?  Had Jazz?  Sam?  Or…  His gaze narrowed and drifted sideways.  Had Technus?

That made sense, actually.  One thousand years was not a valid ban time.  Someone would have had to mess with the code, and Tucker was way too busy to do that for an in-joke.

Danny and Technus might be having words.  

Maybe.  

At least the ‘mod’ title was temporary.  

And it was kind of funny.  

Whatever.  There were more important problems than the community help forums getting taken over by his rogues’ gallery…  Could he even call them that, honestly?  It sounded like such a comic book thing to say.  

But.  But.  He had just been thinking about more important problems, and there was no way that his parents would be deterred by people just telling them to go away.  That hadn’t even worked on Lunch Lady, and, as evidenced by current circumstances and location, she was much more reasonable than his parents.  

It just couldn’t be that simple, could it?

.

“It can’t possibly be that simple,” said Mrs. Ishiyama, staring up at Mr. Lancer with an expression of horror.  “There’s just no way.”

“Come, now,” said Mr. Lancer, his eye twitching.  “That’s not the principal spirit I know!  We’ll give it the old Casper High try!  Where there’s a will, there’s a way!”  He started laughing, then stopped abruptly.  “Lord of the Rings, we’re all doomed, aren’t we?  At least I enjoy that game…”

“Well, if we’re doomed,” said Mrs. Tetslaff, “at least we’ll take the Fentons down with us!  Hoo-rah!  Pay ‘em back for all the times they wrecked my gym!”

“That’s, no,” said Mrs. Ishiyama, making quelling motions with her hands.  “We aren’t taking anyone down.  Do you think– Do you think maybe the police would come if we called?”

“Do you think they’d come without calling the GIW?” asked Mr. Lancer.  

Mrs. Ishiyama sighed.  “We’re on our own, then.”  She rubbed her hand over her mouth, thinking.  “But it’s our only chance, isn’t it?  I’ll do an all call, we need all staff on hand if we’re going to pull this off.”

“We’re… leaving the ghosts chaperoning the children?” asked Mr. Lancer.  

“And Mrs. Tetslaff,” said Mrs. Ishiyama, smiling brittlely.  “After all, you’re the Home Ec teacher.”

“Aw, no, don’t do that to me.”

“You’re the Home Ec teacher,” repeated Mrs. Ishiyama, reaching for the intercom.  “Home Ec.  Get eccing.  Ec.”

Mrs. Tetslaff looked back and forth between her two colleagues.  “Holy crap, did you both break, or what?”

Mrs. Ishiyama didn’t answer.  “Hello, all staff not currently directly involved in baking or other preparations please come to the front office.  Repeat, all staff not currently involved in baking–”

.

Well, then.  It sounded like they were going to do it.  Maybe.  Or maybe they’d figured out something else.  Danny didn’t know.  It wasn’t like anyone was telling him anything.  

A drama student threw yet another green feather boa at him.  He sighed heavily.  “At this rate, any cake I eat will have feathers in it.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, dearie.  I’ll make sure you don’t accidentally consume any non-food items!”

Danny sighed even more heavily.  So much for getting any cake at all.  

“Hey, don’t be like that,” said Kitty, prodding his cheek.  “I’m sure you’ll get plenty of cake.”

“Hm,” said Danny.  

One of the doors into the kitchen opened slightly as a student slipped out.  From within poured smoke and a cry of “Oh my lanta, why is it on fire?”

“Yeah,” he said.  “Lot’s of cake.”

“That’s just how cooking is, sometimes, sweetie.  Cookie?”

“You know what?  Sure.  I’ll take the poison at this point.”

.

“So,” said Dani.  “Now what?”  They’d gotten the ghost hunters to the hospital.  “Back to harassing the vest guys?  If they’re still going, that is.”

“Maybe,” said Val.  “Never underestimate what a person will do for money.”  After all, even she had been bamboozled by the siren call of cash… She shuddered, remembering the Nasty Burger mascot suit.  Never again…  Unless they were that broke again, then maybe again…  She hated not having money…  Money sucked…  

Dani wrinkled her nose.  “They can’t be getting that much money from this, can they?”

Val shrugged.  “I don’t know.  They’re on TV, aren’t they?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, they–  Hold up, is that them?”  Val pointed down a nearby street.  

“I… think so,” said Dani, shading her eyes.  “Where are they going?  There’s nothing interesting in that direction unless you count the school.  At least, nothing that I know about…”

Valerie’s first reaction was to snort.  Casper High was not something she’d call interesting at all.  The opposite, really.  But then…  “They’re going towards the school?”

“Uh, looks like it to me?  I don’t spend a lot of time around here, though, so maybe not?  Is there some other place they could be going?”

“No,” said Valerie, gritting her teeth, “but that’s the only haunted place around.  We have to figure out how to stop them before they get there.”

“The school is haunted?”

“Uh, yeah, your weirdo cousin hangs out there all the time.”

“Ohhhh, yeah, I didn’t realize that counted.”

“Why would it not–?  Never mind, we have to work out what to do about this.”

“Okay, okay,” said Dani.  “What if we set the road on fire?”

“What.”

“Look, I’m out of ideas.  We already tripped them up half a dozen times.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Valerie.  “What if…  Do you think they’re actually going for the cake?  Maybe we could go down and complain about food poisoning while walking past them?  Or do you think they’d think that was a ghost.”

“Don’t you think they might recognize us, though?”

“Yeah, but what else can we do?  Just about everyone else is either hiding or at the school already.  What if we talked about somewhere else haunted?”

Dani shrugged.  “What if we ask the forums?  Maybe someone nearby is watching and will have an idea.”

.

AMITY OF AMITY PARK: A Friendly Helping Hand

Ghost Activity Map, Forums, Local Business Directory, Advice Blog

Forums -> Community Alerts -> Paranormal Investigators 

Thread: Investigators going to cake day help

Valorous1 (OP): Investigators (TV show group) are on Stretch Street heading towards Casper High.  Ideas/help getting rid of them?

JACK FENTON:  OOooo we’re goina that way too mayBe we’ll run into them!!!!!!@@!  <#

nobineryginger: is that sposed to be a eart lolllllllll

nobineryginger: good luck tho mr. fenton lollllllll tv day blue

Lovetheshow: isn’t he already on TV though?

[@nobineryginger has been banned for one thousand (1000) years.]

Bog Mummy: What you’re banning him and not the guy whose username is his actual name?

THE RULES (TEMP MOD): That particular punk is, unfortunately, using technology that makes it difficult for me to ban him.  

THE RULES (TEMP MOD): Also, he’s married to my daughter.  

Phantom (MOD): Then let me.  

[@JACK FENTON has been permanently banned.] 

[@JACK FENTON has been restricted from viewing forum posts.]

Phantom (MOD): ACTUALLY NO WAIT GO BACK TO THAT LAST PART.

Phantom (MOD): DID YOU KNOW THIS WHEN YOU ARRESTED ME?

THE RULES (TEMP MOD): What I know is that you’re not supposed to be doing anything but sitting pretty and eating cake, punk.  

[@Phantom (MOD) has been banned for one (1) hour.]

The Cooler Phantom: Oh wow wo familyy lore wive got a gempa???????

West of West: The ******* sheriff ghost is Fenton’s grandpa??????????????????

[@West of West has been banned for one thousand (1000) years.]

ashtree: I hate it here.  

.

Danny looked up slowly from his phone, the remainder of his possibly poisoned cookie crumbling in his hand as his fingers clenched.  Walker looked up at him and smirked, every line of his posture unbelievably smug.  

Danny hoped he knew he was going to hunt him down and leave him in the thermos for a month for pulling this stunt.  

Well, probably not literally a month.  He couldn’t afford to keep a thermos reserved for a single occupant for that long.  But still.  It was the thought that counted.  Probably.  

Ugh.  Was this some kind of karma for wishing he had at least one relative that wasn’t crazy at Christmas?  Had Desiree been around that time?  Was Walker just messing with him?

… No, there was no way, was there?  That had to be against the rules.  But Danny really, really wanted to be in denial about this.  

So he glared at Walker even harder.  

If possible, Walker looked back at him even smugger.  

.

AMITY OF AMITY PARK: A Friendly Helping Hand

Ghost Activity Map, Forums, Local Business Directory, Advice Blog

Forums -> Community Alerts -> Paranormal Investigators

Thread: HELP US STOP INVESTIGATORS FROM CRASHING CAKE DAY

Valorous1 (OP): Last attempt at this thread got weird, so here we go again.  Investigators (TV show group) are on Stretch Street heading towards Casper High.  Ideas/help getting rid of them?

tubahater: stretch street, you say?  On the way to chs?  Hey @Tubalover how do we feel about flash mobs?

Tubalover: I thought you’d never ask.

passthemike: Why aren’t you guys at Cake Day?  I thought you were really into it?

tubahater: in addition to my hatred of tubas, I also despise gluten.

Tubalover: He has celiac disease, don’t mind him.  

.

“What’s a flash mob?” asked Dani.  

Valerie shrugged.  

.

AMITY OF AMITY PARK: A Friendly Helping Hand

Ghost Activity Map, Forums, Local Business Directory, Advice Blog

Forums -> All Community -> Hobbies and Interests -> Music -> Stretch Street Brass Band 

Thread: FLASH MOB TO DEFEAT THE INVESTIGATORS

tubahater (OP): RISE UP MY FELLOW MUSIC NERDS WE WILL CONQUER

76trombones: YEAH

formercolorguard: ALL RIGHT

Musiquail: LETS GOOOOOOOOOO

Killiope: y r we keeping this in here lets put it in the main music page

.

“Oh,” said Nathan.  “This is going to be good.  I can’t believe we’re going to miss it.”

Lester, frantically stirring icing.  “What?  What are you talking about?”

