WARNING: DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ A TRAGEDY. THIS STORY DOES NOT END ON A HAPPY NOTE. THANK YOU FOR LISTENING.
Uhm, there's nothing really to say about this, other than it came to me randomly so I wrote it. I like it, even if it is upsetting.
Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom, Samantha Manson, Freakshow, Lydia, or Circus Gothica. I just like writing about 'em.
Danny Phantom rubbed his hands together and raised his crimson eyes to his master. He cocked his head slightly, staring intently at him, waiting for the single word that would signal Danny was to go out and perform.
"Go," a voice cawed, grating against Danny and forcing him to move forward. The bright red light that his master carried was etched into his mind vividly. Everywhere he looked, all he saw was swirling red mass.
His scythe held tightly in his gloved hand, Danny used his free hand to pull the huge black cloak's hood over his face to hide it. He glided forward then and stood still on the narrow wire. Little did the oohing and ahhing people know, Danny wasn't exactly standing on the wire…he was more or less floating on top of it.
He held his weapon tightly to his chest for a few moments before switching it to his other hand, tumbling over, and standing on one hand. The crowd below screamed in terror, which made a leer curl Danny's lips maliciously. He was the main attraction. On the "Circus Gothica" billboards, he was the biggest picture—a hulking figure draped in a long and dark cloak with a silver scythe held tightly in his hands. Red eyes glowed from the depths of the cloak. It made him proud, especially because it seemed to make his master happy.
Lydia, the other main attraction, had a picture almost as big as Danny's. Tattoos were just beginning to break off her skin, a tiny dark green bat floating around her neck. She had a large smirk, but one arm was obscuring most of her face. Held tightly in her hand was a knife, one that was so sharp it seemed it would just jump out and cut the passerby's throat. She stood in a fighting stance as well.
Both Lydia and Danny knew that they were the reason came to see the Circus Gothica. Sure, the other performers were cool, but Danny and Lydia were the coolest. Lydia had her tattoos fly off of her body and circle around the tent. Danny was the one that stood on the high wire and performed feats that not even the professionals would do. Regular circus performers tried to figure out how they did it, but none could succeed.
That was because Lydia was dead and Danny was half dead.
But it wasn't as if Freakshow were about to broadcast that. That would be slightly ironic—to see, in big and bright bold letters, that a circus was going to be putting up dead people. Of course no one would believe it, but still…
Danny shook his head and continued his routine, almost bored with it. When he cut the high wire with his scythe, the whole crowd screamed with fear for him, but he easily grabbed the wire and flew out of sight and into the back of the tent.
The crowd screamed for Danny to come back, but Danny merely smirked and continued to the back, taking off his cloak and hanging up his scythe. Freakshow had changed tactics and decided that it would be silly to go back for encores, so Danny was forbidden from doing so, no matter how badly he wanted to. But Danny never really wanted to. As all the other circus performers, he just wanted to please Freakshow.
Walking slowly, he went up to Freakshow to get more orders. The long, hook nose protruded from the shadows menacingly, but Danny ignored it. "What should I do now?"
"Go help Lydia for her act," Freakshow informed Danny, glowering down upon him. Danny nodded, almost sluggishly, and walked over to where Lydia sat. She was sitting at a vanity table, putting in her many piercings and making sure her hair was spiked accordingly. Danny quietly walked over to a tall rack and grabbed her black cape off of it. He handed it to her. She nodded, thankfully, and went back to examining herself in the grimy and dirty mirror.
"Ly...Lydia?" Danny asked, slurring out the words. He was nervous, slightly; he knew it was only him and Lydia who had the ability to talk to others—other than Freakshow, that is. Freakshow said he and she were his most prized performers, and he often needed them to talk to the news castors or people such as that. He couldn't very well have them talking into a camera and microphone, only to hear them say, "Is that correct, master?" He would be locked away with the key thrown away. So he and Lydia were about as free as it would get.
Lydia's head snapped slightly as she looked at him sharply. Danny looked downwards, but then brought his face tentatively forwards once more. "Do you think…Freakshow…is taking advantage of us?"
Danny wanted to slap himself for saying such a thing. How dare he say that about his master? He couldn't disrespect his master in such a way. It was impossible to even believe he would do such a thing. He wished he could take back the bizarre question. He wished he had never said it; never thought it. But Lydia's reaction surprised him, almost to the point of making him stagger backwards.
"I think…maybe sometimes he does," she whispered back, turning her head away from him and staring at herself in the mirror to look as if she were concentrating on that rather than Danny. "I think…he somewhat controls us, in a sense." Her eyes darted to him out of the corner of her eye. Danny nodded carefully, his eyes resting quietly on the figure shrouded in darkness at the end of the tent.
