Chapter Twenty-Three: Night at the Skulk and Lurk

Exactly one week after his fight with bad luck, Wes found himself holed up in his room once again, sitting at his computer, researching ghosts. Lately, he'd been stuck in a rut in the evidence department, so he'd decided to step up his game with research. While Wes had made simple theories about Danny's biology, they were just that: theories. So that meant if Wes was to truly understand Danny, it meant that he had to read up on ghosts. With the entire world of information at his fingertips, it should be easy, right?

Wrong.

On the Internet, there was little separating ghost studies and ghost stories. The line between solid fact and spurious folklore was honestly concerning. Wes incredulously ran a hand through his hair. Most of the paint had faded by Wednesday, but there were still black flakes that would stick to anything that came in contact with his scalp.

After stumbling upon various World of Warcraft forums (somehow), dozens of ghost stories and creepypastas, Paulina's Myspace account that was full of pictures of Danny Phantom's ass (gag), PDFs of published ghost legends, and a few Ghost Busters wannabes' video series, Wes was at a loss. That was until, he found one web-page that changed it all: " ".

It was a blog run by an actual ectologist, though they tended to keep their credentials anonymous due to 'controversy' or something. The only clue to their identity was the email address they plastered at the bottom of the page, madscientist0509 .

Wes spent the entire night reading the blog which dated back at least five years. Whoever this was, they'd been in the ghost business for quite some time. They had detailed articles and explanations about ghost anatomy, cores, powers as well as how ghosts were formed and why they stayed tethered to this plane.

One thing that Wes disagreed with was how they generally portrayed ghosts as malevolent, which in his personal experience had found wasn't always the case. Wes believed that some ghosts were evil, but mainly because they choose to be. He honestly didn't think that ghosts lost their humanity in death, he believed that their humanity was amplified. It was his own little theory, that in life, humans have to follow society's morals, but once that person becomes a ghost, there's not really any consequences, so they're free to pursue their horrific desires. But the person who ran the blog seemed to be extremely pro-human and was under the belief that anyone alive was automatically naturally good. Wes liked to think of himself as a realist; there were no 'good' people, the world was morally gray. He'd been able to grasp that pessimistic outlook by the time he was nine years old.

So, despite of the human-bias, Wes stayed up all night reading the blog's science articles about what exactly a ghost is made and how their powers work. All in all, it was actually pretty informative. But there was one article at the top of the blog that piqued his interest.

'Traditional Ghost Beliefs: Fact or Phony?'

Almost every world culture that's existed has had some variance of explanations for the existence of ghosts – and with that, comes individual legends, lore, and beliefs of the creation and how to repel ghosts among other things. Many of these cultures believe that there are ways to summon spirits from wherever they typically reside, while others only believe that there are ways to produce a communication link between you and a spirit.

If you follow this blog or my work, you happen to know that I am purely a scientist and observe strictly ecto-related research rather than listening to old wives' tales. But what if... what if some of those traditional beliefs were correct? That's why last week, I took it upon myself to pursue research regarding these 'beliefs' and brainstormed a new set of experiments to find out what's fact and what's phony.

The rest of the article described their progress with the experiments to find out what was true, and what wasn't. While things like holy water and salt were practically harmless to ghosts (as Wes had figured), others like the summoning ritual had worked. The blogger retold their experience with summoning a known weak ghost dubbed 'BG' and using their known 'obsession', a simple incantation, and a few materials required to complete the summoning ritual. According to the blog, it worked 'seamlessly', and the ghost didn't even need consent to be summoned... which gave Wes a great idea.

The only place Wes could find in Amity Park that sold the materials he needed for the summoning ritual was at the local creepy goth store: The Skulk and Lurk. Wes had only heard rumors about the place, tales of secret cults operating in the storeroom or frequent midnight orgies, and even one story about it being the house of a vampire coven. Due to these stories, Wes had created a horrifying mental expectation of the Skulk and Lurk... medieval torture devices, satanic runes painted on the walls, jars of mummified body parts, a dead animal or two carelessly strewn across the floor, and a sketchy looking chair used to give tattoos by someone who had learned how ink in prison. Of course, that image faded away when Wes actually stepped through the threshold into the store. Instead, a dimly lit bookstore with the pleasant smell of deteriorating paper and the faint sound of melancholic rock music in the background greeted Wes.

