Angel of Mine

Danny Phantom

Yes, Angel of Mine is a song sung by Monica. Chapter Quote by Edgar Allan Poe.

Sam has the ability to see ghosts as she sleeps. Finding in the depths of her dreams that a ghost boy stalks her, Sam teams up with Danny - a rather cocky boy at school - to go on a journey past the boundary line to rid the phantom, but with time, Sam is faced with the truth about disturbed spirits, and learns that even the darkest of souls are worth fighting for.

Chapter One

All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream

There was a sound like velvet, drawn behind the contours of what looked like the insides of a ruined castle. I stood on what I imagined was once the staircase, now a trail of wood splinters covered in gray dust, and a wrinkled old rug that slumped over the mess. Everything inside this mansion was reduced to rubble and dust, items that could have once been fine china now hidden behind cobwebs or broken material, and if you looked above, there seemed to be a big gaping hole, as if something heavy or sharp had pierced through the ground of the second floor's walkway.

There was something unusual about this house, –besides the obvious sign of abandonment- but I couldn't determine what made it so different. I turned around, walking away from the given in staircase and into the next room.

It was amazing. In an instant of abandonment and decay, the house suddenly transformed. The cobwebs having covered the mantel disappeared, and a roaring fire started in the fireplace. Chairs suddenly began to fill over a long, magnificent dining table, where the candles mysteriously were lit to the rooms comfort. The hidden cracks and flipped objects were back in their belongings and renewed, and when I looked up, that once giant gaping hole looking down on me disappeared. The sound of clanked silverware and crickets brought the place to life. I looked back at the room, and that's when I saw him.

He had hair as white as snow, yet he couldn't have been much older than me. He was tall, with pale, translucent skin that contradicted the black of his clothing, and vibrant red cape that sat on his shoulders. His eyes were shut as he spoke, murmuring words so soft I strained to hear them. At last he stood still, and a pair of magnetic emerald eyes pierced my own.

"AH!" I screeched, an agonizing pain striking my entire body beneath my bed sheets. I grabbed my throat, choking on tears and saliva, gasping to breathe. My entire body felt pressed and crushed under an invisible weight, and I couldn't seem to catch my breath. I began pounding my fist against the wall.

I could hear the clicks of lights, before quick footsteps bombarded the hallways. My father was the first one to entire the room, flicking on the bedroom light, before my mother appeared in the doorway. They both ran to me.

"Samantha, steady now. Breathe out through your nose," Dad explained as the doctor had instructed to do so. I took several quick breaths, forcing myself to calm down my gasping and get a hold of myself. After a few moments, I released a breath. My parents sighed.

Mom laughed through her stressed voice. "Ah, Samantha. You never cease to give us a scare," she pointed out; laughing to what I imagined could have been her "real" tears. Dad walked toward the door.

"I'll call the doctor. Maybe we can schedule an appointment with the therapist he recommended."

"No, I'm fine," I stated before he had a chance to snatch an available telephone. "I was just shocked for a moment," I assured and they looked at me as if I were crazy. Mom took a seat at the foot of my bed, taking my hand in hers.

"Samantha, perhaps it is best you have a chat with the school counselor. This behavior just isn't normal." She shook her head, sighing at such a thing.

Dad agreed to her statement. "In all the years of having the Manson's settle in America, there has never been one to have wound up in an institute." Dad always recited these words, and each time I had reason to abject to them.

"I'm not crazy," I defended, though it was hard to find such a phrase real when I was dreaming. Mom shook her head again, turning back to Dad.

"Jeremy, I refuse to believe that anyone in our family belongs to a mental hospital." She grumbled in disgust. "We are all Manson's are we not?" She questioned, staring at him before peering at me. We both avoided her gaze, and she sighed.

"Well, it's late and tomorrow we have a meeting to attend to Jeremy. I think it's best we all try to have a good night's rest." Mom looked me over to see if I'd refuse, but I didn't say a word. I stared down at the sheets until they both left the room.

I sat in the dark, huddled up in a ball and silent. It was only three in the morning, which gave me plenty of time before school started. I didn't usually try to fall back asleep, but tonight I made an effort to get at least some rest.

But whenever I closed my eyes and zoned out, his gaze seemed to return and I'd shake myself awake again. There didn't seem to be any escape from such haunting eyes.

In English class, I kept myself awake by chewing on a piece of bubble gum. Across the way Mr. Lancer yelled at Danny, a kid in school who was rumored of having "mind control." I had no idea how he came to such a stupid nickname since the only sort of "power" he appeared to have was putting himself to sleep. In every class I had with him, I'd always find him sleeping in the back, either behind a history textbook or laying his head into the crease of his elbow. I didn't see him awake much, or ever cared to.

