DISCLAIMER: See previous entries. If you haven't heard about a character in here, fifty percent chance I created him or her.

(Pre-Note: Lessien did it again. Check her art page, she did a very good digital sketch of Alan in the opera outfit from last chapter. I don't care how she feels about it or how you guys like it, I personally printed it out and taped on the wall over my desk. Maybe I should frame it like a normal person would.)

I closed one eye and peered down the tapered barrel as the far-off sounds of two girls playing with a half-grown puppy crackled from the stairway. I was bent over a steel table, examining what appeared to be a handheld ecto-gun. It looked just like an ultra-modern handgun except for a leaner profile where an ammo cartridge usually resides. It could have passed as a normal gun if not the fact it was chromed silver with digital green highlights around the trigger and muzzle. Why Val had invited me into her renovated warehouse-lab to look at this thing, I wasn't sure.

"It has the same color scheme as Skulker's tech. But it looks a bit simple for a guy like him. He's got that whole short-man complex."

Mrs. Gray, dressed in black slacks and a crimson sweater, watched me put the gun down from the other side of the table. She was dressed casually when Wasp gave us a ride over her, no business airs here. She just waved us in, told Kirby and 'Wilma' that her new dog was in the living room and let them loose while she showed me this little Ghost-Glock she'd found in her travels.

"It's a different breed from what your family has been using."

She reached over and flipped the gun into her hand by the trigger guard, walking over to the long side of the barely-filled storage building. I followed her over to a painted square in front of a wall with a target spray-painted on the wall a good distance away. I crossed my arms as she raised the gun in a practiced firing stance and pulled the trig. I watched as a tiny green speck shot from the gun, silently whizzing into the center of the crooked target and exploding into a car-sized green light show without any sound what so ever. I whistled, breaking the silence as the ecto-energy faded.

"Looks better than a fishing pole. Where'd you find that?"

She twirled the pistol by one long-nailed finger before tucking it in a pocket and turning to me.

"It belonged to a guy I knew from high school. Keith Krenall. Bit of a loner, always the creepy kid drawing pentagrams on his arms. Vlad sent him a few toys in the mail and said in an email that if Keith killed Inviso-Bill he'd be famous."

I widened my eyes at the words 'kid' and 'kill' in the same sentence. I tilted my head and looked at the molded handle protruding from her pocket.

"…why'd he give you that thing?"

She looked away from me and without a word of explanation started walking at a slow pace towards the stairs leading to her house upstairs.

"…I found it under his bed when his parents invited me to his funeral. Along with Vlad's note and a few other weapons."

I stood there next to the firing range as she kept walking towards the lighted steps. After a few seconds I broke into a jog to catch up.

"Whoa…wait, how did he…?"

She didn't look at me, still staring straight ahead as she just stepped along.

"He tried to take down Danny with some…extreme methods. Danny didn't kill him, he just got out before the bomb went off. He tried to get Keith out too, but the kid just kept trying to take Danny out. The police said it was a gas leak and electrical spark. But how often does an abandoned building go nova in a green fireball?"

I just stared at the profile of her face. She didn't make eye contact as she described the way some desperate soul took his life trying to destroy my grandfather in the name of popularity. Right before we entered the stairway I asked.

"…you brought me over here to show off a gun and tell me about some crazy punk who…"

Before I could cross the threshold of the stairs her red-clothed arm shot out in front of me, blocking my way. I turned to see for the first time she was facing me and looking me right in the eye. I locked eyes with her for the first time without that damn helmet visor in the way. I saw her dark green orbs weren't narrowed at me, but just trying to get their point across. I relaxed my shoulders slightly before she began.

"…Kid, I brought you here because there's a lot you don't know about this. I'm not the only ghost hunter Vlad lent his resources to. I found out after Keith died that Vlad had been sending his technology to every kid in Amity Park who he could take advantage of. The day after I found that stuff under Keith's bed I told Vlad that he could shove it."