“LESS TALKING MORE STIRRING!” shouted Tetslaff.  

.

AMITY OF AMITY PARK: A Friendly Helping Hand

Ghost Activity Map, Forums, Local Business Directory, Advice Blog

Forums -> All Community -> Hobbies and Interests -> Music 

Thread: FLASH MOB LETS GO

Killiope (OP): Hey stretch street peeps we’re doing a music flash mob to kill the paranormal weirdos

Tubalover: I’m begging you we are not killing anyone

SweetSax: Why are we leaving this in here?  Shouldn’t everyone on stretch street know about this?

.

Tucker glanced at the new notification as Sam dragged him along.  

“Hey,” he said, narrowing his eyes, “wait a second, celiac disease?  Is that– No.  No way.  They’re not on the forums!”

“What are you talking about?” hissed Sam.

“They talked about gay kissing!  Online!  It can’t be them!”

“What are you talking about?”

.

AMITY OF AMITY PARK: A Friendly Helping Hand

Ghost Activity Map, Forums, Local Business Directory, Advice Blog

Forums -> Community Alerts -> Paranormal Investigators 

Thread: STRETCH STREET FLASH MOB (BRING MUSIC)

SweetSax: If you’ve got tunes bring your tunes deets to foollow

.

Angela and Maurice Foley ran out into Stretch Street carrying tubas.  

.

“I can’t believe this,” said Tucker.  “I can’t believe this.  I will never again be able to show my face.”

“You’re being overdramatic.  Focus on actually kicking Mr. Fenton out of the forums this time.”

.

“Why are there so many people with brass instruments living on this street?” asked Valerie, vaguely horrified.  

“I think some of them are coming from other streets,” said Dani, helpfully.  “And not all of them have brass instruments, I don’t think.  That guy has a boom box.”

.

Something that sounded like a dozen bands having a collision in the middle of a tone-deafness support group convention reached Danny’s ears, despite the way that Tucker was still wailing about his parents being online (like, seriously, did he think his were the only ones?  When Danny’s dad was a continued menace to Amity Park’s online community?  Sheesh.) through the Fenton Phones.  But Danny was supposed to sit quietly and eat cake and not do anything else.  

Of course, there wasn’t any cake yet, and from the racket coming from the kitchen, he was starting to doubt there would be.  

.

“What,” said Mr. Lancer, “is that noise?”

“Until it shows up here, it isn’t our problem,” said Mrs. Ishiyama.  

“It sounds like three dozen drunk college students trying to play ‘Seventy-Six Trombones’ while also on acid,” said the music teacher, speculatively.  “Also, without actually having any trombones.”

“Not.  Our.  Problem,” repeated Mrs. Ishiyama with a forced smile.  “Only the Fentons are our problem.”

.

“WHERE,” screamed Az, “DID ALL THESE PEOPLE COME FROM?”

“Hng,” said Jimmy.  

“This flash mob kind of sucks,” said Ned.  “Like, there’s no coordination.”

“SECURITY,” shouted the director fruitlessly.  “SECURITY!”

.

“Oh, hey,” said Crawly, attempting to maneuver around a very enthusiastic group of middle-aged men with trumpets, “do you think this is, like, a, um, a supernatural flash mob, or just a flash mob?”

“Just a flash mob,” said Bill, clearly disappointed.  

“Still better than a scam, I guess.  Man, I hate being scammed.  We should get a refund.”

“From who?” asked Bill.  

“Dunno.  Maybe I’ll just take it out of them in cake.  I can eat a lot of cake, you know.  How much cake can you eat, Bill?”

“I’m not sure.  I’ve never pushed myself to the limit before.”

“Well, then, we can make it a contes–”

A woman with a piccolo came up behind them and started screeching, making them both jump.

“Oh, wow,” said Crawly, their hand over their heart, “I think I hate it here.”

The woman cackled.  “That’s the spirit, sweetheart!”

“I really hate it here.”

.

“Huh,” said Jack, “looks like there’s some kind of event happening over there.  Live music?”

“Yes,” said Maddie.  She tapped the side of her goggles.  “But no ghosts that I can see.  We need to keep going to the school.  Let’s go around this area.”

“You’ve got it, Mads!  Hey, do you think we finally ran that pesky ghost-boy off?”

“Seems like it.”  She sighed.  “It’s too bad, in some ways, but protecting the children comes first!”

“Absolutely!  And those ghosts won’t know what hit them!”

.

“I will have cake,” said Ned, pushing through the crowd.  “I will.”

“Maybe we should just, I don’t know, give up and get back in the car,” said Az, hooking his finger over his shoulder at where the film crew was still following them.  “I mean, I’m sure we’re going to get fired over this already anyway.”

Ned looked at the car with scorn, and then at the crew still trying to film.  His expression softened somewhat, then hardened again as he observed the director.  “No way.  Then we’ll be stuck in there with him.  Jimmy, help me out, here.”

“Mh,” said Jimmy.  He turned to Ned, picked him up under the armpits and held him over his head before running in the general direction of the school, deftly dodging all obstacles in his path.

Az’s shoulders slumped.  “I never know what’s going on with those too anymore.”

.

“Hey,” said Crawly, “are we sure that guy isn’t a cryptid?”

“No way,” said Bill, “I mean, I can do that.  It’s not that weird.”

“You can do that?” asked Crawly.

“I mean, sure?”

Crawly held their arms out to either side.  “Do it,” they said.

.

Maurice and Angela Foley watched the two main groups of paranormalists race through the crowd with expressions of disbelief.  

“How are they doing that?” asked Maurice, knuckles white where he gripped his tuba.  

“I don’t know,” said Angela, who still had the valves in place for the last note she’d played.  “Are we sure they’re human?”

“I have no idea…  Wait.  Wait a second.  I have an idea.  It could solve everything.”

“Well, if it helps Tucker and his friends I’m all for it.  

.

Excerpts from a text message conversation on the phone of Maurice Foley.  

Maurice: Heya Jack.  Me and Ang were watching the hullabaloo over on Stretch St. and we wanted your opinion on this: [Series of image of two large men carrying smaller, t-posing people over their heads while running through a crowd.]  

Maurice: We were wondering if it was a ghost thing, and if so, could you take care of it?

Maurice: It’s wigging Ang out a little and we’d appreciate it.

Jack: NOWORRIES thAT’s TOTall y normal!!!!

Jack: MAds and I can do THAT no PRoblem!!!11!!

.

“It’s okay, dear, it was a good idea,” said Angela, patting Maurice’s back.  “At least we’ve given the kids a bit more time to prepare, haven’t we?”

.

Valerie and Dani, still situated on a nearby roof, watched with disbelief as the Fentons slowed slightly, Maddie spread her arms out into a T-pose, and Jack grabbed her under her armpits, lifting her up over his head.  

“What the heck,” said Val.  She looked over at the parallel street, where the paranormal guys were running down the street in similar positions.  “Did these guys suddenly develop telepathy or something?”

“No way,” said Dani.  “Telepathy looks way different.  I bet it’s for a meme.”

“What meme looks like this?”

“I don’t know.  But it kind of looks like it should be a meme, doesn’t it?”

“I guess,” said Valerie, as the paranormalists were blocked by an aggressive contingent of barbershop quartets.  “But I could do without it becoming one.”

.

“What are they doing?” asked Mr. Lancer, real fear in his voice.  

“Don’t break!” said Mrs. Ishiyama.  “This is just an intimidation tactic!”

“Well, Art of War, it’s working!”

The Fentons approached, Maddie held high in the air by her husband, who was running towards them at a speed that, in a saner world, might have seen him on an Olympic track team.  

“STOP!” shrieked Mrs. Ishiyama.  

Remarkably (or maybe not so remarkably, the teachers had made a fairly solid roadblock in front of the school entrance - then again, Jack Fenton was known to go through walls at speed), they did stop.  

“Hiya, Danny and Jazz’s teachers!  We’re just here to get those pesky ghosts out of your hair!”

Maddie cocked her ecto-rifle… or whatever that thing was.  Mr. Lancer didn’t really know.  “Permanently.”

“There aren’t any ghosts here,” squeaked Mr. Falluca as the other teachers converged on Jack and Maddie, surrounding them.  

“And even if there were, you can’t bring that into the school,” said Mrs. Ishiyama.  “You can’t bring any weapons into the school.”

“Since when?” asked Jack, apparently flabbergasted.  

“Since always,” said Mrs. Ishiyama firmly.  Mr. Lancer, however, could see her hands shaking behind her back.

“But you’ve let us in with weapons before.”

“You’ll note that I never ‘let you in,’” said Ishiyama, “and those times were always during active ghost attacks, which this is not.”

“But there are ghosts inside.”

“No there aren’t!” repeated Mr. Falluca.  “There are absolutely no ghosts!  None!”

.

Unnoticed by the teachers or the Fentons, the pairs of Crawly and Bill and Ned and Jimmy pushed past the last lines of flash mob defense and made it to the school.  

“What’s going on over there?” asked Crawly.  

“Don’t make eye contact,” said Bill.  “Anyone wearing stuff like that in broad daylight is probably disturbed.”

“I don’t know, they just look like teachers to me.”

.

Danny’s eyes darted towards the doors as they opened and he was faced with the dreaded sight.  The youtubers and paranormal investigators.  Together.  He wasn’t the only one who looked up and went still at the sight, but it took both groups a minute and several steps alongside the perimeter of the room to realize that they’d just become the center of attention.  

“Why is everyone staring?” asked Ned.  Then he grinned.  “I supposed you’ve all seen me on T–”

“You!” shouted Crawly, pointing at Danny.  

“Uh, me?”

“How did you get here before us?” they demanded.  

“I’ve been here all day,” said Danny. 

“No, you haven’t.  We chased you all around town, you– you cryptid faker!”

