Just My Luck

Chapter Four

I made a huge mistake. Sam's house is about fifty or sixty years old. Whoops. I'll fix it if I feel like it.

This chapter: Casper references, Danny and Sam actually get along, and Sam confuses the hell out of Tucker.

"I remember one thing, though… I died in the 1960s."

I looked up, shocked. This was going to help me a lot in my investigation.

I was going to find out what happened to Danny, even if it killed me.

That night I tossed and turned, wishing the next day was Saturday. But because I have the greatest luck, tomorrow was going to be Thursday.

I was still affected by what Danny had said to me.

Why would anyone want to kill Danny? I turned over on my side, curling up into a little ball. Would someone hate him that much?

Unable to sleep, I threw off my covers. I retrieved my purple fuzzy slippers from under the bed, and threw on a navy blue bathrobe over my pajamas. I grabbed a flashlight and a screwdriver, just in case.

Earlier today, I had noticed a couple of things about the window seat: The original color was yellow, there were screws underneath the cushion, and it was hollow.

As carefully as I could, I coaxed the seat cushion up, wincing when I heard a rip. I set it down next to me and grabbed my screwdriver.

What if there's a body in here? I thought as soon as I put the screwdriver to the screw.

I tried to tell myself that that would be impossible. The body would have to be cut up in pieces to fit in the window seat's hollow.

Freaked out by that, I mentally added, I would smell it anyway.

I had the first screw out. I began on the second one, only to find that I had to wrench it out the remaining fourth of the way. Soon, all five screws were near my feet.

I almost smacked myself for forgetting my gloves. I tiptoed back to the bed, ignoring the red digits on the clock that reminded me it was almost one. I lifted my gloves carefully out of my bag.

I slipped them on and grabbed the side of the window seat firmly. I tugged, giving it every ounce of strength I possessed.

It came loose with a slight pop.

A smile spreading across my features, I shined my flashlight inside of it.

It had to be at least eighteen inches deep and fifteen across it at the widest point. Inside, there were a bunch of newspaper clippings a little white cloth bag, dirty with age.

My curiosity piqued, I lifted the bag out and noticed that it felt almost heavy. I opened it. And gasped.

There was a pair of jeans and a white shirt stuffed down in there, a pair of shoes lying on top. It didn't even take me a nanosecond to recognize them as Danny's, but they were covered in something that was dried and brown.

Lying at the bottom was a gun.

After three hours of tossing, turning, shaking and shivering, I decided not to tell the police. Or Danny, for that matter. Then I fell asleep for five blissful hours.

I woke up in the morning to Cassandra shaking me awake. "Sam. Sam. Sam, wake up."

I groaned intelligently, "Gimme five mo' minutes." I rolled over and stuck my face in the pillow, snuggling deep into the sheets.

With inhuman force, the sheets were whisked off my body. I turned to see Cassandra standing her arms crossed over her chest, glaring impatiently at me.

"Fine, I'm getting up." I rubbed my eyes, "Just give me around an hour."

Cassandra tapped her foot. "We don't have an hour. My mother is leaving my house in about half and hour, and it takes fifteen minutes to get to my house."

I groped around for a hairbrush. "It's not your house anymore, honey, you're dead."

I swear that I could feel Cassandra's glare drilling holes in the back of my head. I quickly got dressed, making sure that I didn't piss her off.

I dressed in a black hoodie, my Converse, and carried gloves with me. I slung a tool belt along my waist, securing the flashlight into place.

Danny materialized by the window seat, looking amused at the scene before him: Cassandra, impatiently tapping her feet, and me, going crazy because I couldn't find a hair tie to tie back my hair.

Settling for a rubberband I found under my bed, I said to Cassandra, "How far away is your house, anyway?"

Cassandra shrugged. "A little while away."

"Crap." I declared, "I am so screwed."

Amusement was alight in Danny's eyes. "Do you need a lift, Sam?"

I said to him sarcastically, "Oh sure, you can fly."

Danny merely shrugged before scooping me up in his arms.

To say I yelled would have been an understatement. "I have to be in school in fifteen minutes, you ghosts!" I harshly reminded Danny, "Or Mr. Lancer will kill me."

Danny's smiling face was close to mine. "Like you haven't skipped before?"

"Wait… let me write Aunt Elma a note first." I wriggled out of Danny's arms, somewhat missing the heat that had radiated from him.

Ghosts don't have heat, Sam, because they're dead. It's just a figment of your imagination.

On a piece of paper that I left in plain sight, I scribbled, Aunt Elma, my schizophrenia is acting up again. Sorry. I'm going to be late to school.

Danny scooped me up again and took off.

We set down in front of Cassandra's house, me shaking from the experience of flying high over the city, and Danny dusting off his white shirt.

"Well, that was fun, wasn't it?" Danny winked at me, laughing.

"Oh, hardy-har-har." I grumbled, before mentally smacking myself.

There will be NO flirting with ghosts, missy!

I started circling the house for an opening. Danny followed me, walking like any normal human being would… except for the fact that he was dead.

"Sam," Danny said, a laugh evident in his voice. "Do you need help getting inside?"

Instead of snarling at him and denying it, I turned around and said, "Alright, Danny Phantom, let's see what you can do."

