A/N: Holy crap I did not expect this much response or think this story would be so popular but damn! You guys blew me away! Thank you so much for all your reviews and favorites. I'm glad you all liked it so much.
Guest 1: What will happen to Vlad is in the future ;)
Guest 2: An update a week is what I'm shooting for. An update a day you'd have to pay for. Glad you like it!
Guest 3: Glad you like this story so much :D
Without further ado, chapter two:
The First
"A dream ghost!" Maddie shouted. Wrapping paper, presents, ribbons and bows cascaded away as she jumped off the couch. Jack's agonized 'Vladdie' resonated sharply to hypersensitive ears, her hairs bristled with the tense expectation of a specter's chill. No trace of any ghost remained; not the horrific resemblance to her one-time friend; not any Christmas spirits; not a more dreaded ghoul. "I should have known. Jack, did you just have a dream about Vlad."
"Dream," Jack whispered hollowly. Branded within his mind with searing intensity was the echo of his friend's dusty, stony rasp past rotted, pitted vocal chords. A sound that would crawl beneath his skin for the rest of his days. He shivered now, as though movement could dislodge the cancerous memory. "That was not Vlad," he repeated to himself. "That was not Vlad, just a shape shifting ghost."
"Or a nightmare created by another ghost," Maddie pointed out. "Like Nocturne."
Jack focused on his wife's words, drinking them in and allowing reason to overpower fear. Fortified, he answered her question.
"Yes I had that dream, and he looked," words failed him. A haunted countenance passed over his face. "Horrible," Jack finished, returning to himself. "Deader than a ghost even, and he was threatening our son!" He growled, leaping to his feet. "But it was just a dream of course," Jack sank back to the couch, "The real Vlad would never threaten Danno."
"Exactly," Maddie let out a sigh of relief, "We should scan the house for whatever malevolent apparition did this and check up on Danny, just in case."
"He will not be there."
Again the husband and wife team aimed weapons at an echoing voice. Were they still trapped in a dream? Their living room was still festooned with wrapping paper, though crumpled; presents twinkled and tiny ghost lights glinting an eerie, deathly green against festive ribbons. How alike this scene was to their shared dream. Had the ghost trapped them in so many layers of nightmares that they were only going through another one?
One thing soothed their trembling hearts: the echoing voice which so startled them was not the rusted hoarse pitch of one who had murdered their voice crying out against the agony of death. This voice, echoing horribly as any ghost, was lighter, smoother and—odd as it was to apply the term to any ghost—more human than the tones of Vlad's false spirit. A pair of relieving sighs escaped their lips at the sight of the spirit, which would have disarmed most any viewer.
A child stared calmly beyond their weapons at the ghost hunters.
Light gentle as the coming dawn enveloped a buck-toothed toddler, blessedly whole and without decay, clothed in shades of purple. Chubby cheeks of soft greenish-blue tones were framed with an equally royal-hued hood which might have been intimidating on an adult ghost but only looked cute on such a young one. A translucent spirit-tail gave credence to the normality of the ghost; here was a spirit they were used to dealing with and the thought fortified the Fentons. The form of a mere child was not enough to sway their weapons as it would have for many others. The experienced ghost hunters knew well spirits could exist for centuries, even millennia frozen in the forms they died or shift into more harmless forms.
Amid features of a precious boy were disconcerting, piercing blood-red eyes. Those eyes, which neither wavered nor blinked, gave an impression of age to the baby-soft face and plump, tiny child form. As the previous spirit had a death core, which permeated its very being, this child had a core of age. From those eyes blazed forth ancient wisdom no human could possibly live long enough to gain. Its solemn posture belayed any innocence, merely floating there, patient and silent, an aura of knowledge shrouded it greater than the veritable Merlin. Childish features were set in an expression not of sternness but immobility that sternness wishes to grow up to become.
"Where is he!" shouted Maddie. "You show us our son right now!"
"That is my purpose," said the spirit. His voice, though the pitch of youth and cloaked in the softness of a child, was steeped in tones which did little to sooth parental dread. "He is imprisoned. And far worse will happen to him, and to you, if you do not follow me."
A blast of emerald fired from the Fenton bazooka, lighting the festive scene, darkening presents and decorations with an eerie green cast as it shot toward the child-spirit. Jack's reply.
"Show us our son now!" Jack growled, tone dark.
Before the strike could connect it unexpectedly paused exactly like someone pushed a button on a remote control. The spirit vanished. Neither Fenton could move. Casually the ghost once more appeared, as though stepping out from between moments in time. Neither smoke nor sound heralded its appearance as a normal teleporting ghost. The eerie emerald blast lighting it up from behind suddenly decided to move again and—otherwise unusually well aimed—hit the wall behind the trio.
Maddie struck.
Years of practice and hours of dedication had hammered her body into a weapon itself. From childhood she had pursued perfection in the movements of war. Now, in her forties, perfectly balanced between youthful vigor and forged skill, her tiger-claw strike was almost faster than humanly possible. The new hazmat gloves she wore negated intangibility; she should have torn through the spook.
Her nails never touched this child-ghost. Reality got drunk and took a stumble sideways as the ghost held perfectly still, unfazed by existence's lurch or the hand that ruffled a purple hood instead of piercing eyes. Reality sobered up. Her trigger finger automatically squeezed, expecting the gun to react with a glare of ectoplasmic light.
