#ectoberweek19

“What’s this about?” he asked as they entered the stairway down to the lab. “Why are we going to the lab?”

“We just need you to lend us a hand.” She looked at him over her shoulder, hoping that he would take the bait. Phantom was always a sucker for helping people. She wasn’t sure if that was genuine, or an act, but she hoped that he would fall for it all the same.

Danny scoffed. “Can’t Jazz help you?”

But despite his protests, he didn’t stop following them. Trailed after her into the lab, Jack staying behind Danny. Just in case he made a run for it.

Well, they wouldn’t be able to stop him if he fled in a non-human direction, but still. There were limits to what they could prepare for, and a ghost’s intangibility was one of those limits. At least Jack’s Specter Deflector would stop Phantom if he tried to phase past them.

The three of them stopped in the center of the lab, a mostly-clear spot in the chaos that covered the rest of the room.

She and Jack had cleared it for this exact purpose. The chaos surrounding them would hopefully distract Phantom so he wouldn’t notice the Ghost Catcher, assuming that he knew what it did. They didn’t know how long he had been there, overshadowing Danny. They had no idea what they had told him, unknowingly.

They had no idea how long they had been talking to a ghost instead of their own son. How long Phantom’s possession had gone unnoticed.

“So, uh… What did you need my help with?” the ghost asked with her son’s voice. With her son’s face.

“Just step over here,” Jack instructed, pointing at a seemingly random spot. While Phantom was distracted, Maddie shifted closer to the Ghost Catcher, hoping to keep it out of his sight until he could no longer dodge it.

“Alright…” He sounded reluctant, but followed their commands nonetheless. Maddie wondered if it was Phantom, trying hard to blend in, or Danny, who was exerting all the power he could, trying to help them save him.

She hoped it was Danny. She feared it was Phantom.

She hated that she couldn’t tell.

Her hands wrapped around the rod of the Ghost Catcher. She met Jack’s eyes, and he nodded, sharply.

Danny, having apparently seen Jack look at her, turned to look as well. His eyes, the crystalline blue she loved so much, grew wide.

“Mom, no—” was all he managed to say before she swung the Ghost Catcher at him, the net passing through Danny’s body harmlessly.

He stumbled, the ectoplasm clinging to him so tightly that he was tugged along a little. But the Catcher finished its sweep, drawing out all ectoplasm that Danny’s body contained.

The ghost regained his normal appearance—stark black and white coloration, vivid green eyes—as he fought the cables of the Ghost Catcher. It would serve him no good. They had replaced the normal netting with a new one, designed just for this occasion; sticky enough to hold a fully matured ghost.

Phantom flailed, growling like a trapped animal, his hands lighting up green. That was all the proof Maddie needed. Phantom was too dangerous to restrain, to trap.

They couldn’t risk him escaping. Having him take revenge on them, or, far worse, having him take revenge on Danny.

She shifted her hands down, flipping the safety off of their second new feature.

Jack stepped forward to hold onto the Ghost Catcher as well, and met her eyes. Inclined his head once.

Thus agreed, she pushed the button.

Phantom screamed. The sound was high and cutting, so loud Maddie was almost certain she could see the waves his voice created. His hands grasped wildly, unable to reach anything to hold onto, then tightened onto themselves. Had he been human, his knuckles surely would’ve gone white.

Danny watched the proceedings, wide-eyed, hunched in on himself. Poor boy. Phantom’s almost constant overshadowing must’ve been hell on him, on his mind. She made a mental note to herself to check in on Danny after she was sure Phantom was neutralized, make sure he wasn’t overly traumatized. Make sure he got therapy if he needed it.

Finally, after a few eternally long moments, Phantom started to lose his shape. His extremities grew softer, melting down as they lost their structural integrity. Color draining away to leave them a sharp green.

Unlike Danny, he had his eyes closed, still yelling terribly. At least the sound was petering out now, as he lost power.

The ghost started to melt away entirely, globs of ectoplasm smearing down the netting of the Ghost Catcher, unable to fall off entirely. The sight apparently spurred life back into Danny, as he gasped and set a single step forwards, towards Phantom.

She reached out and stopped him easily.

“No,” Danny keened, like he was in pain. “No, you can’t! Stop!”

“Shh, honey,” she shushed, pulling him against herself in a hug. She ran a hand through his hair, comfortingly. “Shh, he’ll be gone soon. He won’t hurt you anymore.”

“No!” Danny wriggled in her arms, like he was trying to get out. But it was weak, and pointless. This was just an after-effect from Phantom’s overshadowing. She would protect Danny until he was alright again. “No, you can’t! Stop! Stop!”

Maddie tucked Danny against herself, locking him in her embrace. “It’ll be okay, honey. It’ll all be over soon.”

Danny whined, a wordless cry of pain, and Maddie felt her heart clench with empathy. Her poor boy. How long had he been Phantom’s puppet? How long had they missed the obvious?

How long had he been watching a ghost take his place?

Jack grimaced where he stood, clearly itching to get closer, to comfort Danny as well. But he couldn’t. He was the only person holding on to the Ghost Catcher, and they couldn’t risk it malfunctioning. They had to wait until it was certain that Phantom was no longer a threat.

The ghost blubbered, a noise that might have been intended as a cry of pain. She wasn’t sure why—shouldn’t the ghost be too occupied with its disintegration to play pretend?—but it was a clear sign of its decay, at least. Almost all color had gone from him, body more liquid than solid. Phantom wriggled in the cables, but it was weak.

Finally, they had him. If only they’d been quicker, had noticed sooner.

Danny made another pained noise in her arms, and she shushed him. Her eyes were settled on Phantom, watching him dissolve. Cruelly, she wished the ghost could feel pain, that she could make it suffer for what it inflicted upon Danny.

With her son crying in her arms, and her husband grimly staring back, she watched Phantom fall apart. They stood still, stiff and tensed, until there was nothing left but a puddle of sticky ectoplasm.

“I’m sorry,” she said to Danny, ruffling one hand through his hair. “We should’ve noticed sooner, honey, I’m so sorry.”

Danny sniffled as she released him from her tight hold. His eyes were locked on the remains of Phantom; they’d dripped to the floor when Jack had turned off the Ghost Catcher.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Right.”

She stepped closer again, one hand up to offer comfort. But Danny flinched back, eyes finally ripped away and towards her.

They’re wide and blue, but cold, so cold. Fear and— and so much more.

“Danny,” Jack tried, voice far quieter than usually. “It’s okay, kiddo. Come on, let’s go up.”

Danny’s eyes wandered back over to the ectoplasm.

“I… would rather be alone,” he finally settled on, and before either of them could think of a reply, he wandered to the stairs.

It felt like a lump of ice had settled in her chest, replacing her heart. Did he blame them for not noticing sooner? He would be right, yes, but she didn’t think… didn’t expect…

“Jack,” she turned towards him, trying to swallow past the blockage in her throat, “Why do I feel like we’ve just done something terrible?”

“It’s just an after effect.” He didn’t sound like he really believed it either. “It’ll wear off. He’ll get better. He has to.”

---

But Danny did not get better. Maddie watched him, constantly, every moment she could, and he never seemed to get any better.

No, quite the opposite. His condition seemed to worsen by the day. By the hour.

Danny’s eyes grew dull and lifeless, his hair lost its shine, grew brittle. He became weak, sickly, in just a few days.

It didn’t make sense. The long-term exposure of ectoplasm should’ve been making him sick, but it didn’t. No, removing the contaminant—and the overshadowing ghost—seemed to be the cause of his sickness.

Even if it defied all science, everything Maddie knew…

She couldn’t deny it. Not when her son’s health—and his life, even—was on the line.

Still, Danny refused to talk to her or Jack. He avoided them when possible, and was silent and sullen otherwise. It hurt her to see him like this, slowly withering away, and unable to talk to him.

Somehow, the destruction of Phantom had hurt Danny, and she couldn’t even apologize. Couldn’t even ask him how he was feeling, how they could help.

Had the Ghost Catcher malfunctioned? Had Phantom’s grip on Danny been so strong that removing him had hurt her son in the process?

She didn’t know, and neither did Jack. And they couldn’t ask Danny, because he didn’t talk to them.

But he did talk to Jazz. Often they fell quiet when they saw her, breaking apart or drawing away into their rooms, locking the door behind them. But it was enough for her to notice them talking, near-silent whispers.

Jazz knew what was going on. Her sharp glare, as fiery as her hair, all but confirmed it. Danny had told her what was going on, when he wouldn’t trust his parents with the same knowledge. Even though they would be able to fix it, while Jazz couldn’t.

And despite all this, Jazz didn’t confide in her or Jack either. They all saw Danny grow sicker and sicker, and still Jazz did not come to tell them how to help, how to fix Danny.