…actually, 'shove it' is just a nicer term I'm writing in her to replace what the ghost-tracker really said. She had a mouth on her, trust me.

"Krennal wasn't the only kid Vlad sacrificed just to get at Danny. I know at least four other people from my class who ended up getting hurt or worse after they decided to go ghost-hunting with the stuff Masters sent them. I was the first. I'm also the only one who got out while I still could."

I managed to keep my jaw from sliding down to my waist as she kept on.

"I admit I got hooked. I started making my own stuff and got pretty well known as a ghost hunter. But lately, I've been trying to phase into more foundation work and research. I'm not getting any younger, and neither is Wilma."

…okay, I admit I nearly busted out laughing there, but for the most part she had me in a trance. Ha-ha, 'Wilma'…man, I can just imagine Wasp with a bone through her hair in a ragged apron.

"When I found out you weren't another Halfa-poser I started thinking."

She removed her arm from in front of me and started up the steps, I followed her like a lobotomized sheep on a leash.

"…you seem to have things under control. You're a bit rough-cut but you get the job done."

I muttered.

"…thanks?"

She waved off my microscopic comment as she kept climbing the spiral steps.

"I'm taking a break. I'm giving up this whole ghost thing to spend some time with my daughter and try to get my husband to stop going on business trip after business trip."

I shrugged, it'd be nice to actually see what Tucker looks like nowadays. She swung her eyes back in front of her as we neared the red oak door to her apartment.

"I brought you here to warn you that there are more than Vlad and other ghosts looking for you. There are people who would sooner kill you than even acknowledge your existence. Some of them have the ability to do so."

I nodded, regaining the use of my tongue as we stopped outside her door.

"If they're anything like my folks I'll be fine. Worse comes to worse, I take a good punch."

I felt my fingers twitch slightly as she turned and locked those eyes on me again, this time in a more probing manner. She gave me a curious look and asked in a less official tone.

"…you're not the cocky type, are you?"

I looked down at my shoes and shook my head. I'm not sure, but I think I saw her smile out of the corner of my vision.

"…lose the inferiority complex, Hun'. You're no Danny Phantom, but I've seen you work. You have some great moves. According to my own eyes and my daughter, at least. Then again you probably look in the mirror and expect it to shatter."

Right as I was about to look up at her and ask what that was supposed to mean, she opened the door to her luxurious loft and burst out laughing as she saw Kirby and Wasp (…Wilma…HA!) fighting each other off for a chance to pet Val's adorable Sheltie puppy. I did the same, managing to hide any trace of my confusion, fear or the fact I was actually laughing at Wasp's real name because I didn't have the chance to before.

An hour later and Kirby and I both jumped out over the sides of Val's (…red…of course) convertible. The back seat was really sunk back, and it only had two doors. Val and Wasp were on their way to a shopping binge and the Fenton Ranch as on the way, so she was nice enough to drop us off. In fact as we started down the dirt path Val yelled one last time for me to pay attention. I turned just in time to catch a black nylon backpack Wasp had thrown at me. I let it slip to one wrist and stared at it before the mother and daughter waved and left literally in a dust cloud. Why do big shots always try to burn rubber on a dirt road? Why?

Kirby fought off her laughter and walked up to where I was standing in the middle of the road, covered in tan dust and watching the convertible tear off into the horizon. I was debating whether to fly after them and steal their hubcaps at the next red light. Screw '…comes great responsibility.', I have 'super-powers' or something similar and those were my good jeans! And this dirt doesn't bleach easy! Kirby noticed I was holding the backpack and asked in Spanish what it was. I just spat out some dust and tossed it to her, she caught it awkwardly as I started shuffling down our driveway.

"Who cares. I don't need any care packages, she probably gave me a gun because she's an NRA poster girl."

I heard Kirby's heeled feet pick up behind me.