“Ohh,” said Danny, “you must have seen someone else in the same costume.  Phantom’s pretty popular, he’s, like, the town’s mascot.”  

“Hey,” said Jazz, sidling up next to Crawly.  Her new drama-class provided outfit was so bad Danny’s heart literally skipped a beat and he had to grab onto the table so he wouldn’t fall out of his chair.  “It sounds like you’ve had a rough day, why don’t you–”

“Maybe I’d buy that, but what’s with all the costumes?” demanded Crawly.  

“It’s a community thing,” said Danny with a shrug, hoping his distress regarding Jazz’s sartorial choices wasn’t obvious.  “You know, for the tourists.  Most haunted town in America or whatever.”

“Much easier to be the ghosts than to hope one shows up,” said Ida Manson, helpfully.  She was wearing an Ember wig, and Danny wasn’t sure if that increased or damaged her credibility.  In any case, it was still better than what Jazz was wearing.  

Crawly opened and closed their mouth several times.  “You know what?” they asked.  “I give up.  Just give me c–”

At this point, the door to the kitchen, which Crawly was standing directly in front of, slammed open, shoving them into the side, and a surprisingly ornate seven-story cake was wheeled out by Paulina and Star, to raucous cheers.  

Lunch Lady wiped a tear away from her eye.  “They learned so well.”

.

Outside, some distance away from the teachers, Jack and Maddie conferred.  

“The children must be hostages, for the teachers to act like this,” said Maddie.  

“Yeah!” said Jack.  “They’ve got to be, or they’d never just kick us out like this.  Our weapons aren’t harmful to humans at all.”

“We’ll have to find another way in,” said Maddie.  

.

“They’re about to go through one of the walls, aren’t they?” asked Mr. Lancer, resigned.  

“Looks like it,” said Mrs. Ishiyama, also resigned.  

.

Unbeknownst to the faculty or the Fentons, Az had also just made it out of the flash mob mosh pit that was once Stretch Street.  He took his phone out of his pocket and dialed nine-one-one.

.

Transcript of a call made to the Amity Park Emergency Services Line.

OPERATOR: Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?

CALLER: Hey, uh, there are these weirdos - two weirdos - standing in front of this school - Casper High - with what looks like weapons.

OPERATOR: Can you tell what kind of weapons?

CALLER: No I’m not very close, I can’t tell what kind.

OPERATOR: Just the general kind is fine.  Knives?  Guns?  Swords?  Bats?

CALLER: I mean, guns, right?  

OPERATOR: Thank you, sir.  Are you able to stay on the line?

CALLER: Yes, I’ll stay on the line– Oh my god!  They just ran through the wall!

OPERATOR: Wait… are these weirdos dressed in orange and blue jumpsuits?

CALLER: I– yes?  How–?

OPERATOR:  Don’t worry about it.  We’ll send someone. 

.

The cake was, of course, demolished.  

The entire room stared at it with even greater horror than that which they had visited on the paranormal investigators.  

“Mom!  Dad!  What are you doing?” demanded Jazz.  

“We’re rescuing you from gh– Young lady, what are you wearing?”

“Do you see any ghosts here?” asked Jazz, spreading her hands.  She pointed at Ida Manson, then at several drama students.  “Do any of these people look like ghosts?”

“Well, that one–”

“No!” Jazz slapped Jack's hand, forcing it down.  “That’s Spike!  How do you still not recognize any of my friends?”

“Well, maybe if you brought any of them home, sweetheart–”

“Ugh!  We can discuss my teenage rebellion at home.  At least you haven’t destroyed the walls to my room this week!”  She stalked out through the hole Jack Fenton had made in the wall, the sunlight catching on her black miniskirt, her thigh-high sparkling white boots, and the crop top that read ‘it’s not gay if he’s dead’ in comic sans.  All topped, of course, by the obviously handmade Ember wig.  

“Don’t walk away from us, young lady!”  With that, the Fenton parents disappeared through the hole they had made.  

Danny… could not believe that had worked.  

“Hey,” said Kitty, “wait.  Did we seriously go through all of this for no cake?”

Paulina began laughing hysterically.  “Of course we didn’t make only one cake!  We made many cakes!  Huge cakes!  That was just– That was just the most beautiful–  The beautiful–”  She broke down crying, and Star led her away.  

Behind them, Mrs. Tetslaff cleared her throat.  “Okay, yeah.  Plenty of other cakes to eat, people.”

“Hey,” said the paranormalist who hadn’t been squished.  “Shouldn’t we get out of the structurally compromised room first?”

“What are you talking about?” asked Tetslaff.  

“Yeah!” said Nathan.  “The room’s fine!  He didn’t hit a support pillar or anything!”

Ned put a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder.  “Jimmy, I have to admit, I was having some fantasies about you feeding me cake, but I think I just want to go home now.”

“Hnm,” said Jimmy.  

“Glad you agree.  Uh, Crawler or whatever your name is, do you need help, or…?”

“No,” said Crawly, voice muffled, “I live here now.  On the floor of shame.”

“They’ll be fine,” said Bill.  “Things like this happen all the time when you’re hunting cryptids.”

“Uhhhh,” said Crawly.  

“Great.  You do you.  Come on, let’s go, Jimmy.”

“Holy crap,” said Sam.  “Did we just win?”

“Even if we’ve won we’ve lost.  The knowledge I have gained should have remained buried.”

“Stop being melodramatic about your parents being on the internet, Tucker.”

“Not quite,” whispered Danny.  “The Cryptid Crawl guys are still here.”

.

“What are you doing with your phone?” asked Ned after he spotted and made his way to his brother.  

“I was calling the police,” said Az, faintly.  

“Because of the–”

“Because of the people who made the hole in the wall, yeah,” said Az.  “You know, something is very wrong with this place, but I don’t think I want to know what it is.”

“Me neither.  Let’s go back to the hotel.”

.

“Oh, hey,” said Danny to Star as she started serving cake to the ‘head’ table, “what happened to the record-breaking cake?  I don’t think I see it here.”

“And you won’t,” said Star.  “Not unless you go out to the Ghost Zone or something.”

“Ah,” said Danny.  

“Yeah, ah.  Enjoy your cake privileges while they last, by the way.  Paulina and Dash are furious that you wrecked the stuff they put together for that Phantom outfit.”

Danny sighed.  “Back to normal already, then.”

The cake was surprisingly good.  

(He studiously ignored the sound of sirens outside the school.  If he pretended hard enough, he could almost believe it wasn’t his parents getting arrested.  Again.  At least they probably wouldn’t be arrested for very long.  They never were.)

(And also, he could pretend that Walker wasn’t his grandfather.)

(And also– oh, who was he kidding?  Nothing about his life was ever going to be normal, and he couldn’t really pretend about it, either.)

(But at least the cake was good.)

.

AMITY OF AMITY PARK: A Friendly Helping Hand

Ghost Activity Map, Forums, Local Business Directory, Advice Blog

Forums -> Community Alerts -> Paranormal Investigators

Thread: Did anyone else think this was surprisingly fun?

Cynosure (OP): Not that I’d want to do any of this again, but honestly, in retrospect, the overall experience was enjoyable?  Does anyone else feel like this?

Phantom (MOD): No, but at least the cake was good.

.

[Video switches away from the school cafeteria, back to Crawly in their apartment in front of their Cryptid Crawl banner.]

Anyway, I lived on the floor for a while after that.  It wasn’t so bad.  Every so often, a teenager covered in flour would give me cake, though, so it wasn’t that bad.  But you want to know the worst thing?  That fast food worker in that one video?  Yeah, she came in, but that stupid low-quality video made her look like… five years older than she actually is in-person.  She’s definitely a minor, and now I have what I said in the other video on the internet for all eternity.  Also, those posters totally lied.  Vlad Masters never showed up even a little bit.  

Just… wow.  What a bust on all levels.  Not even the tiger was a real cryptid.  Guess that goes to show you not to believe everything you see on the internet, no matter how good it sounds, am I right?  Well, this is Cryptid Crawl, signing off.  As usual, contributors listed in the credits.  

He’d have to be one step ahead next time. Pride was such a killjoy in situations such as these. Perhaps if great and powerful ghosts, such as the likes of Pariah Dark or Erinyes, had a looser grip on their pride, they too might have found themselves less acquainted with repeated defeat.

“So you’ll do it?” Clockwork asked, knowing full well what Nocturne’s answer would be.

What a bother this whole thing was bound to be. “Of course, as annoying as you are, I hardly want to lose my favorite brother.” Nocturne leaned to the side, balancing his chin in the back of a loosely curled fist. “Well, at least of the ones left.”

There wasn’t even an exasperated eyeroll. Things must truly be dire.

“It’s… dangerous,” Clockwork warned, quite uncharacteristically.

Nocturne barked out a laugh. “Oh you know me, I won’t be getting involved directly.”

“Of course.” If Nocturne hadn’t known better he’d say Clockwork sounded relieved.

What a worrying thought. Perhaps his new young charge had made him overly cautious, in a way Clockwork never had been in his youth.

“You do know you will owe me quite the favor?”

“...Of course.”

Nocturne sighed and stood from his chair as Clockwork disappeared into nothingness. It truly was going to be a tedious task. Well, it didn’t necessarily have to be as tedious as Nocturne was going to make it, but he was not nearly as fond of consequences as his brother and would at least try and prevent them wherever possible.

Especially given his strange reticence.

It would have been easier, of course, if Clockwork had given him any kind of deadline. Nocturne was half tempted to take his time, leave his brother waiting and suffering both before swooping in just to prove a point.

But if anyone was well versed in petty retribution for petty transgressions it was the Master of Time.

He readied himself to leave his Lair, sealing his mask properly over his features and styling his hair so that it blended seamlessly with the rest of the endless night sky he garbed himself in.

