AN: I have no clue how I've been cranking these out lately.
"Geez, I don't know whether your parents were certified geniuses or complete whackos," Tucker said aloud, turning the Ghost Catcher net this way and that.
"Trust me, it's a little of both," Danny replied.
They were in the basement lab that evening. Sam brought lots of camper lamps around so they could light up the place since he couldn't produce ecto-flames anymore.
She had pulled out every filing cabinet and folder that survived the blast and went page by page through the documents. Tucker opted to examine the device, trying to make heads or tails of it as best he could. Danny was mostly straining his eyes to read the pages alongside Sam, but his hands had started trembling and he couldn't hold a folder firmly enough without fumbling around the pages.
Sam had to encourage him to take breaks and ease back, to reduce any stress on his body and extend his time.
Danny didn't know which was worse. The constant reminders of his slow, gory demise later, or his absolute uselessness now.
Tucker stood up eventually, "Well, good news is, this thing has a 'merge' and 'separate' side conveniently labeled, so it should be just... 'swish' and you'll be back together again. Just as long as it's the right side."
The ambulatory corpse shuddered, "Thanks for that. Now I'm going to think about getting split again into some kind of floppy skin-suit and a dancing skeleton."
"I got it!" Sam cheered, holding a folder triumphantly. They all gathered around an old table to see her spread out the pages. They poured over the data, Sam explaining the theory, Tucker focusing on hardware and circuitry, and Danny supplying the metaphysical details.
From what they got, the Ghost Catcher was less like a net and more based on the concept of 'filtration'. Except that his parents never really had a basis to go off of, so it was imperfect.
The basic assumption was that a human host was "infected" or "possessed" by an ectoplasmic entity and this device would separate the two using ectoplasm as a basis. In theory, it should work like 'skimming' ectoplasm off of a host like pond scum floating on a pool.
The problem is, Danny wasn't like either. He was more like mixing red clay and blue clay over and over until you get purple.
The Ghost Catcher did what it was supposed to do, but did it too perfectly. It ended up straining and tearing the singular entity apart rather sloppily, trying to focus on ectoplasm vs organic tissue as the common denominator.
So what was left was a body that was supposed to be dead.
And a sentient blob of pure ectoplasm.
"So, does that mean Phantom is Danny, like a part of his consciousness, or did all of 'Danny' just filter into the physical body?" Tucker asked at last.
Danny shook his head, "No, Phantom was... like an imprint of me. Like it wasn't all there. It could barely speak when we first talked, but it only really seemed invested in stuff it thought was his."
"It's possessive, then?" Sam guessed.
The corpse's face grew grim, "Or obsessive."
"Huh? Like that thing with ghosts?" Tucker said.
"Yes and no," Danny answered. "Obsessions keep us... well, intact. It keeps us going. If Phantom got all of my ectoplasm, then the only reason he's not a blob or an ecto-pus right now is because he got the Obsession alongside it."
"I thought you said you didn't have one," Sam ventured.
"As far as I knew, I didn't," Danny grimaced. "But if Phantom has it, then this is bad. A ghost that's just Ectoplasm and Obsession can't be stable."
His eyes widened, "Oh, Ancients, he's dangerous and unstable. Whether Phantom realizes it or not, he needs me just as much as I need him before he melts into a puddle of goo. We have to get ourselves through that net." He glared at the stupid invention that started the whole thing.
"Dude, hold up!" Tucker interjected. "How do we know if just mushing you two back together will work?"
"He has a point," Sam agreed. "You said he's falling apart just as much as you are. He's probably not looking too great, himself, and you're not exactly in mint condition anymore."
"BRAWWWP! ... excuse me," Danny mumbled, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck under the hood.
He froze and slowly brought his hand out, holding a clump of black hair.
"Well that's just great. Rotting and premature baldness. Just great," He grumbled, hands shaking.
Sam took his cold, clammy hands in hers. "We'll work this out, Danny. Trust us."
"Yeah, we've still got time!" Tucker exclaimed. "And the nurse pass excuses you for however many days you need."