Wes gazed aimlessly at the interior of the store in awe for about half a minute until a harsh voice broke him out of his stupor, "Hey kid, are you lookin' for somethin'?"

Behind the front counter was a deathly pale teenager with a black Mohawk and a black cut-off tank-top, even though it was January. He had at least seven piercings and his pants were half-way off his ass, and was wearing more jewelry than even Paulina would wear to Mardi Gras. If Wes hadn't lived in Amity Park for so long, this sort of guy would have given him the creeps. But he knew better, and Wes was there for a reason, get the materials for the summoning ritual, and he was one step closer to revealing Danny's secret once and for all.

"Uh," Wes said, "yeah, actually. I need everything on this list." He pulled out the list of ingredients from his pocket that he'd copied from the blog.

The guy behind the counter snatched the note from Wes before reading it over and groaned, "Is this a summoning ritual?"

Wes looked at him surprise, amazed on how quick the goth had been able to figure it out, "Uh... yeah? How did you-"

"This is Amity Park, kid. You're not the first crackpot, and definitely not the last, who's tried to summon a specific ghost." The guy handed him back his list and started walking towards the back of the store, coaxing Wes to follow, "I got all this stuff in the back, in the Wiccan section. Some religious fuckfaces came in here last month all pissy, so we had to move all of the 'occult' stuff out of sight. Next thing you know, they'll be attacking our Buddhist products too."

Wes didn't know much about Wicca or Buddhism, but he was afraid to ask this guy about his views on it for fear of being rejected assistance. So he nodded his head in a neutral response. It took about ten minutes for the guy, who had introduced himself as Spike, to hunt down all the items on Wes's list. But eventually he'd found everything, and had issued Wes a grim warning.

"You should be careful," Spike started scanning the items with a price gun, "the last girl who came in here, Paula or somethin', came back beggin' for a refund after screaming about how some Nicolai Technus wouldn't 'get out of her blender'. So just 'cause we live in Amity doesn't mean ghosts are suddenly docile beings."

"Oh trust me," Wes answered, "I know what I'm doing."

"And that's what they all say before something goes horribly wrong," Spike muttered, handing Wes the bag of his purchase.

"I'm different," Wes said.

Spike stared at him blankly, "I might just believe that. You may not be goth, but you've got some of the most despair filled, yet rage occupied eyes I've ever seen. And that's saying a lot considering what I have to see every time I look in a mirror. Whatever reason you have for doing this, you have something driving you. It's not some silly experiment or 'cause you have some crush on a dead person. This is a plan."

Wes was taken aback by the apparent delinquent's insights. He was eventually able to muster, "You're really perceptive."

Spike shrugged, "I had a friend who persistently psychoanalyzing me for awhile, and I guess some of it just... rubbed off."

"Well thanks for the help, and... the talk, but I have to get going," Wes said.

He was almost out of the store when Spike's voice pierced the air, "Hey, one thing. Do ya wanna come to the Skurk and Lurk poetry night sometime? We have it about every weekend."

"Uhh," Wes stalled, "sure?" And with that, he was out the door, and into the bright street in front of him.

That night, Wes found himself back at the Skulk and Lurk. He didn't know what compelled him to go, it could have been his general boredom, stress from his tireless research, Walter's persistence to do something outside of his room, or maybe he had a pathetic hope that he could convince some of the more open-minded goths to believe him about Danny. Whatever it was that brought him there, it was a strikingly out-of-character coercion to act on that kind of whim.

The poetry night was held in a separate room than the main store, and within, were various tables full of bored looking goths he'd seen around Amity Park. Actually, now seeing them in one place, he never realized how many goth teenagers there were. He found an empty table near the back and was thankful nobody was looking at him; he'd expected to stand out like a sore thumb in this place, but the kids here were so indifferent that they didn't even pay attention to him.

Wes listened as multiple patrons went up to the microphone to recite poetry about their own personal struggles, misery, and rage in their life. To tell the truth, in the seventh grade, Wes used to really be into poetry. Albeit, more fun and overall positive poetry, but it was a past affinity that he slowly grew out of. But before he'd left for the Skulk and Lurk for the second time that day, he'd scrawled a short poem on a napkin in case he had the courage to read it. Wes didn't know what possessed him, but after about thirty minutes of listening to others recite their poetry, Wes found that courage to read his own.