Once he was presentable, he started to think about what exactly it was he was going to do. If he wanted to keep true to his word, that he would be careful (and hopefully unseen) there would need to be a not insignificant amount of planning.

The Clockwork that had visited him just now was from four rotations past—and had seen the possibility of the future Nocturne currently occupied.

It was the current Clockwork that needed his help.

Well, at the very least he needed something resembling help. Though it was more in the line of holding up a painting as Clockwork nailed it into the wall. Nocturne would hardly be necessary, but he’d help keep everything straight.

First… was a trip to Clockwork’s Lair. If his visitor was to be believed, Long Now would be abandoned, but Nocturne should still be able to gather at least a few clues.

His brother may be a cryptic bastard, but even he would let down his guard in his own home.

Nocturne stepped over the threshold—the lair accepted his presence easily with the bond between them as strong and often reaffirmed as it was.

There was something though, leading him away from one of the wings of the tower. Nocturne mostly ignored it. He wasn’t here for his brother’s secrets, or to break his trust. And if his Lair had something it did not want Nocturne to see, he would simply not see it.

Besides, he was here for a reason.

He mostly needed to know how long Clockwork had been gone. The time, frozen on the main screen in Clockwork’s viewing room, hinted that it had been only a moment since he’d been taken. Almost a breath between his captors dragging him away and Nocturne stepping foot inside.

It was a wonder he missed them.

Nocturne kicked away some of the mess that had been left in the struggle. Leave it to his brother to time things so perfectly.

Did it not occur to the bastard that Nocturne’s presence might have prevented this outcome entirely!?

He tapped at the edge of his mask, taking another look around before leaving to explore some of the other rooms.

Clockwork’s Lair was… strangely organized, outside of the viewing room where the recent struggle had destroyed almost everything short of the screens themselves.

He had never known Clockwork to be organized. It was…

Well, Nocturne was hardly going to start digging. His goal this time was his brother’s favor—not his displeasure. It would be just his luck if Clockwork decided whatever secrets he might uncover would count to even their score.

Next stop was setting the scene.

As powerful as Nocturne was, he didn’t particularly like his chances against the mass of Eyes That Minded Everyone’s Business But Their Own. But he did have a few tricks he could use to thin their ranks.

Perhaps he could use this as an opportunity. After all, Clockwork wasn’t the only one who enjoyed a good scheme. And he had learned many of his tricks from Nocturne himself.

He stopped by Clockwork’s kitchen, grabbing some of the supplies he had left behind on one of his previous visits. There was a surprising amount of Coraleander Tea left, but Nocturne did not dare attempt to partake.

It was Clockwork’s favorite and he had been lamenting for the past few centuries that there were too few gardeners left patient enough to cultivate it.

Instead, he made a simple glass of Sweet Dreams and allowed it to try and evoke some modicum of creativity.

There were very few ways to create a distraction catastrophic enough that it would actually get Those Who Watch But Rarely Act to… well, act.

He could start a rebellion in some of their territories, but it would take time. And upon reaching out his tendrils to read the underlying thoughts and desires of the District of Jurisdiction or the Dictator’s Ship, he found them amidst rebellion already—and planning revolt.

Observants and Sympathizers were already stalking the streets (and the passageways) to keep their disobedient subjects in line and under Control.

It certainly made Nocturne’s job easier. He sent a silent ‘thank you’ to whomever paved the way and nearly severed the Collective in half.

Even if it was… conveniently timed.

With such a large-scale operation already clearly underway and under someone’s control, Nocturne could make some more pointed attacks to start spreading what was left even thinner.

Yes, rather than trying for the tedious task of collecting the masses, he’d grab a few powerful ghosts that could get the Watching Eyes moving. It was more his style besides, and significantly less effort.

Convincing one or two… or three ghosts to do something was as simple as reading their nature and granting them a genie’s wish. Convincing an entire Realm… well, that took something far more dangerous than simple power.

Nocturne slipped away, his first target already in mind.

Of course, thoughts of powerful, dangerous ghosts and slow rising revolutions and revolts—only one ghost truly came to mind.

Pariah’s right hand. He certainly had no love lost for the bastards that had attacked Nocturne’s brother. Not since Pariah had turned against them during his first reign, and especially not in the eons after as they chased after him only to seal him away over and over again.

It was a simple matter to seek out Fright Knight’s specific flavor of fear and where it left its trails in the greater subconscious. Even simpler still, to use it to find where exactly the spirit was last seen.

It didn’t take long.

Fright Knight was spending his time, as he often did since his unfortunate curse, in a pumpkin. If Nocturne read it correctly, the pumpkin he was currently sealed inside had been left floating—lost in the thinner regions of the drowned quarter, just outside one of the smaller civilizations.

Nocturne was not personally a fan of visiting that particular region. Call it a character flaw, but he preferred the soft sweetness of happy dreams over the heavy cloying taste of fear and nightmares.

And if the deep inspired anything at all, it was fear of the unknown.

Either way, it was easier to travel in a different form through the thick ectoplasmic mimicry of ocean water. It was only mildly annoying to keep his mask fixed in place, but his hair ran completely wild and out of his control.

He wrapped his coat around him, twisting it into the vague shape of a selkie’s tail before relaxing and letting himself merge back into it. The entire visage was rather romantic, an ink colored night sky in the shape of an ocean dweller.

This particular trip would have to be quick—there was no way of knowing which of his siblings might catch him like this, and it was not something he wanted to risk for long.

They had disgustingly long memories, after all.

The search would be tedious, and Nocturne found himself fighting with an unfamiliar bitterness—oh how convenient it would be to have an ability like Sojourn’s in moments like this? Even Clockwork would know where the exact thing he was looking for awaited him.

This was exactly why Nocturne was very rarely one to get out and ‘join the fun.’

Oh well. They say to play to your strengths.

Nocturne let himself sink, just slightly, into the subconscious thread of thought all around him. Plucking at the different strings, until he found one so saturated in fear it was positively dripping with it.

Ah… he opened his eyes and swam towards the feeling—pulling at the string to guide him as if it were Ariadne’s and the open ocean around him a twisted labyrinth. It led him, successfully, to a young mermaid-like ghost that had found the floating pumpkin accidentally.

They did not dare get close to it, their subconscious thick with stories of the Spirit of Halloween and his Dimension of Fear. They had made at least three or four laps around some internalized perimeter, curious but wary. Unwilling to take their eyes off of it but even more unwilling to swim closer.

Nocturne paid the spirit no mind and simply collected the pumpkin, sword and all.

He began to swim away, thoughts clouded by future plans and possibilities.

The mermaid reached out, claws just barely missing the edges of Nocturne’s cloak. He did not know if they were trying to stop him—it did not matter. He had what he came for.

He kept Fright Knight sealed as they traveled towards Verification City, the Observants’ controlled little pet metropolis where their rules were law and weak orderly-obsessed ghosts collected like hive insects.

It was important as a display of their authority, and Nocturne had no doubt they would deploy a number of their slimy little congregants to try and ‘protect’ it. Especially when, as far as Nocturne had managed to observe, it was one of the few Realms left to them not showing open Revolt.

So Nocturne set the pumpkin down, the delicately carved swan facing the lights of the city, and drew the sword. Then, as the storm raged, summoning its captive in a blaze of terrifying glory, Nocturne took the sword and threw it into the middle of the Market Square. It pierced into the ground and buried itself—even the power of Pariah’s Knight would struggle a moment to dig it from the ground.

A moment enough to sow the chaos Nocturne desired.

He felt the gaze of the Watchers turn towards them the next moment and hid quickly in the shadows of the curious and confused residents. It was easy to hide amongst the sudden commotion, but Nocturne was careful nonetheless. Fright Knight was truly, as his name implied, a ghost to be feared.

Nocturne, like any other spirit, had dreams he did not wish to visit, even if it would be but a brief struggle. (Nocturne’s own Realm was so very similar to the power of Fright Knight’s sword after all. And Nocturne was much, much older.) So he kept his distance and slipped away, the buzzing hive-like thoughts of the Observants growing closer as they deployed yet another battalion to keep their precious Order.

Tedious.

He’d only gotten one done so far, and it had been a terrible amount of work.

Nocturne let himself take a proper breath once he was away from it all. His hair was still wet, dripping onto his neck and shoulders. The feeling was uncomfortable at best, and even as he combed his claws through his hair to untangle it—wetness clung stubbornly.

Well. He shook his head. There was someone he could visit that might help.

The trick was finding out where Vortex had last rampaged.

That should be easier than finding Fright Knight, as Vortex’s rampages were often calamities of their own—leaving destruction and victims in equal measure.

But theory was often simple until reality introduced itself.

He followed the muted screams to the nearest disaster but found it a wasted trip. This one, despite Nocturne’s hopes, had been entirely natural. (As natural as something in the Infinite Realms could possibly be.)

The Voidcano had erupted recently, leaving many ghosts damaged, disfigured, or trapped. But there was no sign of meddling from Vortex.

If his wayward little brother had ever been here at all, it was long enough ago to be useless. And certainly had nothing to do with the thick frosting of tragedy that coated the entire Realm.

Nocturne tapped his nail rhythmically against the wooden edge of his mask, trying to think. It had been mostly quiet in the Realms recently…other than some passing rumors Nocturne didn’t really bother to pay attention to.

Ghosts would always be fond of ghost stories after all.

It would be easy, he lamented once again, if Sojourn had not disappeared. He was by far the most friendly and easygoing of their siblings. Nocturne wouldn’t need to bend over backwards or sell his soul to get help doing things like finding where Vortex decided to hide or hunting down a single pumpkin.

He cast another glance out, only to find the repercussions of the Voidcano’s recent eruption acting as a blanket to smother all similar thoughts. Nocturne would have to leave the vicinity if he wanted to seek out another disaster of this magnitude.

