This chapter, even early on, sort of marks a milestone. The final one from my old account has been rewritten! In a way, I'm glad I didn't get very far on that version, but I'm also panicking that, for the next six chapters, I'll have nothing to directly work from until 'Mystery Meat' begins…

princessbinas: I'm glad you think so! And there will be some, but maybe not for a while yet…

DarkFoxKit: I'm still trying to think of how to write that :/ it's difficult and I'm working out the best way to tackle it. But I'm excited to see that part finished, too! Here's more for you~!

DB-KT: (I'm glad he noticed)

werido: You count three chapters as a while? Ok.

The Virus: OH DEAR YOU'RE SCARING ME HERE HAVE AN UPDATE IDON'TWANTOTDIE :)

Phantom Ice: I did, yes c: Thanks for your review!

Harpfire: I've kept going~!

Crystalzap: My own little brother is definitely not the kind of person who would that… then again, unless I was forced, I'd never cook him dinner *applauds Jazz*

sora kazega: Actually, this chapter wasn't fun for me *headdeask* hardest to write so far… I hope you like it, though!

SailorSea: Actually it's not… but close with the mirror! Thanks and enjoy 3

Trackjunkie8: I'm so glad you like it! And yes, this is the rewritten version.

Ghosts.

My whole body stiffened. My breath hitched.

Did ghosts breathe?

No.

But how do I know that? Legends, movies, books… parents that had never actually seen one. AKA: Fiction.

My fingers flew instinctively to my wrist, fumbling around for a few seconds before locating my pulse. My skin was icy to the touch but I refused to flinch away until I could feel beats under my fingertips, which was difficult, as my arms – no, my whole body – was starting to visibly shake.

Was anyone looking at me? Don't look at me.

It was unnervingly slow and faint, but still there. So I wasn't dead, hopefully.

I jerked when my hand became intangible and slipped through my wrist, then the book beneath. Hastily, I buried that arm under the desk. At this point, I was surprised that I wasn't hyperventilating. Isn't this something that someone would usually panic about? Everything was slowly beginning to creep in. Coldness. Intangibility. Slow pulse. I was back in school now, I should have gotten better by now. I should have been ok now. I'd been pushing all these thoughts away because I thought they would go away. And now I was slowly realising that they didn't, and probably never would.

But ghosts were dead beings – and I was sure I wasn't dead.

Then again, what does being dead feel like, anyway? No one had ever come back from the grave to tell us.

Glancing nervously around the room, I saw that most of the class was absorbed in their plays. The ones that weren't were busy passing notes to each other.

I slowly raised my hand. No one noticed.

"What is it, Daniel?" Mr Lancer asked almost instantly.

"Um… can I please be excused?"

"What for?"

"…The bathroom, sir."

Dash snorted. Paulina giggled. Sam and Tucker shot worried glances at me. I didn't know why.

There was a frown on my teacher's face as he regarded me, and a long while before he nodded.

"Danny isn't… very well, is he?" - Tucker's voice to Sam, a quiet whisper I managed to pick up on as I made my way to the door. He was leaning his elbow on her desk, and they both had their expressions focused in my direction when I put my hand on the door handle.

I don't think Sam ever replied to him, or if she did it was after I left the room. The classroom door clicked behind me and I was left, alone, to face the empty hall. My footsteps barely echoed as I walked, despite the large space. I was noticing how weightless my body felt more and more as I walked, but I didn't know what to put it down to just yet. It could have simply been the fact that I hadn't really put on any weight since the accident – I supposed all I had eaten in the past few weeks and more had gone into making my recovery possible. My shower earlier showed me that I was just skin and bones.

Ghosts.

The word was there, a persistent noise in my head. I bit my lip as I thought, only stopping when I felt blood spill into my mouth. The metallic taste I was expecting felt almost diluted and replaced partly with something bitter that almost burned when I swallowed.

I couldn't even be bothered to question that. Everything, even I if didn't know why, led to one answer.

My hands were balled into fists in my pockets and my right nails too broke the skin, oozing liquid that felt too thick into my palm. Before it stained my jeans, I pulled my hand out and glanced, not even hesitantly, at it. There wasn't any colour change (why was I expecting a colour change?) but something was different. Blood was shiny, sure, but this just looked… different. It reflected the light in odd ways as I titled my palm back and forth and glinted and shined in the wrong places. I considered momentarily whether I should taste that, too, but someone was coming, which resulted in me curling my wet hand into a fist and keeping it close to my chest, pretending to scratch.

The janitor definitely recognised me as we passed each other, but instead of his usual 'don't get stuck in your locker' warning look, his face seemed to hold a hint of concern when he saw me.