But today I watched as Mr. Lancer woke up the tired boy, nudging his shoulder roughly; staring as he lifted his head and rubbed a handful of disheveled jet black hair. He yawned at last, before opening a pair of baby blue eyes; eyes that stared straight into mine.

"Well Mr. Fenton. I'm sure if you'd rather sleep than listen to my lesson, there's a more comfortable couch in the principal's office." A few kids snickered, some probably amused that something better than Shakespeare was being brought up, the other half laughing at Mr. Lancer's "horrible punishment."

The boy, Danny, looked up at Mr. Lancer with those big innocent blue eyes and gave a quick smirk, before tapping his pencil against the desk top.

"Oh no, Mr. Lancer, you're too kind. I couldn't take such an offer," the idiot mumbled, still half asleep. The kids around laughed loud enough that Mr. Lancer had to yell in order to settle them down.

I peered back at Danny, who appeared relaxed as he leaned back in his desk, looking up at nothing as he drummed the pencil back on the desktop. That was probably the first time I'd ever heard him speak after being shaken, and I was surprised by how cocky he seemed.

"You don't have to stare at me either," Danny said, without even moving to address who he was speaking to. I peered around at my classmates, no one even glancing in his direction. When I turned back, he had inclined his body so it sat sideways in his seat, smiling at me.

I glared, before turning back to my notes and scribbling whatever came to mind. I suppose that explained where he got his nickname.

"Ah, Shakespeare. One story that refuses to be untold," Mr. Lancer began, watching as his class sat, unimpressed. He wrote a quote on the board, and then handed out papers.

"You will be working with partners on this assignment." He peered as the class perked up at this news. "One other partner, and I will be choosing the groups." The excitement died down, along with the atmosphere. Lancer at least seemed pleased with this.

"Alright then." Mr. Lancer had the oddest way of picking partners, and I wouldn't be surprised if I ended up with Paulina, again. How he say us as compatible partners, I'd never know.

"Dash, you'll be paired with…Quinton." He gazed around the room, before frowning at Danny. "Okay then, Fenton. How about we actually try finding you someone who won't put you to sleep." Danny smirked, placing his arms behind his back and leaning in his chair.

"I don't see why not," he issued for him to continue. Mr. Lancer scowled him for his action, before overlooking the class again, careful in his decision. Finally, he looked at me.

"Samantha Manson."

I practically swallowed my gum. Great, first time I ever pay attention to this moron and already I'm his partner. Danny sent all four legs of his chair back on the ground, and turned to look back at me again. I didn't meet his gaze this time.

"I will be assigning each of your groups a certain topic of Shakespeare's play, and you will be presenting this to the class."

A crumpled piece of paper fell onto my desk, and this time I looked over everyone in the corner of my eyes. No one appeared to have thrown the note. I sighed, before opening it up.

This isn't a dream, you know.

It was written in perfect, lazy strokes. I narrowed my eyes at Danny, who appeared to be sleeping into his arm now. He was the only one who would probably bother passing me a note.

He couldn't have known about my dreams...could he?

I ripped the paper to shreds before even considering.

"What the hell was that for?" I demanded when class was finally over. Danny smiled.

"Hmm? I don't have the slightest clue as to what you're saying." His expression was just a little too amused to be mistaken.

"Oh really?" I challenged, raising an eyebrow. "You expect me to believe the note was just sent from above?"

"Perhaps it was fate that it fell into your hands."

"More like a good aim," I grumbled.

Danny stopped now to give me a lazy grin, before leaning an elbow on the lockers beside us to stare at me. What kind of game was he playing?

"Maybe if you show me the note, I'll believe you." He held out a hand expectantly.

"I tore it up, moron." I rolled my eyes, knowing this was just a waste of time. I had already taken up two minutes of passing period.

"That's not my problem." He chuckled, before looking at me with electric blue eyes. His gaze appeared even more lazy and cocky than his personality, but what I really hated about them was the fact that this guy possesed such enticing eyes.

"Go out with me."

"What?" I replied, taken aback. Since when did Danny Fenton, the kid that slept through every single one of his classes and was noted of mind control, ask Goth girls on dates? And ones he hardly even knew?

I glared now, ignoring his comment. "This isn't funny. Don't try changing the subject," I demanded, furious now.

"I'm not changing the subject. Go on a date with me and maybe I'll tell you." He winked.

The bell rang and Danny straightened up. "Meet me at the Nasty Burger at six tonight."

"The Nasty Burger isn't my sort of hang out," I replied harshly. Like hell I would actually agree to this.

He smirked. "Exactly why we have to go."

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Natalie, DareMeToDream