Quiet was what he needed now. So naturally, his next stop was outside of Ghost Writer’s library. If only to get a moment of peace before trying to dive once more into the collective unconscious.

“I don’t suppose you’re looking for a book?” Another young ghost broke his concentration. This one was slightly more familiar to Nocturne, if only because she had the clear mark of his Sister stitched delicately around her core. A niece of his then.

“No, just a moment of respite, Spiderling.”

Her expression twisted slightly at the nickname, and Nocturne could taste a small, mostly suppressed, wave of bitterness before she smiled and said, “Then if you don’t mind…?”

Nocturne raised an eyebrow.

“You’re blocking the door.”

Ah. He turned behind him—the door had shifted from just beside him to immediately behind him. Either acting to try and invite him in, or simply attracted to Nocturne’s own connection to creativity and thought.

He turned back to the girl and stepped aside. “So I am.”

Waiting until she stepped through the doorway, Nocturne turned to ask, “What is someone like you doing at a library?”

Misery’s children were hardly known for being studious, and this girl’s obsession was hardly scholarly either. Books, in the Infinite Realms, often came at quite the price, and few were willing to risk paying for little to no reason.

There was a moment Nocturne thought he might be ignored. Misery’s children often had spines of steel, even among ghosts stronger than them. But it was still irritating—

“I need the history…” the girl said. “I need to know why—”

Nocturne felt a wave of grief hit then. Something had happened to this child—no, to someone this child cared for. He almost reached out, if only to offer sweet dreams. But that wouldn’t help, not when she had already given herself a task in her grief and when Nocturne was busy with a task of his own.

Instead he read her obsession, cultivating flowers (How sweet. How soft.) and created a Blinking Bloom to gift her. It would do nothing for her loss, but when—if— she decided to sleep, it would bring her dreams of the softest and kindest caliber.

She took it, suspicious but obedient, and turned away to continue walking into the library.

Nocturne did not watch her form disappear behind the haphazard stacks and poorly managed shelves of books. He had his own task, so that he might avoid feeling grief of his own. It was truly so terribly sour, one of the worst flavors he’d ever had to suffer.

And one he’d not like to suffer again.

The respite had been helpful though, as he was able to quickly find exactly what it was he was looking for. The grief he felt from the young Spiderling was a clue: many of the tragedies he felt in the collective unconscious held tenuous connections to it (were either grieving the same loss, or losses indistinguishable from hers), and once he filtered it out, there was only really one massive trail of disaster left.

Vortex was outside of the Acropolis of Athens and Nocturne was just in time to stop him before he decided to get into a fight with Pandora.

All this travel was really starting to catch up to him. He took a moment, upon finding his little brother, before trying to say anything. But the ticking clock in the back of his mind reminded him there was a time limit. Even if he was not personally savvy to it.

He floated closer and reached out a hand.

“Not that I would begrudge you picking fights normally—” Nocturne sidestepped a flash of lightning as Vortex turned around, instincts striking when his senses failed to pick up a possible threat.

The attack was vicious, instinctual, and cruel. Something that had become a recent hallmark of Vortex’s travels. It left Nocturne discontent, still, to see their youngest so taken apart.

“Nocturne?” His little brother looked surprised, even through his half-madness. He stopped his attack, but the ambient ectoplasm around them was still charged with static. “Why are you—?”

It was a calculated risk, what was he willing to give Vortex versus what he might be able to collect from Clockwork. Though, even without the reward of having his most troublesome sibling owe him a favor, he would not like to see this particular fate played out.

Not again.

“There’s some trouble with the Observants.”

Vortex stiffened, his form fizzling into a chaotic mess, already fuzzy edges growing fuzzier and undefined. When was the last time Nocturne had seen Vortex as he was meant to be seen? Instead of the indistinct and haywired lines of plasma and lightning that he had managed to shape himself into?

“I…” Frustration bled into the ambient ectoplasm around them, curdled and spoiled by fear.

Nocturne picked through it, searching for a reason, a balance he could strike… Ah. There it was.

“I will protect you,” he said, using his power to sooth his little brother’s fears, “and you can take out some of your anger, your frustration.” Perhaps it would be cathartic.

Red eyes turned to him, interested but not convinced.

“I am laying other traps, of course. I wouldn’t ask you to fight against the mass of the Collective on your own.” He took off his mask, shaving a sliver of the wood from it and folding it into a ring. He placed it on what was left of Vortex’s left ear and watched as it burrowed deeper, growing small roots to take hold. “It’s risk free brother. Go crazy.”

Vortex reached up to the gift he had been given, unwilling to dislodge it. “Did you lose a bet?”

Nocturne laughed. “Yes. You could say that.”

His smile was vicious as he explained the circumstances that had led them here, and before long Vortex had one to match.

There wasn’t even a moment to blink before Vortex had sped off towards the Observants’ Center for Detention and Confinement. It was in the opposite direction from their precious Metropolis at Verification City and would do well to split their forces.

Once more, Nocturne had spent far too much time and energy on what would only amount to a simple distraction. He was beginning to think this endeavor would not be worth the favor owed.

At least his hair had dried.

Now… to split the Observants’ attention once more.

There were only so many things they could keep watch over (despite their name), and Nocturne knew one little thing in particular that would make an excellent distraction.

Along with a small, harmless, bit of payback towards Clockwork for dragging him into this.

Well, if he didn’t want the child involved, he should have said so directly, right?

Nocturne replaced his mask and began his journey back. One more stop before the finale, and then he could leave all of this traveling to Sojourn. Wherever he was.

He made his way to the outskirts, where the Barrens had settled.

The permanent portal the child’s mortal parents had created was still there—a garish and painful looking wound torn into the fabric of the Infinite Realms.

Nocturne wasn’t here for the portal itself though; he needed what lay sleeping on the other side.

The boy was indeed asleep in his bed, thankfully. (Nocturne hadn’t been sure that he would be—he was often kept awake beyond what was reasonable. Whether it be due to his obsession or teenage whims was a matter for Clockwork and not of any particular interest to Nocturne.)

He used a touch of sand to weave—not a dream, per se—but a suggestion. He needed the boy to do this unsuspiciously if he was going to do this. Daniel had already met and been in conflict with him. He knew at least the bare breadth of Nocturne’s power and if he showed his hand in any way in this dream, the boy would seek out him rather than those Nocturne needed him to distract.

Besides, the last thing Nocturne wanted was the Observants’ interest reaching toward him just because he was a little lazy . Clockwork pushed his luck with his mischief and hands-on interventions. Nocturne preferred a position behind the curtain so to say. Pushing things along in the shadows to enjoy the performance and the audience while being party to neither.

Idea implanted, Nocturne slipped away—only to be stopped at the portal by a mortal girl.

It was the Halfa’s sister, long red hair unmanaged as if she had crawled straight from bed to place herself annoyingly in his path. She was holding a weapon. One of the ones that actually worked, and that Nocturne was certain the two adults had not managed to complete before it had been hidden away and out of their reach.

“What did you do to Danny?”

Quite the protective older sister she was. It reminded him of his own sister—though he doubted Misery Vex would resort to threats over implementation. She was always a ghost of action like that.

Nocturne was in a hurry though, and as fun as it might have been to play a little longer with the foolishly brave little mortal… he had his own brother to save. So he sent her into a dream with a wave of his hand. In less than the time it took to blink, he watched as she fell into a pile of tangled limbs on the ground. It was easy enough after that to step over her and through the portal to get back into the Infinite Realms.

Now, he could have washed his hands of it here, gone back to his own Lair to relax and watch what happened next…

But he had promised to help, and so that was what he was going to do.

The journey to the Observants’ Main Observatory was just as tedious as the rest of the errands he’d had to run since his brother’s unwelcome visit. Keeping out of sight, and in the shadows (and occasionally hiding entirely in the subconscious of another ghost) so that he himself did not attract attention and become another distraction for the Ever Watching, was a miserable way to travel.

And one he would not have chosen had he been given much of a choice in the matter at all. As it was, the Observatory was quite well situated in one of the more popular Realms, and Nocturne was not as unknown as he would have desired since Pariah’s fall.

There was only so much of himself he could scrape from another ghost’s thoughts and memories after all. He existed half in and half outside of a collective subconscious—everyone knew some piece of him in some way. It was only when they could match that piece to a face that it became troublesome.

He fiddled with the fit of his mask, making sure it settled properly and hid his features.

His arrival at the Observatory was quiet, thank Chaos, and there were none who noticed. Though, as he looked around, it also seemed there were quite close to none left to notice anyways.

Normally, Nocturne would have started his search in the bowels of the Observants’ shared Lair—Digging through a twisting labyrinth of under tunnels and cellars and working his way up to the highest tower—but it turned out there was no need.

Someone had already made short work of large swaths of the Observatory: the under tunnels and the dungeons were ripped apart and filled with shattered cores and spatters of ectoplasm along with the occasional unconscious (and badly damaged) spirit.

Nocturne was reminded, rather bitterly, of a certain familiar someone’s handiwork and forced himself to continue to ignore it. He was here for exactly one reason and one reason alone.

That reason was trouble enough without adding an investigation.

His brother would be where he felt the buzzing collective of the Observants’ minds, as disgusting as they were.

In their hubris, the pathetic things—at least the ones left behind—had crowded into the central hall where they had Clockwork paralyzed and on display on top of an altar in the middle of the room. He was surrounded on all sides, Observants packed like sardines in a tin can with the bloodlust of piranhas.

How absolutely disgusting. Nocturne didn’t step fully into the room, not yet.

The shadows hid him easily, though there was little point to it. Those Who Watched and Rarely Acted were quite focused on their macabre task. Voyeurs, the lot of them.

