We are being watched.
Or, as they like to call it themselves, observed. They do not act, they never act, believing that interfering is unholy, presumptuous, meddling. They have a point there too. Who's to say that interference doesn't make things worse? There is only one who understands all the implications, all the twists and turns, and sees the time line from above. He, however, is best to be left alone. He has his own agenda.
The observers watch time unfold, watch battles being fought and lost, watch the rise and decline of empires, of great people, and of little people. They see possible futures, and consider them, weighing the likeliness of their happening, discarding those that seem improbable. But sometimes, an improbable future comes into view again when something strange happens, something unlikely. Chance, fate, coincidence, however one likes to call it. If something has a small chance of happening, it doesn't mean it can't happen at all. Somewhere, somebody does win the lottery.
When Danny Fenton stepped into that portal and turned it on, a whole range of possible futures suddenly became a lot more probable, and sometimes even likely. One possible future was prevented. Others... were carefully watched.
This is not the future. But it's a future.
Sam Manson dropped her keys in the bowl standing on the kitchen table, as she usually did. It was her way of telling Danny that she was home, the sound of it usually protruding his absentminded considering of his environment. She listened for a moment, trying to catch a sound, any sound, that he would make to acknowledge her, but he didn't. Sighing, she placed the grocery bags on the table next to the bowl containing the keys, and went outside again, to the jeep that contained the rest of the groceries.
"I could use some help around here," she said loudly, slightly annoyed.
Silence, again. For some reason, she shivered, and she looked at the lake and the pier. He had gone fishing that morning, waving at her when she drove off. He wasn't there now, but she saw the red bucket still standing there. She shook her head at his sloppiness.
Muttering to herself, complaining softly, hoping that it was loud enough so he could hear her being disgruntled with him, she grabbed two more bags from the back of the sturdy four wheel drive. The last part of the road was an old track, hardly manageable with the jeep she owned, let alone a normal car. They were mostly cut off from the outside world, and in fact, the previous owner of the house had used a helicopter to get there. Shopping she did in the nearest small town, fifteen miles away, and it took her a whole day to get the supplies she needed. A whole day of Danny moving around unsupervised.
He had always insisted he didn't need supervision, he could move around on his own perfectly well, but she found it hard to trust him. He had given her little reason to when they were living in Amity Park, more often than not promising her everything she wanted to hear, and then going out and do the opposite. The past two years here, however, had been peaceful. He really had nowhere to go here, other than hiking through the forest and the hills, or fishing or swimming in the lake. He did that a lot, even though the water was very cold.
"Danny?"
She looked at the lake again. Something was off, something was not right, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Shaking her head, she walked back into the kitchen to put the bags next to the ones she had already put on the table.
They were gone.
She stopped in the doorway, staring at the spot they had been. Then she glanced at the counter, thinking that maybe she had been mistaken, that she had put them there, but they were nowhere to be seen. Annoyed, she put the bags she was holding on the table and placed her hands on her hips.
"Danny, this is not funny. If you're gonna help, come on out and help me carry this stuff in here, and quit playing games."
"...Games...?"
A cold breeze went through the kitchen, making her hair fall in front of her eyes, and she wiped them away again. That whispering voice... she wondered if she had imagined it. She must have, she decided, or else Danny was in a particularly playful mood, bend on annoying her. She supposed she should forgive him for that, after all, he didn't have a whole lot to do here. They didn't have cable TV, just a DVD player with lots and lots of old movies, and the only news they saw was when Sam bought a newspaper every other week, when she went shopping. He had said, half jokingly, that if the world came to an end, they'd learn about it two weeks later.
She had also heard some resentment in his voice, and she realized she was in fact holding him prisoner here, although technically he was free to go wherever he liked. But he never left, although she knew he went flying every now and then. He always came back to her.
"Want to play games, Sammie?"