"I feel that way…sometimes…too." It was almost painful to speak so horribly about his master. What would his master do to him if he found out what he was saying? Surely he would not let Danny perform for a few shows, and he would inevitably beat him. Danny shuddered at the thought of a beating. He had been beaten, briefly, when he was new to the circus, but he had quickly learned his lesson. You always do what Master tells you to do.
Lydia nodded and placed her hands upon the vanity's table. She bent her fingers slightly, transferring all of her ghostly weight on to the table. "It's nice to be able to…talk to someone…who feels the same way." She looked at Danny quickly before turning back to the mirror. "It scares me, sometimes—the way I feel—it feels…wrong. I am scared of what…master would do to me if he found out…how I…feel…," her voice trailed off as she patted glitter onto her cheeks to give her more of a ghostly appearance. She looked at Danny once more, this time fixing her eyes directly on his. "Do you ever feel that way?"
"Yeah…sometimes…" Danny's eyes flitted around wildly, the searing red glowing in the darkness of the tent. "You begin to wonder what…he…will do to you if you mess up…you know?" Lydia nodded. "If you don't do your performance…exactly correct…you begin to fear that master will get mad. And you never want to infuriate master."
"Never," Lydia whispered back, nodding. Lydia stood up then, wrapping her cape around herself. She looked over her shoulder at Danny, carefully calculating him. "Take care of yourself…Daniel. You're fairly new here. You don't know everything there is to know about…master…"
She walked away then, towards Freakshow. Danny stared after her, watching as she nodded to Freakshow and his beautiful crystal ball as if they were Gods. She walked out of the small tent then and into the main tent where the circus was held. He heard the crowd "ooh" and "ahh" at her, as well as the squeals of fright and delight.
He stood, still, his eyes half closed, listening to the noises. It was quiet, other than the gasps of shock and horror coming from the circus. The other performers stared at Danny with awe etched in their features. Of course they had already performed. But, just as Danny was about to turn to Freakshow and ask what else he was to do, he heard a familiar voice call to him from the corner of the tent.
"Danny?" it whispered. It was faint, and strained, but no doubt human—and more than familiar. Danny struggled to remember who it was. Was it some admirer he had met on the roads? Or was it someone he had known before Freakshow had taken him under his wing? Danny took a tentative step towards the voice, then faltered slightly. He bit his lip. He didn't want to disobey his master. Even if his master was sometimes mean to him, he still loved his master. He loved his master. He wanted to please him.
"Danny?" the voice asked once more, calling out a bit louder, a bit surer. Danny recognized the voice from the days when he was human. What was human, anyway? It was a state where you breathed…ate…it was a state when you were solid…was he once human? Was he ever human? Even if he was a human physically, was he ever a human emotionally after that accident? The accident that haunted him more than the phantoms of those long ago beatings. What was human, anyway? A physical or—could it be emotional as well—state? Danny didn't know. He gasped, unknowing of why, and took a step towards the voice.
Human. He had to have been human—physically and emotionally. Every ghost was, at one point, human in both those aspects. When did he lose his physical human self? Did he ever lose it?
His head hurt. It pounded crazily, as if drummers were playing a tune inside of his skull and kept going faster and faster. Everywhere he turned there was a new question that smacked him in the face viciously, maliciously, tormentingly. If he answered or ignored one question, a thousand more would appear, begging to be answered. Danny held his head in his hands as he felt his body revolve…revolve …revolve with his head.
When did he lose his humanity? It couldn't have been long before—or after—he had decided to join Freakshow. But then a strange and almost insane question arose to Danny. Had he joined Freakshow on freewill? Or had Freakshow…forced him to join?
Danny blinked and took another step forward. No. He hadn't joined by force. He had wanted to join the circus. He knew he had wanted to. He had to have wanted to. The voice called out to him again. Danny shook his head slightly, a shiver running down his spine. His head hurt, and he was having maybe a bit too much freewill.
"Danny…come over here…please!" the voice pleaded. Danny took a step forward. The voice was getting closer. Why was it so familiar? Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered once skipping heartbeats when he heard the voice. Why wasn't it having that effect on him anymore? Why did he even care, anyway? Obviously, if he forgot the person, they hadn't been that important to him. He had to please his master. He had to. But who was this strange person that was pleading to him? Danny took the last step forward, and stared at the many crates. Who was behind them? Were they important to him? Did it matter if they were important to him or not?
Finally he was at the edge of the tent. He sank to his knees, unable to stand up straight, and placed his hands against the crate. "Yes?" he asked, his voice raspy. A pale, feminine hand poked out from behind the crate.