Danny's shoulders shook with laughter. "Danny Phantom, that's a nice nickname."

He scooped me up again, despite my protests, and started flying towards the wall.

"Danny, no! Danny! That's a wall, and I'm a human!" I covered my eyes, forgetting to shriek.

Before I knew it… I was inside the house.

"Whoa." I whispered and Danny set me down. "Neat trick."

Danny gave a small little smile. "You pick things up after a while of being dead."

"Was that the first time you tried it?" I asked, waiting for Cassandra to appear.

"Yeah," Danny didn't quite meet my eyes, "I was lucky that it worked."

"Damn straight," Cassandra put in. "Or we'd have one useless stupid medium on hour hands."

"Stupid?" I repeated incredulously, "Excuse me, but who's doing your dirty work, Cassie? Huh? That useless stupid medium."

Cassandra flushed. "Fine. It's in my room." She took off faster than a human could follow, but I was able to…

…Because I was not your normal medium.

Fifty minutes later I walked into English with a late pass.

I knocked lightly on the door frame, "Excuse me, Mr. Lancer?"

It wasn't Mr. Lancer who turned around. Instead, it was a tired looking woman staring back at me. "Mr. Lancer isn't here," She said in a nasally monotone, "But who're you?"

For once, my luck was great. "I'm Sam Manson. I'm late, but I'm here."

Tucker looked up at me, relief spreading across his features.

The substitute nodded. I eagerly walked all the way back to my seat, turning to face Tucker.

"Did this town exist in 1963?" I asked immediately.

Tucker opened and closed his mouth, fishing for his PDA. "I think so. And why do you want to know?"

Oh, it's nothing. There's just a ghost inhabiting my bedroom that I'm more or less attracted to, and he just remembers that he died in 1963 yesterday. You see, I want to know who murdered him. I smiled wryly, thinking of Tucker's reaction to that.

Instead, I settled for, "Just curious. My house is around fifty or so years old."

Tucker looked at me curiously over the top of his PDA. "You live on Whipstaff?"

I scrunched up my face, trying to recall the name of my street. "Yeah, I do."

Tucker nearly dropped his PDA. "You live in the Fenton's old house?"

Everyone ceased their talking to stare at Tucker and me.

Score! A name! I mentally rejoiced, but concealed my delight in my answer. "If it belongs to an Elma Manson, then yeah, that's my house."

"But that's- but that's-" Tucker sputtered, grasping for words that he couldn't think of, "That's the most haunted house in the whole state! And not only that, it ranks as one of the most haunted in the Northeast!"

I blinked. "Really? I had no idea."

Tucker nodded enthusiastically. "You wanna come to the library with me after school? We can go there after school to look up your house."

nodded casually, though inside I was dancing for joy. "Yeah, that would be cool. Aunt Elma'll be thrilled to know that I'm making friends."

I endured the rest of the day, thanks to the knowledge that I'd get a few good notes on Danny's life. Tucker actually made quite the comical companion, as he managed to get on my good side.

"So, Sam, do you like Amity Park?" Tucker asked, flipping through something on a Palm Pilot.

"Yeah. It's nice. It's different than back home." I pulled my sweater around myself. Yeah, winter was cold, but who knew it could be this cold?

"You know, Sam, you just might want to invest in a coat. You'll freeze before February."

I sighed. "I've only been here for about a week, Tucker. And I kind of rushed out the door this morning."

Or out the window is more like it… I thought bemusedly to myself.

Tucker nodded as he pushed open the door to the library. "I bet it's somewhere in here."

A little while later I was looking through newspapers dated 1960. There was nothing I wanted in January through March. But by May, I was losing hope. Then, finally, a title caught my eye.

Fentons buy one of the new houses on Whipstaff.

Whipstaff is a new street to Amity, opening up many possibilities to… the article dragged on, describing that the houses would be around $100,000 to start.

I whistled. Those Fentons surely had money to throw around. The article mentioned a daughter and son- Danny and Jazz.

If that's not a freaky coincidence, then I don't know what's one, I shuddered. Is the Danny who haunts my bedroom the same Danny Fenton?

I went to one of the librarians who looked the oldest. "Excuse me, but I'm new to the town. I just found out I reside in the old Fenton house. Did anyone in the family ever die there?"

The librarian looked surprised. "Yes… you should look in or around May 1963."

I flipped through the newsreels, seeking out 1963. I went through the obituaries, halting when I came to May. I slowly scanned the names, looking for anything familiar.

Then on Wednesday, May 15th, 1963, I came to an abrupt halt. A shriek started building in my throat, so I clamped my hands over my mouth.

Daniel Fenton, 16. Danny's face, so young, yet in different clothes, looked back at me.

Daniel Fenton, 16, dies of a suicide. Surviving are elder sister Jasmine Fenton and parents Madeline and Jack Fenton…

I couldn't help it. I fell to my knees, surprising Tucker and everyone else in the library.

Danny? Danny committed suicide?

Authoress' Corner: Can you tell that I'm faking all of the newspaper articles? Great. Who else (besides me) thinks that Danny and Sam should both start shamelessly flirting now, and fight like dogs in the in-between time?

And oh God, how many people are going to eat me alive for the suicide factor?

Yeah, review. It makes me happy.