The child palmed something important looking with the first distinctly child-like expression she'd seen on the ghost.
Her gun clicked.
Dropping the useless weapon Maddie snatched a short, metal baton from her belt. With a more ominous click and familiar hum a pair of light-sabers, unfurled. Gripping the ecto-staff two-handed, she struck with all the strength of her hips, core, legs and back at the ghost. The heat of the laser staff combined with the power behind the strike should have instantly vaporized the unfortunate specter. Instead her staff was suddenly gone. Her hands clenched tightly around thin air, though Maddie never saw a movement, even a blurred one. Had someone stepped between seconds and plucked the weapon out of her hands in that timeless space? Maddie stumbled. Unseen force slammed into her diaphragm and stole her balance. She curled to turn her fall into a smooth roll but reality hiccupped—it had to be the ghost somehow—and hardwood floor slammed into her back.
Reality reversed itself.
When Maddie once more gained her bearings all she could do was heave a mighty breath against the darkness drowning her sight. That single wind-driving blow had been magnified a dozen times, or else her opponent had delivered a similar move to send her to the ground a dozen times. The bruise on her diaphragm had been bruised eleven more times. Her back muscles whimpered like they'd been tortured. Her lungs were wringed of oxygen. Maddie dragged in another breath.
"You…are an annoying spirit."
The ghost of Christmas past—supposedly, what else could it be?—hovered above them, infuriatingly untouched. Arms folded across a royal purple tunic, red eyes more disapproving than any glare they'd given their children, wispy tail twitching in a manner that, had the spirit formed legs, would have been an impatient foot-tap.
"Finished?" it asked severely, "Your son hasn't time to waste."
Maddie bristled at those words—as though some evil ecto-monster could care about her son more than his own parents!—but said nothing. She was not broken but clearly beaten by what could only be a reality-warper. Her weapons were nowhere to be seen and though she breathed easier, every blow throbbed keenly. In mere seconds this ghost had been confronted with the best the best ghost hunters could muster and had flung it in their faces a dozen times over. No burn or scratch or bruise marred the specter. All her martial arts, weapons, training and even experience were useless.
Exchanging glances with her husband, who looked as bad as she felt, the parents came to the practical conclusion. In other circumstances the hard-headed ghost hunters would have kept fighting out of sheer determination to protect and help family until they dropped. But for their son, they could ally themselves with this ectoplasmic creep.
"And you will help our son? Help us save him?" Jack asked suspiciously.
The ghost met their stare with the full force of millennia of age, even Maddie, who had fearlessly met the gazes of some of the most powerful and terrible specters in the ghost zone, couldn't help but look away.
Only to check on her husband, of course.
It spoke in a graver voice. "Every action I take now is for the sake of your son's well-being and continued future. Come, we must hurry," and the boy offered both his hands to them.
Maddie and Jack would have loved the leisure to confirm beyond a ghost of a doubt that this apparition was speaking truly, but this ghost beat them both, their son's bed was empty and it offered help.
What choice did they have?
Carefully, expecting at any moment some manner of trap or trick, each took one hand of the boy ghost, keeping their other hands linked. Again the world warped around them. Cheery Christmas tree, gleaming lights, wild storm of wrapping paper and ribbons vanished from sight. The pair shot backwards, as though strapped to a roller coaster reversing itself, if the seats on said roller coaster were all washers set to disintegrate. Senses, bodies, minds felt torn apart, scattered across the universe before melding back together in the wrong order.
Everything stopped.
Maddie, who could handle her husband's driving better than a professional bull-rider, staggered to her feet; sense of balance turned inside out and sideways. Replacing the Fentonworks living room were normal decorating 'Toys for Tots' who catered to orphaned children.
"Their annual toy drive," Maddie whispered.
Hard white ice blanketed buildings and streets, formed icicles on the power-lines, tiny pebbles underfoot—though no foot dared crush them at such an ungodly hour—as winter weather locked Amity in a bitter grip. Wind howled, an echo of the ancient ice-age beast it had once been and fell shrieking between alleyways and trees, forcing all to bow or break. This they could see. This they could hear.
They could not feel. Cold shot through them without a touch. No winter knife stabbed them, nor did a freezing raindrop's needle-chill kiss touch their cheeks or hands. Their footsteps should have been hampered by sleet, snow and ice, the mix was well over a foot high, yet their feet passed through like powder.
"What did you do to us? Are we ghosts?" Jack shouted.
"And what are we doing here?" asked Maddie, "You were supposed to take us to Danny!"
"And so I am." The spirit released them.
"Hold up, this isn't the Christmas Carol and we don't need to be here," Maddie argued. "We all donate toys to this place every year and even help wrap the presents. There's no need for us to watch, now take us to our son. You were the one who said we had no time."
"We have time enough to watch," said the spirit calmly, an odd smile on its youthful face. "See your son."
Christmas lights couldn't alleviate the foreboding feeling surrounding the building. In the absence of people and laughter and cheer, without the crowds of cars and press of bodies to ease the worst of the chill the deserted building gained a haunting countenance. Even their new ghostly state, which allowed them to watch without shivering, could not melt the chill of foreboding.
A flash of white caught their attention in the darkness; the serpentine flight betrayed the figure as a ghost. When the specter slowed, hovering above the building, its identity was revealed. One the Fentons could hardly believe.
"But we have him in the basement!" Jack shouted.
"How did Phantom escape?" asked Maddie.
"Watch," said the spirit.