"…I've seen you shoot cans off the roof a speeding car at my dad's police picnic…"

I rolled my eyes, noticing the dust hanging off my eyebrows.

"Kirb', there's a difference between the 2nd Amendment and bringing a gun to a fair fight."

I heard her pull the zipper of the pack as we approached the lawn. I heard her mutter something in Spanish, she did this whenever she read anything. Cereal boxes, song lyrics, romance novels, always moving her lips and chattering in her semi-native tongue. Val must have left a note in the pack explaining how to attach the laser-sights. I expected Kirby to ask if she could shoot the thing at the side of the barn. I did not expect to hear explosive laughter right as we climbed up onto the porch.

I turned my head and looked at her, still a bit ticked from my dust treatment. She was hunched over onto the porch floorboards, holding the backpack in one hand and a piece of yellow paper in the other. Tears of laughter were pouring down her tall nose. I just let my eyebrow do its thing. After she caught her breath she held up the post-it for me to see. Written in red sharpie, and I quote.

'Kirby-

If you're reading this, your cousin is extremely predictable.

Love, Valerie'

I just stared blankly at the little scrap of a note as Kirby fell onto her side in laughter. Okay, Val had a good sense of humor and good foresight. Why does Kirby find this so funny? Was Wasp teaching her how to mix vodka shots while I was learning about ghost hunters? Or should I say, Wilma…HA! Now that, is worth laughing about.

1 Hour Later

I walked out of my bathroom in a fresh set of clothes and with my hair soaked into layers, finding my cousin had finally left me alone. Not a trace of her except for that backpack and its contents spread out on my bedspread, from my bathroom doorway I couldn't see any ecto-zookas or ghostly switchblades. It just looked like…a bunch of stuff in a backpack.

As I pulled on my twenty second pair of cutoffs and another shirt I glanced over at the contents of the bag. Some one must have found them in the hall and dumped the whole thing on my bed. I walked up as I dried my hair on a towel from the hamper, looking at the pile of hardcover books that were spilling out the cheap backpack. I grabbed the one on the top and red the title.

"…Science and the Afterlife…V.W.Gray."

I picked up the next, this one was thicker and came with a jacket.

"The Monsters are due in Amity Park…V.W Gray and T.S. Foley."

…wow…he really did change his last name to 'Smooth'…

A few hours later I was curled up in a bean bag chair in the loft, reading the first in the book series Val had apparently written about her trade. I was up to the chapter about why Amity Park was supposedly a supernatural hotspot, I hard some one slip into the barn on their tiptoes. I recognized the footsteps and continued reading. I heard the rungs of the ladder creak, but I didn't see anyone's head pop up. I turned the page, right as I was about to finish a sentence I heard it.

"Primo! ¡Compruebe esto hacia fuera!"

I just snapped the book shut and sighed. Every time I find some peace in my life, God throws this Latin chick in to screw everything up. Those Bubonic Plague victims got lucky.

"…what now, did you find another four leaf clover? Because if you just tore the third leaf again and try to pass it off as one I'm going to beat your…"

While I stated my threat I crawled over to the edge of the loft and looked down the ladder. I stared for a few moments before telling her forcibly.

"…take…it off…and go hide it somewhere my sisters won't see it. Or better yet, burn it."

"…you've been such a downer all week, Cuz'…"

Kirb' sighed and clambered back down the ladder. I watched her slump out of the barn with her head hanging like a sad puppy. I just reminded myself that cuteness doesn't work on me. I'm not human. I went back to my required reading, and got a good three pages in before I heard two shrill screams in the distance. I closed my eyes and just shook my head. I told her not to let the twins see it…

The Next Day

I didn't take Kirby with me to the gym for a good reason. I had to make a long-distance pit-stop after my workout to the shopping center of a major airport. No, I didn't plan on starting a tacky souvenir collection like my Aunt Janet. You see, tucked off to the side was a converted storefront that said 'Teen Counseling'. Yeah, a psychologist set up office in the airport. It's cheap and has a lot of walk-in business. I first found out about it from a guy at the gym who's been slumping around the gym sighing about how he can't face commitment.