Up on the stage, Spike was the moderator for the poems, introducing and talking between individual recitations. Wes briefly walked up to him, and requested to go next, and with a creepy yet passive frown, Spike edged him to the stage. "And now we have – what's your name kid? – okay, Wes Weston reading his poem – what do you mean it doesn't have a name?"

Wes took the microphone, looking at the scowling faces of about thirty goth kids mentally criticizing him. For a moment, he heard someone mutter something about "not another jock babbling about clouds", but dismissed it. He took a shallow breathing a read from the napkin he'd written on.

"Days of misery, I am undeserved of this curse.

This wretched curse, to see the clear truth

that no one else can see, outside of a hearse.

This ignorance, shared by elders and youth

defines society's cold, relentless stupidity

to not be able to see past their idol's mask;

That within a ghost is a civilian, yet none see

my constant, infuriating torture, to which none ask."

When he looked up from the napkin, the room was staring at him with perplexion and acceptance rather than hostility and judgment. However, Wes's momentary euphoria only lasted a few seconds due to the presence of one of his least favorite peers.

"You're full of it, Weston," Sam called out. "Did you really write that poem just to make a statement?" She was in the center of the room, crossing her arms, shifting slightly.

Wes glared at her defensively, "I wrote that because that's how I felt."

"All you care about is 'revealing' Danny, so I think you're just playing the victim to earn pity points. Though, on the contrary, it was a well-written poem, I'll give you that."

"Leave me alone, Manson," Wes said, "I came here of my own accord, not for some scheme."

"Oh please," Sam scoffed, "everybody knows that you don't even have a life outside of your conspiracy theories anymore."

"And everybody knows that you don't have a life outside of Fenton and Foley, but not everything you hear is true," Wes argued. His stance then switched from defensive to taunting. "Maybe like how you... only like Danny because of his ghost half? I mean, just admit-"

"-you listen here, and you remember every single word I say!" Sam lunged forward, placing her on the stage next to Wes. She grabbed the collar of his shirt, causing the goths in the store to 'ooohh' dramatically. "Danny Fenton has been my best friend since elementary school, along with Tucker. Assuming your 'theory' is true – which it isn't," she said quickly, glancing at the audience, "cool powers or an alter ego wouldn't make me choose one side of my friend over the other. You're just – you're just making a big deal of things that don't exist! You're not 'tortured', you're playing a part! Just like... You just don't know anything, haven't experienced hardship. Your poem is just one long list of excuses!"

With one last glare, Sam let go of Wes's collar, causing him to absently bring a hand to his neck. Sam turned to Spike with a guarded expression, "Sorry for the scene, that was... uncalled for," her voice bristled at the end.

"Why apologize?" Spike asked, oddly humored. "You know we all love a good fight."

The goths behind him silently jeered in agreement.

At those words, Sam froze, staring at Spike before averting her eyes downwards, "Yeah. In Amity Park, everyone's a spectator," she lowered her voice, "And everyone's a liar."

And with that eerie statement, Sam jumped off of the stage, and walked out of the Skulk and Lurk. Wes stayed on the stage for a few more seconds before Spike pulled him down and brought up the next person to recite their poetry.

Outside of the Skulk and Lurk, Sam started her slow trek back home. Her house was only a mile away, but the dim street lamps made the road stretch out longer. (Though, she was used to walking at night, considering how often she snuck out to fight ghosts.) She exhaled deeply, and kicked a stray rock into the street, reflecting coldly on her actions.

In that moment back in the Skulk and Lurk, she honestly had no idea what had possessed her. When she had hypocritically called out against Wes's poetry... when she had lost her sensibility... when she had initiated a pointless argument.

Why had she done it? To defend Danny? Because she 'hated' Wes? No... that couldn't be why. There was some sort of rage inside her that was triggered at hearing Wes's poem, his admission of emotion.

It was like... he had been sending Sam on a guilt trip. Hearing the words so eloquently from his perspective, without the presence of Danny or any sort of desperate mania, they had resonated with her. She saw beneath the surface of Wes Weston for a moment and realized that he was also just another human struggling to adjust in this life of secrets. And in response to her guilt, she lashed out against him. She didn't want to believe that he was telling the truth, she tried to convince herself that his feelings were just a ploy. She had been defending herself and her skewed image of Wes more than anything.

And his retaliation only made her seem like a bully.

That's not what Sam wanted to be.

She fished the poem that she had printed out earlier and had planned to read that night. It was about her parents not understanding her, and that their definition of struggles were different than her's. And that everyone had different degrees and limits of emotional breaking points.