"We just need an expert," Sam thought aloud. "Someone who actually knows their stuff."
Danny sighed, "Well, if there were any, those experts are probably in the Ghost Zone. Problem is, I can't exactly run around there anymore. I can't fly like this. And for all it's cracked up to be, walking corpses aren't exactly a 'thing' in the Land of the Dead."
"Then we need a human who knows this stuff," Tucker suggested.
"And then what? Grab another ouija board and drag Phantom back with a bogus seance?" Danny asked sarcastically.
"One step at a time, Danny," Sam soothed.
She snapped her fingers with an idea, "But I think I know just the person to help us."
...
"Do you just know everybody useful or mysterious in this town that we don't?"
"Probably."
A fire crackled in the fireplace made of cobbled stones just beneath a small, cast-iron pot. Roots, herbs, and leaves hung in bundles, baskets, and jars about the living area. A loom and spinning wheel occupied one corner, while the other held a massive stack of books.
An old woman, shriveled and gnarled with age rocked in a creaky chair by the fire. Her skirts were patchwork and dark. Her fingers long and pointed with nails. Hair like brambles, white and wild, frizzed out uncontrollably.
Upon the fireplace were a multitude of candles, all lit, casting an eerie glow about the room. Sigils and symbols long-lost to scholars decorated urns and stones littering the space. Overlooking it all from the center of the mantle, was a human skull with a gap-toothed smile.
*creak-crack*
*creak-crack*
*creak-...*
The old woman paused her rocking, a wicked grin spread under her pointed nose.
"By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes," She croaked.
Louder, she called to the front door, "Open locks... whoever knocks..."
...
...
"You know, grandma, they have intercoms these days, or even little cameras for the front door." A younger girl's voice called from the next room over.
"Where's the fun in that, dearie? Eehehehehehe!" the old woman cackled.
Miranda McAnderson (AKA the Witch of the Black Magic Club) sighed as she walked into the unsettling 'living room' of her grandma's house. She set down a tray of microwaved mashed potatoes, ground beef, and tea from the completely normal, completely modern kitchen. No child-sized cages or candy-architecture in sight.
"Yes, yes, take your meds," Miranda reminded her, pointedly looking at the couple pills by the teacup. "You know the doctor said you need your iron supplements and blood thinners with food."
Her grandmother grumbled, pouting, "Back in my day, we didn't need these new-fangled chemicals. We had valerian roots and mandrake leaves, crushed into a poultice on full moons-"
"Grandma, you knew even back then mandrake roots were toxic," Miranda admonished.
The older woman huffed, "Well it would've been better, either way. Those pills and cough syrups I grew up with were just terrible for you."
"Grandma..."
"Well, get the door, sweetie, no sense leaving our guests out in the cold," Her grandmother shooed her towards the front door. "And let the pale one wear his sunglasses and jacket inside, it's perfectly alright."
Miranda rolled her eyes and walked towards the front door, even though the bell hadn't been rung.
Meanwhile, her grandmother bundled herself in her shawl and cackled quietly, "Oh, Ada, what has your granddaughter gotten herself into this time? Ehehehe..."
Danny liked to consider himself an observant person.
He was sure he'd walked by this area countless times both alive and dead, human and Phantom...
So how he missed a mini forest glen with a little cottage-home smack-dab in the middle of downtown was beyond him.
The three crossed a little brook over a small wooden bridge (seriously who has an actual babbling brook on their property) and up to the cottage. Danny was half expecting it to be made of gingerbread and frosting.
"So... do we need to answer some kind of "riddles three" or avoid bringing up buckets of water?" Tucker asked, staring at the house. At Sam's incredulous look, he held up his hands, "Hey, I just want to live a nice, long, not-as-a-toad life, here."
Sam chuckled, "Don't worry, Tucker. Odds are, she's in a good mood... She'd turn you into a newt if anything."
Tucker whimpered.
"You'll get better," Danny quipped. He blinked his eyes harshly as the evening dimmed around them.