So, a week ago I started stopping by every couple of days for a half hour session at a time. The first time I came in the good doctor asked about my lifestyle as she piled on make-up and did her hair while I described having problems with my mother. I have never had problems with my mom. But Eric Phantoon, the guy I told her I was, apparently did. I just laid on the couch making up teenage issues and about how my life is so tough. I even told her I was still in high school, I just got held back a few times.

The next session, she sat there and explained six different reasons why I was a failure at life. Some of which included poor body image, which she couldn't blame me for. I was also learning disabled and not getting any better. And to top it all off she told my entire personality was a cover-up for my true sexuality. All while fluffing her dyed-red hair and putting on more face cream, and I have a self image problem? And Kirby wondered why I've been out of it all week…

The third session went like this. I park my bike in the airport garage, then wander in through the maze of baggage checks and moving walkways. Eventually I come up to the window-less storefront advertising emotional counseling, and notice it's right next to a boarding gate full of people hugging and saying goodbye to their loves ones before a trip. Isn't that a coincidence. I took a seat in her waiting room next to a bunch of sad-looking teenagers and their disappointed parents, waiting for her to step out call my fake name.

The door to her well-furnished office opened and I stared as a set of triplets walked out, all crying and whimpering as they walked out the door into the busy airport. Maybe they could catch a flight to France while they're out there, they're sensitive enough to blend in there.

"Eric Phantoon? Self-absorbed, unintelligent, in the closet? You have the next appointment."

I looked around to see none of her other patients had reacted to her listing my fictional ailments. She just said that to embarrass me, just like she did with every other vulnerable teen. I assumed my derelict posturing and stood up, shuffling into her shag-carpeted office like a convict going to the chair.

I slumped down onto the lush couch and looked down at my lap as the doctor closed the door and walked along the length of a full-wall bookshelf, tapping an Oriental vase before taking a seat in an overstuff chair and taking out a notebook. She patted her not natural-looking red hair and took a sick of lipstick out of her blazer pocket as she started.

"Now, we were on your parents not wanting you…"

I forcefully sighed, pretending to agree with her. She went on about my being held back in high school, asking where I attended.

"Amity Park."

I glanced up briefly to see her stop scratching her pen, just staring into space for a moment before she regained her composure.

"…I know the school…now, back to your wasted life…"

I suddenly cut her off, her eyes cut into me as her usually meek patient showed an unusual amount of dominance.

"Dr. Spectra, sorry to bring this up but about my billing…"

Her painted lips rose into a smile. She loved money more than she loved helping people, obviously. She hopped out of the chair and bustled over to her single fling cabinet, ruffling through files for my name

"Yes, what about it? Would you like more sessions in a package deal?"

As I saw her turn her back to me I broke out into a smirk. I adjusted my posture, now sitting confidently back on he couch with my arms crossed and my feet propped up on her expensive table.

"Your secretary messed up the spelling of my last name. It's spelled 'P-H-A-N-T-O-M'. And Eric isn't my real name, either."

I watched her shoulder stop moving as the sounds of ruffling folders cut off. I watched her slowly look over her shoulder, her spectacles hanging off her nose as she looked at me with wide eyes. Where a greasy-haired punk in a baggy tank top and some paint-stained pants had slouched over the cushions, there was now a confidently reclining white-haired, green-eyed lad in a leather jacket with his boots sitting on her prized table. I winked one green eye and cocked one of my fingers at her as if she was a night club broad.

"…oh, did I forget to mention I knew you in high school?"

The moment she saw me she froze. For ten seconds she just stared, her knees shaking under her skirt as I just kept smiling and even winked at her.

