Rated for language.

I do not own Danny Phantom.

Books are stacked on numerous shelves against all of the walls around you. The lighting is dim yet, you notice a lone dull red book sitting in the middle of the only table in the room. You have no recollection of how you ended up here and upon further inspection you realize there are no doors in the facility, a flash of fear flood your body for a mere moment before you recollect yourself. Determination fills your features as you approach the inviting book. The room has an eerie silence to it, which leads you to constantly look about trying to catch sight of any immediate danger.

Finally the book is only a foot away from you now. You take hold of it and bring it closer to your face in order to read the words on the cover:

The Dark Times

Daniel Fenton

You don't know why but you're certain that this book will hold nothing but truth. You also feel a sense of dread as you turn the book over and read the words engraved on the back;

"Dedicated to Jack, Madeline and Jazz Fenton as well as Sam Manson and Tucker Foley; my loving friends and family. I am so sorry."

It is that last sentence that catches your attention and fills you with complex emotions that you do not yet understand. Unconsciously you pull out the nearest chair and sit down while you open the book. There is not a copyrights page which you find odd. (Then again, you're beginning to get used to the strangeness. So many strange things happening, you're beginning to disregard some of them.) The first two pages are blank but the third has an inscription:

What is written is true though I wish it were fiction. Be warned this is not a happy tale.

-A warning from the author

You flip the page and begin to read.

When I was younger my sister used to tell me that talking about my problems helped. To this day I'm still uncertain as to the degree and category of "help" talking about it can give.

At this point though, I figure it can only help.

Where to start is the question. The beginning? Nah, that part only had a few problems. Nothing all that noteworthy but I guess every story should start at the beginning. There isn't much to talk about regarding the beginning. I was born and raised under adults who hunted ghosts and built ghost related items for a career. A typical childhood right? Heh, not really.

Making friends was a challenge for my sister Jazz and I. Kids used to hear things about my family from their parents and would say nasty things about my mother and father. Thus, by association, would make fun of us Fenton kids. Classmates would call us "freaks" and "weirdos". I remember often wishing I could be just like everyone else living in a normal family, being a normal person. In 6th grade it got to the point where teachers would call for meetings with my parents desiring to investigate whether or not I was being raised in a healthy and "proper" environment.

I'm rambling.

My first friends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley looked past the weird relatives and accepted me for who I was. They were so wonderful. Tucker became a renound techno geek. Knew everything there was to know about technology. Plus he was a total smart ass. He helped make rough and tough situations funny and less intense. He always had his hair really short and hidden beneath his red barrette. Then there was Sam… Just thinking about her hurts. She was one of the most amazing people I've ever met. She was bold, daring, intelligent, and a fearsome force to be reckoned with. She fought for what she believed in and she was my inspiration. Her shoulder length black hair and violet eyes haunt me still.

They were the best friends, and sidekicks, one could ever ask for and I didn't deserve them.

Ah yes, I believe I hadn't revealed the most important and key part of my past. Something that would make anyone stop listening and try to have me committed.

I was a superhero back in the day. I was only a kid. A kid that wanted to be normal and guess what happened? My ghost hunting parents created a ghost portal that wouldn't turn on; stepping into it on a dare I just so happened to trip while in the machine. Stupid on button was on the inside of it. I swear the universe had a vendetta against me.

Ten thousand volts of electricity half killed me and when I awoke my usually black shaggy hair was a snow white and my baby blue eyes were a toxic green. I had turned into some sort of half-human half-ghost hybrid.

After a short period of time I used my ghost half for good and fought other ghosts. I had lots of battles and received all sorts of stress from all kinds of situations I got into due to my ghost status in an anti-ghost home.

Then the Disasteroid appeared and my identity was revealed. Initially I thought it'd be okay and that everything would turn out alright.

Too many memories I can't organize. I'll try to start this up at a later date.

Dan.