"How can we just watch, he's stealing Christmas presents! Those are for the orphans!" Jack leaped into the air, hoping flight came with intangibility. He hung in the air like a balloon. Obviously there was more to ghostly flight than a simple leap and A very scientific part of Maddie wanted to test things further but kept to the ground. The child spirit snagged her husband's leg and gently tugged him back to earth as Phantom phased into the building. Moments later Amity Park's so-called hero escaped through the ceiling, laden with a present-bulged sack like the Grinch on Christmas Eve.
"Now see that, there's someone who needs a visit from three spirits, not us." Jack protested.
"Why is the wind picking up? The weather only predicted snow?" Maddie looked around again. The unfeeling winds picked up more force. Fierce, driving gales cut off speech and she had to shout to be heard above its howl, a ghost of the Pleistocene. Trees bowed and flags threatened to tear off. Wood and metal alike screeched under the onslaught of nature and before their horrified eyes a massive telephone pole crashed to the ground, felled by the unrelenting power of wind.
Ice shot through the air sideways. Had they been wholly human, Maddie did not doubt they would have been felled as well. "In the past. Oh of course," the puzzle pieces came together, "We had weather like this last year. You actually took us to the past?"
"Just like the Christmas Carol?" Jack asked.
"Exactly. Now come," said the spirit boy, "We must follow."
This time the childish hand seized them with shocking firmness for digits so small; Maddie could not break that iron grip. Lifting off it followed Phantom's wavering tail. Torrents of wind, no longer blocked by buildings, slashed with furious vengeance straight through them. Phantom flew fast as a hawk through the storm. Its shoulders were tucked and head hunched as though it struggled against the ice already coating it but carried the bulging sack like an empty one.
As fast as the ghost boy was, the boy spirit pulling them along flew faster, guiding them as though they were but feathers. Its ghostly tail moved with an easy, rhythmic grace and the swift winds did not once cause it to falter, though Phantom bucked and swerved like a kite in the wind. The ghostly teen was forced to clutch its burden close to better fight the wild will of the gale. Once more the Fentons cursed the spirit boy for disarming them. Phantom was almost close enough to touch.
As though reading their minds, the ghoul spoke, "All that you see is merely a shadow of what has been and cannot be changed."
Though it appeared to take longer with the wind—something they could not interact with—and the cold—also a ghost of the past—only a very few moments passed before they reached the orphanage. Phantom dropped through the ceiling as swiftly as a human would rush through the door; they could almost believe it felt the cold daggers harsh winds drove. Maddie knew the truth. They, as spirits now, felt no difference between the icy chill of the blizzard outside and the warmth of a building. Phantom was faking, a fact as solid as the floor beneath her feet.
Clearly this was the past. One of the three children guarding the Christmas tree had been adopted two months ago. The tree, a rather generously large donation—its top needed to be cropped to fit the room—was bejeweled and weighted with the same ornaments, sans the cookie decorations they helped the children make a few nights ago. Stockings dangled with slightly different names from yesterday. Cards, garland, snowflakes and even origami figurines filled the room with haphazard cheer of homemade charm. One dining table had a cookie plate faithfully set out for Santa, a glass of milk on the side.
Maddie began remembering the details of this particular Christmas past. "The blizzard that shut down the present delivery system," she remarked. "But the presents were delivered all the same."
"Proof that Santa really exists!" Jack said excitedly, ignoring Phantom as he set the presents down.
Maddie raised an eyebrow at their nemesis, to point out further evidence against her husband's ridiculous belief before realizing what a despicable idea to substituting Phantom for Santa Clause—even if he wasn't real. She did not want to admit being wrong about Santa Clause. No proof had been offered for his existence after all; however this led to the even more distasteful conclusion: Danny Phantom, a ghost, was responsible for the Christmas miracle during last year's blizzard and possibly many others.
"Part of its hero act," Maddie commented. "It is only doing this so everyone will see what a benevolent specter it is and ignore its evil Mayor-kidnapping, town-takeover, thieving ghostly ways. Look at it! Flaunting supposed generosity in front of all those children—never mind all the hard-working volunteers who wrapped those presents," she glared pointedly at their guide.
The spirit boy tugged them closer until the children's indistinguishable chatter became words.
"He's not going to come," said one boy sagely from his hiding-place behind the Christmas tree box. "Santa isn't even real; besides, the blizzard's so bad no one can fly through it."
"Of course he can," Jack boomed. "He's Santa. He can do anything." But of course none of the children heard this exclamation. "Have faith," he added sadly.
Another child, face contorted in a deep frown, whispered, "Santa is too real. You'll see. There'll be presents 'cause Santa can fly through North Pole weather. A mangy ol' blizzard ain't gonna stop 'im."
"Atta girl!" praised Jack.
"Why don't they notice Phantom," Maddie whispered. The ghost had slung the present-sack to the floor and was being terribly obvious putting the presents beneath the tree and even taking the time to sort them all out carefully. Show off. Three sets of avid eyes upon the tree—especially the silent third boy—should have noted the presents and spoken up. Yet the boy and the girl continued their argument and the third boy continued watching the decorated tree, both sets of fingers crossed white-knuckled tight.
"Who is that boy?" Maddie asked.
"Timothy Young, who lost his entire family a mere three weeks ago," answered their host.
"No doubt to ghosts!" Jack shouted.
"The Guys in White took his family away due to supposed ecto-contamination," the Christmas spirit said.
