"Uh," said Danny, having already decided that this was his least favorite cult. "So. You summoned me. Congrats."
"Lord Phantom," intoned one of the cultists, voice artificially deep.
Danny pegged him as the leader. He was also, incidentally, the tallest one there. Did this cult pick their leadership based on height? Not important.
"Do not wonder at our call, oh you of unequaled power," continued the cultist, "for it is an auspicious night, and though this place may be foreign to you, your lost bones lie six feet beneath our woven circle."
"Believe it or not," said Danny, coolly, "I do know where I am, thanks."
He shifted his glare from the cultists (who were sort of hard to look at, because they were all carrying stupidly bright flashlights) to the cloth beneath him. It was white, with black, silver, and, regrettably, Fenton ecto-line green. Apart from the weird symbols, the pattern of stitches was reminiscent of the Fenton Ghost Catcher.
Not a good sign. Danny would appreciate it if his parents would run better background checks on the people who bought their stuff. Not that cult membership was generally a matter of public record, and even if it was, not all cults were like this.
Danny caught himself sinking towards the ground and yanked himself up. Doing so was oddly difficult. He felt himself straining, as if he was carrying something heavy. Trying to go sideways was worse, like trying to move a particularly stubborn Ghost Zone door.
Yeah. Not a good sign.
"What do you want?" asked Danny.
"We, your servants, wish to reunite you with your flesh, oh wonderful one. For this purpose we have crafted this circle, to marry the spiritual divine with the physical divine, so you may lead us in all ways and for all time, and grant us the blessings we deserve as proclaimers of your might."
"That's… kind of gross sounding. Plus, I knew this was here. I could come get my stuff at literally any time."
"Of course, oh puissant one, your power is vast and unmatched. But we, your faithful servants, have long gathered knowledge with which to aid you, and it is by this that we have found this night, and this ritual, that shall truly wed you to your once-discarded flesh."
One of the other cultists muttered something like 'We've only been around for a year,' before being elbowed in the gut and pushed to the back of the group. Well, that narrowed which cult this was exactly down a bit. A very little bit.
Whatever. Who these people were wasn't currently the problem. Getting away before they somehow turned him into a zombie or forced him to possess his own corpse was the problem.
"Okay, so what if I don't want to be reunited with my flesh?"
This seemed to baffle the cultists.
"But of course you do!" said one of them. "Everyone wants to be alive again!"
Danny rather doubted that these guys had figured out how to resurrect people, and didn't particularly want to be resurrected in the first place. What would that even look like for him?
Speaking of looking, weren't Collins, Paterson, McGee, and Daily still watching? Why weren't they here, doing something? He could use the backup.
Almost as if summoned (ha) by his thoughts, Collins, Paterson, and McGee emerged from the decorative shrubbery.
… Actually, if Danny squinted past the cultists (and their flashlights) he could see Daily making a slow jog towards the group as well, still carrying his computer.
"Freeze!" shouted Collins. He did not have his gun out. Danny wasn't sure if cops in Amity Park even had traditional firearms, to be honest. Several of the cultists raised their hands anyway. "You're under arrest!"
"For what?" demanded the leader.
There was a beat of silence. Danny dragged his palm over his face, exasperated. Not only were they kind of late getting here, but they clearly hadn't thought this through.
"Trespassing?" suggested Paterson.
"This is public property," said one of the cultists. The others nodded in agreement.
"The park is closed," tried Paterson.
"Mayor Masters passed a new ordinance to keep the park open all day to accommodate our undead and night owl citizenry!"
"Wait, really?" asked Paterson, glancing at Collins.
"Oh, yeah, he did do that," said Collins, his face scrunched up as if he'd bitten into a lemon unexpectedly. "Defacing public property?"
"With a blanket?"
"Come on," said Danny, "you guys have to do better than that!"
The cultists jeered. The ones who had put their hands up had, for the most part, put them down.
"Whose side are you on?" asked Paterson, crossly.
"The side of the faithful, of course!" proclaimed the lead cultist, waving his arms.
"The side I'm on is the inside of this circle, that's the problem," said Danny. "Maybe you could get them for, I don't know, kidnapping?"
"Kidnapping only applies to people!" asserted a cultist.
"Oh, I see how it is. At first, I'm the great and powerful Phantom, and now I'm not even a person."
"Er," said the head cultist. "We're only using the unjust law as our shield, great and powerful Phantom."
Danny closed his eyes, feeling the strain of both the ludicrous conversation and staying afloat. "Okay, look, I meant that title sarcastically, I don't want you to actually use it. What I want is for you to let me go."
"Oh, most gracious and humble Lord Phantom, we wish only to free you from ignorance and the horror that is the division of soul and body!"
"Can we get them on conspiracy to commit a crime?" asked McGee, who looked almost as done with the situation as Danny.
"What crime?" demanded the lead cultist. "We are only exercising our right to practice our religion as we see fit!"
"Uh," said McGee. "Grave robbing? Desecrating a corpse? This reunion thing has to be one of those two, right?"
"We are not grave robbers! We are merely returning what has been stolen!"
If only Danny had access to this kind of enthusiasm when his body had actually been stolen.
Cameron Daily finally arrived, panting. He doubled over, clutching his computer to his stomach, and raised one finger. "I've got it," he said finally. "You're in violation of Amity Park Municipal Ordinance 11042."
"What."
"Passed in nineteen eighty-four, APMO 11042 states that no spirits, demons, ghosts, or other similar beings are to be summoned on public property, on the penalty of fines, and confiscation of all related ritual paraphernalia."
The cultists exchanged nervous glances.
"You'll never take us alive!" declared the leader, before absolutely booking it.
The other cultists were flustered at first, but then they ran, too, scattering into the night.
"Well," said Daily, gesturing at his flabby and sweaty body, "I'm not going to be able to catch them."
McGee swore and took off.
"Hey, wait!" shouted Paterson following. Collins gave Danny an apologetic look before running as well.
"Great," said Danny. "So, could you maybe get me out of this?" It was becoming harder to keep his distance from the ground.
"I can try," said Daily, starting to dither around the circle.
"Maybe you can just–" The sharp party-popper sound of a taser being fired somewhere in the park made Danny flinch.
His control slipped. His foot hit the embroidered cloth.
The symbols and lines sewn into the cloth flared and spasmed, swarming up Danny's leg, crawling over the fabric of his suit as if they belonged there until they twined around his torso and arms as well.
There was a flash of light. Danny was human again, but the symbols were still there, stitched into his clothes and apparently inked into his skin, still glowing.
"Oh," said Daily, wide-eyed. "I don't, um. I don't think I've ever seen you actually do that."
Danny grunted in reply and turned his hands over, looking at the symbols that circled his wrists. They tingled, both on his skin and in his eyes.
"Yeah, well, I didn't mean to," said Danny. He folded his hands into fists and looked up. "I can't turn back."