I looked back at him when he was facing away. Did I really look that bad?

I went straight up to the first mirror after opening the door and walking into the bathroom. I shoved my hand under the tap, the cold of it rivalling that of my own skin. The blood mixed with the water, turning it an odd pink as it diluted and slid down the plug hole. My face was blank as I watched it go down, and didn't shift in appearance as I looked up.

Oh, God.

My face was deathly pale, the bags under my eyes and unhealed bruises on my skin only highlighted more by the overexposure of the white bathroom lights. My hair, despite being washed well that morning, hung down in dull clumps and my eyes seemed to reflect nothing. My lips were almost drained of colour and the absentness of any emotion on my face made everything just look worse.

Was this what a ghost looked like?

It took me some time to take it all in. Why hadn't Jazz noticed this morning? Or any other time? Did I always look like this, ever since the accident?

A sigh escaped my lips and I turned round to lean on the wall tiles before sliding down onto the floor. Jazz had suggested early on that it might have been a good idea for me to see a therapist or something after the portal accident, but I had instantly refused. I didn't need one then, and, even if I think I did now, how could I see anybody looking like this?

Being fried certainly isn't the best thing for your health. Everyone – including me – knew that it would take a while for me to recover. I could easily guess to expect some pains, sickness and weight loss. But that couldn't even explain my impossible body temperature, let alone touch on the intangibility.

There was something that could explain it, and I forced myself to accept it.

What Mum and Dad, Jazz, Sam and Tucker, Mr Lancer and the Janitor all saw today was a dead boy. Me.

There were lots of things still to be considered about the truth of that statement, but, at this moment, there was no other answer I could think of.

"He was hospitalised with an awful case of ecto-acne."

That man had had the same accident. On a smaller scale, of course. But what my subconscious had found what it was looking for in that small memory.

Ecto. Ghosts.

Another piece of evidence for my current condition had found its way into my head. Yipee.

I brought my knees up to my chest and buried my face in them. There was no warmth anywhere where I was sitting. Not in the wall pressed against my back, or coming up from the floor. Not even from inside myself. Nothing else was scaring me as much as that. My body seemed to be accepting it, drawing it in and buzzing pleasantly as I froze from the inside out. I didn't even shiver.

I ran my tongue along my teeth. So, maybe I could live (live?) with this. I could probably go outside in the winter shirtless and make snow angels without feeling a thing. I didn't really need to class it as a 'major problem' yet. What would happen to my body in the heat was another question that flashed through my thoughts, but summer was a year away. Plenty of time. I needed to worry about other, more important things. Like finding a way to control my body's ability to randomly and casually fall through things.

Shame that I didn't know any other ghosts I could talk to.

I'd need to keep people from finding out about me, hopefully for the long term. That included, I decided, Sam and Tucker. Telling them would probably cause more damage than keeping it a secret. Chances are (accidently or not), they'd spread it to some of their other friends at the clubs they go to.

I stood up again and ignored my face in the mirror, turning on the cold tap for the second time and splashing freezing water over my face. My skin tingled in the least painful way possible - instead of instinctively making my body flinch away - welcoming the icy buzz. I did it again, receiving the same reaction.

Jeez, was I actually enjoying this? Being dead?

Forcing myself away, I hastily dried my face with my shirt and headed back to class, attempting to do what I had been doing the past week - forget. The hall remained empty for the entirety of my short journey – no Janitor in sight.

When I arrived back, everyone now had their noses in their plays and were reading them half-heartedly as they realised we had already covered it a few weeks ago with a substitute teacher. I tried to put a content expression on my face; not too happy but enough to stop looking so horrible.

It was surprising when no one looked up as I came into the room. Not even Mr Lancer silently glanced from grading papers until he heard the door shut. Sam and Tucker's heads whipped round as well, but they remained quiet. After a few moments, they had begun to start glancing at each other again without so much as a nod in my direction. I kept my eyes on them as I walked over to my desk and sat down. Sam had a slip of paper tucked inside her play and was writing something. Instead of reading, she was passing notes to Tucker, who was also completely ignoring his play. I leaned over slightly until I was close enough to see exactly what my two friends had written. Judging by the handwriting, Sam was the first to start the chain off.

I don't think so. We really need to get him to talk. If it's not his accident, something else is bothering.

I guess, yeah. We'll ask him at lunch.

Let's hope he doesn't avoid the question. It's getting sort of annoying.

Agreed. I hope it's nothing too serious.

Did you see his face? He looked like he hadn't slept in a week! And he's taking ages in the bathroom.

It's kind of worrying. What if he's got something bad? It could be a really gross disease.

