From Childhood's hour I have not been as others were; I have not seen as others saw. - Edgar Allan Poe, Alone

Danny dreamed.

He dreamed of terrible things, blood and metal, screams pleading him to stop, please stop. And he didn't. He dreamt of the way the bright red would look on his hands, on the concrete, on his clothes and whatever he'd used to get the job done. There would be no guilt, no pain, no agony over what he'd done, just the pure sadistic glee that he'd always wanted to indulge in during his waking hours. Everything felt hot and blurry, undeniably right. The screams and whimpers of the dying filled him like a breath of fresh air, and everything was perfect in a way it had never been. Danny woke up with the same terror and shame most teenagers had from wet dreams, but this couldn't be rationalized away as hormones or a phase. He woke up content and warm and happy until he remembered how very wrong it was. He was supposed to be a hero. There was nothing heroic about the things he dreamed of.

The good news was that no one knew. No one even had an inkling. Why would kind, thoughtful, goofy Danny ever want to hurt anyone? He was a slacker, a video game player, an uncool bystander. He wasn't the kind of person who was supposed to be… Whatever he was. Insane seemed too harsh, but he wasn't a sociopath. He reassured himself of that every time he was in his Psychology class. Sociopaths didn't hate themselves for thinking about what he thought about. If he were really evil he would've done something by now. Danny Fenton wasn't evil. He repeated that to himself like a survival mantra whenever he woke up in the middle of the night, terrified, excited, and horrified all at once. Danny was a superhero. He fought ghosts and saved people. He had never used his powers to kill anyone. He had never even contemplated it. Danny never thought about it; he forced himself not to face what it might mean. If he ignored it maybe it would go away and he'd wake up one day normal and sane. Maybe one day he wouldn't close his eyes and be able to picture what it looked like when skin and muscle separated, the way the red blossomed forth like a flood; a memory that wasn't supposed to be his.

There wasn't a cause. There wasn't a trigger. There were only the months where it haunted him and the months where it was like he'd never had a bad dream. Sometimes, for six or seven months at a stretch, he was just Danny. Then, inevitably, it would come back with a vengeance. There was something frenzied and panicked about the dream that made him feel like he'd just been on a rollercoaster. Black hair and thin arms, knives, blood, so much blood that there had to be at least three people dead, and a dimly lit place. It could've been a building, it could've been night time outside. All he knew was that every night he woke up wanting to strangle someone and it scared him. Danny was not a monster. He repeated this until he was absolutely sure of it, until the memory became dim in his mind like it wasn't even his. Then eventually he would go to sleep again. All humans had to. And then it was back, haunting, tantalizing, so tempting it hurt, and in his dreams he gave into it faster and faster with each passing night. He woke up feeling more tired than he had been when he slept. It was all he could do not to cry with frustration sometimes because it was all so opposite of what he was, such an inversion of who he wanted to be. This isn't me, he'd think sometimes. This isn't me.

Presently it was night twelve of the nightmare-sweet dream hybrid he was growing to hate and look forward to so much. He hadn't told anyone, but after years of this cycle they were starting to see a change. His mother said he was tired. Jazz was worried about his stress levels. Sam had told him he'd zoned out three times yesterday. The inky-haired teen laid back on his bed and stared at the ceiling, unwilling to go to sleep and face whatever this was and too exhausted to do anything else. After some deliberation mentally, Danny turned on his computer. Though new, the town website was useful for weather reports, news updates and ghost sightings. He could at least get a head start on this stuff if he was going to be spending the night sleepless. Having kicked more than enough ghost butt for one lifetime, Danny Phantom had been dabbling in catching mundane criminals as well. After all, there wasn't a human alive that could fight him off one on one. This was more or less Phantom's saving grace with the police force, who had been rather undecided on whether or not to trust him before. Slow but surely they were beginning to appreciate just what a superhero's presence could mean for them. The chief of police had even thanked him personally once and promised to post any major unsolved recent criminal activity on the town's website. That way he could be in contact with Danny Phantom without having the hero's location compromised in any way.

Chief Tomor should really get a medal or something, Danny thought as he scrolled by an article of the Mongolian police chief's recent arrest of an escaped convict. The man never seems to sleep. He's done more in the past two months than the last guy did in his whole career… I wonder if Walker's one of his ancestors. He studied the topaz eyed man's picture for a moment before shaking his head. Danny had strange thoughts when he was half asleep. None of them were prone to making much sense. Reaching for the glass of water he always kept in his room at night, the teenager multitasked, reading and drinking at the same time in an attempt to wake up. It was five in the morning, so the odds of him getting back to sleep were pretty low, and school was going to be hectic with the freshmen forced to decorate the gym for the upcoming winter dance. He'd have liked more sleep beforehand, but it wasn't worth the attempt at this point. Setting the now empty glass down, he hit the refresh button with the knowledge that Tomor would continually screw over the whole concept of a schedule and put urgent news updates up as needed. Emergencies were more important to him than rules and systems. Maybe that was why Danny actually liked helping the cops for the first time in his life.