Clockwork’s chest had been carved open. Some form of magic keeping it parted as the edges bubbled, the gaping wound fighting back against reaching hands and sharp scalpels as if it were attempting to close—to heal—and failing. His core, a vibrant shining light that even Nocturne had difficulty looking directly at, thrummed at a slower beat than what was generally considered healthy (though Nocturne wasn’t sure if things like thrum-rates were nearly as important to the time-keeper’s functions.)

One of the Observants held something in its hand, a small scalpel-like device, and was using it to slowly chip away at the exposed core; but every severed sliver fell like drops of rain through its hands. Nocturne felt something akin to nausea at the sight—how long would it take to heal a wound like that? Was it… was that how they had damaged Vortex that time long ago?

Would the Clockwork he saved be the same one that asked for his help? Was this enough to damage him permanently, or was Nocturne in time to prevent the worst of it?

Newly anxious, Nocturne studied the room. He hadn’t run into anyone in the halls or corridors when he first snuck in—though he did watch entire battalions worth leave the Observatory before he had made his move to enter. It was like watching bees flee a Queenless hive once word had reached them of the different little gifts Nocturne had gone out of his way to prepare.

Apparently the Fright Knight had destroyed the the entire Market Square and started rampaging around some of the Communal Plots once he manage to dig his sword back out from where Nocturne had planted it. Vortex was wreaking havoc the likes of which he was generally known to wreak, and the young Halfa was ‘asking questions’ those who Watched would never answer… and was getting increasingly, dangerously, irritated as well.

All in all it was all going very well to plan, and Nocturne had nothing to worry about so long as he wasn’t too late. And knowing Clockwork, that was unlikely to be the case.

Clockwork, when he was awake, would probably be angry Nocturne had involved his young charge. He had been very overprotective since the adoption, and Nocturne remembered just what had happened to Undergrowth when he admitted to trying to jumpstart the boy’s juvenile core-formation.

It wasn’t pleasant for anyone.

Nocturne stepped back, deeper into the shadows when he noticed one of the younger Observants cast its gaze about the room. It then raised a hand and volunteered itself for some macabre task or another, one of the others handing it pliers and a clamp.

Disgusting.

Tedious.

Annoying.

It felt stuffy, in his chest, some ugly foul-tasting emotion building in the void he called his core. He did not like seeing his brother like this, trapped-frozen-taken apart by those weaker than him for the sake of their curiosity–no.

This wasn’t about curiosity at all. Nocturne could taste it, saturated in the ambient ectoplasm around them. There was a thin thread of curiosity, sure, from the younger, more newly formed Observants mostly. But what the atmosphere was heavy and suffocating with, was the Watchers’ desire for complete, uncontested control .

It was a pipe-dream. One they had long since attempted to wage war over.

They did not like that power reigned supreme in the Infinite Realms. They did not like that their collective was so pathetically weak, that any attempt to control those Ancient Enough To Have Come Before was merely laughed off as the paltry inconvenience it was.

Nocturne felt his scar itch.

They had long been a tedious thorn—painful and irritating but unable to truly hinder.

Maybe that was why the sight before him, of his kin—Ancient and Powerful—torn apart as if on an operating table, left his chest smoldering.

It didn’t really matter…

No, it shouldn’t really matter.

Nocturne had already long decided on his next course of action. He stepped forward, and let loose the writhing dark hidden in his Core to surround him. A growing, thriving mass of night-dark tendrils slithered into the auditorium, slinking between green transparent tails and trailing capes.

The exclamations started quickly after.

Like a song, building to crescendo.

It began with startled confusion. Questions like, “What?” and “Where did these come from?”

Then it was indignation. “Who dares?!”

That was when Nocturne smiled behind his mask. He was in the middle of it all now, having walked towards the center stage where his brother laid while his tendrils covered the rest of the chamber.

The Observants who had just been elbow deep in Clockwork’s chest were stumbling back, tripping over tendrils. Some even tried to fly away. He did not let them.

“You—?!”

Nocturne ripped the last Observant away from his brother’s body and turned to address the class.

“There’s a lesson to be learned here,” he said smoothly, stealing his sister’s favorite words. “Allow me to teach you.”

It took less than a thought for every single entity inside the chamber to be absorbed entirely. They would not stay long—it was a struggle even for Nocturne to keep such a large collective contained in this way, and he was grateful he had thinned it as thoroughly as he had.

Once the room was quiet, he turned to the frozen fool laid out like a sacrifice before him.

There was nothing obvious holding him there, and Nocturne pinched the wooden bridge between the carved eyes of his mask. Tedious. This entire thing was dreadfully tedious.

Would it truly have been such a disservice to have given Nocturne some infinitesimal clue beyond: “The Watchers have grown beyond themselves and I fear I shall be the first they seek to reap.”

He reached down, careful not to brush against his brother’s exposed core. He was uncharacteristically cold to the touch—and Nocturne drew his hand back quickly.

Had the Observants truly been capable… It seemed so unrealistic. A possibility that even Clockwork would have written off as a fraying thread in the tapestry of timelines he weaved.

But the proof was before him.

What could have had their sister so distracted? That these pathetic wastes of ectoplasm could get their hands on one of her heartstrings?

He sighed.

There was little that could be done in this exact moment other than freeing Clockwork from the constraints and allowing his time to tick once more. The utter freeze of his features was likely more due to his own abilities backfiring against him than the restraint itself.

Nocturne just needed to find where these pathetic wastes of ectoplasm had sewn the thread. He followed the chill of it with the edge of his nail, unwilling to touch it properly until he found where it stitched into the back of his brother’s left retina.

He held back a flinch. His brother had sown this for himself, and was reaping the rewards of his rebellious nature.

Still. Nocturne’s hands remained gentle and steady as he began to unweave some of the knots tied into the Heartstring.

His mind wandered as his hands went about their work, thinking back to what actions his brother had taken to end up here, vulnerable in a way he had very rarely allowed.

There had been secrets, beyond the hints and clues scattered around Long Now and the Infinite Realms that led to a correspondence Nocturne had no desire to know anything about.

But there had always been secrets. Clockwork did not think it necessary to tell anyone the in depth details of the possible futures and long forgotten pasts that stretched out around him.

Not anymore than Nocturne found it necessary to share the thoughts of those around him when they themselves did not dare.

Thoughts meant nothing against actions—and possible futures meant nothing against the choices of the present.

That said…

There was little Nocturne could think of that would have set the Observants into such a desperate fervor. Such that they would storm the Realm of an Ancient and steal him away to dissect in an attempt to collect his power for their own.

The simple fact they had even achieved this much was frankly ridiculous.

And those rebellions—did this have something to do with that?

It was hardly Clockwork’s Modus operandi—he preferred cryptic one on one intervention. Dominoes lined up perfectly to fall into the picture he desired.

But he knew one ghost that was very very good at building a following. Especially a violent one.

And if he was the one pulling the strings, it made sense that Clockwork would be the one to take the fall.

Nocturne shook his head, shaking the thought clear before it blinded him. It would do no good to assume, and more rumination on the thought would only blind him with fury.

He focused once more on the task at hand.

The work was long and tedious—even before he was interrupted.

The whine of an ecto-gun alerted him to her presence, well before he tuned in to the familiar waft of her dreams, muted by her conscious mind. He stopped, but did not turn around. Not yet.

“And what are you going to do with that little thing?” He asked, feigning a disinterested and absolutely not at all irritated countenance.

“I just wanted to get your attention.” The girl’s voice was casual, but with a sharp, thin edge to it that had Nocturne looking up from his work.

She was standing a few feet away—far enough that a human would have to lunge to attack and she would have time to pull the trigger.

A sign she had been well trained, but that her training was limited to fighting humans. Or at least, the training she focused on was against humans.

He turned back to his brother, sure that she would not shoot him until he was finished.

The gun was a bluff. There was no internal struggle between the options nor a pre-made decision to fire at a given moment. Only a loud, static-like anxiety that he might not take kindly to her threat and retaliate against her instead.

Luckily for her, he had more important things to do.

“You chose a bad time,” Nocturne said with a forced casualness that did not betray the strain he felt with his brother’s sight in his very hands. “My attention is rather split at the moment.”

“I can tell.” Her voice wavered for a moment before hardening again. “You missed a few of those creepy little green guys watching the main entryway. I got them, though. You're welcome.”

“...Thank you.” He returned to his task. The gun she was holding was unlikely to damage him permanently, even if she fired at him now distracted as he was. But even if it were to do so… Well, it was certainly going to be something to hold over his brother’s head once they got out of this mess.

Ignoring her didn’t get him shot at, thankfully. But it did invite her to continue her line of questioning. “What did you do to Danny last night?”

There was a knot, tangled just beneath what would have been a major artery had Clockwork been human. It made Nocturne wonder just what methods the spineless green blobs were using to restrain him.

Ghosts usually went with non-traditional bondage—almost all of them could manipulate their form at will after all—but as with all magics, there was strength in grounding tools and tasks to reality. Though Nocturne would have expected them to use pressure points or even acupuncture or Qi points to restrain a ghost.

Instead they threaded it through major arteries… that did not exist. Were they trying to give him a weakness to exploit later on? It was worrisome, but they had not gotten far enough to bury the thread properly.

Luckily Clockwork had asked for Nocturne’s help. He would have awoken on his own—a thread this thin would not be able to keep his power contained, especially not when it was cannibalizing him like this—but the Observants would have also long accomplished their task and…

It gave Nocturne an idea. He thread an additional suggestion into the nightmare he had weaved for the Collective he currently had contained.

The mortal girl growled in frustration.

She was in front of him, close enough to touch—no—she was touching. Clockwork. Her hand had phased partially underneath his skin and she slowly and carefully began removing the Heartstring that had been threaded and tied so thoroughly through his body.

Nocturne watched closely, an analytical eye on her movements just in case she decided she wasn’t actually going to help. He was frustrated enough that the Observants had taken his brother as some kind of experiment. He would not stand for some mortal taking him as a hostage.