"Danny, oh goodness, Danny!" the voice gasped. Danny cocked his head slightly. The voice…it was so familiar…why wouldn't they faze through the crate and let him see them? Or, if they were human, then step away from the crate? "We thought you died," the voice whispered quietly.
Died? That was something humans did. Ghosts were already dead, weren't they? How could Danny die if he was a ghost? Obviously he had been human. So…did he die? That was the only explanation, wasn't it? If he was a ghost, he had to have died. How did he explain to this person that he did die?
Or…did he die?
Danny didn't respond. He waited for the voice to speak again. "Danny?" it asked carefully, the hand reaching out a bit more. Danny brushed his gloved fingers against the exposed flesh, but as soon as he did so, the hand jumped backwards. "Danny. Oh, gosh, Danny…"
"What?" Danny asked, getting slightly annoyed with how this person was repeating his name. Didn't he have to do something? He couldn't remember anymore. His mind was hazy. Didn't he and Lydia talk about something they shouldn't have talked about? Didn't master want him to do something? Why was he leaning over a crate in the corner of the tent?
"Danny, come with me," the voice whispered urgently. "We need to get you out of here. Like, now."
He blinked. Get…out? But…he lived in the circus. He lived for the circus. How would he survive without the circus? Danny rested his hand on the crate and pushed it slightly, trying to get the person behind it out.
He heard a muffled "Umph," but that was it. Then; "Danny. Do you even know who I am?"
"Uhm…no," Danny said carefully. He really needed to get going. Master wanted him. But he would stay here with this strange person for a few more moments, just to please them; then he would go and tell his master that someone strange was in the tent. Yes, that sounded plausible; he would do that.
He heard a shuddering gasp. "Danny, it's me, Sam! Sam Manson, your best friend, remember?"
Sam Manson. Sam Manson. Where had he heard that name before? It registered something deep within him, just as her voice had done to him as well. Who was Sam Manson? Was she good or bad? Ghost or human? Friend or foe? Well, she did say she was a friend. But friend of master's, or friend of his?
Danny shook his head. His head still hurt. It hurt very badly. All he wanted to do was do something to please master so he could feel better. Oh, how his head hurt; it pounded terribly. He began to turn away, but obviously Sam Manson saw him. Her hand darted out from under the crate and pulled him back.
This made him mad. It made him unbearably mad. Who was Sam Manson and how did she have the right to touch him? "Let go of me," Danny growled, his eyes flashing menacingly. He could see amethyst eyes glint from the shadows, almost as if they were scared. But the pale hand never let go of his arm, which made Danny even angrier than he was before. "I said…let go of me."
"No, Danny! You have to remember me! You have to!" Sam Manson begged, her face coming from the shadows. Danny paused and stared into the face. The round face with the pointed nose and large amethyst eyes. The face that was lavished with black hair that hung just around her face, ending right above her neck. The face he often saw in the depths of his dreams. Sam Manson. He matched the voice with the face with the name. Sam Manson. She had been important to him when he was human, hadn't she? But he was still angry with her.
"I don't have to do anything for you," Danny snarled, staring into the purple eyes. "The only person I wish to please is my master, Freakshow. You…are nothing."
Sam Manson let go of him now, almost as if his skin had burned her. Danny backed away then, glaring quietly, watching as the eyes slowly faded into the black of the tent.
Who was that girl? How did she have the right to order Danny around? How did he know her?
Did it really matter who she was? Did it really matter about his past life? Did anything besides pleasing his master really matter?
Danny didn't know. But all Danny truly knew was that he wanted to make his master happy. He wanted to make his master proud. There was nothing for him out of life other than pleasing Freakshow.
And that was the truth.
Sam fell back against the tent, breathing harshly, tears stinging at her eyes. How could he have said that? She knew, of course, that he was being controlled by Freakshow. He had to have been. The real Danny would never have said that. But, it still hurt. She watched as he slowly retreated, the crimson eyes burned into her own eyes like some sort of evil beacon.
She had been looking for Danny for over a year. When everyone (besides his own family, of course) had given up all hope of finding him—or at least his body!—she had stayed and searched. She had not given up. She knew, deep down, that he was with a ghost; and quite possibly, Freakshow. After all, wasn't it Freakshow he had last battled? She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself, hiding behind the crate.
She wouldn't leave Danny, though. She would stay. She would receive any of the blows Danny gave her. She would make sure she would get him back. He couldn't have been so brainwashed as to not be able to remember her, or as to not be able to even comprehend, now, could he?
…could he?