Writing this chapter made my stomach hurt. This is my first shot at anything resembling gore or horror.

So yeah - warning, this chapter is kinda ICK! If you have any issues with gore or horror, please, please, for the sake of your well being, skip this chapter.


As I'm running along the abandoned sidewalks towards the Fentons, their RV drives by. Roaring and huge, it demands attention in the little traffic out this late. Through the driver's window I catch a glimpse of Jack in his bright Orange jumpsuit, and Maddie in her teal one. She's driving. Time seams to slow. They look like their goofy selves. It's hard to believe that they could be capable of hurting anything intentionally. My stomach clenches. They don't see me and the RV doesn't slow down as it drives by.

I turn another corner and see the dozens of lights shining from the Fenton Ops' Center, and the bright green sign that reads Fenton Works. It's a familiar sight, one I've seen countless times after late night ghost patrol. Now sight makes me feel dread. I run another half block and I'm at the front door. I'm panting, but I can still breath. Thank goodness I'm in shape.

I reminder an evening I spent here shortly after the Portal Incident. Danny and I sat on the front door step eating vegan cookies. I'd made them for him as reward for fighting off some ghost.

"The great hero Inviso-Bill should demand cookies in return for the exorcism of ghosts," I joked.

Danny's face fell. "Sam," he said, "I don't think I can do this."

I stopped eating my cookie, worried. "Do what?"

"Maybe I should tell my parents. They're the ghost experts. I'm just some half-dead kid. According to Dad I should be torn apart molecule by molecule."

I laughed at his words. Did he not realize how lucky he was? He could fly and turn invisible. He was a superhero: every child's dream. "My parents think Goths are freaks that should be torn apart molecule by molecule," I said, trying to reassure him. "Even if you were an un-unique human, your parents would still find a reason to call you a freak. It's what parents are good at." I smiled at him. "Tucker and I will always be here for you. When you become the damsel in distress, we'll come rescue you."

Soon Tucker showed up with his goofy smile and pink hat. We spent the rest of the night watching horror films with daemons, zombies and ghosts slaughtering innocent people. The three of us laughed at the awful special effects and cheesy, over the top gore. It was a pleasant evening.

Now, as I force open the front door of Fenton Works, and I'm not greeted by a smiling Danny but a dark hallway. That day feels so far away.

"Jazz!" I call.

"By the lab!" Jazz answers.

I find her standing by the lab door with both her hands tugging at her long red hair. She looks at me. Her face is no longer red. She's just pale. She gestures to the lab door. "It's open."

I want to ask why she didn't go down on her own, but I don't. It won't help anyone. I nod and walk past her. The door to the lab opens silently and I'm overcome with a smell similar to rotten eggs and burnt lemons: burnt ectoplasm. I clamp my hands over my nose and mouth. Any notions I may have had of the Fentons treating Phantom, a ghost, with any humanity are gone. Yet, anger and fear are distant. Right now I'm in a far ways place and watching myself through a screen. I'm dreaming. I'm numb. This isn't real. Danny is fighting Skulker. He has to be.

I look down into the darkness. The only light is a faint flickering glow coming from somewhere in the center of the lab that's casting faint shadows at the bottom of the stairs.

I descend, running at first. The humming of the ghost portal and other equipment seem defining. When I get to the bottom of the stairs, the motion activated lights flick on. I stop and blink, adjusting to the too bright, florescent light.

My eyes adjust and my eyes fly across the lab, desperately searching for Danny.

But he's out fighting Skulker. Right?

The back wall has a collection of thick cracks in it. They continue down, across the floor, passed a cluttered trolley and finally to a table in the center of the lab with a black tarp draped over it. A tube containing a clear liquid runs from underneath the tarp to an IV.

Not good.

A faint green glow floods out from under the tarp.

No!

I stare at the tarp and again I feel dread tugging at the back of my mind (did the feeling ever leave?). The tarp is slowly rises then falls. Something underneath it is breathing.

Autopilot kicks in and I move towards the table. I hit my leg against the trolley and I grab it in an attempt to catch my balance. My thumb hits something sharp, and pain slices across my hand. Hissing, I pull my hand to my chest.

Looking down at the trolley I realize I've jabbed my thumb into the blade of a scalpel. That particular scalpel is clean, but the ones in the tray lying next to it are covered in ectoplasm. Next to the tray is a small heap of black cloth (it looks like spandex), scissors, syringes, jars filled with goop.