His vigilance was wasted though. She simply and perfunctorily slipped the entire thread out and set it aside in a matter of seconds before turning back to Nocturne.

“Is your attention still split?” she asked with a sharp smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Hannah had seen the same thread.  She hadn’t thought it was connected.  

“Isn’t that the one the ghosts were in?”

“Ghosts?  Come on, haha,” said Kwan.  “Those guys were just roleplaying, like whatever Nost and Kyle are doing.”

Hannah briefly closed her eyes.  “No, Kwan, they aren’t roleplaying.  Kyle doesn’t even believe in aliens.”

“No one believes in aliens.  That’s just you.”

“Lots of people believe in aliens.  I didn’t make up the whole UFO enthusiast community.  More importantly, you don’t think this is, like, a Spectra thing, do you?”

“Man, I hope not.  Mrs. Tetslaff said this was mandatory and worth twenty percent of our whole grade!”

“It isn’t worth twenty percent of your grade, Mr. Kwan,” said Mr. Lancer, materializing ghostlike out of nowhere.  He was wearing a bright pink apron with the words Eat, Pray, Love embroidered on it in big, loopy, cursive.  “It is, however, mandatory.”

“How much of my grade is it worth, then?” asked Kwan.  

Mr. Lancer sighed.  “Zero.  But, as I said, it is still mandatory.”

“But why?” asked Hannah.  

Mr. Lancer stared at her for a long minute.  “If I tell you,” he said, finally, “I know it’ll be all over the school within an hour.”

“No, it won’t.  I can keep a secret.”

“You can’t, but that’s besides the point.  If it comes from you, I’ll have plausible deniability if the GIW come around.”

“That’s mean.”  She turned to Kwan.  “Did you hear what he just said to me?  Like I’m not trustworthy?”

“You aren’t trustworthy.  One time I left the room for a minute and when I came back you and your friends had made Mikey cry and you had coated the floor with whipped cream.”

“That wasn’t me.”

“You were holding the whipped cream can.”

“I was framed,” said Hannah.  

Mr. Lancer closed his eyes and sighed.  “The cake idea was the only one that got any widespread traction on the Amity forums.  There were, apparently, already some talks about doing something with it on some of the community and business boards.  But we only got into it when Mayor Masters offered to fund the whole thing.”

Hannah gasped.  “You’re on the forums.”

“Despite my age, I do know how to work a computer.”

“But,” said Kwan, “what if it is a ghost thing?  What if the cake is evil?  What if the cake is a lie?”

“It probably is a ghost thing,” allowed Mr. Lancer, “but since Phantom of all people is endorsing it, I think it will be fine.  Also, you’re going to be making the cakes, so if the cakes wind up evil…”  He trailed off.  “I need to go make some more arrangements before we leave. You two should report to your first period classes.”

.

“I can’t believe you and Vlad got the whole school roped into this,” said Sam, kicking a bit of loose gravel off the path.  “What even was the point of this?”

Danny shrugged.  “It was the best idea we had?” he offered.  

“Just because people liked it doesn’t mean it’s going to be functional,” complained Sam.  

“I think people liking it might actually make it more functional,” said Tucker.  “Just saying.”

“I guess,” said Sam.  “But what are you going to do if everyone does come to this cake thing, including the paranormal investigator people?  What then?”

“Come on,” said Danny, “what kind of self-respecting paranormal investigators are going to go to a Community Cake Day when there are ghouls and goblins about?”

“You think these people are self-respecting?”

.

“A ‘Community Cake Day,’ huh?” said Ned.  “You didn’t mention that in your research.”

“That’s because it didn’t come up in my research,” said Az, scowling at the paper taped to the telephone pole.  “It didn’t exist.”

“It’s sponsored by MasterSoft.”

“MasterSoft doesn’t sponsor anything.  That has to be a lie.”  

“Well, Vlad Masters is the mayor, right?  Maybe the guy just really likes cake.  Speaking of which, we could swing by after filming.  Load up on some free cake.”

“Absolutely not!” shouted the producer.  “Do you know how many self-respecting paranormal investigators are seen at tacky small town cake-offs?  None!  Sip!  Silch!  Nada!  Get into positions!  And Jimmy… please, try to emote just a little.  Susan!  Where’s my coffee?”

“‘What self-respecting paranormal investigator,’” repeated Ned mockingly.  “If we were self-respecting, we wouldn’t be doing this.”

“We were doing it before,” pointed out Az.  

“We were in college before.  No one in college has any respect for anything, right, Jimmy?”

“Hn.”

Az patted Jimmy on the shoulder.  “Look at it this way.  Most of that cake is made by high schoolers.  They have even less respect for everything.  And there’s hardly anyone on the streets.  That makes it more spooky.  A real ghost town vibe.”

“Right,” said Ned.  “Real spooky.”

.

“Welcome back, cryptid crawlers, to the latest entry in our cryptid crawl across the continental US!  Today finds us in lovely Amity Park, Illinois, as promised.”  Crawly turned slightly to frame the ‘Welcome to Amity Park!  A Nice Place to Live!’ sign with their hands, before squaring themself to the camera again.  “With me today is my cameraman Bill.  Say hi, Bill!”  

Bill briefly turned the handheld camera towards his own face, then rotated it to point at Crawly again.  

“We all owe Bill a huge thank you, because without him, you’d be getting this on my GoPro.  Anyway.  Amity Park.  Well, my first impression is that it is a little beaten up.  Lots of… weirdly shaped potholes.  They’re in the sidewalks, too.  Usually you don’t get a great view of those in videos.”  Crawly skirted one hole.  “This does look sort of humanoid-shaped, doesn’t it?  Weird.  But, anyway, beyond being beaten up, Amity Park looks fairly average for a town, which is par for the course.  Fresno is a completely normal town, too, after all.  Weird things are normal, so you find weird things in normal places.  Most cryptids don’t live in the Himalayas, and with cities causing habitat destruction to the point where even well-known animals like bears and deer are becoming urbanized–” They’d have to fact check that sentence before they posted the edited video.  They weren’t sure it was actually true.  “--cryptids, too, are moving into cities.”  They nodded sharply at this conclusion.  

“Although…  It is a little quiet, isn’t it?  Bill, what do you think?”

“Eh, you might be right,” said Bill.  “But sometimes small cities get their rush hours at different times.”

“I suppose,” said Crawly, already turning away.  “Right, so, for this next bit, we’re just going to walk around for a while.  We can interview anyone we come across.  Then, we’ll go investigate the phantom’s,” they snickered, “haunts.”  A colorful flier on a nearby telephone pole caught Crawly’s eye and they paused.  “Oh, hey, there’s a community event happening!  That must be where all the people are.  They’re making cakes.  Want to go when we’re done filming?”

“Sounds good to me,” said Bill.  

“Then it’s a plan!”

.

One good thing about impulsively telling everyone he shared his forum account with the ‘real’ Phantom was that Danny didn’t get beaten up or dragged out into unused hallways after class all that much anymore.  

Of course, it still happened now and again.  Like today.  Although today it wasn’t actually between classes, but in that weird gap between roll call and when they got their assignments with the caterers and bakers.  He’d somehow lost track of Sam and Tucker in the rush, but he wasn’t particularly worried.  

“Fenton,” said Dash, more nasally than usual.  

“Baxter.”  Danny made a face.  “Are you, like, sick or something?”

“No,” said Dash, who was distinctly red-eyed.  

“Have you been…”  Danny decided against accusing Dash of crying.  “Smoking?”

“I’d never jeopardize our chances at state playoffs!” 

“Oh!” exclaimed Paulina.  “Just give him the stuff so you can stop posturing.  Here!”  She shoved a bag at him.

“Uh,” said Danny, hugging the bag to his chest.  “What is this?”

“Your costume.”

“Uh.  What?”

“For messing with the out of town dude.  Dudette?”

“I think someone said they were nonbinary in the forums,” said Danny, bewildered.  He had his own incredibly tacky Phantom costume, and he wasn’t just talking about the one he wore on a daily basis.  

“Whatever.  We’re just making sure you actually show up and do what you said you’d do, so Phantom isn’t left with the mess you caused.”

Danny wasn’t sure why Dash was blaming him for this particular mess, but he’d long ago given up on trying to understand Dash.  However… “Why wouldn’t I have done what I said I was going to do?” He directed the question more at Paulina.  

Dash snorted.  “You can’t even run a forum account by yourself.  If we didn’t make you do it, you’d half-a–”

“Mr. Baxter.”

The three of them turned towards the voice. Mr. Lancer stood at the end of the hallway, eyes glittering.  

“I’m glad I found you three before anything… unfortunate… occurred.  Mr. Baxter, Miss Sanchez, your cohort is working with the team from Creep-tastic Catering in the Culinary Arts kitchen.”

“Come on, Dash,” said Paulina, walking down the hallway.  “We don’t want to leave our friends waiting.”

“Your friends are looking for you, Mr. Fenton,” said Mr. Lancer. 

“Okay,” said Danny, “thanks.  Um.”

Mr. Lancer sighed heavily.  “The three of you have been excluded from all the group lists.  It wasn’t my idea.”

“And we never had this conversation,” said Danny, solemnly.  

“That’s not what I– Oh, what does it matter?  Avoid the actual hunters while you’re wearing all of that, will you?”

“That’s the plan.”

Mr. Lancer’s next sigh was even heavier.  

.

“... and that’s about the gist of it,” said the woman from Poltergeist Pastries.  “Any questions?”

About a dozen hands went up, including Star’s.  The woman looked… intimidated.  

“You there,” she said, pointing somewhere in Star’s general vicinity.  

Star would take it.  “Do you know why we’re doing this?” she asked.  

“It’s a community outreach–”

“No, I mean, why are we really doing this?” clarified Star.  “How is this going to help with the problem?”