She suddenly broke off into a high-heeled sprint towards her gigantic bookshelf. She grabbed that Chinese vase off the shelf with her claw-like fingernails as I just kept sitting on her couch with my feet up. She spun to face me with a devilish grin as she ripped off the lid of the vase and yelled just loud enough for the patients outside not to hear.

"Bertrand! Tear him up!"

She stood there holding the open vase for three seconds before she noticed nothing was happening. Her grinning face didn't move as she glanced down at the vase, shaking it a few times to possibly wake her servant up. After a few shakes she desperately turned the thing upside down. My smirked deepened as a few assorted jelly beans fell out onto the carpet. No Bertrand.

She slowly looked up at me with a nervous smile. I flashed back a genuine one, reaching into my jacket and pulling out a small vase identical to the one she was holding.

"Looking for this?"

She stared in terror at the vase I'd swiped off the shelf and replaced with an identical one. They sold them right in the airport, she must be an easy shopper. I tossed it between my hands as if it were a toy as her knees started shaking again.

"Smart idea. Keep your power source in a little container inside your office, he hears all the sessions and makes you younger without him ever getting you in trouble."

I watched her arms start trembling as I tucked the jar back into my jacket's inner pocket.

"…until you really need him."

I uncrossed my legs and stood up, walking over to where she stood. AsI casually approached she backed up against the shelf, moving her hand behind her towards where her purse sat. By the time I was a few feet in front of her, she started looking cocky again.

I didn't bat an eye when she yelled and whipped out a tiny bottle of what looked like mace. I just kept my arms crossed as she pulled the tab and covered my face in the fizzing fluid. I didn't even blink.

"…you're spraying me with a contact solution. While you were applying your eye shadow last session I may have went through your purse."

She dropped the 'mace' as if it burned and backed up into the corner of the shelf and the wall, her teeth chattering. Wow, talk about overacting fear. I stepped forward another foot, cornering her with the width of my shoulders while. I let my smile fade and started.

"…I'm guessing you weren't expecting me?"

She jerked her head to each side, an obvious no. I nodded in response, causing her to shrink back a bit more.

"I'm going to give you a break. I'm not going to beat you senseless, but that's only because you're obviously not a fighter. I'm going to go chuck your little friend into a river somewhere."

Her lips parted as if to say 'No!'. I slashed my throat with my index finger to shut her up.

"…and it won't be long before your precious youth starts leaving. If you head back to the Ghost Zone while you still can, you won't turn into dust. I suggest you leave your patients be and get out of here while you still can."

With that I tapped my head as if tipping a hat and went mirage, walking through her bookshelf into the busy hallway of the air terminal. Then I had a second thought and stuck my head back in, making it visible while the rest of me stayed out of sight in the hallway. I looked around and saw her just the way I left her.

"Oh, one last thing. You may have noticed the last few days that your birth control pills may have tasted like doctored breath mints. That was for saying I was gay."

I think it was either what I had told her, or that smirk I flashed her that caused her to fall over in a dead faint. I watched her hit the carpet with a smile before ducking back into the hallway and going solid in a bathroom. I walked out with my hands in my pockets, whistling a cheery tune as I made my way to the parking garage. I was satisfied with myself for the first time in a week. But man, if anyone is actually named 'Eric Phantoon' they're gon' be ticked when they get my therapy bill.

That Night

"…there's no way in infierno that's you…"

I shrugged, adjusting the tongue of my left cross-trainer and making sure the lace knot was tight. I was sitting on the sloped roof section on top of the barn, stretched out and feeling the night air breeze by as I sat next to a figure clad entirely in red. You know what I'm getting at. Sitting next to me was what could very easily be Val Gray in her trademark ghost hunting outfit, complete with helmet and gun belt. Except instead of some heroic pose she was reclined in the same way I was against the roof tiles, holding a digital picture frame and clicking through the Fenton Photo-Album.

"…speaking of Hell, why the heck are you still wearing that thing?"

The red-gloved hand idly reached up and flipped up the visor, revealing two distinct green eyes behind it in the pale moonlight.

"C'Mon…tell me I don't make this outfit look good."

I snorted.

"Fine. Kirby, you look ridiculous, and since my sisters saw you in it they want to redesign their combat suits again. How did you not see them sitting on the porch?"

She reached up and with some difficulty pulled the helmet off, leaving tangles of black hair around her head. In the moon's blue glow it made her look like she had a mangled blue halo around her head.

"Hey, she left specific instructions about the backpack. I get her old suit, you get her book series."

"…where did it say that? You stole that thing out of the pack before I could give it to Frost as a blanket."

…yeah, you heard me. Gray left a jumpsuit and helmet in the backpack that was identical to the one she usually wore. I'm not sure if it was just one of her extras and she needed more closet space, or if she gave me the one and only suit to symbolize a passing of the mantle. Either way, it doesn't make sense. Who would give Kirby something any riskier than a pair of safety scissors? And why the heck would she give me the suit?

Sure, it's a nice gesture but I hate jumpsuits and that shade of red with a passion. And even if I did want to try it on it probably wouldn't fit. Not that I'd try it on when no one's home and do poses in the mirror until Kirby walks in and laughs so hard I have to do CPR.

Why ever she gave me/her the thing, Kirby keeps trying it on and just doing certain things in it. Hitting bags in the barn with the close combat weapons it came with. Trying out gymnastics routines in it. Looking in the mirror and trying out cool catchphrases. Walking out to the mailbox and shuffling through my mail and waving at the mailman as he goes by.

It probably didn't freak him out, he's used to me getting the paper in my shorts and my sisters getting their fan mail dressed in bubble wrap. Yes, bubble wrap. It's a special ghost-proof polymer with extra shock layers. And after it gets torn up in battle with the undead, you can let kids stomp on it.

Yeah yeah, you want to know how she looks in it. Well, six foot tall Latin girl in head-to-toe red leather. I can't be sure, but some guys would find that attractive somehow. I'm not sure why, I direct all feelings toward the opposite gender into my training. That sums up my knowledge of dating. This is why one of my come-ons is 'I'm the Keeper of the Keys, are you the Gatemaster?". Once in a while, the poor girl has actually seen that movie and laughs.

So, we were sitting on the roof of the barn while Kirby flicked through our digital photo album. Before I changed the subject, she had been referring to a picture that had been taken at that same convention outside Amity Park. In fact in one of the pictures you can just make me waking out in the background. Minutes before Sam picked me up, drove me over to the Fenton home…you get the point. I didn't realize it until just now, but I wasn't looking so great.

Kirby flicked the slider back to the left and the screen switched to a group photo of the speaker's table. On the very end, looking away from the camera sat a guy who just screamed down on his luck. I wouldn't have known it was me if not for that terrible white outfit.

I leaned over to look at the face of my former self. I could just make out the darker shading under my eyes, and the tightness around my jaw that marked my face for months after Walt died. In the picture, my posture was leaning forward as if I couldn't support myself. Now that I look back, I remember that's just the way I felt without my trainer.

I was right near the end of the mourning cycle when I snuck out of that party. I probably would have been a derelict for a few more months if my life hadn't been derailed in that basement some time after the picture was taken.

As I stared at my old self and wondered how my mind had changed since then, Kirby took a more observant angle.

"…you looked like your ghost form."

I quickly pried my eyes off the boy in the picture to see Kirby was looking down at the picture with her head tilted and her eyes distant. I followed her gaze to see she was also looking at my section of the picture.

"I'm not following…"

She tapped one of her nails on my two dimensional face.

"You looked…um, you looked like hell, Cuz'."

I shrugged, glancing up at the half-moon briefly.

"I guess. Back then people saw me coming and pulled their kids behind them."

She didn't laugh. She had no reason to. She went on, squinting at my old portrait.

"The hair…you mentioned you wore it kinda' long after Walt passed."

She looked up without moving her head, probably at my current hairstyle. Cut short along the grain, with semi-long bangs covering my forehead. But in hat picture I had layered locks going down to my eyes.

"I cleaned up a bit."

She gave me an odd look before looking back down at the picture screen with a slight eyebrow perk.

"I wondered why your hair changed whenever you shifted. This guy in the picture is your ghost form without the ghost colors. Like you were half-frozen in time, at the worst part of your life."

I raised an eyebrow, but it drifted back down as I realized her angle. True, I didn't look as friendly as a ghost. If anything I looked like I'd been through more trials in life, maybe a bit more attractive with the tan. Kirb' once joked that she thought I looked desesperado with green eyes and the silver tintSpanish for badass, for those who have the misfortune of not being Cuban.

Personally, I never look too closely at my dead half. But now that I had seen this picture, I could see why hose spooks didn't like me. I looked like Danny back from a round trip to Hades, and he got the seat next to the bus bathroom in the back. Not essentially scary. But to people who've seen Danny Phantom, they'd probably rethink skipping church all those years.

"Must be like a death thing. Some ghosts look exactly like they did the last second they were alive. Only difference with me is the fact I kept on living in my other form."

She nodded slightly, clicking the slider again and changing the subject as she stumbled upon pictures of a sleepover the twins had last month. So we went from talking about ghosts to how the heck Sherri could do that one thing in the picture. All while Kirby was dressed in that stupid outfit. I swear, the next time she takes it off I'm dumping it in the oven. Unless it's fireproof, then I'd just have to adjust to her new fashion sense and come to terms with Val's sick sense of humor. Or then again, we just got that new trash compactor…

The Next Day

For the first time in a couple weeks, Kirby went out shopping with my sisters and a few visiting friends and forgot to drag me along on a leash. Well, forgot is such a word. She kind of looked all over the house yelling for me to stop hiding while I followed her around the house in stealth mode, like you've never taken advantage of invisibility. Oh, like you wanted me to spend my days lugging dozens of bags around while my slave drivers chat amongst themselves in a language I've yet to learn. I honestly think they consider 'Oh-My-God!' as a vowel. And 'Shut, up!' is like the wimpy vowel that never gets any respect, like Y. Look at the little guy, he's waving both arms to get your attention. He's trYing waY too hard.

My parents decided to go to a convention alone to give my sisters a break from the cameras. They want the girls to have a healthy, normal childhood dressed in bubble wrap and looking for ghosts. Once the girls write their autobiographies my father's going to come off as the biggest jerk since the dad of that one African American kid who grew up into a creepy white guy back in the day. I forget his name, Mike Something.

Well, even when I get lucky it doesn't last. Ten minutes after the girls drove off I made the mistake of turning on the TV and flipping past a channel that often does newsflashes. Of course, a wave of freakishly huge green animals is attacking a Cub Scout Retreat three hours away. And the bike is out of commission. It needs new brakes because Kirby can't stop unless she pushes the thing into a blacktop donut. And the icing on the cupcake, it's also raining golf-ball sized hail where the zombie animals are attacking. And all the news channels have cameras set up.

Why, didn't I just pop in a movie…

Author's Note

Why is Alan acting like he is? Those 'therapy' sessions had him up the wall, hence his shorter fuse and need for quiet. He'll be back to his gentle old self by the next entry, he considers ghost-bashing stress therapy. You may notice he's morally against unfair weaponry, just like first chapter mentions. Is Kirby going to be a ghost hunter now? Heck no, she just likes the outfit. Why does Alan hate it so much? He has mixed feelings for Val, even after all the gifts and warnings he feels she considers him inferior to Danny. He agrees with her, he just doesn't like to think about it. Read and Review, thanks for reading. This chapter was a bit rushed, I'll work more on it after the demolition der...eh...antique car show.