I don't want to think about what could have happened here. The image of a struggling Danny being cut open by his parents, the people who should love him the most, is sickening. It's something out of a sick science fiction movie. I tell myself that I must be inane to even think such a thing. Danny is too smart and powerful get caught. Surly, he must have told hos parents before it went that far. Clenching my fist I continue towards the table.

I grab the corner of the tarp and freeze. My breath is too loud in my ears. Danny can't be under the tarp because he's fighting Skulker. The tarp crackles with every rise and fall. I begin to peel it back. The stainless steel table underneath is covered with neon green ectoplasm. I don't want to continue.

Please don't let Danny be under this tarp, I silently beg to anyone who's listening. Please let it be The Box Ghost or any other ghost.

But Danny is one of few ghosts, or halfas, that breaths.

Slowly, pulling the tarp back I see white hair, then a pale, and finally a glowing face. It's Phantom. It's Danny. His eyes are scrunched closed as if in pain and the bottom half of his face is covered with a black cloth. A labored breath accompannies each slow rise and fall of the tarp.

I'm nauseous. My hands go cold. I want to scream. I won't. I can't. My jaw clenches. This is not the time to be emotional. This is the time to act fast. I shove my emotions to the back of my mind and promise not linger on them. It should be easy because I'm a Goth: I'm used to the dark and I will be strong. I need to get my best friend out of the lab.

He's unconscious.

At least he's not awake. At least he can't feel anything.

As I keep pulling back the tarp, ectoplasm drips from it. Danny's arms are stretched out to his sides it a t-formation and restrained down with thick metal bands: two on each arm, one at each wrist and the others just below the elbow. The IV is connected to his muscular left arm. The catheter and tube are secured in place with duct tape.

I yank the tarp off the rest of the way, leaving it in a heap by the side of the table, revealing Danny's open torso. There's ectoplasm seeping from his open chest cavity and pooling at the sides. For a moment I'm reminded of the mechanical frog I dissected in 9th grade science. But the intestines and lungs I'm looking at don't belong to an inanimate, mechanical frog. They belong to Danny. My best friend. I bite my tongue to keep myself from gagging. The taste of blood fills my mouth. It should hurt. However, I feel nothing.

Next think I know I'm pulling on the metal restraints. They're cold and they don't budge. If they could be moved easily, Danny would have gotten out of them. "Jazz!" I hear myself scream, "Get down here! Now!"

I hear Jazz thunk down the stairs. Her feet stop. "No!" she shrieks.

I bolt around to look at her.

She's standing at the base of the stairs with her eyes wide open and her hands clamped over her mouth.

"Jazz," I say, my voice sounding distant in my ears, "you need to get the Danny out of the restraints. Do you know how?"

She nods. "Compute. Controls."

"Go! Hurry!"

She marches over to the computer sitting on the other side of the lab. She starts typing.

I also need to act. I turn back to the table and take Danny's hand in mine. It's warm. Something about that is wrong. This whole situation is wrong. Danny's hand - ever so slightly - squeezes mine.

"I'm here, Danny. Jazz and I will get you out of here," I promise.

He moans.

"Got it!" Jazz calls.

The restraints hiss open and retract back into the table.

Danny moans again. His arms twitch, but his eyes remain closed tight.

Now what?

Before I can think Jazz is standing by my side and pulling off her Black sweater to reveal a light blue tank top underneath. She grabs a pair of scissors from the trolley and cuts the sweater into strips - all the while whispering, "He's going to live. He's not human so he can survive this." She cuts the IV tube and the clear liquid flows from the severed tube. She places the scissors back on the trolley. She presses half the sweater strips to Danny's stomach. His ectoplasm quickly soaks through.

"Sam," Jazz says, "I need you to sit him up."

"Okay." Kneel down, and reach my hand under his back, my arm is instantly drenched in his ectoplasm. I start to lift him, expecting him to be heavy, but he doesn't weigh much. Not more than fifty pounds. With ease I get him into a slightly slanted sitting position with his side resting against my stomach and chest. Danny's head rolls onto my shoulder.

Jazz runs to the other side of the table, and wraps the rest of her sweater strips tightly around his torso. She takes Danny's arm and places it over her shoulder. Then she slides one arm under his back, and the other under his knees.

I pass Danny over to his sister. I don't want to let him go.

"First aid kit upstairs... bathroom," she mutters, "we need to get him there." She turns and heads up the lab stars .

The dread is back. Or was it there the whole time? I can't remember. What I do know is that after today nothing will ever be the same for us ghost-getters. It just hasn't hit me yet. And I hate to think of the moment it will.

Trembling, I follow them up the stair.