She jerked up, her heart pounding in her chest. For some reason, he scared her. She turned to the door to go outside again, into the sun, so she could convince herself that it was again just her imagination, when the door slammed shut with a loud bang, making the glass tingle and the various cups in the cupboard clatter against each other. Someone breathed an ice cold breath in her neck, and she swirled, but he was gone again, laughing softly.
"Danny! Cut that out!"
She heard the fear in her own voice, and berated herself for it. This was Danny. She was not afraid of him. Grumbling, she stalked to the door, yanked it open and looked back into the kitchen, defiantly. No reaction. She threw her hands in the air, growled in the general direction she suspected Danny was, and walked to her car again, stamping her feet on the ground.
It took her four more trips to the car to finally empty it, and fill the kitchen with bags and boxes containing their food for the next two weeks. They would eat fresh fruits and vegetables in the first few days, and then switch to canned food for the remainder of the time, until she went out shopping again. They had done this the entire time during the past two years they'd been living here. This was the first time, however, he hadn't helped her bring everything into the house.
Back in the kitchen, she started storing everything into their proper places, the vegetables and other perishable goods in the refrigerator, the cans and juices in the cupboards. Several times she stopped, standing perfectly still, listening, but the house seemed empty. She wondered if had gone for a walk.
The sun was setting when she put in the last of her groceries, bags of flour to make bread with. She loved the smell of warm, fresh bread in the house, so she always made her own. She felt tired. It had been a long, strenuous day, and the difficult drive always wore her out. Not feeling like cooking dinner, she pulled out a frozen pizza from the freezer and put in in the oven, thinking that when Danny got back, he could get his own.
The sun was completely set when she got her pizza out of the oven, and the sky colored a beautiful red and orange, reflecting in the lake. Taking a bite out of a slice of pizza, she walked to the window of the kitchen and looked at it again. The surface was smooth, like a mirror, reflecting the pine trees and the hills. Still no Danny.
It wouldn't be the first time he stayed away, and standing here at the window, waiting for him to appear wouldn't do any good. She shrugged, and picked up her pizza to take it to the living room. Making herself comfortable on the couch, she took out the newspaper and started reading, while munching on her pizza.
Suddenly she looked up and scanned the room, dark but for the single lamp that lighted the newspaper on the couch. She was being watched. The room remained quiet however, she detected no movement.
"Danny?"
No answer, but by this time she didn't expect one anymore. She didn't know what his game was this time, but she was not playing. Purposefully, she returned to her newspaper, forcing herself to read a particularly dull article on local economy. Every once in a while she looked up, sure that he was in the room, but he remained invisible. One time, she thought she saw glowing green eyes from the corner of her eye, but when she turned her head they were gone. Finally fed up with him, she decided to call it a day and go to sleep.
"Goodnight, Danny," she said out loud, "See you in the morning."
She dumped the empty pizza box in the dumpster outside the house, closed, but didn't lock, the door, and went upstairs to her room.
It resembled her old room, when she was a teenager, living with her parents. Purple walls, black covers on the bed, several gothic posters on the walls. A poster of Jack Nicholson in 'The Shining' on the door to her walk in closet. A small desk, containing a pile of books and a sleek, black laptop computer, against the wall.
She was just about to start undressing when the temperature in the room suddenly dropped by several degrees, and she felt cold, gloved fingers touch her neck again. She whirled around and gulped, but there was nothing to be seen. A soft chuckling, hollow, echoing, and then his voice.
"Sammie..."
She hugged herself and took a shuddering breath. This was going entirely too far. He had never entered her room before.
"Danny, could you please just go away?" she asked, "I'm really tired, it's been a long day. I'll see you in the morning, OK?"
There was no answer, but the coldness left the room, and she sighed in relief. Not that she would mind him staying in her room, but she preferred a more normal approach. Maybe a nice dinner over candlelight, a walk around the lake in the setting sun, holding hands even maybe... Not this invasive stalking, this invisible touching, this creepy teasing. It reminded her too much of...
She wasn't going there. The house was gone, burnt to the ground, in the past. Dwelling on it wouldn't' do anybody any good. Nightmares could be dismissed in the daytime.