"But…they'll be back," Maddie asked hesitantly, trying to remember this particular boy. There was something about his particular parents.
"Yes," the spirit said gravely. "They will be."
"It's only the volunteers who deliver them," said the first boy, providing welcome relief unsettling dread the spirit's voice invoked. "You have to face reality and the reality is that there will be no—"
"Presents!" The younger boy shrieked, drawing their attention at last to the pile of gifts Phantom finished sorting out.
"Oh I knew he'd come!"
"Santa's real! Santa's real!"
Now the children saw presents. Had the ghost kept them and itself invisible until the last moment? What a showman. For an instant Timothy's despair was lifted and the orphan dove towards the pile, searching desperately, "Santa is real. Oh, I hope he got my letter." More softly, only those spirits listening could hear, he added, "I wanted something very special."
Suddenly the orphan jumped, realizing Phantom's appearance at last. He turned toward the ghost, who was smiling softly, holding its infamous thermos—that it stole!—in one hand. Unfortunately like most children, this one held more admiration towards Phantom than fear or common sense, because he approached the ghost. "Did you help deliver the presents for Santa?" he asked.
"Yes I did," said the ghost boy softly, "And I heard you had a very special request."
Had their son suddenly appeared in the room, delivered by Santa Clause himself, the Fentons could not have possibly matched the hope in the boy's dark eyes. So bursting with gladness he seemed a second from crying as a real smile stretched unused muscles from ear to ear. Maddie couldn't help but hope with him that Phantom got the very special gift and damn the danger of Phantom associated as a hero. She could not have killed Timothy's hope, not after seeing it in the flesh. Phantom knelt in front of the boy, hidden from the other two exclaiming children by the voluptuous tree and opened the thermos. "Merry Christmas."
Out floated a pair of ghosts, so similar in feature and posture to the little orphan they had to be his parents. The boy's smile vanished, his eyes gleamed brighter. His cheeks grew wet and the orphan dove for his parents, ectoplasmic entities though they were.
"They're not your parents," Maddie sighed, shaking her head. "They're only cruel shades. Mirages. Illusions. They can't feel."
These ghosts must have taken lessons from Phantom, for when they wrapped their arms around him, Timothy became the most precious thing in the world; ghosts cuddled him close. "Angel, angel my little angel, shh, shh."
"Its…they're crying," Jack whispered.
At first Maddie thought her husband meant the child, but those ghostly faces were in full view and…What could only be tears, glowing, green-tinged tears, dripped down the faces of the ghosts as they held their son once more.
"Ghosts can't cry," Maddie whispered. "Oh this is fascinating!"
"I'll make sure no one disturbs you," Phantom said. Carefully it floated away, giving the reuniting family privacy—or lured by a plate of cookies and glass of milk. The ghost sat down, put the plate on its lap and picked up the cup to enjoy. Gluttonous ghost. The shouting children had woken still more children and several adult caretakers, who crowded around the tree as delighted as the children and as loud in expression. None of them appeared to notice Phantom and the normally alert ghost teen didn't seem to notice the ghost hunters either.
"Can it see us?" Jack waved a hand at Phantom's face.
"These are the shadows of the past to whom we are not present," Their spirit guide answered.
"In simpler words, no," Maddie concluded.
No ghost could mimic human facial expressions like Phantom. It reclined against the table, cookie in one hand, milk in the other, an eye on the reuniting family, gaze occasionally flickering to the joyful children hauling out the presents and stockings. It blinked rapidly and a feeble smile spread across its face, as if it could take some joy in the belief of the children who's Christmas it had brightened.
But of course the expression was just an illusion.
"Mr. Phantom," whispered Timothy.
"Yes?" the ghost asked, dropping to the floor again.
"Thank you for bringing my parents. Can you make sure they get to the ghost zone safely too."
"Of course," it whispered.
"We love you so much Timmy," said the father softly.
"I know."
"We wouldn't want to leave you," added the mother. "Only…"
"I know, it's dangerous. All the ghost hunters," suddenly Timothy turned worried eyes towards Phantom. "You'll protect them…right?"
"I will. I promise," Phantom said solemnly.
"Come. There is more," said the boy spirit, tugging the Fentons away. The three departed, unseen by these shadows of the past, leaving the equally unseen Phantom to its promise. Neither Maddie nor her husband liked that idea, for the ghost could still turn upon the helpless children, but this was the past, things had obviously turned out alright. Else they would have known about the resulting tragedy.
Once more the world warped around them and in a flash of blinding light they found themselves in another Christmas, following Phantom to another destination through slightly less deplorable weather.
"What does that ghost think it is," Jack commented, "Santa Clause?"
The Spirit of Christmas Past managed, in spite of Phantom's fantastic speed in comparatively mild weather, to fly the ghost hunters close enough to read the inscription upon the present's tag: "To William Lancer from Santa Clause." Within moments they had arrived at a house, owned by Danny's English Teacher. The bedecked room's walls were buried beneath bookshelves and each of these, built of strong oak, sagged beneath overflowing volumes. Christmas decorations took over nearly as much space, and yet a certain lonely aura lingered upon them. These were not decorations set up by family or friends but painstakingly by a single person without kith or kin. The cookies and glass of milk set out and devoured by the same person, only spoke of isolation.
Worse were the gifts. Though presents aplenty lay beneath bejeweled limbs, without fail every single one was labeled as: "To Lancer, From Lancer."
"When we get home with Danny, we ought to see if Mr. Lancer would like to join us," Jack whispered.
Maddie nodded in agreement and forced herself not to replace 'when' with 'if'. Of course Danny was going to be alright. Everything would be fine.
If only this stupid ghost stopped focusing so much on Phantom and started focusing on their human son. What did one spook matter? Or three. In the grand scheme of things Mr. Lancer's expression of confused gratefulness at the mere sight of a present he had not bought and wrapped for himself wasn't as important as a missing child.
"Okay, fine, we've seen that Phantom can," Maddie took a harsh breath; she needed to be convincing, "Express human emotions. Now about our son?"
"You still do not see." The child spirit shook its head.
Maddie's hands clenched to fists, fighting for control. Where was her son? Why was this ghost only showing them Phantom? While irrational, ghosts were very predictable creatures once their obsession was figured out. This one was obsessed with the Christmas Carol story, had put them in the role of Scrooge, but shouldn't it show them their son and how it thought they messed him up? Why show them Phantom?
Blinding light and nausea-inducing motion once more enveloped them. How many Christmases were they going through? Or were these events part of the same Christmas? Searing light died. The world behind their eyelids grew comfortingly dim again when they opened their eyes.
They were blind.
This new time was engulfed in the dead of night, far from any man-made light, with stormy clouds overwhelmed whatever feeble natural light fell from the heavens, showed them nothing. From below their feet to the highest point of the fathomless sky blackness reigned. Their eyes adjusted to discern a slightly deeper; obsidian black from the leaden black the world had resolved itself into.
Other senses picked up clues of this new place. An all-encompassing crash like the breath of water echoed from everywhere at once. The heavy scent of salt clogged their noses.
They were out at sea.
Without sight or touch—a fault of intangibility—neither Fenton could discern whether the wind was calm or wild, though the froth of the waves was far from tranquil. No dead fish stench or seaweed mixed in with the briny scent. No waves crashed upon any beach.
They were far out at sea.
Eyes adjusted enough to separate a shape within obsidian waters. Maddie glowered at the indefinable shape—a ship—and knew which disastrous Christmas their ghastly guide brought them to. This serendipitous rescue was the beginning of the end for ghost hunters as the vessel contained a great many important and influential people. Had Phantom not performed this rescue, the Fentons could have advertised their capture, publishing findings openly, rather than covering it up like a crime.
That, Maddie thought, was the truly insidious nature of Phantom's so-called charity. Humans found themselves obligated to their saviors. Reciprocal altruism was born and bred within everyone, as instinctual as fight or flight. All people—save the truly deranged—had it. No ghost did. Alone of all ghosts Phantom knew how to take advantage of this uniquely human tendency to gain dominion over humanity. The dead had conquered the living and they loved it for doing so.
Seas enraged by wild storms like none upon land tore at the vessel like the claws of a great beast. However massive the vessel was, however steady in placid seas, surrounded by the wrath of the ocean, devoured by water, the ship was a toy between children attempting to out-splash each other. Though Maddie's sense of touch was dead from intangibility her hearing was not and as they drew closer, over the roar of water and wind she heard screams.
Their guide brought them closer.
Few people screamed. Most clutched like limpets onto anything they could hold with translucent knuckles. They were too frightened to scream, gripping their lifelines too rigidly with every ounce of strength they possessed. Only those trapped within the confines of relatively safe walls had the strength to spare for a sound.
Maddie reached for one young woman, eyes screwed shut, clinging to a literal rope with everything she had—her hands, her legs, even her teeth were clamped down on sea-soaked fibers. The ghost hunter's hand passed right through the unfortunate person as the spirit hauled them onward. Both Fentons heaved a sigh of relief as a light, like a firefly against a johnboat, appeared before the massive ship.
She might hate the spook for its false pretenses, but even she could not steal rescue away from so many desperate people struggling for life. Little firefly Phantom looked so insignificant Maddie doubted, despite her foreknowledge, he would be of any help what-so-ever. The ghost swooped alongside the struggling vessel, glow muted in the storm and for a moment floated next to one of the windows, seemingly at leisure.
This illusion was given lie by the look upon young Phantom's face: its jaws welded rock-solid together, eyes clenched tightly shut and its furrowed brow etching deep lines of concentration on its face. This was no holiday. Out of the thin air, three other Phantoms appeared, each tiny, insignificant insects next to that great behemoth of a vessel.
"So the rumors are true, it has some sort of duplication powers," Maddie commented.
"Wonder why it doesn't use those more often," Jack asked to himself. Neither had actually seen the feat themselves.
Four tiny Phantoms encircled the ship, one to the starboard, one to the port, two more trailing behind to the back. The Christmas ghost guided the hunters closer, once more Maddie could have struck it if her hand wouldn't have passed right through white hair. But even with her gun, she would have stayed her hand until everyone was rescued. Completely ignorant of the ghost hunters, two fore-Phantoms pitted their strength against the ship, prying massive weight from the relentless sea.
Watching the ghost boy wrench the ship from sea was like watching a weightlifter attempting to break a record. The sea was afroth with jealous rage. Grasping, clawing waves gripped with abysmal strength, a scorpion against a tiny midget fly. The ship was so very weighty with the bulk of thousands of people and the metal and wood and furniture and fabric to support them all; every pound of weight fought movement. The ghost-teen's lips curved in a snarl of pain and determination. Teeth dug into teeth, muscles roiled like waves themselves beneath the sopping material of its jumpsuit, face flushed bright green as ectoplasm with exertion. Veins stood out, tendons braced like sail-ropes in a storm but the ship still rocked and sagged. Phantom's struggle was a futile one; inch by inch the ship floated back to the ocean, despite the drops of water—sea spray or sweat—running in rivers down the ghost's face.
A mere facade of struggle, Maddie reminded herself. The ghost could have easily been putting on a show for the passengers watching from above. Perhaps unaware no passenger could see its faux strain in such complete darkness. Had anyone noticed Phantom—a single glance above was enough to realize the people aboard the ship had yet to notice anything less than disastrous—they couldn't possibly perceive its human form, let alone expression from such a distance. With the ship hovering only inches off the ocean likely no one realized they were floating on air instead of water.
One moment the ghost strained, bloodless-lipped, face burning like the Fenton portal, bullets of sweat dripping off its brow, hands clenched like vices, limbs vibrating with the ship's weight. The next Phantom's strained features went slack. Had it been human the Fentons would have sworn its heart gave out. The first runner of the marathon must have worn such lifeless features the instant he stopped. All four copies suddenly went limp and the ship dropped as an anvil back to the water, the Phantoms flung into the ocean.
All four copies floated toward the ship, slumping like corpses against the sides, the greatest chunk of their strength devoured attempting to lift the vessel. One duplicate flickered like a dying light bulb. Despite foreknowledge, Maddie doubted the ghost would try again. Surely the shivering, panting spirit wouldn't dare risk disintegrating from another try. Yet as desperate breaths revived it, Phantom righted itself. The flickering copy solidified. Four identical faces and postures hardened, as though the ghost had transformed into stone and steel. They set themselves for a second attempt, though all rationality would say a more futile one.
The duplicates phased their arms through the ship and once more heaved with strength and will beyond any record-breaking athlete. With muscles clenched to iron strength and jaw gritted to iron prowess the ship rose, a Phantom at each side, all identical down to the slick, white, dripping hair limp above green eyes as hard and intense as emeralds. With almost unnoticeable increments, the ship rose above the water. Though it was now a foot or more beyond the pull of water, such was the vessel's vastness that Jack and Maddie could have kept up at a leisurely stroll. Yet, by still more unnoticeable increments, with each Phantom pushing the vessel through darkness as though tar, it gained speed.
With the sea no longer thrashing against metallic sides, the ship steadied. Blood flowed through translucent knuckles once more as terror drained away from people. Eyes opened. Screams dimmed. Panicked crowds began to realize something had changed. Fear turned to curiosity. As though climbing up a rock wall, passengers switched grips from rope to post with trembling hands, heading for the railing. In total darkness nothing could hide the glow of the four identical Phantoms from all those searching eyes.
"Look!" Someone shouted.
At that call and a dark finger pointed in the darker sea toward a spark of light amid the abyss, eyes turned. Necks craned. Screams faded. By their guide's floating light Maddie could see the expressions of the closest passengers. None were from Amity Park.
Had any been residents of Amity Park they would have recognized instantly the truth: it was a ghost. They would, knowing of ghosts, recognized Phantom's true nature—though in recent times most of Amity's residents blinded themselves to that truth. Beyond the town, though people heard of ghosts, they rarely believed.
An angel flying down from the heavens to rescue the ship could scarcely have inspired this awe upon people's faces. Others might have mistaken Phantom for a superhero. To their eyes the ghost was a guardian lifting them from the wild torrent of death and toward the safe heavens of life. Its undead glow was the only light within the darkness. With its white hair and deceptively human appearance—oft described as angelic—such a conclusion would be easy. Dangerous, but easy.
The sea's stormy roar began to die beneath another sound. Wild, exuberant cheering rose from a thousand relieved throats, minds awash with a cocktail of rapture: knowledge they were alive, hope they would make it and teary-eyed joy from a Christmas miracle. Whole crowds surged to the four corners of the ship where the Phantoms lifted, rocking the ship dangerously as its burden shifted wildly.
Then, at a snail's crawl, the Fentons saw an odd change sweep over the ship and its people, emanating from gloved hands. Intangibility rippled through the ship and not a moment too soon as the ship had been, by near unnoticeable degrees, drifting downward.
Ghostly power did not reduce the ship's weight for Phantom, especially as it had to become intangible to best use this power. Yet wind flew right through the ship, unable to offer resistance. Threatening waves clawed futilely through it and without fighting nature's forces Phantom pushed the vessel to greater speed. From a leisurely pace the ship sped to one the Fentons were hard-pressed to keep up with, then one their ghostly guide had to fly them alongside.
Every burst of speed was a hard-fought battle; Phantom's arms vibrated alarmingly, its eyes nearly screwed shut as it flew and lifted from sheer willpower alone. For the benefit of the crowd, Maddie mentally added, though that proven conclusion came with less surety than usual. The ghost's struggles may have been fake, but lifting and hauling such a massive vessel had to cost it real energy and the journey was no short one. Across a sea of darkness, like an abyss of hell, they flew and Phantom carried its burden like a cross.
Finally in the distant horizon another shade of black appeared. At the sight Phantom found renewed heart. The ship sailed faster. Miles of ocean flew by far below. Land grew closer. Trembling like hummingbird wings, the four Phantoms carefully docked the massive ship at the nearest port. Two duplicates flickered out of sight the instant the ship touched calm water. The Phantom they had been watching—how had their spirit guide known which was real?—grimaced as though twice shot before plummeting. The remaining copy swooped toward the original, merging with the real Phantom. It floated like a balloon cut adrift, neck hanging as though broken from fatigue.
Until it heard cheering.
By now the entire crowd was screaming and cheering and waving and leaping at him, all sense overcome with the exuberance of being alive and safe. Phantom's head lifted, its body managed to straighten up. The creature turned, give the boiling people a salute and a smile and even looked a tiny bit less weary as it did so. It soared away, a smile on its face, to wave happily at the grateful crowd. Cocky attention-seeking ghost.
"Woah!" Jack shouted as the spirit boy suddenly yanked them after the fleeing Phantom. Their guide dove like a falcon just to keep up. Now out of sight of the ship, it was flying at astonishing speeds the rescue a lark. This, in Maddie's mind, only proved Phantom faked at least some of his exhaustion to be capable of such flight. Yet her eagle eyes noted how its ghost-tail slumped to the side as it flew, unmoving.
Once the trio of odd spies caught up with Phantom, Maddie realized why the ghost's flight was so odd. Its body was completely limp, its spectral tail shifting into a pair of legs, its glow feeble as a dying flame, eyes peacefully shut. Phantom wasn't flying.
It was falling.
Earth loomed large, but seconds before crashing—perhaps warned by supernatural instinct—the ghost's eyes snapped open. Intangibility surged through it like adrenaline, jerking its body off the ground. Ghostly legs slid through the earth before it clawed out with flight, managing six feet of height before dropping like a stone with a very tangible thud. All Maddie could see was a tangle of limp limbs. It did not stir.
"What's wrong with it?" Jack asked.
"Even the most powerful ghosts can tire, and he has pushed himself terribly hard," their spiritual guide answered.
Phantom dragged its hands beside its chest, planted them to the ground and pressed, lifting itself up by trembling arms. Its knees crawled toward a chest heaving with feeble mimicry of life. Suddenly, as joints bent to get to its knees, Phantom collapsed once more. Shivers wracked its fallen form.
"It really is good at this," Jack said absently. "The whole exhausted thing…pretending of course."
"Phantom has to have had a lot of practice by now," Maddie said. "It's been doing this for at least…two years now, maybe more. Stopping ghosts and getting into fights all hours of the day and night. Don't let it fool you." Even as those tired words passed her lips, the ghost hunter was herself struck by the vividness and accuracy Phantom acted its human emotions and body language. Any other watcher, aside from the GIW, would have believed the ghost's exhaustion. Yet they were alone and the thought occurred to her: perhaps the ghost of Christmas past had spoken the truth; Phantom didn't know they were there.
Until it leapt away with revitalized speed from an ecto-blast, one that would have torn a hole neatly through the chest. Pink energy sprayed dirt harmlessly into the air beside Phantom, lying prone in the dirt. The ghost hunters followed its weary green gaze upward. Like a hunting hawk, just above the canopy, circled a familiar red and black form.
"Hah, I knew it was performing for an audience," Maddie crowed.
"Aww come on Val, it's practically Christmas," the ghost whined.
"And you're making me miss it with my father," the mysterious huntress spat in a surprisingly youthful voice. A familiar voice. Where had she heard that voice before?
"Then how about we go our separate ways." The ghost's words crashed her thoughts. "You leave and enjoy Christmas with your father and I can get back to my family. Deal?"
"Ghosts have no family." Red Huntress fired another shot at the prone ghost.
Once more Phantom dodged. Well, to be fair Maddie couldn't have called that a dodge, more of a flop by someone with the will who'd burned their last strength.
A magenta beam shot into his arm, searing flesh like a shovel scooping through earth. The ghost hissed, instinctively clawing at the burning wound. Perhaps Phantom wasn't wholly faking the extent of its exhaustion. "My cousin," it replied shortly, cradling its arm to its chest while floating slowly backwards. "And as much as I'm enjoying this, I'd much rather spend time with her." A massive redwood loomed directly behind it. Maddie opened her mouth to warn the huntress. "Goodbye."
At the last word two things happened at once: the ghost phased through a tree of such girth all of Fentonworks could have comfortably fit in its base and, familiar with the ghost's tricks,—more so than the Fentons—Huntress fired again. Her shot hit Phantom's center mass. Maddie's unheard warning died unneeded.
"Argh!" Phantom staggered through the tree. Huntress's second shot collided with wood, sending shards of tree everywhere. The ghost re-appeared, arms wrapped around its torso, to crash into the ground right behind the redwood.
"Ugh, I am so tired of eating turf," it groaned.
"Hurry! You've got him!" Maddie shouted. As though she heard, the Huntress swerved around the massive tree, gun glowing and primed. Phantom propped its upper body with shaking arms, ectoplasm smeared its chest. Red Huntress pulled the trigger.
Phantom launched itself in the air on arm-strength alone, falling as much as flying through tree and brush alike. Shot after shot it evaded with more luck than skill. Red Huntress gave chase, looming above the ghost. Another shot struck it but the ghost hunter paid for her success with a tree blotting her vision. Phantom pulled ahead as she stopped, swerved and sped up.
Any specter worth their intangibility would simply fly through the densest vegetation and lose a hunter attempting to follow them, making forest the worst place to chase a ghost. Red Huntress took advantage of her hover-board's flight; the low-lying brush was no obstacle to her as to Maddie. Trees still worked against her; aiming accurately while dodging them taxed even her impressive skills. Halting to aim would allow Phantom to truly disappear but tree by tree the gap between hunter and hunted widened.
Phantom vanished. No, wait, there it was, looking more transparent than before, as it flew out another tree. Huntress was forced to switch on a ghost-tracker.
"Is it invisible now?"
"Yes," their ghostly guide said. Maddie started, she had almost forgotten the specter, though it allowed them to keep pace.
Against a temperate rain-forest, Huntress lost the race. Thickening webs of branches and bush and vines cut her off from her quarry. Her tracking device's beeping died as the ghost flew out of range. With a snarl and a curse the human huntress broke off the chase, despite her admirable zeal. Maddie felt for her; how many times had similar frustration burned her.
The Christmas spirit pulled them toward a white flash where they saw Phantom collapsing on its knees. Hair hung to the ground, arms tightened around its torso where green blood flowed. Slowly it tilted to the side, falling to the ground like a felled tree, trembling and gasping. A whale beached on land too far from the safety of the sea.
Maddie had once seen Danny in that awful position, in the aftermath of a ghost attack.
"Are we done yet? Danny is missing and Phantom obviously turned out fine," growled Jack, glaring at their host.
"All in good time," the child-ghost said, unperturbed. "We've one more thing to see."
Maddie clenched her teeth around an exasperated scream at the infuriating specter. "Do you even care about Danny?"
Their host turned a cool, calm, ruby-eyed gaze upon them both. "You do not see." It said, as though this were the most unspeakable of crimes.
"I see perfectly clear!" Jack suddenly shouted, "I see Phantom, a ghost, escaping ghost hunters and spoiling Christmas just as it always does while we don't even know what happened to our son!" For a brief moment true agony twisted Jack's features, agony of the heart to which physical agony is only a pale shade. Without weapons, with nothing but bare hands, he charged the child-ghost. "Give us our son back!"
Maddie sprung to battle beside her husband but fared no better as a ghost than a human. Less, without her weapons. They were simply frozen down to the breath in their lungs, not in ice as Phantom did but in time. The Christmas spirit did not glare down at them or lose any of its calmness but Maddie thought its glare was a trifle stonier.
"Look harder."
Blinding light enveloped the couple, followed by the familiar sensation of going through a time-warp. Once more they could move and turned toward a familiar voice. The so called protector knelt next to a bundle of net which might have been empty but for the odd thrashes it gave every so often.
"Calm down, I'll have you free in a moment," reassured Phantom as it worked several more fibers loose.
Once most of the net had been carefully untangled, the captured ghost was revealed: a specter no older than their guide—in looks. Phantom carefully eased the net off the trapped spirit and flung it away. It took the other ghost in its arms and whispered words of comfort.
"It's all over now, let's get you back home. Where do you live?" it asked gently.
"The candy store," the younger spirit answered. "But they said Santa was at the orphanage. Was he?"
Phantom's lips smoothed in a soft, parental smile, "Yes he was, but you know how Santa can be everywhere at the same time?"
"How?"
"Because he's a part of us and we're all parts of him. That's what the spirit of Christmas really is. When you give, you are Santa to someone else."
It smiled, bright and joyous and innocent in a way ghosts couldn't really feel. "I wanna be Santa!"
"I'm sure you'll make a great Santa."
"That," Jack paused, conflict on his face. "I used to say that to Danny."
Maddie stared at the pair of ghosts, about to scoff at the notion of Phantom being anything like Jack or the little ghost girl bearing any resemblance to their darling boy. Yet she could not immediately dismiss the resemblance. The expression on Phantom's face was uncomfortably Jack-like at her husband's most tender and caring.
As though she had needed glasses all along and someone handed her the right prescription, other resemblances became clear: its hair was like Jack's used to be, its brows exactly like her husband's. The spirit of Jack haunted the shape of its upper face and the child was clinging to Phantom's jumpsuit exactly like Danny used to cling to his father's.
That could not be a coincidence.
She started awake, a horrific conclusion lingering in her mind like a reflection glimpsed from the corner of her eye. If only she turned her head, she would see.
"Danny!" Jack shouted. Their son was in danger and he had been sleeping!
Properly awake now, two pairs of feet hit the floor running. Without thought to any stealth the ghost hunters rushed up the stairs and flung their son's bedroom door open. His curtains were closed, shrouding any light from the window. Only the hallway Christmas decorations and their drawn ecto-weapons lit the room. Enough to shed light upon the truth.
A bed could be discerned in the darkness, its sheets immaculately folded and without wrinkle or crease of use. The pillow was fluffed, its pristine surface undisturbed by a sleeping head. Not a dip dented the mattress, showing sharply the absence of the sleeper who should have been there. Their son was gone. Maddie only had a memory of him in mind, looking a little like Jack.
Just like Phantom.
A/N: Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter as much as the last one. A Christmas Carol is one of my favorite stories and I always love seeing the story modified for my favorite fandoms. Since I couldn't find a Danny Phantom Christmas Carol I decided to write it, especially since the show lends itself so well to Christmas Carol: Vlad as Marley, the (half-dead) partner, the Fentons as Scrooges and Danny (sort of) as a combination Tiny Tim/Bob Cratchit.
Happy Holidays!
