This is what going through the ghost catcher a second time results in: a paranoid nervous wreck of a boy who refuses to leave his room, and a fearless ghost with no sense of self preservation. Oh boy.

oooooo

She sat at the kitchen table and stared at the gun she was ostensibly working on. The sound of a door slamming, the click of the lock and the thud of something hitting it as her son shouted for her to go away with real fear in his voice hurt. What had she done wrong?

"Why has Danny been avoiding me?" she thought aloud. "It's not like him…" Although, she had to admit to herself, that was partly a lie. He'd sometimes flinch under her touch now, and they'd drifted apart and she didn't know the cause. She sighed. They used to be as thick as thieves.

"It's because he's scared of you," came a nonchalant voice from behind, a familar echo to it. She whipped around to see Public Ghost Enemy No. 1, Phantom, standing in her kitchen for all the world as if he belonged there, rummaging in the cookie jar tucked under his arm.

"Why would he be?" She said sharply, stalling for enough time to bring up the weapon on the table to point at the ridiculous logo on his chest.

"Why are you pointing a gun at me?" He replied, rhetorically, unconcernedly. He took a bite of the cookie. "Do you mind, by the way? Trying to eat here."

"Ghosts… don't eat," she said. Nothing about today was making sense. He shrugged, finished off the first cookie and pulled out another. "Put that back," she snapped, to have at least some feeling of control over the situation.
Phantom brought it up to his face, exaggeratedly examining it, mock considering it. He stared levelly at her, green eyes gleaming mischeviously, catlike, and took a slow, deliberate bite.

"Mmm. Make me, Mom."