Had they really hurt him so badly, that he would rather suffer through this than come to them for help?

Well, she wouldn’t stand for it any longer. Couldn’t stand for it any longer.

---

The sound of her knocking on Jazz’ door was absurdly loud in the quiet hallway. Next to her, Jack shuffled uncertainly.

Jazz opened the door, her eyes immediately narrowing when she saw it was them, not Danny. “What do you want?”

“To talk,” Maddie told her, honestly, almost pleadingly. “Danny is sick, Jazz. We all know it. Please let us help. He won’t talk to us.”

She snorted, a vicious sound. “Of course he won’t, not after what you two did.” But Jazz shook her head and opened the door to let them in.

“We tried to help,” Maddie protested, even as she stepped inside, Jack right behind her.

“You could’ve tried talking first, instead of immediately going for the violent approach.” Her voice was sharp, bitter. Relentlessly disapproving. “Hell, you could’ve talked to me, if you didn’t trust Danny. But you didn’t.”

Maddie felt her heart skip a beat. “You knew? About Phantom overshadowing him?”

“It wasn’t overshadowing,” Jazz said, nonsensically. “But, yes. I knew about Phantom.”

“It had to be overshadowing,” Jack countered, his voice quiet and strained. “Phantom was a fully formed ghost influencing Danny.”

Jazz shook her head, dismissive. “Phantom wasn’t a full ghost, although he was fully matured, or so I’ve been told. He was only half ghost.”

Only half ghost. The other half, what, human?

Oh.

Oh.

“Are you saying that Danny and Phantom were one and the same?” Maddie asked, sharply.

It was supposed to be impossible. One can’t be alive and dead at the same time, ghost and human. But removing the contamination from Danny’s body was killing him, wasn't it?

And they had always frowned at how much Phantom looked like Danny. The same haircut, although in white instead of black, and the shape of his face… The jumpsuit, so much like theirs. Colors inverted from the one they’d made for Danny.

Oh, Danny.

Jazz nodded, her mouth flat and thin. “You’re seeing it now, aren’t you? Finally connecting all the dots?”

“Oh, what have we done?” Maddie turned to Jack, his expression heavy and despairing as well. “It was our fault, wasn’t it? That he was Phantom in the first place? And all we did was threaten him for it, for something we did to him.”

“You didn’t just threaten him,” Jazz pointed out. It felt like knives stabbing into Maddie. “You have hurt him, shooting at Phantom or spitting vitriol. Not to mention the incident a week ago.”

“We just tried to help.” But they hadn’t. They had made everything worse, just because they had skipped talking and went straight for their weapons. “We thought Phantom was overshadowing Danny, so we separated them.”

“But that wasn’t the only thing you did, was it?” Jazz prodded, folding her arms. “Just separating them wasn’t enough, was it?”

No, it hadn’t been.

“Phantom was struggling too much, too violent,” Jack admitted, lowly. “We destabilized him, to make sure he wouldn’t hurt anybody anymore.”

Their own son. They had torn out half of him and destroyed it.

“That’s what did it, I think.” Jazz’s expression had softened somewhat, growing thoughtful. “He’s been separated before, but never for a long time, and never quite this perfectly. Phantom was always a little human, and Danny always a little ghost.”

“So that’s why he’s sick?” Maddie asked, frowning. “Because we forcibly tore away part of him? Part of his soul?”

“I don’t think that it’s that,” Jazz denied. “I don’t think he lost any part of him, of his soul or whatever. I think it was the ectoplasm, specifically. Danny had a terrible accident with the Portal, which could’ve—maybe even should’ve—killed him. But it made him half-ghost instead.”

The Portal? They had known that Danny had been in an accident with it, but… it had been downplayed, apparently. He’d said he hadn’t been hurt, not really. Just a little zap.

It could’ve killed him. It did kill him, in some awful way.

And they hadn’t even noticed.

“The ectoplasm was keeping him alive,” Jack said, coming to the same realization as her. “And we took it away from him.”

“That’s what I thought, too.” Jazz nodded, a frown on her face. “He heals—healed—faster, especially if he was in ghost form. I think the ectoplasm healed his injuries quick enough for him to survive, but in turn, he can’t live without it.”

He was dying. He was dying because of them. No wonder that he refused to tell them.

“Oh, Danny… What have we done?”

“You need to fix this. We need to fix this.” Jazz sighed, one hand coming up to twirl her hair. A nervous tic. “I’ve been working on it, thinking of possible ways to fix it, but it comes down to the fact that we’ll need to reintroduce ectoplasm to his body without poisoning him.”

“We need to bond it to his body again,” Jack agreed, a thoughtful frown on his face as well. “But we took away all the preexisting systems his body had to accept it, and we can’t possibly make him go through the original accident again.”

She was running through options now. This was where she excelled; making the impossible possible with science. “More like Vlad’s accident, then? It was a low amount of contamination compared to Danny’s, and it made him sick, but Danny must be biologically wired to be more accepting of contamination…”

“Uh, if I can interrupt,” Jazz said, her voice breaking Maddie’s train of thought. “Vlad’s accident was probably a lot worse than you guys think, since he’s also half-ghost. And, uh, the whole ecto-acne thing.”

The silence that fell was so thorough that you could hear a pin drop. She wasn’t sure she could even hear Jack breath. Hell, Maddie was sure she’d stopped breathing herself.

“Excuse me?” she managed, after an eternity of silence.

Jazz blinked at them. “Vlad is also half-ghost, although he’s not as much in the spotlight as Danny was. He calls himself Vlad Plasmius. The vampire ghost?”

The vampire ghost. The Wisconsin ghost, the one that had attacked them during the reunion. Which had overshadowed Jack and attacked the guests, had attempted to kidnap her.

That was Vlad, their old college friend, as creepy as he’d become.

“Oh,” she said, turning to look at Jack. Jack, who seemed to be taking that revelation harshly.

Not that she could blame him.

“Maybe not that, then,” she said. As much as she wanted to linger on this, properly deal with it, it could wait. It had to wait. Her son’s health was more important.

“I think that the problem is that you purged all contamination from his body,” Jazz said, apparently also willing to dismiss the previous topic to focus on Danny. “We all have some contamination, just from living here, you know? And Danny was always very bad about wearing a jumpsuit while cleaning the lab.”

“He built up a natural defense against it.” Of course. It made perfect sense. Slow, gradual exposure to ectoplasm weakened the reaction. Made him more susceptible to it. “But how could we possibly replicate that quick enough?”

Before he died, she thought, but did not say.

Jazz made a face. “I’m not sure, to be honest. I’ve been encouraging him to eat some of the ecto-contaminated food we have in the house, slowly building up from the weaker stuff to the stronger, but it hasn’t been helping. Not enough, at least.”

“It might be building up his defenses, anyhow.” Maddie considered the plan. “It doesn’t have to contain enough ectoplasm to revert his condition, just enough to rebuild the acceptance. We can try diluted ectoplasm, but we need to make sure he can take it without poisoning him.”

“We’ll need some way to test for it,” Jack said, visibly shaking off the previous topic to refocus. “To make sure we don’t give him anything he’ll react badly to.”

“I’ll look into making more contaminated food as well.” She was good at making them accidentally, but on purpose? That was a whole new ballpark. “To make the transition gradual enough for him, and to bridge the gap between contaminated food and the diluted ectoplasm.”

“You realize that this won’t fix everything, right?” Jazz asked. “Even if you solve this, even if you help make him half-ghost again… It won’t be the same. It won’t undo everything you’ve done.”

She knew. One look at Jack confirmed that he did, too.

“That doesn’t matter,” Maddie said, shaking her head. “He’s our son, Jazz. We did this to him. Both the initial accident, and the purging afterwards. We’re fixing it, too. The rest is a problem for later. First, we need to make sure there will be a later.”

Jazz nodded, stepping aside, clearing the way to the door. “I’ll be watching. Making sure everything goes okay.”

“Of course, honey.” Maddie wrapped an arm around Jazz, pressing a kiss to her temple. “We couldn’t have done this without you.”

They were going to fix this. Danny was going to be okay.

Apparently, the knowledge that a so-called permanent solution to a problem might not be all that permanent, and that the problem might come back with superpowers was enough to put a damper on that kind of thing.

The corpse wasn't exactly a normal one, and it hadn't come to police attention in the normal way. Still, Collins was just doing his job.

So why the hell did he feel like a damn graverobber?

"Got anything for us, Molly?" he asked the ME.

"If you mean a cause of death, that's a hard no," said the red-haired woman. "If you mean a whole bunch of weird stuff, then yes. This is the strangest body I've ever seen. I think I'm going to have to call out for a second opinion."

Collins and Patterson exchanged looks.

"I think you'd better not," said Patterson. "This is the kind of thing that should stay in Amity Park."

Molly eyed the other woman shrewdly. "The rumors are true, then?"

Collins cleared his throat. "What rumors?"

"This is Phantom's body."

"Where did you hear that?" asked Collins.

At the same time Patterson said, "So he claims."

"The paramedics told me," said Molly. "It's been all over the hospital."

Great. As if this case wasn't 'interesting' enough. "What's so weird about the body?" he asked, bringing them back to the topic at hand.

"Well, first off, half of it's missing."

Collins looked down at the body. As far as he could tell, all of it was there, even if it was far from adult-sized.

"I know what you're thinking," said Molly. "I get it. I didn't notice at first, either, not until I took the x-rays. His bones are half as dense at they should be. At first I thought that he just had some kind of bone disease- that would make identification easier, right?- but then I started weighing other parts of him, and his everything only weighs about half as much as it should for a teenager of his height."

"Are you sure that's not just because of decay? Or because he was burned?" asked Patterson.

"Yes, I'm sure. He's pretty well preserved actually."

"Is he?" asked Collins, dubiously, looking at the blackened and whithered corpse.

"Yeah. What you're seeing here," she gestured at one of the corpse's arms, "it isn't skin. I know he looks burnt, but he's actually got all his layers. This is something he was wearing. I've sent a sample out for analysis, but I think it's mostly plastic and cloth."

Patterson sighed. "Guess that rules out burning to death, or someone trying to burn the body afterwards. What could have caused the, uh, halving?"

Molly shrugged. "Might have to do with how he died, or becoming a ghost. I don't know. I only deal with the bodies of the dead, not their spirits. You'll have to ask the Fenton, or the GIW."

"Anything else?" asked Collins.

Molly shrugged. "I found a lot of ectoplasm residue on him, and something that might be lichtenberg figures, but I won't know for sure until I can get his clothing off, and I'm not sure we want to do that until we figure out what happened to them and what they're made of."

"Right," said Collins. "Good call."

"Everything else is in here," said Molly, handing the file to Patterson. "But, just so you know, he does have the proper height, age, and body type to be Phantom."

"Any que-" the phone in the back office rang, cutting Molly off. She groaned. "Hold that thought." She ran off into the other room and shut the door.

"Sooooo," said Patterson, playing with the end of her braid. "Who gets to interview the Fentons?"

"Both of us," said Collins, looking at Molly's report. She hadn't written anything about how long the kid had been dead.

"Aw, you're no fu-"

The temperature of the already-cold room dropped, and all of Collins' hairs stood on end, indicators of an agitated and very close ghost. Both Collins and Patterson had their ectoguns (standard issue for APPD) out in second.

A ghost shimmered into view on the other side of the examination table.

"You need to stop this," he said, green eyes boring first into Collins', then Patterson's. "People are going to get hurt."

"Is that a threat?" asked Collins.

Phantom recoiled as if slapped. The shock faded, and his face settled into a more standard offended scowl.

"No, of course not. It doesn't make it any less true. So stop."

"We can't."

"Why not?" asked Phantom, aggrieved. "It isn't like this is about justice. I don't need justice. It was an accident."

"Because we don't know who this is, and we don't know who you are," said Collins. He did not add that, even if the body on the table had belonged to Phantom, they could not take his word that his death had been an accident.

Phantom threw up his hands. "I'm the guy who's been protecting Amity Park from ghost attacks for the last two years! And that's my..." he faltered. "My, um. My c- My body," he finished quietly. He took a deep breath, and some of his earlier fire came back. "Why would I lie?"

Collins could think of dozens of reasons, up to and including Phantom being the killer, though he doubted the young ghost had a murderous bone in his body. Either of them.

"It would really help," said Patterson, "if you could come down to the station to be interviewed."

Phantom's expression softened. "If it would help-" he broke off and shook himself. "I'll think about it." He frowned down at the body, looking rather ill.

"Is there any proof you have that this is your body?" asked Collins, slowly, more cautious than Patterson. He remembered hearing somewhere that ghosts didn't like being reminded of their deaths.

Phantom shifted slightly, and his gaze slid away from the corpse. "Other than knowing you had found... it, and being able to feel it? Not..." He trailed off, rubbing a circle into the palm of his left hand. Jerkily, he tugged off the glove. He kept his hand curled tight, and half hidden, as he stared down at the ground. Then he spread out his fingers, and thrust his hand at Collins. "This," he said. "It'll be the same on... it... as me."

In the center of Phantom's palm was a burnt-in star. It had seven points that faded out to lightning bolts as they twined up his arm, disappearing under his jumpsuit.

"Is that from when you died?" asked Patterson.

All the lights in the room flickered, and the the ghost hissed before vanishing. A light bulb near the door burst in a spray of glass.

The temperature returned to normal levels.

"What the hell, Patterson? You don't ask a ghost about their death. And what was the whole 'it'll really help' thing?"

"Sorry," said Patterson. "I know, I know, but how often do you get to interview the victim of one of these things?"

"Literally all the time. We do assault cases ninety percent of the time."

"When you put it that way..." Patterson grimaced. "The 'help' thing... Well, ghosts are supposed to be governed by their Obsessions, right? I took a class on that, a couple of months ago. Anyway, there's big speculation that Phantom's Obsession is heroism, or helping people. I thought maybe I could use it. It almost worked. You saw how he considered it."

"Yeah," said Collins. He rubbed his face, thinking.

Phantom said he could feel the body. How much could he feel? If he could just tell what was happening to it, that wouldn't be so bad. But if he could feel it like it was still his body? That sounded like torture.

Molly walked back into the room. She frowned. "What happened?"

"Phantom decided to pay us a visit. Say, Molly, I know you don't want to strip off his clothes, yet, but if you could just clean off his left hand..."

.

"So," said Collins, drumming his hands on the steering wheel. "Let's recap. What do we know?"

"The body is the right age, sex, and size to be Phantom, and has the same scars as Phantom," said Patterson. "The body is really weird and has a lot of ectoplasmic residue on it. Molly can't tell how long it's been dead. Forensics thinks it's been there two years, based on soil settling and a picture search. The cairn only started showing up around then, at the end of summer."

"Which is before the ghosts started to be a big thing," added Collins.

"Which makes the ectoplasm even weirder."

"And now, we're consulting with the only ghost experts in town who aren't the GIW to find out what could have caused that."

"But, unfortunately, said ghost experts are also the only people in town who had access to ectoplasm before the ghosts showed up."

"Which means they're suspects," finished Collins, moving from knowledge into theory. He sighed. "Of course, since Phantom claims to have buried his own body, he could have left the ectoplasmic residue."

"It's also possible some other ghost hunter did it," said Patterson. "The GIW did exist before the ghosts became a problem. Or it could just be a natural result of turning into a ghost."

"Right," said Collins. "So, who's going to ring the doorbell?"

The two detectives looked up at the front door of Fentonworks. Everybody knew what happened to people who rang the Fentons' doorbell.

Patterson sighed. As the more junior of the pair, she knew how this was going to pan out. "I'll do it."

She got out of the car, and went up the stair. Collins followed, but stayed a safe distance back.

With an air of resignation, Patterson pressed the doorbell.

Surprisingly, the door opening did not herald a flood of green goo. One of the Fenton children had opened the door. The boy. An unidentifiable expression passed over his face before he turned and shouted, "Mom! Dad! The police are here to see you!"

Odd. How did he know Collins and Patterson were detectives? They didn't have their badges displayed.

He scampered off as Jack Fenton bounded to the door. "Hi there!" boomed the big man. "Are you here to talk about ghosts?"

"Yes, actually."

.

The Fentons, once you got past the goo, were actually very hospitable. Maddie brought out tea and cookies, and sat the detectives down in the living room.

"What did you want to talk about?" she asked.

Collins and Patterson exchanged a glance.

"We were wondering," said Collins, "if there is any way to tell if someone has become a ghost by looking at their corpse."

Maddie clicked her tongue. "That's a common misconception. People don't become ghosts. They leave ghosts. Ghosts are impressions on ectoplasm, not people."

There was a very faint, unamused scoff from above, and Collins looked up to see the Fentons' son crouched behind the banister of the stairs. He noticed Collins' gaze and fled.

Interesting.

Meanwhile, Jack and Maddie's explanation was winding down. "But to answer your question, no. There's no way to tell if a person's death produced a ghost unless you encounter the ghost. The body would be completely normal. Is this about the body you found in William Park?"

Collins frowned. It was easy to forget how sharp the Fentons were.

"Yes," he said, deciding it wouldn't do any good to hide the fact.

"And you think it's ghost related somehow?" pressed Maddie.

"A ghost claimed the body was theirs."

"Hm," said Maddie, thoughtful.

"Well, it isn't impossible for a ghost to form with the Obsession of finding the person that murdered the human they are modeled on," said Jack. "I'm actually surprised you didn't encounter one sooner."

"The ghost in question wanted us to stop investigating," said Collins, watching their reactions. He wondered if he was revealing too much, but he really did need more information about ghosts and he refused to go to the GIW unless it was absolutely necessary. He'd talk to the cults (there were many in Amity Park, several of which were dedicated primarily to Phantom) first.

Maddie frowned. "That can't be right. What ghost was it?"

"Phantom," said Collins.

Jack and Maddie were already shaking their heads.

"That's impossible," said Jack.

"There are record of Phantom going back to the beginning of human history. Farther, even." Maddie got up and walked to a bookshelf, where she pulled out a large heavy book. She thumped it down on the coffee table, and began to thumb through the pages. "Here, look. This town in China even used effigies of him as a kind of 'spirit scarecrow.' Apparently he would show up periodically to fight 'evil spirits.' Ghosts. Just like now."

The dolls on the page did bear a shocking resemblance to Phantom. Maddie turned the page, and another. Each one had pictures of Phantom, though all in different styles, and clearly all from different cultures.

"There aren't a lot of these, true," said Maddie, "and when we were in college, a lot of it was dismissed as a hoax. But they existed when we were in college."

"So either our Phantom is the same, or he's imitating the legend," said Jack, "and the legend was never well known."

"We prefer the former theory, obviously." She sat down and leaned back in her chair. "Now, as for the body, normally, if this was any other ghost, I would say that they caused the death, but..." She pursed her lips, then shrugged. "As dangerous and inhuman as Phantom is, I doubt it. We are fairly confident his Obsession falls in the lines of 'protecting people,' and that wouldn't allow murder."

"He's definitely involved somehow, though," said Jack. "It's possible he's protecting the killer."

.

"I feel like we know less now than we did before," complained Patterson.

"Yeah..." said Collins. "Did you notice their kid? Did he seem a little off to you?"

"Maybe a bit," said Patterson, playing with the end of her braid. She paused, looking back at the Fenton house. "You know, I saw this theory on a website once," she said, slowly.

"What kind of website?"

"Conspiracy, I think, but it could have been a cult one. You know how it is. The theory was that the Fenton's son was secretly Phantom. The kid who posted it got laughed off, of course, but... Y'know, I think it was picked up by a cult or two. They're hard to keep track of. They keep having those schisms, and merging, and, you know."

"The Fenton kid would have had access to ectoplasm before the ghosts showed up," said Collins. Could his theory about Phantom masquerading as one of the living be correct?

"I guess anyone slimed by the Fentons would have, too, though," said Patterson.

"Right. Wonderful. You want to talk to the Cult Division first, or start interviewing kids?"

"Is the 'Cult Division' still Cameron Daily and his computer?"

"You know it is."

"Let's get started on those kids."

.

"Well," said Danny talking to Sam and Tucker over the Fenton Phones, "they're getting clues, but they're buried in so much junk that they're useless, or they're completely inconclusive."

"That's good, right?" said Tucker.

"Not if they think I killed someone!"

"It doesn't quite sound like that's what they think," said Sam. "Even your parents don't think that."

Which had been really nice, actually. Which was sad. But, hey, odd manifestation of post-human consciousness was a step up from evil manifestation of post-human consciousness. Right?

"They think I'm covering up a murder, then, Sam. That's just as bad." His tail twitched and flicked as he rode invisibly on top of the detectives' car. Ever since his... that... had been dug up, he had felt uneasy. Anxious.

Restless.

Basically, what was dead people were supposed to feel like when their remains were disturbed.

"I can't just go on letting them think that," said Danny.

"Don't. You're just going to get yourself into more trouble," cautioned Sam.

Danny bit his lip. "It's just an interview," he said, eyeing the police station. "It isn't like they can arrest me."

Impossible.

The fingers raised the plate higher, and blue eyes scanned the plate for any dents or chips. Any imperfections.

Other than its own.

There was nothing there. Nothing new, anyway. 

Pale lips let out a shaky breath, and a pair of ears listened closely for signs of any shouts or movement from the stairs. Signs that any other bodies might invade this space, inquiring about the loud noise.

But no footsteps sounded from the stairs. No voices travelled from the hall.

Good.

Fingers gripped the plate with a newfound tightness before resuming their circular motions. Cloth against ceramic. Round and round again until the plate was dry enough to join its brethren on the countertop.

Pale fingers, now trembling even more, brought the plate out of the safety net of the sink. The fingers could do this. If they just gripped tight, they could do this.

A cold feeling sparked in his chest, dancing down his arm like fireworks.

No...don’t...

CRASH

“Danny?”

The fingers had betrayed the body. They were supposed to put the plate on the counter but now they weren’t there anymore.

They weren’t there anymore.

“Danny? What happened?” 

Footsteps sounded from the stairs. 

No, he couldn’t let his family see. They couldn’t see what had happened. The fingers had disappeared and he didn’t know where they were and his body was betraying him where did the fingers go? 

“I—I’m fine, Jazz! Don’t come—Just give me a—”

“Danny honey?”

More footsteps.

He looked down at the wreckage. The plate had shattered, dusting the floor with dozens of tiny pieces. 

It wasn’t salvageable. No amount of glue could fix this. 

His fingers had ruined it. He had ruined it. It was broken. 

“Are you okay?”

“What happened?”

“Danny?”

There were too many footsteps. Too many people. Too many voices. Everything was too loud. 

Something twinged in his chest, and he shuddered. His body was cold. He was so cold. There wasn’t a time in his life that his body had ever felt so cold, so alien. 

It was like it wasn’t even his body.

“Oh honey, what happened?”

He felt his head turn up, and suddenly he was looking at the faces of his parents and sister. Worry coated their features, their eyebrows drawn in and lips curved into a slight frown.

“I...I don’t…” 

Danny looked down at his fingers—those traitors—but to his shock, they were still there. They were attached to his palms like they had been there all along.

He curled them in, if only to make sure that they were really his. But they were. They responded to his mental command, just like they always had.

“The plate...I don’t…”

He tried to gesture at it, but his arms felt cold and sweeping them through the air just made them feel colder. 

What was he supposed to do? How could he explain this?

Especially when he didn’t understand what was happening himself?

His mother threw up her (normal, human) hand. “Danny—wait! Don’t move yet. There’s shards all over the floor. You don’t have shoes on.”

“I—oh…”

“I’ll get the broom,” he heard Jazz say.

“Oh…”

“Danno, it’s no big deal!” came his father’s boisterous voice from above him. “It’s just a plate! We have a whole bunch of those!”

“Oh.”

“Here—broom.”

“Okay, honey,” his mother said. “Do me a favor and don’t move until I tell you to, okay?”

His body didn’t move because his human brain didn’t tell it to. But the body was cold and foreign and not his. 

“Danny? What’s wrong?”

His head raised, and he was met with the soft eyes of his sister. Her red hair was tucked behind its usual teal headband, and her face, though touched with uncertainty, was all but glowing with life.

“What’s wrong?” she repeated.

His head shook. “I’m fine.”

“It’s just a plate, sweetie! Nothing to be nervous about.” His mother gave him a warm smile. “It happens!”

“Yeah…”

“You sure you’re okay?” Jazz asked.

Danny tried to nod, but his chest constricted. His body felt as if it were plunged into the depths of the ocean, and he could almost see the sparks of electricity dancing throughout his veins. His body shuddered, and a cold breath escaped his lips.

What was that? He didn’t understand. It didn’t make sense. What was happening to him?

The lights were suddenly too blinding, and the ambient sounds of the room—the fridge, the buzzing from the lights, the gentle humming that always permeated the house from the various inventions lying around—were too much. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t be here. 

Nothing was right anymore.

“Danny?”

His throat felt tight.

“I’m tired. I’m just tired.”

“Why don’t you go to bed then. You father and I will finish the dishes tonight, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks.”

He felt his body propel forward in the path that his mother had created for him. An escape route. One out of the kitchen.

Out of the cold.

But the cold kept following him as he ascended the stairs. As he entered his room. And as he fell onto his bed.

He fell because his body tripped on the ground. The solid ground. Because his foot couldn’t go through the ground. That was impossible.

Either way, his body was on the bed now. He was safe here. He could pull the covers over his now-body, because it was different than the one before, and he was safe. Maybe the cold would leave him alone now. Maybe that pressure in his chest would go away now that he was safely under his blankets.

Maybe he would wake up and this nightmare would finally end.

The cold didn’t leave. The pressure on his chest didn’t lesson. It still pulsed to and fro, emitting sparks of chilling electricity into his limbs.

Another frosted breath escaped his lips, and he gasped.

He was just getting sick, is all. Nothing was wrong with him. Maybe he was getting a fever.

That had to be it. That had to be the explanation.

His eyes opened—they had been closed?—and he looked up. The room was dark, but if he looked around he could still see the model rockets and old movie posters decorating his body’s room.

No, his room. This was still his.

Then why did everything feel so wrong?

He looked at the ceiling, and a glowing green figure stared back at him. It was shaped like a teardrop, and it seemed to have two small gray eyes and a little hole for a mouth.

He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. 

What was that thing?

It stared at him with unblinking eyes—those were eyes, right?

“Hello?” he whispered. 

It tilted its head curiously at him.

“Um…” 

He shook his head. He was going insane. Was he really about to talk to this clear hallucination? This glowing orb? 

It was probably just an ecto-contaminated bug anyway. Sometimes his parents contaminated food, so it would glow. Who’s to say a mosquito hadn’t gotten caught in one of their strange experiments as well?

It opened its...mouth...and cooed at him.

Ghost? It seemed like it was saying. Ghost? 

But that was insane. Ecto-contaminated mosquitos couldn’t talk. 

It was fake. Ghosts weren’t real. Whatever it was saying was all in his head.

“Go away,” he muttered as he shifted to his side. Because if he wasn’t looking at it, it didn’t exist, right?

It was just a hallucination. He was normal, a human. He just had a fever. He was a normal teenage boy with a fever and that’s why he kept dropping things and tripping over things and that’s why he felt cold and that’s why his body felt like it wasn’t his anymore because he was sick he probably needed to see a doctor.

So why couldn’t he?

Why couldn’t he tell his parents what was going on?

How come he had been so quiet since he came home from the hospital?

He glanced over his shoulder, back up to the ceiling, but the glowing figure was gone. Of course. Because it was only a figment of his imagination. Nothing more, nothing less. Certainly not any otherworldly creature.

He closed his eyes once again and tried to block it all out. Tried so hard to shut his ears off from all the sounds humming from his room or the wind scraping against his window. He tried to ignore the cold pressure from his chest.

He was human. This was his body.

A chill swept through his skin and the blankets were no longer on top of him, shielding him from the cool chill of his room.

Maybe he just forgot to get under them. Maybe that was the reason they weren’t covering his body. It couldn’t be that they had just passed through his torso, through his skin and muscles and bones. No, no way.

He was normal.

He was in a lab accident four days ago. His body was electrocuted. He felt his skin burn and his bones rip from his flesh.

But he was alive. He was okay.

He electrocuted with thousands of volts of ecto-energy but he was okay. He was still a human.

He had gone to the hospital, and the doctors had done scans of his body to make sure his organs were all functioning. Which they were. The MRIs and X-rays showed nothing wrong with his body. His heart rate was healthy. His blood pressure was healthy and normal. 

They had given him a clean bill of health. He was fine. 

He told himself he was fine.

Even if the green light behind his eyelids tried to tell him otherwise.

---

"There you go!" Lester said. "Come up with a way to improve the community using Phantom! That's your project!"

"'Using' Phantom? How am I supposed to get in contact with the ghost boy!"

"I mean, you don't have to get him on board. Just use him as a marketing tool or a logo or something. There's plenty of other people that look up to him, so it'll work like a charm!"

"I hope you're right, Lester. I'll try to talk with her next period."

"That's the spirit!" he patted Mikey on the back.

"So, I know that you're not really into this project, but I have a few ideas that you may want to hear me out on."

"Okay, sure." Star didn't even look up from her phone. "Knock yourself out."

"The assignment says that we have to come up with a way to improve the community, and I know that our community's main problem these days is ghosts, so I was thinking that… we could do something about Phantom?"

Immediately, her eyes snapped up. "Phantom?"

"Y—yeah."

"You're not one of those antis that want to get rid of him, are you?"

"No!" Mikey waved his hands. "I was more thinking like, we could base our project on him somehow! To benefit the community!"

"Oh, yeah. That sounds cool. But what would we do?"

"Well, there's a lot of damages because of ghost fights. Maybe we could figure out how to minimize damage? And use Phantom as part of the campaign?"

She bit her lip. "That's a good idea, but it's tricky. There's no way to predict ghost fights or protect areas once they've been targeted. We can't exactly get tangled up in the fights themselves."

"True… so maybe we can find a way to prevent them or dissuade ghosts from attacking at all? But what keeps ghosts away?"

"Phantom?" Star suggested.

Mikey's eyes widened. "Oh my God. Phantom keeps the ghosts away! That's it! We can just make giant mascots of Phantoms to keep the ghosts away!"

"What? Like… Phantom scarecrows?" she laughed.

"Exactly like Phantom scarecrows! If they're convincing enough, ghosts will totally steer clear of them!"

"It's so stupid that ghosts might fall for it! Mikey, you're a genius!"

"Thanks!" he pushed his glasses up on his nose. "So… any ideas what materials we'll need?"

It took a lot of resources and a considerable amount of planning, but by the end of the week, Star and Mikey had single-handedly created six Phantom-crows ready to be placed around Amity Park. Their teacher amended them for their creativity and awarded them a well-earned A. The rest of the class had resorted to basic projects like flower planters and soda-can recycling, so their project was definitely a breath of fresh air and bound to break ground in their community.

"From a distance, even I'd think this was Phantom!" Paulina marveled. "Wouldn't you think so, Dash?"

She ran her hand over the glossy black material that Star managed to snag from a local crafts store and twirled the scarecrow's tufts of white hair.

"I gotta hand it to you, Star, this idea was super smart!"

"Well, Mikey came up with it. I just bought most of the stuff and helped put it together."

"So modest," Paulina crooned. "You're definitely going to be a great aunty-coneur one day!"

"Do you mean 'entrepreneur'?" Mikey deadpanned.

"Yeah, that person!"

"Paulina knows what she's talking about, nerd!" Dash shoved him.

Mikey huffed indignantly and held his tongue. He didn't need to get the shit beaten out of him today, after all. He only had to wait a little longer and this entire partnership with Star would dissipate. Then, he wouldn't have to deal with the A-List anymore.

"So, where are you putting them up?" Paulina asked. "I wouldn't recommend putting them in uh... Fendork's neighborhood. His Dad might shoot them down."

"Ugh, I forgot about that lunatic," Star intoned. "Good thing we're not putting any on that side of town. So far, one's going up in Elmerton and another's going by the docks. We also decided that we're putting one on the school's roof since we get a lot of them here. We haven't decided on the other three yet because we're waiting on a map of areas with high attack rates."

"Good idea. Hopefully they'll actually make a difference!"

"Well, that's the idea, after all."

"What if ghosts aren't scared of them, though?" Dash pointed out. "I mean… you'd think most ghosts would be scared of Phantom, but some of them aren't. Some of them try to fight him! Like that time Phantom and I were shrunk real small and we had to battle this killer robot dude who was totally out for Phantom's ectoplasm! We kicked ass together!" he boasted.

"I don't know why anyone would be foolish enough to purposely fight mi amor! He's so strong and brave that he can defeat anything!"

Mikey hated to admit it, but Dash… was sort of right. What if the ghosts saw the scarecrows and tried to attack them because it was Phantom! What if instead of ghost deterrents, they acted as incentives?

Well, too late now. Mikey couldn't afford to turn back now. If they didn't follow through with this project, their grade would be jeopardized. Everyone was counting on them to do this and if Mikey shot down his own idea that wouldn't look good at all! The best course of action was to watch how this would play out and pray that Dash was wrong. He had to have faith in the scarecrows.

Even if it was against his better judgment.

Danny was reasonably confused on most mornings, but today was not cooperating with him at all. The moment he touched down on Casper High's campus and shifted into Fenton, he was met with a startling sight. There was a life size-doll that resembled Phantom hoisted above the school's entrance. It was wrapped in shiny, black material, branded with his logo, and had a flat mop of white hair on its head.

It was kind of eerie. Was this a dare or a threat? Was someone going to try and hang him in front of the school? Given, the doll looked like Phantom, not Fenton, but his ghost side still had plenty of haters. He'd learned the hard way never to underestimate his enemies—ghost or human.

Danny set his suspicions aside and surrendered himself to Lancer's first period. Still, the picture of that doll haunted him. What did it mean? What was it for? Did a student do it?

Between third and fourth period, Danny caught up with Sam and Tucker and asked them what they knew. To his disbelief, Tucker responded a bit too enthusiastically.

"Oh, that's a Phantom-crow!"

Danny gaped at him.

"A what?"

"Phantom-crow. You know, like scarecrow. Phantom." He mimicked smashing the words together with his fists. "Phantom-crow."

"I still don't get it."

Sam's explanation was much more helpful. "It's something that the College Prep class did. They had to plan a community service project or something and one of the groups came up with Phantom scarecrows to ward off ghosts. Who knows? It might work."

"If this takes off, you should patent it," Tucker suggested. "They're based on your physical likeness. You could totally make a profit!"

"You want me to apply for a patent… for giant scarecrows that look like me?"

"Duh!"

"Tucker, I don't think scarecrows are really an original idea."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, you might have to fight some medieval farmer for the rights."

"That's easy, Danny can just take me to their ghost! Then we can hash it out over who owns scarecrows."

Danny shot them an incredulous look. "What are you two even talking about?"

"Apparently Tucker's going to go beat the shit out of some dead farmer."

"Wouldn't the farmer beat the shit out of him?"

Tucker held his hands to his chest in dramatic shock. "You've betrayed me, Daniel."

"Last time you said that it was over onion rings."

Sam snorted. "That sounds about right."

They turned the corner to Danny's next class and bid them a quick goodbye. He slipped into his desk and laid his head down, trying to get a minute or so of rest before class started. Danny snagged any naps he could these days with as much sleep deprivation he got. The chatter of his classmates dwindled under the veil of sleep and soon Danny was dreaming.

...

A tree rustled across the courtyard. It wasn't very tall, but it's branches stretched around itself donning magnificent, orange leaves. It looked familiar, but he couldn't place where he'd seen it. An autumn breeze twisted through its leaves and ventured towards his face. It pressed against him and whispered something incomprehensible, something cold. He wanted to reach out and touch it, but his arms wouldn't move. It was like they were pinned to his side.

That's alright, he decided. The wind still feels nice.

Suddenly, something below him shrieked a terrible shriek. He tried looking down and—

—smacked his head on something hard.

His desk.

He smacked his head on his desk. Great job, Fenton!

The tardy bell must've startled him. Stupid bell. It sounded exactly like that noise from his dream… oh. It was the noise from his dream. (But was it?)

Maybe he was more sleep-deprived than he thought, but it almost felt like he'd heard the noise in his dream first.

It was easy to ignore his parents' endless drivel about ghosts at the dinner table, but Danny usually tuned back in anytime they mentioned Phantom. Even if it was something he didn't want to hear about, like their newest dissection procedure or the surgical camera they'd installed in the lab ("It'll capture that nasty spook's insides in high definition!"). Nonetheless, it wasn't all bad; sometimes they were just discussing his presence in the community or about how their latest attempt to capture him failed because he 'conveniently' evaded their traps.

"Oh, Mads, did you hear about that project that a few kids did? People are finally recognizing the need for more diverse spectral protection methods!"

Mom dragged her spoon across her plate, dividing her food from latent ectoplasmic residue.

"I don't think I've heard of that yet. What did they do?"

"Well, you know how all the young people look up to Phantom? Some kid got the idea that Phantom's likeness could scare away the other ghosts and decided to make Phantom-scarecrows. Isn't that clever?"

"Oh, it is! Phantom's awfully territorial, so it makes sense that his presence could drive away other ghosts. Surely, some of them will see through the ruse, but it'll dissuade a few of the smaller ghosts."

"That's what I thought too," Dad said. "It won't be extremely effective, but it's a step in a good direction. More and more people are evaluating the threat of ghosts in this town and taking action!"

"I don't know," Danny spoke up. He hadn't put much thought into the topic, but it seemed that people were neglecting a few obvious facts. "It's true that some ghosts are afraid of Phantom, but there's other ghosts that seek him out to attack him. If ghosts find the Phantom-crows, won't they attack areas that wouldn't have been targeted otherwise?"

His parents stared at him and his stomach dropped. Had he said something too detailed? Did he give himself away?

"What?"

Dad fiddled with his silverware. "It's just… you usually don't give your opinion when we talk about ghosts anymore."

Danny's cheeks grew hot. "Oh."

"I mean, it's true what you said," Mom added. "Actually, it's a really good point! I'm surprised that you knew that about Phantom."

"I pay attention sometimes."

Especially in his own ghost fights, but they wouldn't know that.

"Well, how about you put some of that attention in your classes, huh?"

"I am. Have a little faith in me, will you?" he joked. "And this isn't the first time I've spoken about ghosts in awhile. I just… I don't know, get enough about ghosts in the rest of my life that I'm usually tired about talking about them when I get home."

She narrowed her eyes. "They're not bothering you again, are they?"

"No, no! Nothing to worry about. Who knows? Maybe I'm being too pessimistic and those scarecrows will actually work. Then we really won't have much to worry about!"

"Well, if the scarecrows ward off all the ghosts, we'll still be left with Phantom," Dad pointed out. "That'd be a sad sight; a hero ghost flying around with nothing to fight. That spook will be so distressed that he'll never see us coming!"

And… this was probably a good time for him to duck out. He didn't need to enable another one of Dad's 'rip Phantom apart molecule by molecule' tangents. Danny hurriedly came up with a homework assignment and excused himself from the table.

Danny usually didn't get enough sleep to dream. Whenever he did, they were usually trauma-induced nightmares. Flashes of the portal, the feeling of being ripped apart and smashed together again all in the same moment, and the sickening stench of his own flesh burning. The swish of a red orb, the loss of his free will, and infinite piles of riches… enticing him to stay forever. And him. The cruel curl of his lip, his wicked laugh, sadistic and crippled by apathy. The way Sam's head rolled back when the explosion hit, how Tucker's glasses caught the brilliant blaze, and his parents' look of absolute betrayal.

You know, regular nightmares.

He didn't know what to do with this. This didn't feel like a nightmare, but it was definitely vivid enough. That, and he was lucid. Was lucid dreaming bad? He knew that Jazz did an entire report about it for one of her psychology classes.

He was suspended in the air, but he couldn't move. Paralyzed. Entranced by the dark landscape below. Weathered planks of wood carved broad paths over a misty mass of water, ebbing in and out. He couldn't see them, but there were a few street lamps nearby. Their reflections hung in the water like ethereal, yellow flames.

Somewhere in the distance, dogs barked. Gritty, low howls that pierced the night. They lulled after a few moments, but Danny couldn't help but feel like something was wrong. This wasn't one of his normal nightmares; this was something new. This felt real.

He tried to speak, to say something. But it was like there was something sewing his lips together. What? He couldn't even talk? It was irritating enough that he couldn't move his body!

In a panic, he tried moving his legs, arms, anything. Nothing would work! Why wouldn't his body work?

He was ultimately trapped in his own body.

He wanted to move. Couldn't he at least have the freedom to breathe?

… maybe this was a nightmare.

The dark water ebbed in and out, hitting the concrete barrier underneath the docks and moving back across the lake. The same pattern, over and over with no deviation. How many minutes had it been? It felt like he'd been listening to the waves for an eternity now. It was cruel how dreams distort one's sense of time, stretching tedium out for hours. He just wanted to wake up.

He was lucid, yet he had no power. He couldn't control this dream, move his body, or wake up. He tried to snap himself out of this, tried to resurface his consciousness. Still… the waves splashed against the wall and retreated. He tried for so long too… so long.

Was this his brain's idea of a metaphor? Was this self-punishment? He'd almost prefer being compressed inside the Fenton thermos. If he heard that water splash against the wall one more time—!

Okay, that settled it. This wasn't a nightmare; this was insanity.

Just as he'd given in, surrendered to the futility of waking up, his alarm went off. The dark docks vanished before his eyes and suddenly he was acquainted with his pale, yellow blinds. Somehow, in his sleep, he'd phased his arm into the blinds beside his bed. Without much thought, Danny tried pulling his hand out and ended up disrupting them even more.

Duh, dumbass. You phased yourself in, you have to phase yourself out.

Finally coherent enough to function, Danny phased his arm back out of the blinds and leaned against his headboard. He didn't feel rested at all. He just wanted to go back to sleep. Even though he'd dreamt for hours and hours, it was like he hadn't gotten a wink. Maybe it wouldn't be the end of the world if he took a short nap before getting ready?

But it would be. Mr. Falluca had a chemistry quiz first period that he couldn't miss and he'd made a promise to his parents that he'd pull his grades up. There wasn't a choice; he had to push through it. After all, it was just until three o'clock… he could make it until three! He'd done it before and he could do it again.

He was okay. That impossibly long dream had ended and he was going to take Falluca's test. He was okay because he had to be.

Okay, he didn't make it until three. He made it to lunch and Sam and Tucker forced him to take a nap on one of the couches in the library. He called them stupid for being such good smotherers and blacked out like a light.

This time, he was suspended over the courtyard from yesterday. His first instinct was to move, to move his head so he could place his surroundings, but once again his body refused to move. He pushed his mind to regain control of his body, pushed himself to even twitch a finger. Inevitably, his attempts were null. He was helplessly imprisoned within himself, paralyzed.

Just like last night. And now that he thought about it, just like his daydream yesterday.

He should've realized it much sooner. This was a pattern, wasn't it? Something was seriously wrong with his sleep.

He addressed his gaze to the scene below him. Sunlight cast across the courtyard, and for the first time Danny noticed that there was a human-shaped shadow stretched across the ground. There was a roundish top that must be a head, a bulky torso, and thin arms and legs. There was enough to suggest that the shadow belonged to him, but that definitely wasn't his body. He knew his own shadow and that wasn't his. Was he even in his own body?

Somewhere, a door slammed.

"Shhh, we'll get caught!"

If he could gasp, he would have. There was someone here, someone that wasn't part of this void dreamscape. Or, maybe they were. Maybe they were a figment of his imagination, but they were still the first person he'd heard since these weird dreams began. If only he could turn his head...

"Nuh-uh!" a second voice called out. "The cameras are still broken from the last attack. We're fine."

The first person—a girl—scoffed.

"So? Teachers come out here for smoke breaks. We're not in the clear, dumbass."

"Oh."

The two figures lingered in Danny's peripheral vision. The girl wore a red sweater and carried a metallic lunchbox. The second voice—a tall, dark-haired boy—shouldered a green and orange backpack. He didn't recognize either of them, but it was clear that they were students.

Did that mean that this was… Casper High? What the hell?

Why was he dreaming that he was hanging over Casper High? Why were these kids in his dream? And why couldn't he still move? Why was this happening over and over? Why, why, why—?

The girl in the red sweater jestfully shoved her accomplice. "Danny," she said. "Danny wake up."

Wait what?

"Wake up. First lunch is over, we gotta go."

His eyes snapped open and he almost collided foreheads with Sam. Luckily, he managed to phase through her just in time. She made an "eeking" sound and stepped back.

"Close call," Tucker commented. "Though, if you hadn't phased you coulda tried to aim a few inches lower." He tapped his fingers against his lips with a shit-eating grin.

"Tucker—" Sam growled.

This time, Danny took a few steps back.

"Wanna repeat that?"

When school ended, Danny found himself visiting the school's courtyard. There had to be a reason that his dreams transported him here, trapped him here. He was going to get to the bottom of it, no matter what. Even after his nap at lunch, he hadn't felt rested at all. And he had a bad feeling that he wouldn't get any rest until these dreams stopped.

As soon as he entered the courtyard, he was met with the sad sight of the Phantom-crow. It immediately struck home and Danny pieced it all together.

This started when the Phantom-crows had been hung up around town. This particular Phantom-crow was hung directly over the courtyard, where he'd been in his dream. And it cast the exact same shadow.

It sounded beyond ludicrous, but it was the only thing that made sense: he was being pulled inside the scarecrows.

Reeling from his discovery, Danny ran his hand over his face. This couldn't be real. He didn't even know this was a thing. Who would even think this was a thing? Who suspected that they saw through the eyes of their own immobile, straw imitations?

With a bout of levitation, Danny leaped onto the roof. He examined the Phantom-crow with baffled fascination and noted that it looked even less like him up close. He reached to brush it's mop of stringy white hair and immediately refrained. Was it even safe to touch this thing? What if he touched it and it zapped him straight back into it, for good this time? Paralyzed, trapped as a scarecrow… forever.

He didn't want to take that risk.

Instead, he resolved to just eyeball it. From what he could tell, there wasn't anything obviously suspicious about it. That didn't help his situation at all. He needed to figure out how to get it to stop pulling him in, to stop disrupting his sleep and thrusting him into hours upon hours of mind-numbing tedium.

He hated this stupid Phantom-crow.

If he could get away with destroying it, he would. But this was a community project. He couldn't destroy something that others made to benefit the town, could he? Students had dedicated their time to this. Besides, tons of people were keeping their eye on this project, even his parents!

He'd feel guilty destroying it.

Having made up his mind, Danny stepped off the roof and flew home. He'd find another solution.

"Mom, Dad," he called into the lab. He was desperate and didn't have time for indirect prefaces, he was jumping straight to the point. "Do you think Phantom's spirit is actually in the Phantom-crows?"

Something in the lab clattered.

"What was that, Danno?"

Danny trudged downstairs and repeated his question. If anyone would know about ghostlore, it'd probably be his allies in the Ghost Zone. Although, his parents were closer so he'd settle for their explanation first.

Mom pulled her goggles off of her face. "What do you mean 'Phantom's spirit?' Are you asking if he's possessing them?"

"Yeah, sure. They're supposed to protect the city and a lot of people think he has a protection obsession—" Only a few people had figured out his obsession, but he was stretching the numbers for credibility. "—so do you think that some part of the real Phantom is lingering inside the Phantom-crows? And hypothetically, is there a way to get rid of it?"

Dad tilted his head. "That's an oddly specific question, but I always love a brain teaser! Lemme think on it for a few minutes."

He reached for a pad of notebook paper and started gathering his thoughts.

Meanwhile, Mom narrowed her eyes. "Are you asking for a reason? Did you see something?"

Danny bit the inside of his cheek. "No, no. It was uh, just a conversation I overheard."

"Ah."

"I figured the experts would know, so I asked you guys."

He was probably pushing the flattery, but he was short on time.

"Good call," Mom ruffled his hair. "If there's anything else you ever want to ask about ghosts, you come to us, okay?"

Like he couldn't just ask himself for most things.

"Oh, for sure!"

"Alright, I think I got something!" Dad declared. "It's possible for ghosts to possess objects that he has a personal connection to. Normally, it'd be something from his past life, but since the scarecrows are erected in his image it isn't too far of a stretch to say he could possess them."

"What about removing his possession? How would I, I mean, someone do that?"

"Hm, possession is tricky. People assume it means the same thing as overshadowing, but it's a lot deeper. You could probably pass the scarecrows through the Ghost Catcher, but that'd only be a temporary fix. Removing the ectoplasm doesn't sever the connection, so I'm at a loss."

Mom nodded. "That's why human possession is such a big deal. You can knock out a ghost that's overshadowing a person, but you have to perform an exorcism to fix possession. And exorcisms… aren't exactly foolproof. They're religious rituals, not scientific procedures—a lot could go wrong."

"Like those horror movies!" Dad chimed in.

"What would sever the connection?" he asked.

"Well, killing Phantom would probably do it."

"You can't 'kill' a ghost, sweetie," Mom reminded him.

"Right, but Danno knows what I mean! Obliterate him, tear him to pieces—that sorta stuff!"

Danny tried to keep his hands from shaking and shoved them into his pockets. "Yep."

"So, does that answer all your questions?"

Definitely not. He still had no idea how he would sever the connection, in fact, he felt even more confused.

"I think so. I'll be up in my room."

He left his parents alone with their experiments and slammed the deadlock behind him. He didn't know what to do or who to turn to. He was positive that Sam and Tucker couldn't help. Hell, he wasn't even sure if he could explain this to them! Clockwork and Vlad would tell him to figure it out by himself, and he doubted any of his other allies would know what to do.

He was fucked.

All he could do now was try not to fall asleep.

In a battle between the body and mind, the body always won. It was an inevitable consequence of man's hubris; no one could outwit sleep. No one living, anyway.

Danny couldn't even remember where he'd fallen asleep. In his room? On the kitchen table? Had he caved and gone to Sam or Tucker's house?

All he knew was that he'd screwed up and now he was back inside one of these scarecrows.

This time he wasn't at the docks or at the school, but he was hanging over a street. An ordinary street with cracked pavement and dark green scorch marks that the city failed to power wash. It wasn't nighttime yet, just a little bit before sundown. He could see the sunset in the distance, grazing above a powerline in his peripheral vision.

He couldn't make out much besides the street below him. From what he could tell, this could be any side of town. But if he had to guess, he was out near Elmerton—it was quiet here. Elmerton was the farthest area from downtown, by local standards it was much more rural than suburban. That, and Elmerton was often the brunt of ghost attacks so not many people wandered around the streets anymore.

Danny couldn't decide which was worse. The grating repetition of water crashing and receding against the docks, or silence, stretching out into what felt like hours. Had it been hours? The sun had finally fallen below the horizon, hailing pitch darkness. There weren't any street lamps here, unfortunately. Not being able to see anything felt wrong. Danny was used to having night vision, so not being able to discern his surroundings was startling.

How did humans live like this? It must suck not being able to see. No wonder Tucker complained all the time.

No sight, no sound, no movement. His only occupation was his thoughts, and they were screaming. Livid. Loud. Desperate.

He wanted this to move, he wanted some relief! But there wasn't any relief!

It was as if a heavy weight was compressed on his chest, digging deeper every time he tried to breathe. He would inhale and the pressure would clamp tighter, tighter, tighter! No reprieve for Danny; your lungs aren't allowed to inflate! Tighter, tighter, tighter.

Time was excruciating. If he ever woke up, he'd ask Clockwork if he could punch it in the face. (But isn't Clockwork time? … shhhhh)

At some point, the night's darkness dissolved and resurfaced below Danny's eyelids. His breath caught in his throat and he awoke in a fit of coughs.

He'd woken up.

He didn't know why or how he'd woken up, but he figured that it must've been something in the real world that disturbed his sleep. Before, he'd only been pulled from his dreams by an intervening force. And he couldn't have just woken up because he was well-rested, he was still as exhausted as ever. Whatever had happened, it was a fluke and he was grateful.

"Coffee," he decided groggily. "I need coffee."

By morning, Danny was hardly holding on. He'd woken up around two o'clock and downed at least three pots of coffee. They worked for the first four hours, but they were gradually wearing off; they could only do so much.

"You look tired Danno, did the spooks keep you up?" Dad asked.

"Something like that," he grumbled.

"Well, that's a shame! Hopefully you can get some shut-eye after school today. Jazz is in town from college for three days, so we're going out for dinner tonight."

Ancients, what would Jazz say when she saw him like this? How would he even explain?

"Good luck on that big test today, by the way! I saw Mr. Lancer's email about it. I'm sure that's why you were up so late, making bank on your promises."

He completely forgot.

"Alright then, I gotta head down to the lab so I'll see you later, kid!"

Somehow Jack had moved from the table to the stairway and Danny hadn't even noticed.

"Bye, Dad…"

Once the coast was clear, Danny kicked off from the ground and floated out of the house. To his chagrin, it took him twenty seconds longer than it should have to realize that he was still in human form and had forgotten his backpack.

If that didn't set the tone for the rest of his day, he didn't know what else would.

"Name and date at the top of your paper, bubble in the version of your test that's written on the packet, and… start."

The literary assessment was an hour-long multiple-choice test comprised of various excerpts and comprehension questions. Danny was supposed to complete the study guide, which would've given him a pretty solid idea on how to answer these questions.

'Which of the following is NOT one of the claims mentioned in the author's introduction?' 'What is the antecedent of "they" in paragraph nine?' 'Examining the letter as a whole, how can you summarize the author's argument?'

Danny tried to read over the passage to answer the questions, but his mind kept getting hung up on the same sentence over and over. His eyes felt heavy, strained. The ink on the paper appeared to bleed, dripping letters that swirled into a soup of nonsense. How was he supposed to make sense out of this?

He propped his head on his hand. He was so tempted to just lay his head down on his desk, to fall asleep, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't give in and he couldn't go back into those scarecrows. He had to at least try on this test and from there he'd try to make it through the rest of the day.

If he couldn't accomplish this, what could he do?

His neck felt sore. His eyes stung with days upon days of sleep deprivation. The circles below his eyes felt hot. His hair was flat and greasy. Had he even showered this week? He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember much.

His eyes glazed over. Words were letters and letters were ink. And what was ink? Black. Ink was black. He was fading into it, eyelids drawn like curtains.

After a few moments, the world was no more. He was snapped straight back into the school's scarecrow, stolen from his own body.

Goddamnit.

He didn't want to be here. He wanted to go back. Even if it was to finish a test he was doomed to fail. He didn't want to be here! He was tired of this suffocation, paralyzation. Tired of arms strung to his side, pinned like a puppet's. Tired of not even being able to breathe or blink or shout.

He just wanted to scream.

FUCK.

He wanted out out OUT—

Why did this have to feel like an eternity, strained upon his mind? Like someone had pulled the dough of infinity through his ears and was stretching it across his brain with a rolling pin.

The tree in the school's courtyard stared at him, and with no other choice, he stared at it. He could only see the tree's face if he looked at it a certain way, but he was sure that there was something inside its bark. Something sentient, something tortured. He was the same as the tree. Inanimate. Rooted. He wanted to tell the tree that it was okay, but it wouldn't be. The tree would always be a tree, stuck. Suffering.

It was probably a good thing that trees couldn't talk either.

With this revelation, he decided that he didn't want to look at the tree anymore. Instead, he turned his attention to its leaves. They rustled in the wind, and Danny longed for their freedom. To at least move along with the wind, instead of just tethered to one spot with no autonomy. At least their perspective of the world changed, spinning up into the sky or resting on the prickly, damp grass.

Danny never thought he would have envy for a leaf, but life was full of surprises.

Suddenly, his wrist folded underneath him, unbuckling with a pang of pain. His eyes snapped open and Danny recoiled at the hand pulling on his shoulder. Mr. Lancer stood beside him, judging him with a resigned look of disappointment.

"Mr. Fenton, the test is over. Please turn in what you've completed into the basket at the front."

Danny stared at him. Was he serious? Was it actually over? Had he really just failed this test? No, had he just failed a multiple-choice test? He couldn't even stay awake for that?

That was the last straw. He was done.

He wanted to find a compromising solution, but he couldn't live like this anymore. He wouldn't let the scarecrows dominate him any further.

"Mr. Fenton?"

His mouth was dry. He nodded at Mr. Lancer, deposited his empty answer sheet in the basket, and left without a word. Sam and Tucker were waiting for him at his locker, but he couldn't even handle them right now. He was unhinged, tired. So fucking tired. Although destructive, he only had one option. He knew that those students put a lot of work into their project, but he needed sleep. Sanity. Anything other than this.

He only felt a little guilty.

Commotion spread throughout the school like an untamed, ruthless beast. Mikey knew that something was happening, but he couldn't tell what. Several people were nose-deep into their phones, wide-eyed and aghast. Others straight up dropped everything and fled the classroom, disregarding Mr. Falluca's cries of reason. Mikey couldn't seem to get a clear answer from anyone. There was so much pandemonium that nobody took time to explain.

Kwan was shaking Dash by the shoulders, Sam looked like she'd just swallowed a lemon, and Paulina was trying to push her way past Mr. Falluca. Near the back of the classroom, Valerie sat cross-legged on top of her desk and rummaged through her backpack. From what Mikey could tell, she was piecing together some sort of… ecto-ray? How did she even have one of those?

"He's finally lost it," Valerie grunted. "It was only a matter of time."

Who? Who was causing this much panic?

"Won't anyone tell me what's going on!" he shouted.

He had every right to know as they did. It wasn't fair that nobody clued him in because he didn't have any friends in this class.

Sam took pity on him. "Phantom's being a dumbass."

Mikey blinked. Phantom? No wonder everyone was getting so riled up.

"He's attacking the scarecrow," Dash mumbled. "Phantom's the good guy, why would he do that? He's the good guy..."

Wait, what?

"My scarecrow?" Mikey's voice cracked.

"Mi amor… something must be troubling him; I need to talk sense into him," Paulina wept.

"Hold up, hold up, hold up—! My scarecrow?"

Was he offended? Did he not like that it looked like him? Did he think it was a mockery?

That had to be it. Why else would he attack it? Mikey's stomach twisted with guilt.

He had pissed off Phantom. Phantom! He probably thought it was a hate message! He probably thought Mikey and the entire school hated him!

"GAH."

Mikey's eyes snapped back up. Paulina—a hundred-pound girl that was all elbows and knees—had overpowered Mr. Falluca. She'd slammed him against the doorframe and fled. The rest of the class followed in her lead, including Mikey.

In a thriving mob, they stormed the courtyard. Mikey was sandwiched between Kwan and a short, brown-haired girl, but that didn't stop him. He pushed against the people in front of him, desperate for a glance of Phantom's carnage. He had to know, had to see. And after enough shoving, the mob thinned enough that Mikey had a clear vantage of the roof.

Phantom had fistfuls of straw in his hands, engulfing them in bursts of hazy, green fire. The scarecrow was still hanging at its post, but it was mostly gone; he'd destroyed all but the last of it. It stung to see all of his hard work decimated by the hands of his idol, but it didn't hurt as much as he'd anticipated. He could tell that there was something… off about Phantom.

For instance, there was something wild in his eyes, but it wasn't angry. It wasn't insane either. He still seemed like himself, he just seemed frustrated. Stressed. Pitiful. There was definitely something pitiful in his eyes.

He wondered what drove Phantom to this point, why he unleashed all his frustration out on Mikey's scarecrow. Maybe he was mad at himself, so he decided to hurt something that looked like him? That idea haunted Mikey, he hoped it wasn't true. Phantom did so many great things for them, he shouldn't feel bad about himself.

"I hope he's okay," Sam whispered. Mikey hadn't even realized she was beside him now.