Tomor Update. Danny vaguely wondered if the man knew he was supposed to start it off with Police Chief Full Name Here, before realizing that whatever it was would have to be deadly serious for him to skip that. Sighing faintly, he clicked the red text and was transferred over to a page written in the Chief's typical dark red font. Citizens are warned to stay indoors and not to panic. Travel together in groups as large as possible. We have reason to believe a serial killer is in the city limits. He is extremely dangerous, armed, and on the attack. Four murders tonight are verified to be his. Stay indoors, stay in groups, and stay calm. The FBI is on their way. We are unable to give a physical description of the killer at this time.

There was a pause as the concept of someone casually coming into his city and murdering four people was processed by Danny's brain. Then he felt anger and a much suppressed feeling of curiosity. Some twisted part of him wanted to see the blood. He was going to ignore whatever that said about him and just get on with his duty. Transforming into his spectral form, he left the house silent as a ghost could be. Outside there was snow, the slow, lazy fat flakes tumbling down to coat the city in white. It was mostly untouched by human footsteps. When he got high enough, he could see the red and blue lights of two police cars. Danny sighed and flew towards the scene of the crime with mixed dread, anticipation and disgust. Things were always bad if he had to be called in. If they were calling in Danny, the FBI, and advertising the latter's presence in an attempt to scare off the killer, things were bound to be gut-wrenchingly awful. He spotted the police chief's tall form lingering by the front of an alley, his face illuminated by the flashing squad car lights. The ghostly hero swooped down to hover in front of him, not touching the ground to avoid spoiling the crime scene.

"Phantom, that was fast. Thank you for coming." Tomor held out a hand to stop the halfa as he began to move forward. Danny could have phased through him, and normally he would have, if the police officer's eyes hadn't held such a disgusted, angry look. "You don't want to see that just yet, trust me. And I doubt it would help matters. I didn't want you here for crime scene analysis. I need your help stopping this guy, as soon as possible."

"I know, but without a physical description, I don't even know what I'm looking for," Danny objected, landing with a soft thump. "What am I supposed to go on? How do you even know these are all the work of one person?"

Tomor paused, pushing a strand of stringy, wavy black hair behind his ear. "How old are you?" he asked suddenly. "When you died, you were pretty young, right?" He shifted uneasily. "I don't want to scar you for life. I'm not trying to be patronizing, but… when you see this, you'll understand. I just don't know if I want you to see it."

A growing sense of unease was working its way into Danny's mind. He felt the same nervous terror he would have before going on a rollercoaster. "If it helps catch this guy, I should probably see it, Chief."

The man stepped aside, sighing quietly. "You're right. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

Danny floated forward. There was a pause, a moment where Tomor thought maybe his fear was unfounded. For a moment Danny saw the scene without comprehending what was in front of him. In the silence all he could hear was the mumblings and footsteps of the police officers. Everything was cold and calm. He stared at the bodies with a furrowed brow. Something was happening in his mind, that almost-there sensation he always had when he was trying to remember a word or what homework he had. This was all familiar somehow…

Heat, sweltering heat; sweat was dripping off her brow as she moves, strands of long hair sticking to her face. Flashes of light on metal, the sight of fresh impossibly red blood on the silver. There is blood everywhere. She is drenched in it, it's soaking through her jeans and her shirt, he is sitting in corner watching it pool all around him and shaking. The bodies weren't even bodies anymore. Insides were outside, faces rendered unrecognizable, shreds of human flesh all around the room, on the ceiling and on the walls. She reaches out towards him and when her hands brush up against his they are like ice. Her face is the shape of a heart and she has a voice he trusts. Lights flicker all around them. There is a growl from somewhere out in the darkness. Her hands are covered in blood, the fingers long and impossibly thin. There's a crash somewhere behind her; the door is splintering and breaking down with each blow and he screams.

He takes her hands and she hefts him up onto her chest, where he clings on for dear life. He's crying. Everything smells of blood. It's too hot. He's shaking. She's swaying on her feet and shivering in spite of the heat. He can hear her heart beating like a drum in her chest.

"I won't let them get you," she promises, and then the door breaks open and he screams.