Well I'm making a mistake and posting a new, multi-chapter story before finishing the handful of other multi-chapter stories I have going.
Oh well.
Some time ago, I was reading through an author profile on here and said author had a list of writing challenges. I've never done a challenge, except for my own that I come up with and tend to call ideas, and I wasn't expecting one to jump out at me and demand me to write it. It just…happened. So boom, I'm neglecting my other stories because right now my brain is stuck on this: Danny Phantom has been sighted in the Real World and needs help getting back home. Oddly enough, he's only been able to land on buildings that are 10 floors high or taller. Otherwise, he's stuck in the air, and hasn't be able to revert to human safely because of it. The only ones that have even a chance of seeing him are those that are fans of the show he's from.
Thank you, random author, for driving my brain crazy with this for several years. I hope I didn't take too many liberties with it, and that this is an interesting enough interpretation to keep you reading through to the end. Also, I was a total nimrod and didn't write down your name. If you happen to be said author, please let me know, so this author can properly credit you.
To the rest of you, thanks for your curiosity. Please enjoy this in sporadic updates, random chapter lengths, and otherwise inconsistent attention spans.
On the roof of my hotel, I had an odd encounter.
When I say my hotel, I do literally mean the hotel that I own, and when I say odd encounter, I really mean frankly impossible.
I was pretty sure I had had one too many drinks that night. That had to be it.
There was absolutely no other explanation for why I was watching a lightly-glowing teenage boy observe my donor party from his position ten feet off of the ground.
No one else seemed aware of the entity but me, which both affirmed to my saner self that the mead I'd chosen over the white wine was a bad decision, and gave one more thing for that bitter voice in the back of my head to check off of the insanity list. That bitter voice had been growing steadily louder in my thirty-seven years of existence. I was pretty sure it was out to get me tonight.
I believed in the supernatural. Just because I'd never seen a ghost didn't mean they didn't exist. That I'd seen a ghost watching the people mill about the party with an expression fit for an annoyed and mildly perplexed teen wasn't all that impossible. Incredibly unlikely and absolutely strange, but not impossible.
What made this frankly impossible was that this ghost happened to be a very specific ghost, and a very specific tune related to said specific ghost was stuck in my head.
"He could walk through walls, disappear, and fly…"
I turned promptly away from the cartoon ghost child and tried to distract myself with conversations. It didn't work very well. I still tried.
For three days after, I went out to the roof again in a quest to prove my sanity. Part of me would cheer when I would look and find nothing in that spot where the boy once was. I'd check in the morning, at night, during lunch, and there was no sign of him any longer. I finally announced to myself that I had indeed been delusional, and went back to my normal routine of room inspections, staff management, and the occasional meet-and-greet with the more well-known of my guests.
The fourth night, I felt like mead again (the stuff is glorious). The fourth night, he showed up again.
I spat out the drink and ran back inside to the safety of my penthouse.