They stopped just at the rustic-looking front door, looking at Sam as she just stood there, arms folded.
...
"Uh... aren't you gonna knock?" Tucker asked.
She shrugged, "I learned it's not really that helpful."
As soon as she was done, the door opened and Danny was surprised to see The Witch from the seance again. "Hey Sam"
"Hey, gotta talk to Grandma Yaga."
"I figured," the other shrugged, shooing them in. She didn't say anything to Danny as he kept his hood up and sunglasses on, just leading them along further in. "Just don't take too long, her shows start in 30 minutes."
Danny had to do a double-take when the normal modern-enough hallway and foyer opened to a living room that looked like it was right out of 1600's Salem.
An old woman was smiling and humming to herself as she finished stirring a little cast iron pot (a cauldron?!) over the fireplace and turned to them expectantly, smiling widely.
"All Hail, Samantha! Hail to thee, thane of the Grim and Ghastly," She spoke loudly.
"All hail, Tucker! Hail to thee, thane of the Internet," Said tech-whiz shifted, confused.
She turned to Danny with a wicked glint in her eye.
"All hail, Daniel... Hail to thee, he who walks the dusk betwixt."
He shivered.
The Witch rolled her eyes, "Oh, Lord, she's quoting Macbeth again. Just ignore her."
"Oh, you always ruin all my fun," the old woman grumped.
The younger waved her off casually, "I'll be upstairs grandma, give you some privacy with your guests. When do you want to watch your shows?"
"When the hurly-burly's done.
When the battle's lost and won-"
"I'll come down in 20 minutes. How's that?"
"Fine," the crone huffed. She listened as her granddaughter creaked up the steps to her room before turning to her guests with a kinder smile. "Hello, Samantha, how is Ada doing?"
"She's fine, Grandma Yaga."
"Hmmm, and that daughter-in-law of hers?" Grandma Yaga hummed.
"Still just as usual."
"Bah!" She spat, throwing a hand around. "I oughtta've cursed that woman already. Maybe a hex to make her hair lime green, ehehehe..."
Sam smirked at the image, before turning to her friends. "These are my friends; Danny Fenton and Tucker Foley."
"Wait, wait, she just said our names," Tucker pointed out.
Grandma Yaga just grinned and chuckled lowly.
The Tech Whiz scampered behind his stool in terror, "I'm sorry for interrupting, please don't turn me into a newt!" He wailed.
"Oh, dearie, don't worry about it. I'm not the kind of person to do that..." Grandma Yaga smiled.
Cautiously, Tucker stood up.
"As for interrupting me; those rabbit ears will vanish in a week's time."
"WHAT?!" Tucker whirled around to a mirror, anxiously checking under his beret for any fluffy appendages.
"EEHEHHEHEHEHEH!" The crone cackled delightedly. "Never gets old!"
"Don't worry, Tucker. Grandma Yaga just knows these sorts of things," Sam said after the boy returned to his seat, bunny-ear-less.
"Yeah, but how does she know?"
"Only Grandma Yaga knows..." Sam answered mysteriously.
"BRAWP! Oh, man, I-I'm sorry," Danny stammered.
The elderly woman just waved it off easily, "Ah, don't mind that sonny. A little sulfur won't do me in. And it's hard to mind such things when you're only half of yourself."
Danny sat in stunned silence, "Y-you know?"
She shrugged teasingly, "Old Grandma Yaga knows, sonny." She leaned in closer, the smile dropping off. "Now, you need my help, yes? Let's see it, then."
Danny hesitated, but slowly took off his hood, the sunglasses, and finally the hoodie itself.
Sam and Tucker flinched, seeing his appearance after he'd been hiding it for as long as he had.
His skin took on an unhealthy, greenish-yellow tinge along his face, neck, and arms. His hair was still messy, but matted and limp, with patches missing around his neck. His eyes were red, but starting to take on a milky film.
Tucker bolted to a nearby vase and vomited, seeing his friend's bones faintly showing through his arms.
"Hmmm, yes," Grandma Yaga murmured, taking it in as though it were completely normal. "Now tell me what happened to get you this way. And don't leave anything out."
"Right; 'Grandma Yaga knows'," Danny quipped uneasily.
He started his tale; his life and death, his existence in the Ghost Zone, the portal accident that reanimated him, and then finally the Ghost Catcher incident and Phantom.
The old woman didn't interrupt, merely nodding and listening attentively. When he was done, she rocked in her chair for a moment, staring distantly ahead. For a brief moment, Danny was worried the old woman had zoned out in all that time, but then she spoke.
"The soul is a complex thing, child; a mix of memories and experience and lifeforce in its purest, rawest form." She began. "Your soul accrues these memories throughout life and your afterlife. And you've been blessed to experience another chance at that life. However, this splitting goes against nature.
"You hold the memories of yourself. Your consciousness. Yourself. But you have no 'life'. Hence, why you are rotting, yet still "alive".
"Likewise, the spirit gained all of the lifeforce in your soul, but none of the memories. Merely 'echoes' of that life. Enough to give it form as an amalgamate of all that you were in life, death, and resurrection. However, like echoes in a cave, I imagine they're drifting away into silence.
"Without the original memories, those echoes are fading and the lifeforce has nothing to hold onto. No shape, no direction. The 'ectoplasm' cannot hold itself together."
She looked urgently to the trio, "You must hurry before it's too late. The body can be preserved easily enough, but the spirit, once lost, is gone forever!"
"But how can we catch it?" Sam asked.
"We have the Fenton gear, but we need to find it without it flying away," Tucker added.
Grandma Yaga sat in silence, thinking, "Find an object of significance to yourself, Daniel. Something you would never forget. The stronger the memory, the stronger the draw Phantom will feel to it.
"But be careful," She cautioned. "The Phantom will defend that object with its last breath if need be."
"Thank you, Grandma Yaga," Sam said, standing.
"No problem, dearie, and do let your grandma know I'm still up for our Bridge game next Tuesday," She said eagerly, reaching over to pick up a television remote beside her.
"Will do."
"And Daniel," she spoke after them. "Don't be fooled by friendly smiles from a viper's lips."
"Fair is foul, and foul is fair.
"Hover through the fog and filthy air."
Danny shuddered as they left the old woman's cottage, closing the front door to the sounds of her cackling, and the Jeopardy introduction music.
"Never, never bring us back there," Tucker shuddered, once they were outside.
"Oh, stop being such a big baby Tucker." Sam chided. "She's just a harmless old woman."
"Guys..."
"A harmless old woman who 'knows' things," The beret-lover emphasized.
"You're just upset that she tricked you."
"Guys..."
"I wasn't tricked. I was just... worried the ears... would clash with my style..."
"That's good, because I think your new fox tail really matches your eyes."
"WHAT?!" Tucker whirled in place over and over, trying to look at his backside like a dog chasing its tail. Eventually, he stopped mid-turn and glared at his friend who was struggling to hold in her laughter. "No fair!"
"Sam! Tucker!"
The two turned to Danny, who was standing stock-still on the sidewalk. Sam put a hand on his shoulder, "Danny, you feeling okay?"
"I... I don't think I'll be much help now..." Danny said softly, breathing hitched. He gently twisted around, using Sam's hand as a guide.
His rheumy eyes had clouded over completely in a thick, milky white film.
"I... I can't see anymore."
AN: I honestly feel bad for pelting Danny with so much angsty-ness so close together. Just 'wham' you're-undead, 'wham' you're rotting, 'wham' it's getting worse, 'wham' now you're blind.
Don't worry, I'll ease up soon enough.
Grandma Yaga has to be one of my favorite characters to write thus far. She spiraled into existence like a week ago when I was imagining a funny scene to myself about a witchy old grandma in modern times grumbling about how the Ring doorbell system 'ruins her fun'.
And before anyone asks; yes, her name is after the Baba Yaga, a witch-like character in Eastern European folklore who flies on a giant mortar-and-pestle and lives in a house with chicken legs.