I hope not. And no further discussion on that matter. What Danny does in the bathroom is his own business, I suppose.

But we're still going to ask him about it?

…Yeah

Hypocrite :')

Sam laughed silently when she read Tucker's last note, and then she looked across at me. I smiled and shrugged, signalling to the piece of paper she was holding in her right hand.

Her face was completely blank, as if she was staring right through me. I frowned at her, narrowing my eyes a bit when she gave no reaction. Then, hoping Mr Lancer wouldn't see, I waved my arms around a bit. Sam's look didn't change; without even a small smile, the goth turned away and slid the note chain into her bag, having finished her conversation with Tucker. She finally began to read her book. Tucker was doing the same. He didn't even look up at me.

I turned my head to the Jocks at the back of room, and after to Paulina. Neither of them paid any attention, even when I stuck my tongue out.

They haven't got some kind of stupid joke going on, have they?

After a few minutes, Mr Lancer lifted his head and called over at us, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Sam, Tucker, is Mr Fenton back yet?" he asked my two friends.

Sam shook her head and shrugged, "No, Mr Lancer."

Oh, so they've got him involved, too? Ouch, nice.

I gave Sam a confused (and rather annoyed) look, but she was looking at me like I was an empty desk. When she turned back to her book, I reached out my hand to touch her shoulder and get her attention.

But I couldn't see my hand.

I bit back a scream. I mean, I could feel it, but it just wasn't there. A small squeak finally managed to escape my mouth and I blinked rapidly before checking my other arm. In an unnervingly unsurprising way, that was invisible as well. I lifted my shoulders and glanced over my whole body. That, along with my clothes, had also vanished.

I was shaking now, much like I had done a while ago before I left for the bathroom. I clenched and unclenched my fists, my mouth hanging open a bit, as I marvelled, above everything else, that I was actually invisible. It was indeed an odd sensation, but I think my brain had had enough surprises to last a lifetime – what was one more? A quick brush of my right hand on my pen, I realised I could still pick things up. Not that I would want to at the moment though. Floating stationery wasn't common in human society.

I actually felt myself smile out of relief. Everything was adding up and fitting together - it was too much of a coincidence - and I supposed that was why I felt happier. The accident had killed me (which wasn't something too great), and I was a ghost (which could be interesting). I may have not looked like a typical one, but I was one all the same.

But whenever something good happened, there was always something bad around the corner. Judging by the randomness of my intangibility, I could become visible at any second. I needed to subtly leave class before that happened. Just appearing out of thin air is not the correct way to keep your being dead a secret. The reminder that I need to learn control of these things was with me again lest I didn't want to carry on with my life as normal as possible. Or, rather, afterlife.

What a strange thought.

I seemed to be numb to everything at the moment. That comment was absolutely terrifying and yet my reaction was almost non-existent.

I tried my best not to make any noise as my invisible feet tiptoed along the floor, sticking close the wall and trying to keep my breathing low and quiet. Currently, the only sounds in the class were the occasional flips of pages turning and the scribbling of Mr Lancer marking work. My hand curled slowly around the handle of the door and I was about to push forward, but instinct stopped me. A door can't open by itself, idiot!

Great. I was stuck. Even if it could have been passed off as a draught, someone would still get up to close it again, leaving me in a very awkward position.

I supposed there was only one way around this.

Standing perfectly still, I thought hard to remember how I felt when I was intangible. If I got it right, I might have been able to phase through the door. I remembered the cold, numb feeling that would spread across my body and the way my skin would turn a stunning, faintly glowing and translucent icys blue. Nothing happened, and my confident expression was beginning to falter.

Suddenly, cold spread throughout my being and out to the very tips of my fingers, almost making me gasp out loud at the rush.

I was intangible. I couldn't see it, but the feeling was definitely there.

My body, almost not affected by gravity, reached an arm through the wood of the door experimentally. A huge grin spread on my face. It had worked.

I felt practically weightless as I passed through the door. My skin tingled as it happened, and it settled as an odd feeling in my stomach that went away quickly. From a normal person's point of view, the hall was completely unoccupied. But for me, there was a dead boy running quietly through it, round corners and grinning as he rushed silently past the janitor – who was oblivious to his existence save for a small draught of air. I felt myself flicker in and out of existence a couple of times and my speed faltered when I decided to head to the bathroom.

I chuckled to myself when the door shut behind me and I was sure I was alone. In a way, I supposed that I could try to be kind of happy. Being as I was could have some advantages if I learned a little control. Hurrying to a mirror, I wanted suddenly to prove to myself that no one could see me. My reflection wasn't there; I couldn't see a single one of the faces I pulled.