Quickly, she changed into her sleeping garment, a loose fitting tank top and shorts, aware of the fact that she was probably still being watched. Quickly, she slid under the covers and turned off the light.
She was dreaming. She knew she must be, because she had just climbed into her bed, she remembered that clearly, and yet, she was standing here on the small pier in the lake, looking at the water, the trees, the house.
Everything looked strange, the colors were off, as if she was looking at a black and white movie that had been repainted with strange colors. The water was a dark gray, and so was the sky. The trees looked almost yellow, the grass orange, the house... the house was black. She gulped, and stared at it, taken aback by the evil that seemed to radiate from it.
"I'm in that house," she thought, illogically.
She was frozen on the spot, she couldn't move her feet, and she was struck by the strangeness of this nightmare. Most of her nightmares had her in the house again, on that fateful day, but this time, they couldn't get out, and she kept running and running through the cellar until she woke up.
The water splashed against the pier and she looked down.
Danny.
She started to whimper as she looked at his white face, just below the surface of the lake, floating right next to the pier. His eyes were half open, glazed, unseeing. Dead.
With a scream, she dropped to her knees and plunged her hands into the cold water to grab him, and the world slammed back into it's normal colors, the night sky black with twinkling stars, a full moon shining it's silvery light on the lake, the trees only black shadows. And the house was still black.
There was nothing there. She felt sick. She sat down on the pier, shivering in the cold night air, her eyes tearing. She really was on the pier, a hundred yards from the house, with no idea on how she got there.
"I'm going insane," she muttered.
She was about to get up, when she saw him. He was sitting cross legged at the beginning of the pier, about three feet up in the air, his elbows on his knees, looking down. She couldn't see his face, as it was obscured by his white bangs.
"Danny," sighed, "Quit scaring me."
He looked up, and she took a step back. It was him, and yet, it wasn't. His glowing green eyes were empty, devoid of any emotion, just staring at her. She looked at the water again, and then at the now black bucket, still standing at the end of the pier.
"You didn't," she whispered.
"Yes he did," he said, "All it took was some convincing." He grinned, and leaned forward. "Twenty-four – seven. Idiot resisted me for eight long years."
She looked at him, tears filling her eyes.
"Why?"
He floated closer to her, and she felt the chill coming from him.
"You kept me prisoner here," he said.
She shivered at his tone. It wasn't friendly.
"You didn't have to stay here, Danny, you know that," she pleaded, "You could have left any time you wanted to."
He shook his head, and his eyes flashed menacingly. He seemed less substantial now, and she thought she could make out the house through his body.
"Couldn't leave you," he whispered, and then he laughed.
"Where... where are you?" Sam asked, trying to get him to stop laughing.
He stopped laughing and tilted his head.
"Why do you want to know?" he asked, "It's useless now. Fenton is dead. But you get to keep Phantom."
He moved even closer to her, and bend his head forward, his forehead almost touching hers.
"He's at the bottom of the lake," he whispered, "It's like drowning a kitten. Had to keep him down for a bit, he changed his stupid mind when he hit the water. Don't worry. He'll come floating to the surface in a few days, when his body starts rotting. Or maybe he'll stay down there forever, wouldn't surprise me with this cold water."
This wasn't Danny, she realized, or it was, but not completely. This was something else, something from the house, the something he had been complaining about every now and then. Worms, he'd said, it's like worms, maggots under my skin, wiggling, trying to eat my soul. Sam swallowed, leaning backwards a little, hypnotized by his glowing green eyes.
"Together forever," he said, lifting his hand and almost touching her lips, and then he was gone.
She stood there for what seemed like a long time, dripping, cold, shivering. The lake looked like a silver mirror, almost as bright as the moon above it. It was stunningly beautiful and utterly scary. Something nudged her from behind, and she started walking, climbing the hill to the house, hugging herself.
She'd have to call someone, anyone, to get divers here to search the lake. She couldn't leave him down there, he deserved a proper funeral. His parents... his sister... they'd need to be notified too. She'd sell the house, leave, never come back, leave it all behind her, the hurt, the loneliness, and the love of her life.
She went into the dark kitchen and looked around, aimlessly. What once had looked like a friendly, homely place, now looked ominous, menacing. The knives that she used to cut the vegetables with on the wall, gleaming in the moonlight coming through the windows, the red digits on the clock on the oven, telling her it was one AM, the soft humming of the refrigerator.
"Sammie..."
She jumped. It was his voice, and yet, again, it wasn't. It was like there was more than one voice there, a chorus in the background of what he was saying, or they were saying. The kitchen wavered.
"No!" she choked, and turned around to the door.
It was gone. She was in the kitchen, her own kitchen, but she was also in the kitchen of that ghostly house, that Danny had destroyed. There was black goo on the walls, the counter, brown leaves were at her feet, the ceiling that she had painted white herself two years ago now a dark gray, as if years of cooking had tainted it.
She ran to the solid brick wall where the door had been and started pounding on it, making her fists bleed. Then she came to her senses somewhat and she rushed towards the living room. A strong gust of wind slammed her to the ground.
"Together forever," he hissed, his face almost against hers.
She tried to hit him, but her hands went right through him, and he laughed. Her mind was buzzing, she couldn't think, couldn't come up with an escape. He held all the cards. Then she remembered something.
"Danny," she said pleadingly, lifting her hand to touch his cold face. He recoiled somewhat, having not expected her to do that.
"D-Danny I'm cold... you're so cold. I just want to get something from my room, a-a sweater, alright? I'll be right back..."
"You'll be even colder," he said, but he moved backwards a little, allowing her to get up.
Then, suddenly, he seemed to grab her, swirling around her, turning her intangible, and she shot up through the ceiling to her room. A day ago, she wouldn't have minded, but now his icy fingers seemed to touch her everywhere, like a cold mist. She was upstairs in an instant, and he let go of her. She stumbled away from him and fell on her knees, and without waiting to see what he was doing, she crawled to her bed and reached under it.
Again that gust of cold wind, slamming her against the floor, and her head spun for a moment. Her hand almost lost grip on the ecto gun that was stored in a box under her bed.
"What are you doing Sammie...," he hissed in her ear, and then she was suddenly lifted into the air and slammed against the wall.
She cried out in pain and frustration, and she slid to the floor. She had now lost the gun, but she also realized something. He couldn't really touch her, just lift her, throw her down with that strange cold wind.
"You can't touch me," she gasped, and started crawling forward again, to the place she was sure she had dropped the gun, going through him.
The sensation was terrifying. For a moment, she felt him, all of him, the multitude of ghosts speaking with one voice, and a myriad of lives and deaths passed her by in an instant, screaming, wailing, clawing at her to get out, all held firmly in place by one Danny Phantom. And something else.
For a moment, she faltered, almost coming to a stop, almost allowing him to overshadow her, to join them. She felt the hunger of the collective, the want for more souls, stopping at nothing to get them. Then she tore herself free of him, gasping for air, and she rolled on the floor, right on top of the gun.
With one fluid movement, showing her expertise with the device, expertise coming from years of ghost fighting, even though she was out of practice for two years, she raised the gun and fired, hitting him straight in the chest.
He howled in pain and flung backwards, and she cried, because she had hurt him, hurt Danny, who was still in there somewhere. She had felt his personality in there, crying, screaming with the rest of the ghosts. Something else had taken over Phantom.
She didn't wait for him to recover, but fired again... and missed. He disappeared from sight, and she was left alone in her room, quiet but for the short gasps that were coming out of her mouth. She clutched the gun with both hands, tightening her grip, and slowly turned around, ready to shoot at anything that came into view. But nothing did.
She started shivering, not only from the cold in the room, but also from the tension of being in a house with a dangerous, violent ghost. A ghost that was probably capable of all the things Danny had been capable of. It had helped them before. Now, it turned against her.
"Move," she thought, "Gotta move. Get out of the house."
She didn't know what to do then, Phantom, as she took to calling him, obviously wasn't bound to the house the way the ghosts in that other house had been. But she had to try and get away from him. If only she could get her feet to move.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, to the door. Still silent. And yet, he was watching her again, she could feel it, she was sure it wasn't her paranoid imagination.
The door handle. Open. Slow, deliberate steps in the hallway, her bare feet totally silent on the carpet. The stairs, the steps, one by one, still pointing the ecto gun straight ahead, every now and then turning around. Nothing. No Phantom. She wondered if she had hurt him badly.
She turned to the kitchen automatically, only realizing her mistake when she entered.
He was floating in the middle of it, grinning madly at her, and something shiny blurred through the air, hitting her hands holding the gun, and she dropped it. The shock of the sudden pain made her stumble backwards, and she grabbed hold of the door frame with her uninjured hand.
He had been waiting for that. Again, something shiny blurred through the air, hitting the hand holding the door frame, pinning her to it. This time, she screamed.
He was in front of her in an instant, floating, his eyes strangely shifting from dark green to bright red. She stopped screaming to get some air, and she knew she had lost him.
"Don't worry, Sammie," he said, "It will only hurt a moment."
Again that coldness, that screaming multitude touched her, entered her, took her over, and her eyes suddenly turned a bright red. She stood up straight, grabbed hold of the kitchen knife that pinned her to the door frame and tore it free, causing the blood to rush out of the wound.. She watched it in morbid fascination. It wouldn't be long now.
David Tanner looked worriedly at the darkening sky over the lake. The weather forecast had been good that morning, but here in the hills, you could never tell. It could change in an instant. And what he saw looked bad.
"Em," he said, turning around to his wife, "I think we need to get moving, find some shelter. This doesn't look good."
Emma Tanner stood up from the tree trunk she had been sitting on, eating her lunch, and joined him at the edge of the lake. She brushed some dirt from her shorts and raised her eyebrows at the ominous clouds that were coming closer quickly.
"You're right," she said with her mouth full, "I think I see a house up there. Think they'll let us stay there until this blows over?"
David shrugged. "Probably. Why not."
Emma raised her voice. "Kids! Michael, Susan, come on, there's some bad weather coming, if we hurry up we can make it to that house over there."
Two messy children, ten at most, twins, obviously, came running from the trees, their brown hair littered with dirt and leaves. Emma shook her head at this, but laughed, and they set out to round the lake towards the house.
The sky had become really dark when they finally reached it, and David knocked on the front door and rung the bell. When nobody answered, they rounded the house, to find the kitchen door open, swinging in the wind. The house seemed abandoned, so they entered, looking around in the dirty kitchen. Lightening lit the sky outside, and moments later the downpour began. David grinned.
"Guess we're lucky," he said, "The house is abandoned. Let's make ourselves comfortable until this blows over."
"Dad?"
Michael had walked over to the door to the hallway, and was looking at the door frame.
"What's this?"
David frowned at the crack in the wood and the dark brown stain on it, running all the way to the floor. And suddenly, it wasn't dark brown anymore, but bright red, sticky, attaching itself to his shoes. He gasped, and stumbled backwards, turning around to see his wife pinned against the wall, a dozen knives sticking out of her, moving her mouth, but unable to speak.
The voices of his children were suddenly far away from him, screaming for him, for their mother, until they were suddenly cut off.
And then she was there, the woman with the black hair, wearing nothing but a dirty tank top and shorts, her eyes glowing an impossible red, smiling at him.
"Join us, David," she said.
He started screaming.
If you don't have a clue of what this was about, go read 'The House'.
This was inspired by something Thunderstorm101 said, namely that Danny had taken part of the house with him, and if he died somewhere, that place would be haunted in the worst possible way. I decided to go with it and see where it took me...
This is not the sequel I had planned, but I liked it anyway.
Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.