“The only problem I see around here is a lack of delicious cakes!”

“Uh,” said Star.  

“No, really,” said the woman, wringing her hands together.  “I think it will help.  And don’t worry,” she continued, pitching her voice even louder, “after you finish your individual and group cakes and have them assessed by our esteemed judges, you’ll be able to participate in the world-record breaking massive cake bake, where we will work together to make a single twenty-five by twenty-five meter square sheet cake.”  She beamed at them.  “Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

“Yeah!” said Ms. Tetslaff, their teacher chaperone.  “We’re going to bake this cake and get those tourists out of here!  Who’s with me?”  She pumped a fist in the air.  

Star was beginning to wonder if she had fallen into some bizarre mirror universe.

.

Danny stepped intangibly through a wall.  He still had things to do, and he was running low on time.  For all he knew, Crawly was already in town.  

“Hey!” he shouted, getting the attention of everyone there.  “Is everyone here?”  He scanned the crowd.  “Where’s Dani?”

“I am only the master of all things electronic and beeping,” said Technus, shrugging, “not unruly, sneaky, teenagers that call my hair ‘whack.’”

Danny groaned and rubbed his hands down the sides of his face.  He didn’t know if he’d have time to find her.  “Skulker?”

“I don’t hunt clones.  Only the originals!”

“There is something seriously wrong with you.  LL, I’ve done what I can to make sure everything is the way you wanted it.”

“We’ll see, ghost boy.  Cookie?”

“No, I– Oh, fine.  It’s not like it’s cursed or anything, is it?”

“It depends on whether or not you’re allergic to peanuts.”

Danny took the cookie but didn’t eat it.  “Is it cursed if I’m not allergic to peanuts?”

“... No.”

Well, that was unconvincing.  Danny put the cookie down on a nearby plate.  “Anyway, you guys follow your end of the deal, I’ll follow mine.  Are we still good?”

“THE BOX GHOST WISHES TO KNOW IF THERE WILL BE ANY BOX CAKES!”

“I don’t know, probably,” said Danny.  “Everyone else?  Are we good?”

There was a faint murmur of agreement.  

“Great.  Be aware that if you cause any trouble, I will make you regret it.”

“We’ll make a proper ghost out of you yet, dipstick!”

“Why do all of your compliments sound like you want to kill me?”

“Probably because they do!”

“Thank you, Sidney.  I’ve got to go before the cryptid people fall into a trans-dimensional pothole Vlad didn’t bother to pave or something stupid.”

.

“Hey, Val.”

Valerie jumped backwards and clutched at her chest.  “Don’t do that to people who are trying to sneak away from somewhere.”

Dani snickered.  “Don’t worry, I have it on pretty good authority that there is life after death.”

“Don’t joke about that.”

“Okay,” said Dani, rising the rest of the way out of the ground.  “So.  You still up for some mayhem?”

Valerie raised an eyebrow.  “What kind of mayhem were you thinking about?”

.

“Okay,” said Tucker, using his stylus to poke at a map of Amity on his PDA.  “According to this… we’ve got… The TV people over here… the internet people over here… and the ghost hunters here…”

“And my parents?”

“Unclear,” said Tucker.  “However…”  He raised his stylus.  “Do you hear that?”

“Yeah,” said Danny.  “It’s the GAV.  Loud as usual.”

“I think it’s probably somewhere north of Descarte and… east…  Maybe east of fifteenth?”

“I think it’s closer than that.  Fourteenth,” said Sam.  

“Yeah, that could be right.”

“Great,” said Danny.  “So, as planned, then?”

.

Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Daniel Fenton:

It’s me!  I’m still making good progress, I think?  I’ve been trying out hitchhiking- it’s so funny to see people’s faces after you disappear on them.  You’d think that they never picked up hitchhikers before.  Lol.  Is it okay to say that out loud?  Lol.  It sounds kinda funny.  Anyway, I’m in Louisiana right now.  New Orleans was great.  See ya soon!

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Dani Phantom:

Dani, don’t take this the wrong way, but did you learn how to hitchhike from watching horror movies?

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Valerie Gray:

Hey, Val, this, um, this is Dani!  Yeah, I know, I know, I never call, you want to know how I got this number, that kind of stuff, but I kind of wound up in an embarrassing situation, and before I call my cousin, I need to know if you know anything about a group of ghost hunters that calls itself the ‘Investigation?’  I will really owe you one.  Thanks.

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Daniel Fenton:

Soooo, hey, cuz, you might have been right about disappearing and attracting the wrong sort of attention.  I’ve picked up a couple of ghost hunting types.  But don’t worry!  They suck so much.  Like, they’re indescribably bad.  So bad, I’m not even sure they’re really ghost hunters.  They’re setting up this rube goldberg stuff.  They’re filming for like TV or something, and I need some prank ideas.  Need need need need.  Prank.  Ideas.  Call me back when you get this!

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Daniel Fenton:

Danny, this is Jazz.  I just saw some of the people here watching a video called ‘Cryptid Crawl,’ and it mentioned Amity Park.  And you.  I’m pretty busy here, so I don’t have a lot of time to look into it, but, you know.  Wanted to let you know.  Hope you’re having a good week, bye!

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Jasmine Fenton:

–lieve I missed her, she just called like ten minutes ago.  Anyway, I looked into it, Jazz.  I don’t think they’ll be too much of a problem, but thanks for letting me know.  Have a good time at your thing.  

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Jasmine Fenton:

Jazz, we have a problem, check the Amity of Amity boards.  

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Jack Fenton: 

Dad, this is Jazz.  You know I’m on those message boards, right?  The forums?  Please, please do not start running around town with a video camera.  Do not put cameras on the GAV.  Do not post anything ghost related online.  Don’t.  Just don’t.  Do you remember the cease and desist orders from when you and Mom blanketed all of the radio channels in town with anti-ghost static?  It’s like that.  You don’t want to be labeled as a public hazard for something other than your driving, do you?  Don’t.  Do.  It.  I love you, bye!

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Jasmine Fenton: 

What the heck did you say to Dad?  

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Jasmine Fenton: 

Jazz, I say this in the most loving way I can: if you gave him this idea, I may commit sororicide.  

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Madeline Walker-Fenton: 

Mom, this is Jazz.  Do you know what Dad’s working on?  It’s got Danny freaking out.  Call me back when you get this.  I love you, bye!

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Jasmine Fenton: 

*Heavy breathing* They’re mounting cameras on the GAV.  They’ve made a YouTube channel.  I don’t want our house to get raided by the GIW, Jazz.  

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Madeline Walker-Fenton: 

Mom, this is Jazz.  I know your phone didn’t ‘suddenly lose signal.’  Either call me back or I’m coming home from Model UN early.  

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Madeline Walker-Fenton: 

Mom, this is Jazz.  If I come home and government agents have been in my room, I’m going to lose it.  

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Vladimir Masters: 

Vlad, this is Jazz.  Dad and Mom are going to try to film a YouTube show about ghost hunting.  If you don’t help Danny find some way to stop them, I’m going to suggest to Dad that he give you a shout out every five minutes so everyone knows what good friends you are.  Don’t tell Danny about this call.  Or else.  You know what I’m talking about.  

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Daniel Fenton:

So, Daniel, I hear that you have a little problem regarding your idiot father’s sudden desire for internet celebrity.  If you need assistance, I’m more than willing to… negotiate.  I’ll be waiting.  

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Daniel Fenton:

Very well.  Silence is also a worthwhile bargaining technique.  In truth, such an… expose would harm me as well.  As such, we should work together.  

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Daniel Fenton:

Daniel, call me back, your sister is blackmailing me.  

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Dani Phantom:

*High pitched* OoooooooOOOOOoooooOOOOOoooohhhhhh, I’m Danny Phantom and I have weird opinions about how other people hitchhike oooooooooohhhh.

*Distantly* Dani, give me back my phone you little gremlin!

OoooooooOOOOOOOOooooohhhhh I just got notified by– Oh!  Hahahahah!  Time for chaos.  Lessee here–  I… like… girls… that can… beat me up… and… buff… computer… nerds…  That’s how you spell nerds, ri–

*More closely* Dani!

He found m–!

*The call ends with a series of thumps.*

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Dani Phantom:

Heya, Dani, this’s Val.  I know you’re in the forums, but I wanted to ask you this more privately.  Those guys who were following your hitchhiking act a few weeks back, were they called ‘the Investigation’ or something like that?  It’s important, so call me back or DM me.

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of the Boo-langerie: 

Hello, my name is William Lancer, and I work at Casper High School.  The school is trying to arrange a ‘Community Cake Day’ as part of our home economics, hospitality vocational training, and ghost survival training courses.  If your business is interested in participating, please call us back.  Community Cake Day will be fully sponsored by MasterSoft.  

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Poltergeist Pastries: 

Hello, my name is William Lancer, and I work at Casper High School.  The school is trying to arrange a ‘Community Cake Day’ as part of our home economics, hospitality vocational training, and ghost survival training courses.  If your business is interested in participating, please call us back.  Community Cake Day will be fully sponsored by MasterSoft.  

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Creep-tastic Catering: 

Hello, my name is William Lancer, and I work at Casper High School.  The school is trying to arrange a ‘Community Cake Day’ as part of our home economics, hospitality vocational training, and ghost survival training courses.  If your business is interested in participating, please call us back.  Community Cake Day will be fully sponsored by MasterSoft.  

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Transcript of a voicemail message left in the inbox of Lance Thunder: 

Hello, my name is William Lancer, and I work at Casper High School.  The school is trying to arrange a ‘Community Cake Day’ as part of our home economics, hospitality vocational training, and ghost survival training courses.  We thought Ghost Watch and the APNN might be interested in covering the event.  Please let us know if this is the case.  Community Cake Day will be fully sponsored by MasterSoft.  

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