The rush eventually calmed down and I found myself positioned on a closed toilet seat in one of the cubicles, trying occasionally to force my body back to visibility. The bell rung for the end of the period and I had to lock the door when someone else came in, followed by some others. I didn't mind waiting – something told me that my appearance would soon return.

I quietly listened to the conversations and worked out that it was Dash and a lot of the football team. They sounded like they were splashing tap water at each other and I rolled my eyes and willed them to hurry and go away. Not because I might be discovered – they were just annoying.

The door opened again and the voices stopped.

"Danny?" I heard Tucker's voice, "Danny, are you in here?"

His footsteps came closer to my cubicle door and, much to my discomfiture, knocked.

"Is that you, Danny? I brought your bag."

My head fell into my hands as laughter echoed throughout the bathroom.

"Yeah, Fen-turd!" Dash's nasally voice joined in, "what're ya doin' in there? You haven't come out in a while."

Some ridiculous noises sounded afterwards and I bit back a reply, instead just saying quietly, "thanks, Tuck. Chuck it over?"

"See you at lunch," he said as the bag landed by my feet.

I think Dash and his gang got bored after a while because I never bothered to reply, and then they left when the bell went again. My body was still invisible, which was the reason why I spent another fifteen minutes in there before realising I could see my arms and legs. I had biology now – a class that neither Sam nor Tucker were in.

I walked out into the hall, my bag over my shoulders, still inconspicuously checking that there were no random holes in my body.

The person who I had to sit next to in biology was known as Valerie Gray. She was up there in with the populars (Paulina's gang), but we shared a desk because our teacher, Mrs Ward, insisted her class both sat and worked in alphabetical order. I had never spoken to her much and neither she to me, which I supposed was a good thing. Because, even if she left all the work for me to do myself when we were paired for projects, I never got any insults from her.

She was the first to look up from her work as I walked in, narrowing her eyes at me as our glances met. I temporarily panicked and, without moving too much, checked that I hadn't turned invisible again. She was wearing a yellow tank top and an orange skirt – an unusual combination for her, but it brought out the colour of the highlights she had put in her hair. Even if I never said anything, I was sort of glad that I noticed.

Mrs Ward regarded me, putting down her whiteboard pen when she saw me sit down. "Daniel Fenton," she asked, her eyes peeked over her round glasses, "is there a reason for your late arrival?"

"Uh," I rubbed the back of my neck with my hand as my lie formed in my head, "I… went to the nurse's office. I… had a uh, stomach ache."

"Alright, but next time, I expect a note."

I nodded and pulled my textbooks out of my bag, while also checking that Tucker hadn't forgotten to pick anything of mine up.

"Please copy up your notes from someone when you get the time," she said after a moment's pause, "we're carrying on with our lesson last week on the circulatory system when you weren't here, Daniel. I'm sure Miss Grey would happily explain exactly what we're doing today, but due to the lack of time, I'll give you a few written instructions." She leaned over her desk and slipped the paper that she'd ripped out of her notebook onto ours, "now, don't go cutting yourself too deep. Remember, it's only an experiment."

I shot her a confused glance, but I took it anyway and opened my book, shuffling my seat closer the microscope that sat, waiting, in front of me.

"What was that look you gave me earlier for?" I quietly asked Valerie as I switched the machine on, adjusting the lens.

"Nothing," she replied bluntly, not looking up from her own work (I was actually surprised she carried on, let alone answered me at all), "you just looked really ill and I was kinda worried, but I guess that's already been sorted, right?"

She hadn't looked like she was worried at all, to be honest.

"…Yeah…" I replied, then, "I thought you didn't even like me that much?"

"You seem like an OK guy, Fenton," I saw her smile slightly, "but," she added afterwards and finally looked up, "I've got a reputation to uphold and that means, outside of lessons, no hanging out with the likes of you."

"Likewise."

She laughed. Whether it was directly aimed at me or not, I wasn't too sure. Girls confused me.

Yawning, I glanced down at the slip of paper Mrs Ward had given to me, scanning the instructions.

1 – Take sterilised surgical scalpel and gently cut through skin on index finger using writing hand, then drip the blood onto petri dish.

2 – Wash finger thoroughly and then cover with provided Band-Aid,

3 – Put dish under microscope and write down findings. We will share results at the end of class.

So I was to be seeing my blood again? I wasn't too worried about that (in fact I felt rather curious), but I didn't really want anyone else to be seeing that.

As I picked up my scalpel, my hand turned intangible and I instantly rushed to push it under my desk.

"Danny?" I heard Valerie's voice, "what are you doing?"

Such were today's problems.

See you all next week! c: