AN: Cripes almighty, this chapter got long.
Hope you enjoy!
-Crow
Danny rode with Anna to the tall man's home immediately. Danny didn't even have time to admire the elegant decorations to the townhouse before he was rushed upstairs to the attic space.
When the man arrived at the Specter House, Danny had a minor heart-attack since he was still Danny Fenton at the moment, and Mr. Lindermann clearly addressed him as 'Phantom'. Anna explained that she was the one to tell him when she found out Sally had been kidnapped by the Producer.
Danny couldn't stay mad, especially when he found out Sally was snatched. He gave them the run-down of what he learned from Mr. Masters. Mr. Lindermann immediately told Danny about his extensive antiques collection including film-based picture cameras and movie cameras.
Mr. Lindermann barely glanced at the enormous, gaping hole in the side of his roof that had Danny stunned before he took out a key and opened the door to the side of the attic-space.
"This is my private antiques storage room," He explained, flipping on the light. "I deal in antique trading and restoration as a side-hobby. This room houses more expensive, more sensitive, or more dangerous antiques that come my way. I keep it locked so Sally wouldn't get hurt. Please don't touch anything." He instructed.
The room had shelves and displays of things that belonged in a macabre attic. Unloaded Victorian pistols on a velvet display, Medieval swords dangling on the wall, a full set of samurai armor, and glassware with foggy liquids suspending squishy, nauseating 'specimens' from old freakshow events. Danny shuddered at a literal jarful of eyes that seemed to stare blankly at him.
"Here we are," Mr. Lindermann said, pulling out a number of devices. Danny's grin widened seeing old film cameras, polaroids, wind-up film cameras, a flash-bulb camera, and several others even he didn't recognize from his time alive.
The adult came out from the back of the collection with an antique movie recorder with two reels of film, still sealed.
"Holy moly," Danny gaped, "Where did you get new film for that thing?"
"I know a guy" Mr. Lindermann quipped, mouth quirking, "We in the antiques business are close-knit and you'd be surprised what specialists you can still find to this day."
Danny helped the older man lug everything downstairs (a definite plus having ghost-like strength in human-form) and loaded into Mr. Lindermann's car.
As Anna hopped up, Danny held up a hand, "Woah, there, what are you doing?"
"I wanna help," She said determinedly.
"Anna, this is too dangerous, we can't let you come with." The halfa argued.
"Danny's right," Mr. Lindermann agreed, walking up. "This ghost has my daughter along with almost every other child in town. You are staying safe."
"But-"
"No 'buts'," The tall man stood firm.
"C'mon, Anna," Danny said as he picked her up. "I think I know a place you can stay in the meantime."
"I'll finish unloading," Mr. Lindermann offered. "Meet me back here."
"Don't bother waiting, just start searching when you're ready. I'll find you." Danny promised, flying off with the stubbornly squirming 5-year-old towards a place he was pretty sure would have no TV.
"You want us to keep her safe?"
"Yeah, I figured you guys would take extra precautions against electronics." Danny explained, eyes shadowed in his Phantom form.
Mary and Stan Wasser glanced at each other, Mary subconsciously running a hand through Ben's hair, mindful of the ears. The small family had escaped the Static's return successfully. All electronics were sequestered in the basement after the BEN incident for a unanimously-agreed-upon 'break' from electronics.
Then, after the Static's first appearance, Mary took extra steps, stuffing most of their old electronics in a U-Haul storage unit and anything more important in the shed out back or a lock-box under their sink.
When this latest attack occurred, Ben was mercifully spared and they took extra precautions to keep him away from any screens, speakers, or anything more electronic than a lightbulb.
For Mary and Stan, it was their safe haven.
For Ben, admittedly, this was definitely his Hell.
"Stan, it's the least we can do." Mary said. "I know you're… wary about getting involved in this ghost stuff, but Ben trusts Phantom and I do, too."
Stan sighed, "Yeah… yeah, I guess we can look after her for a while."
He looked Phantom dead in the eyes. "Just promise me you'll fix this. Please, bring everyone back safe."
"I'll do my best." Danny vowed solemnly.
With that, he turned slightly translucent and phased through their wall and into the sky.
…
…
"Sooo… who's up for another game of Mouse Trap?" Mary offered.
Ben's head thumped on the coffee table.
The half-ghost didn't go immediately after the car, but made a quick couple stops between.
Afterwards, he didn't have to go far before he saw Mr. Lindermann's car driving pretty much alone through the streets of Amity.
Easily matching the car's speed, he knocked against the passenger side window, briefly startling the man inside before phasing himself through and into the seat. He swung a heavy backpack around and onto his lap.
"Sorry for scaring you," Danny offered.
The adult waved his hand, dismissively. "I-It's fine," He replied, a little shaken.
Danny glanced around the winding neighborhood, as if the Producer was hovering above any of the numerous cookie-cutter-style homes. "So, where are we going?"
"I saw the ghost heading west," The man responded. "The only thing out there are residential homes and cornfields. But I remember there used to be an old radio station out that way; 104.6 FM. It's been abandoned for the last decade or so when the two hosts disappeared. I figured it'd be the best place he'd go to send his signal. It's not a television broadcast antenna, but I think he'd find a way."
Danny nodded, thoughtfully. "Makes sense. Some technology ghosts can make tech do things it's not really supposed to."
Case in point; Technus's mecha and the laser-firing hairdryer.
"Hang a left, up here," Danny instructed. "I made some stops along the way."
The man complied, eventually pulling up to a small park space with two teenagers about Danny's age standing beside the benches. Danny got out and waved them over.
"Guys, this is Mr. Lindermann. Mr. Lindermann, meet Sam and Tucker," Danny introduced. "Now just so everyone's on the same page, all three of you know I'm Phantom." For emphasis, Danny changed to his human form and back.
Sam and Tucker glanced at the adult.
"Wait… so, you waited months to tell us you were half-ghost and you told him after… what, a week?" Sam snarked, jokingly.
Danny held up his hands, "Hey, in my defense, I wasn't the one to tell him, but his daughter was kidnapped by the Producer specifically for some reason."
"I promise to keep this a secret," Mr. Lindermann offered. "I'm not entirely sure what the whole situation is just yet, but I want to work with you to get Sally back. If you need my help in the future, just ask."
The goth nodded and looked the man up and down, specifically at his suit and tie, "Huh. I guess you're alright for an office drone."
"I'm a funeral home director."
…
"… just like that, he went up in my books," Sam corrected, smirking and holding out a hand. "Welcome to Team Phantom."
"Team Phantom?" Danny asked.
"Yeah, I figured we need something to call ourselves. So, why not?" Sam shrugged.
"Okay… just… can you tell me what's up with Tucker?" Danny pointed at his other friend.
A dark miasmic cloud of ill intent and downright hostility hovered around the tech-wiz. His eyes were bloodshot and hung heavy with bags. His jaw twitched erratically from grinding his teeth and a blood vessel on his forehead pulsed darkly. Between clenched teeth and heavy breathing, Danny could make out a very clear mantra;
"Kill-kill-kill-kill-kill-kill-kill"
"Uh, Tuck, are you alright?"
In response, Tucker swung his arm up and Danny went cross-eyed at the PDA in his face. Blank and dead.
"This morning. This ghost. Bricked. Every. Phone. Computer. And PDA. In town." He ground out.
"He's gone too far. He killed Patricia. Blood will be shed."
"Um, ectoplasm, actually, but okay whatever." Danny offered, backing away from his friend on the verge of an apoplectic meltdown.
"We think he's doing it because he remembered your parents' tech that could block his effects. He's already hooked into people's brains, so he doesn't really need the screens anymore, at least for now." Sam said. "Plus, it really has cut off communication through the county." Sam explained.
"Makes sense."
"Besides playing off of Tucker's FOMO- ("What?" "Fear of Missing Out. I'll explain later.") it's probably a good indicator he's gaining more power."
"Which means he needs to go down, and fast," Danny concluded.
The four swung into Mr. Lindermann's car, winding through the silent desolate streets of Amity.
They drove for a while until they arrived at the barren edges of Amity Park. Around them was the desolate flat land stretching as far as the eye could see. The dry husks of harvested cornstalks poked out of their rows, decorating the empty landscape.
The lonely road out of the city that continued into the emptiness was marked with a small building about the size of two trailers at the base of a spiraling antenna with flaking red and white paint.
Also, the antenna was glowing an ominous, ghostly green.
"I'm gonna make a safe bet that that's where he's hiding." Danny surmised. Shuddering as his breath erupted in a blue-ish fog. "Scratch that. He's definitely here."
The albino adult nodded and eased the car into a low ditch between the cornfield and the road about 100 yards away. The sloping ditch helped obscure their car from the vantage point of the station.
"Alright, guys, gear up and let's get in there," Danny said, swapping to Phantom mode. He hefted out the backpack and upturned it in the car's seat, revealing a couple of his parent's ghost weapons he tested in their basement and found still working.
Sam picked up a small compact bracelet with a crystal insert that refracted a focused beam of ectoplasm. Her own polaroid camera hung from a strap at her side, just in case.
He handed Tucker what looked like a lipstick container, if not for the lethal-looking green glow where the 'stick' would go.
"Alright, let's-"
A pale hand picked up a second lipstick container, testing it out and clipping it in his lapel as he hefted some antique equipment.
"Sir, you can't come with, it's too dangerous." Danny began.
Mr. Lindermann shook his head, "As ironic as it is for a teenager to say that back to me, that's my daughter in there and I will not stand idly by while you three fight. I can hold my own."
"He's got a point, man. Plus, he knows how to work all this," Tucker added. For emphasis, he picked up some kind of cartridge and fiddled with it, pulling out a long strip of shiny black tape. "I mean, I'm the tech-guy and I don't know how to work half of this stuff." The man quickly swiped it back and swiftly reloaded the tape back in the device.
"It's a little less intuitive as a smartphone," Mr. Lindermann acknowledged, "But I believe Danny should be familiar enough with this to help weaken him." He held up a polaroid camera to the halfa.
"I can handle the more… unusual equipment," He picked up what looked like a mash-up of a picture camera and a View Master toy and slid in a film disk to the side.
The trek up to the tower was in tense silence as Danny half-felt like the Producer would appear out of nowhere and force the group into a Broadway rendition of The Pajama Game. Danny tugged his Phantom hoodie back a bit to scan the skies, but so far so clear.
Sam waved them forward to a window around the back. Peering in, Danny could make out the barren kitchenette/break room space conjoined with a room large enough to house the massive soundboards and communications equipment. Black wires snaked across the entire space and rhythmically glowed with green energy like a slow-pulsing heartbeat.
The Producer was resting on a throne of broken appliances all jacked into the mass of machinery and slowly pulsing in time with the glow. His television-face was fritzing with static and his posture relaxed. But the screens around him spontaneously popping up with creepy images of roving, staring eyeballs gave Danny the impression he wasn't as 'asleep' as he seemed.
A small window was the only vantage point into a small room space housing a single table, a tangled mess of wires, and a familiar little girl pinned in the middle of it.
"Sally," The adult whispered, relieved.
Danny scoped the area out and nodded in thought, "Okay, here's the plan; I'll phase through that wall on the opposite side of the door and start firing off some ectoblasts. I'll aim for him directly to keep him occupied. Sam, Tucker, Mr. Lindermann, you all go through the door while he's distracted. Mr. Lindermann, focus on taking photos. Sam, save your photos if you can, and focus on shooting with Tucker. When he's down for the count, we thermos him. Got it?"
The three humans gave a nod and snuck around to the doorway while Danny floated in place. Peering through the window, he saw a brief glimpse of Sam giving a thumbs-up through a little window beside the door before ducking back down.
"Here goes nothing," Danny muttered, shifting through the wall and immediately firing several ectoblasts at the figure and his throne. Screens shattered and the amalgamation sparked violently while the Producer, himself, shot up with an enraged roar.
"You again!" The ghost hissed, "Geez, you really don't know when to quit, do ya?"
"Sorry, but it looks like your season's been cancelled," Danny quipped, firing another round of ectoblasts aimed at his 'face' screen.
The ghost held his arms crossed in front, shielding his ecto-enforced glass face from the shots to the front.
*wham!*
The door was kicked in by a heavy, black military boot and Sam, Tucker, and Mr. Lindermann all ran in to flank the ghost from behind. Sam and Tucker's shots left visible smoke trails where they hit his exposed back while Mr. Lindermann held two devices shuttering wildly.
The Producer groaned and turned to glare at the adult and the cameras in his hand. Danny took the opportunity to whip out the polaroid he'd been given and snapped picture after picture of the ghost.
The ghost whirled around in place, trying to decide who was the bigger threat; the ones with ecto-weapons firing from every side or the ones with the cameras slowly siphoning his energy.
"Urrrrgh!"
The ghostly moviemaker went down on his knees, using his forearms to keep himself up. Danny smirked as he pulled the thermos off his belt.
"Smile for the camera!"
He pointed the device at the ghost and-
*fwip*
He yelped as a black blur whipped in front of him and stung his hand, smacking the little container out. The thermos flew in the air and was immediately caught by a wriggling collection of black wires.
Danny held up his hand to ectoblast them to bits…
When he stopped.
His entire left hand was tingly and numb and the ectoblast at the end resembled a fizzled puff of smoke and sparks.
"Heh, like 'em?" The Producer chuckled, rising from the floor. "I call them 'tazer-whips'."
He gestured around him where several of the wires snaked beside him and hovered, proudly showing off their exposed and frayed copper wire ends sparking with green energy.
"It's a shocking development, isn't it? But that's not the main point here, is it?"
Sam and Tucker took the initiative to start firing their ecto-weaponry at the ghost again, but the ghost just waved a hand and the tangle of wires started maneuvering to take the hits instead.
The ghost's microphone constructed in his hand and he grinned widely, "Are you just sitting at home and then; boom! You have unexpected company? It's a mess, it's a hassle, and worst of all-
His screen turned a murderous red, "They're just. Plain. Rude."
"And you just think to yourself; There has to be an easier way!" the cheerful blue returned.
The figures' gloved hands raised and with a snap a pair of glowing green film reels materialized in thin air. The black film reel shot out and wound itself around his two friends until they were immobilized in a cocoon of film stock and flipped upside down on the ceiling.
"Aaaand, that's a wrap!" The Producer quipped gleefully. He turned back to Danny, "Now, let's tackle the issue at hand with this script. You got the main villain in a four-against-one- sorry, two-against-one- fight. That's cliché, boring, and worst of all, makes for a short finale to the character."
His face fritzed, "I'm thinking… we even the scales a bit. Henchmen! A good villain's gotta have henchmen!"
The television screen took on a myriad of seizure-inducing colors before he bowed his head down to the ground. Danny watched in shock and fixed attention as a pair of tiny legs appeared dangling under the screen, followed by an equally small body, before dropping down as the next pair of legs popped into existence.
Several puppets jerkingly stood, glass eyes staring at Danny with single-minded fixation. Each was distinct, yet disturbingly familiar.
A foot-and-a-half-tall puppet with a little blue admiral's coat over a red-striped sailor's shirt with a matching blue hat over messy, crimson hair. The blank doll eyes stuck into the disproportionate head of a doll.
Another which could be best described as an enormous, black handlebar mustache with a single monocled eyeball propped on top over a large, grinning set of crooked teeth all propped on a little, red puppet body.
The last was a small skeleton, its jaw clacking side-to-side and a patchwork cloak dragging behind its neck with a matching skin-toned patchwork top hat barely covering a bulging set of glass eyes.
The Producer's head whipped back up, the jagged smile returned, "Grab your popcorn, folks! It's time for a little movie magic!"
The puppets grabbed their little puppet-swords and prop guns, but given how Doll-Head's sword glinted and the Monocle's gun cocked itself, Danny doubted they were as 'dummy' as the dummies that held them.
"Juuust one last thing to take care of," The Producer added gleefully. The tangle of wires whipped themselves and Danny's heart sank as the Thermos was launched through a windowpane.
"Okie-dokie! Let's dance!" The ghost announced.
Sam Lindermann crept close to the wall. Phantom, er, Danny seemed to be struggling with the combined efforts of the maniacal showman and the animate puppetry.
As much as he wished he could help balance the scales, he was lucky enough to not be caught like the other two teenagers. He'd already expended the film in his devices on their first assault and his little ghost-fighting-lipstick-capsule would do no damage at all and only bring their attention to him.
Perhaps a bit cowardly, but he had a plan, nonetheless.
The ghost needed his daughter for something. Something to the effect of 'kids are great for ratings', thinking back to the kidnapping. Danny had explained this ghost was feeding off of the 'ratings' of his shows by ensnaring people's minds.
The wires were all hooked up to his little girl and the entity was clearly taking great care to keep the fight as far away from her as possible. He was willing to bet if he managed to get her freed, The Producer would find himself in a difficult situation.
Ducking behind the ancient electronics and soundboards of the station, he made his way to the door to the interview room.
He pulled out a small set of lockpicks from his lapel pocket, grateful for years of unlocking antique boxes and safes honing the useful skill.
He checked behind him, and the ghostly horde was still focused on Danny. He swiftly fitted the lock with the picks and began fiddling with the mechanism, feeling the pins lock ever so slightly despite jitters at the danger just behind him.
With a satisfying 'click', he felt the rusty cylinder twist as the door popped open.
A shadow fell over him.
"Heeeeere's" *WHAM!* "JOHNNY!"
The adult was sent flying by the force of the showman's cane impacting right against his chest. The decayed, pressed-wood door splintered as his body skidded to a stop just by the roadside.
Mr. Lindermann gave a pained groan as he struggled to gather his bearings enough to stand, eyes blinking spots away and a metallic taste flooding his mouth. His breathing was shallow as stabbing pains to his ribcage prevented too much movement. Inside the small building, flashing lights and loud crashes signaled his being 'dealt with' was barely a blip in the fight's progress.
Grabbing the aching shoulder that went through the door, he limped to his car. The box still had some items left in it, but nothing useful.
Polaroids? Barely slowed him down.
Film? See previous.
Those ecto-weapons? Danny had only brought the three, which still didn't stop him.
Growling in frustration, the man pulled out the lipstick container, intent on doing some damage if he could to the ghost.
He stopped as he noticed a white cylinder just at the side of the road. It looked like a silvery soup thermos laced with circuitry and wires.
In the car, Phantom had referenced 'thermos'-ing the ghost at the end. If memory served, prior to the technology-outage, he'd seen video clips on the news of Phantom capturing ghosts in a bright blue beam of light, pulling them into a small device.
So, this light had a way of pulling ghosts in to capture them.
Hence why the Producer ghost threw it out the window almost immediately, to get it out of the equation.
But while explaining Mr. Master's plan, Danny explained that his usual methods weren't strong enough to keep the ghost contained. The film had weakened him somewhat in the beginning, but he gained enough strength almost immediately to fight it off.
What if the ghost was weakened as he was contained…?
Mr. Lindermann picked up the thermos and staggered to his car, digging into the box and pulling out a large setup and a thin, circular box.
Danny landed on the ground with a thud, wincing as the slices on his arm shifted. The little admiral-puppet's sword was no joke. And the Mustache's bullets definitely put holes in the walls where Danny kept dodging.
The worst was the little skeleton, guy.
Danny's skin was still raw and searing where the thing's teeth ground in.
"Uh-oh! Looks like our guest's gotten himself into quite the pickle this time, kids," The ghost simpered. "Whatever will we do?"
…
…
…
"Blast him from existence?! Great idea!"
Danny lunged out of the way as an ectoblast seared the floor behind him.
"You know, I don't think that's what they said," Danny quipped angrily.
The ghost shrugged, "Eh, half the time those brats don't even say anything. They just stare like a dead fish for the next scene to move along. Just look at Dora-"
"Who?"
"…" The producer pinched his 'nose' against the glass of his 'face', frustratedly muttering about 'kids these days' and 'programming demographics'.
While distracted, the doll-headed character took a swipe at Danny. The halfa barely dodged in time, letting the swords arc past and right through several cables.
"AAAARRRRRGHHH!" The producer roared, clutching his boxy head. The screen fritzed an angry red as it glared at the little puppet, "Percy, you termite-headed idiot! Hit the boy! Not the equipment!"
Danny stared at the puppet sadly lowering the sword and clacking its way away from the severed chords still flaying with electricity.
Then the wires.
Then the producer, still rubbing his 'noggin'.
Then the machines.
…
…
"Why didn't I do that in the first place?" He muttered, eye twitching.
The familiar tingle of intangibility flowed across him as he flew through the puppets and towards one of the boxy soundboards.
He phased out the other side with a triumphant grin and a fistful of tangled, severed wires.
The machine behind him sparked violently in a small mushroom-cloud of acrid smelling smoke before whining to a pathetic stop. Around them, the writhing cables fell limp and loose and lights and sounds whirred down as equipment failed left and right.
"No! NonoNONONONONO!" The Producer wailed, looking around as his literal throne and metaphorical empire fell apart around him.
Danny breathed a sigh of relief as the ecto-waves pumped through the antennae ground to a halt. The Presence saturating the air finally dying down.
"Nooo! But the ratings! The ratings were fantastic!" The ghost cried.
"Sorry, but it looks like I pulled the plug on that plan." Danny grinned, reaching for the thermos-
-which wasn't there.
…
'Oh, crap.'
The ghostly showman in front of him turned its enraged attention his way. The screen was scarlet and the jack-o-lantern face was black, jagged, and near-demonically contorted with rage.
Danny barely had the time to blink before the man was in front of him and his chest nearly caved in on itself with an ecto-constructed cane slamming him. Danny's back ached as he landed against a brick wall.
He kneeled to get up but was swatted against the brick wall once more.
"Well, kiddo, you went and made me mad." The Producer snarled through a staticky hum. "And not a lotta people can say that. Annoyed, yes. Frustrated, naturally. Inclined-to-homicide… eh, three times, tops. But you just reached a whole new level."
The Producer grabbed Danny by the front of his hoodie and pulled him nose-to-glass.
"You might think you won, but I got news for you. That little stunt stopped what would've gotten me global! I'm talking millions- billions of viewers! But you. Ruined. EVERYTHING!" The Producer roared, enunciating with harsh jabs to Danny's gut.
"But I still got everyone in this town wrapped up on my little finger and that's enough for a little… ShoW sToPPer FiNAle!" The voice distorted as the screen fritzed through a dizzying array of colors.
The brick wall behind them erupted.
A wooden set the size of an RV crashed its curved bow through the brickwork. A pair of bulging eyes on either side stared down lifelessly at the halfa while an unsettling grin arced across the bow. Wooden, ivory teeth each the size of a gravestone set in a straight row.
Behind the enormous ship was a completely different world on the other side of the bricks. An enormous sea of murky, gray water stretched infinitely. Gray-green storm clouds churned above the choppy waters with flashes of lightning streaking across the sky.
"Well, kiddos! Look who's joined the party!" The Producer announced gleefully. "Laughingstock to the rescue! All-Aboard for a one-way trip!"
He turned his attention once more to Danny, "Like it? I got enough power for one last huzzah and I'm gonna use it to take you off the casting list!"
He raised his cane around him in a grand gesture, "I built this place from a wreck-heap before and I can sure as hell do it again!
"I crawled my way through to the top, you little critic, and I'll keep coming back! Sequels and spin-offs and re-runs! Like a bad pitch that just won't be taken off the air! AHAHAHAHAHA!"
He hefted Danny to face the looming ship's puppet face. "But first, we gotta make you our star player! Gotta make some casting shifts, since my darling niece couldn't make the role-call, but it'll work."
"You're sick," Danny spat.
"Awwww, kids, looks like our friend here is a little scaredy-cat! You know what that's like, Percy, don't you?" The admiral-jacket puppet nodded sadly, shivering in its boots.
The Producer turned his leering face to Danny, hissing. "And we all know what we have to say to pluck up Percy's courage, right?
"You have… to go… INSIDE."
The boat's enormous mouth opened into a gaping, black maw. A strip of velvety, red cloth the size of a long entryway rug slithered its way out as the boat's 'tongue' wrapped itself around Danny's body.
Danny struggled as the boat slowly began pulling him into the abyss.
The Producer leaned casually on his cane, demented grin widening.
"That's all, folks!"
Danny thrashed against the binding grip of the cloth. His ectoblasts were useless, still spitting sparks and weak discharge after the numbing tazer-wires. The weird ecto-construct nature tingled with an unnatural ghostly energy that he couldn't phase himself out of.
He could smell the potent gagging stink of fish and brine as he got closer to this tear in reality.
Just as his head was about to go under the gaping maw of Laughingstock, a blinding light shone on the Producer. A constant, clickety-clack of machinery rang a staccato through the room. The 'tongue' loosened and Danny wasted no time wriggling out and onto the floor of the radio station.
He looked up, seeing Mr. Lindermann cranking a large, old film projector. Behind the projection lens, Danny saw the Fenton Thermos forcefully fitted behind where the light source would go to illuminate the film.
The telltale blue light of the Thermos mingled with the grainy grit of old film and had the Producer locked in a box of silvery light against the wall.
The ghost strained visibly to try and escape, but he couldn't seem to leave the frame. His body seemed slightly stretched along the edges towards the pull of the projector.
Sam and Tucker both yelped as their film-cocoons vaporized, dropping them on the floor.
The puppets clacked to a halt and their forms distorted around the edges before fading into nothing. The boat and seascape faded, too, and the bricks flickered and reformed as though nothing had broken through in the first place.
"No!" The Producer lamented. "No, this was my break! This was my chance!"
He went down to his knees in weakened defeat, his face and arm slightly elongated as he felt the pull of the Thermos.
"No!"
His form stuttered and flickered with the film reel.
"NO!"
He flickered and faded with each clickety-clack of the camera.
"NOOOO-"
…
Gone.
Danny stared at the empty space where the Producer used to be.
The constant presence of his ecto-signature in the air vanished like a TV channel turned off.
The winding and clacking of machinery wound to a halt as Mr. Lindermann stopped cranking the device and hastily unfixed the Thermos before capping it.
"Danny!"
The halfa blinked as Sam shot right in his face and started checking on the cuts already starting to heal over.
"Man! That was… that was awesome!" Tucker exclaimed. "You were all- like, hooo-haaaawwww! And then he was just- grrrr, I'm gonna eat you! And then he- and you- and the guy-!"
"What Tucker is trying to say," Sam interrupted pointedly, "Is are you alright?"
Danny grinned confidently, "Just a couple scrapes- ow! … okay, maybe a couple bad ones, too." He winced, protectively cupping a particularly deep gash on his forearm courtesy of the skeleton's teeth.
Sam and Tucker sobered immediately. "Sorry, dude," Tucker said, "I mean, you were the one really holding the fight the whole time. We were pretty much just dead weight."
"No way!" Danny argued, "You guys helped out with the first plan. It was my fault for not thinking up to just go after the radio equipment in the first place."
"Let's argue about this after we get settled here," Sam firmly concluded.
The trio turned towards the glass pane to the interviewer room and see a tearful, but awake Sally burying her head in her father's shoulder, Mr. Lindermann murmuring and patting circles on her back comfortingly.
Danny sighed happily, "At least we got a happy ending to all of this."
"I always liked it when a series ends on a good note," Tucker nodded in agreement.
"Blockbuster hit for the winter."
"5-star rating!"
"A reel thriller!"
"100% 'Fresh'!"
"Uh… what-?"
"RRRRGGGH! One more movie pun out of either of you and I'm confiscating your PA," Sam jabbed a finger in Tucker's face, "And shoving you in the Thermos again!" She pointed to Danny.
Danny blinked, "The thermos!"
He zipped over to Mr. Lindermann, walking out of the little room with his daughter in his arms, "Hey, um, can I have the thermos back?"
The albino man handed the device to Danny. The halfa wondering what exactly to do with this one. It wasn't like Boxy or Spectra. This guy was a real menace, so how-
Empty.
…
Danny's half-dead heart stuttered to a frantic panic as he rechecked the device. There was no 'presence' to it like it had when a ghost was inside. It didn't feel any different than it was when it was empty. He checked the side, where one of his parents had thought to put an indicator.
'Vacant'
"Oh, God." Danny murmured, horrorstruck, "Guys, this thing's empty!"
"What?!"
"No way!"
"But Sally's awake now!"
"He can't have gotten far."
"Eh-hem."
They turned to Mr. Lindermann who had slipped the film reel cartridge off the projector. He had thoughtfully pulled a short strip of film and held it up to the fading evening light, before frowning and pulling out more.
"Phantom, you may want to see this," He instructed, walking over with the film strip still in his hands. "Do either of you have a light?"
Danny summoned a ball of brightly-glowing ectoplasm in his palm. The man nodded, "That'll do." He pulled out the strip and illuminated the squares above the glowing light.
"It's perfectly safe, somehow the film is unaffected by any overexposed light. Though given this is supposed to be a blank set of film, I'm rather stumped how that works out."
They crowded around to see a still-shot of The Producer, himself, frozen in each square of the film. Still in every pose he made as Mr. Lindermann 'filmed' him.
Danny's core twisted and a small puff of vapor escaped his lips. The presence was definitely in the film. "H-he's in there, alright. I seriously didn't know that could actually happen."
The half-ghost wondered if the effects of ectoplasm and the ethereal light of the Thermos had something to do with the instantly-developed film, but he couldn't be quite so sure. This was way into the realm of weird-half-science.
"So… is it going to be like Sadako from Ringu?" Sam asked, warily eying the frozen images. "You know, where you watch the film and the ghost comes out in seven days?"
"Hopefully, we'll never find out." Mr. Lindermann replied, stowing away the film strip back in the reel.
"I'll take it." Danny announced, "I have an idea where to bring it so it won't cause any more trouble."
Hospitals let out a cheer and a sigh of relief as their patients slowly blinked their eyes open once more.
Dreams of endless gray oceans faded like mist in the morning as more and more children and teens were reunited with their families in the land of the living.
Kwan leaned against the wall, with a small smile, as he watched his mom and dad fawning over Juwon's hospital bed.
The football champ looked out the window to see Phantom flying overhead towards Town Hall, a victorious smile on his face and something tucked under his arm.
They survived.
They won.
Juwon sleepily turned to him, "Is it over?"
Kwan nodded calmly, "Yeah buddy. Don't worry, there wasn't a cartoon even on.
"It was just static."
AN: If anybody caught the radio station signal, it's the same one from 'Accounts from a Lonely Broadcast Station'. I liked that series when MrCreepypasta did the collaboration, if anyone else here listened to it, and thought it'd be an interesting vague Easter Egg.
So here we are, finally wrapped up The Producer's reign of terror. That ending where he was trapped in the film reel was brainstormed months ago, but the puppets and Laughingstock's appearance was all on the fly to make it more… drawn out and interesting and I really liked how it turned out! Anybody recognize them right off the bat?
Fun fact; Regarding Danny's ecto-blast neutralization; I have, in fact, accidentally stuck my finger in a lightbulb socket thinking the contact point in the back was a button to start up an arcade game (I was, like, 5 so give me a break). It was a mild shock (luckily for me) but it did leave my hand and arm feeling numb and tingly for the next hour or so.
And Lastly,
AN: Three for three! I love adding little Creepypasta quotes to things.
Happy Holidays, Christmas, Solstice, New Years, 2020, etc!
Sincerely,
-Crow