For instance, their struggles of maintaining a 'picture perfect' position in a critical society seemed like the most difficult thing in their lives. But to her, her breaking-point was fighting every day, watching her friends sacrifice and get hurt, unable to keep up with Danny half of the time, and being plagued with guilt about causing his death.

In her poem, she had wrote 'You think it's so hard being you, try being me for a day/because everyone feels Atlas's burden, to each our own way'.

She had originally wrote it about her parents... but deep down, she was starting to see it from another side. She had disregarded Wes's emotion because it hadn't made sense to her, but this was actually tormenting him... He wasn't just doing this for revenge, he was doing it because it was tearing him apart. She had always known that, but had never recognized it.

But just because Wes genuinely felt about things didn't change his actions. He was still trying to reveal Danny, and so far they hadn't figured out how to get him to surrender. Wes was too far gone to negotiate with. They had pushed him too far, and there was no turning back.

(That's just another lie. (She didn't want to stop being a hypocrite.))

She turned the corner and tried to repress her self-hate. She didn't know how to change at this point, because she rarely believed she was wrong.

Sunday morning, Wes started bright and early on the summoning ritual. He set up three cameras in his room to capture different angles of where the summoning would take place, and that way if Danny destroyed one of them he'd still have two more for insurance. It didn't take him long to get all the materials he'd bought the previous day arranged for the ritual. It was a fairly simple set of instructions: draw on the floor with some weird brownish liquid, use some nasty smelling candles, and place imported sage in the center of the circle. The next part, however, was a little more difficult.

For the ritual to be performed, Wes had to read a specific incantation to call out the specific ghost he wanted to attract. This was the part of the ritual that most people got wrong, such as Paulina when she accidentally summoned Technus. Just in case something went wrong and he didn't summon Danny, Wes had his phone ready to dial the Fenton residence so they could neutralize the threat.

Deciding not to postpone any more, Wes read from the paper he'd printed out, stumbling on some of the words because he was afraid he'd screw it up.

"I summon thee ghost from the realm of the dead

Attend to mine offering, fire and warmth

Beseech to mine property, security unto thee

And thy presence shall be welcomed here

I call upon the Halfa, one who inhibits Amity Park"

Wes didn't know what he was expecting to happen, but after about ten seconds of nothing, he was thoroughly disappointed. Just as he moved, to make sure all the candles had been lit, an orb of white light appeared above the summoning circle followed by a semi-loud 'POP!'

What Wes was expecting was a surprised or pissed looking Danny Fenton/Phantom standing in the center of the circle. However, the universe decided to ultimately throw him off guard by giving him something he never expected or wanted to see, launching his already confused mind into overload.

A startled Vlad Masters stood in his room, wearing a gray bathrobe and was holding a toothbrush to his mouth.

Wes, for the most part, had no outward reaction. He and Vlad just stared at each other in silence for about excruciating two minutes, each of them absorbing and slowly understanding the situation. Wes's mind raced faster than computer processing speeds, chiding himself for missing the obvious.

How did I miss it? Vlad was the other Halfa the entire time! He was the one from the article, the patient who'd been hospitalized, hell, with some of the occurrences around Amity Park I should've noticed it, but I was too focused on exposing Danny to even suspect. I always knew there was something off about him, ever since our first meeting years ago! Even now, his secret lab... it all makes perfect sense.

Finally, Wes couldn't take it another second of silence. "So..." he said, tersely, "how're you a ghost?"

Vlad's eyes flashed with a moment of panic, before being replaced by one of determination. When he opened his mouth to speak, his voice was oddly resigned yet grim, "If you want your father to keep his job... or worse, I would forget this ever happened."

Understanding what this man was capable of, Wes automatically nodded as Vlad spun around and approached the door. Just as he was in Wes's doorway, something pulled Wes out of his trance.

"Wait," he called, "can you at least tell me what you know about Danny Fenton being Danny Phantom?"

He watched Vlad's apprehensive face twist into one of humor, and the man started laughing. No other words, Vlad simply left Wes's room, laughing at the boy's devout obsession with Danny.

As much as Wes hated to admit, he didn't get any sleep that night.

And now... he knows about Vlad (:

Also, sorry it's been a while for me to update. I've been on a Netflix binge for the past month straight because I'm trying to watch all the Arrowverse shows along with school -.-