Angst Week Day 5: Death


Cup of Coffee

A delicious smell reached Danny's nose and registered in his brain before he could even wake up properly. The half-ghost teen didn't know (or care) what time it was, but he figured a warm cup of coffee was good enough reason to get up now. Wasn't it a school day? His head still felt too drowsy to remember, figuring it couldn't be too late or his parents would be already knocking angrily on his door.

A fight with his covers and a bathroom visit later, the slightly more awake boy headed downstairs on a mission to empty the coffee pot. Before he even reached the kitchen's entrance, he noticed how eerily silent the household was as a chill ran down his spine the closer he got to his destination. This wasn't like his ghost sense. It was something else entirely. He felt terror fill every fiber of his being as he laid eyes on the figure at the kitchen table.

The stranger was slowly taking a sip of coffee from a light-blue ceramic mug, held between unnaturally white, slender hands that almost resembled bones. Danny couldn't quite discern if they were a man or a woman— or maybe genderfluid? The dark hooded coat covering their hair and other telling physical attributes impeded him from making any assumption.

He just knew there was something wrong with their sharp features and the dark eyes that felt like endless pits staring at him.

Danny tried to glance around the room to see where his family was, but he didn't dare to take his eyes off the visitor for too long. The boy frowned in confusion when he realized the two of them were alone, the additional cup of coffee in front of the empty chair almost inviting him to take a seat.

"Uhm… are you here to see my parents? Or maybe Jazz?" the Fenton kid felt stupid for asking, as if part of him already knew the answer.

The disconcerting person at the table grinned. "That would depend on you, my boy," they spoke in a deep voice, as androgynous as the rest of their appearance. They motioned with their head toward the chair. "Sit."

A part of him wanted to 'nope' his way out of this interaction. Heck, out of Amity Park, if it meant being away from this bizarre intruder comfortably sitting in his kitchen as if they owned the place. Still, another part of him knew that leaving would be a really bad idea. There was something he couldn't put his finger on, but he was overwhelmed by the power coming from the stranger.

Danny slowly took the offered seat, ignoring how his instincts pleaded to retreat. He allowed his Phantom side to emerge in his demeanor as some sort of mental booster to keep his cool.

"So, who are you, anyway?" he dared to ask, crossing his arms in front of his chest in defiance.

The stranger's smile turned into something more bemused that reflected in their deep black eyes. "What, you're not going to taste my delicious brew? I made it just for you, youngling."

Danny scowled at the pet name, not liking the conclusions his mind supplied from the small exchange. Squinting at the unsolicited guest, the boy took the cup of coffee and brought it close to his nose. Sure enough, the smell was the most pleasant thing that had ever graced his nostrils. Still, he left the mug back on the table and resumed his previous posture.

"Yeah, taking drinks from strangers even at my own home is a basic no-no," Danny replied with a more confident tone. "I'll ask again. Who. Are. You?"

The bemused grin now turned into a disturbing, toothy cackle. "You're a hoot, little one," they said between dying chuckles that put Danny's nerves on edge. "I'm not one to make introductions, Daniel James Fenton. I get answers and the occasional entertainment, which I must thank you for at least."

"Listen, buddy," Danny spat with a hint of venom, "I don't know what's your business here or what you want from me, but I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."

His unwarranted companion shook their head before taking another sip of their drink. "It's a pity, you know? This coffee is to die for."

Suppressing the odd sensation brought by their words, Danny glared. "No, thanks. I'm not fond on the dying part," he retorted. Would he have to use his powers to get this creep out of his house? His ghost sense hadn't gone off and there was no hint of possession. So what did that mean?

The stranger leaned back on their chair, steepling their bony fingers in front of them. "Oh, yes. I am quite aware of your reluctance to die, young one. As with other things in your life, you only did that halfway."

Danny's eyes widened to an almost concerning size. His breath hitched as his chest constricted in abject fear. "W-what?"

Millions of thoughts bombarded his head at once. Was this some trick from Vlad, trying to mess with him? Or was the GIW involved and looking to collect him for lots and lots of painful experiments? How much of the truth did they know? Maybe if he dove for a Fenton thermos—

A cruel laugh snapped him out of his inner turmoil. The figure leaned forward with both elbows on the table while their fingers framed their bony chin. "I'm no mere ghost or hunter coming after you, child," they replied as if reading his thoughts. "I'm not something you weaken and store away in a container. And l have no interest in your petty activities or identity struggles. I'm here because you owe me, little mongrel."

The half-ghost's worries increased with each word. This newcomer was definitely not human or a ghost. So what would that make them? A cryptid? A demon? Something above all that?

And when in hell did Danny become indebted to them?

If the teen had learned anything from ghost fighting in the last two years, it was to keep a confident attitude and never drop the banter. It sometimes helped him seem less concerned than he should be, which caught his enemies off guard. So he had to pull through here and keep his rising panic at bay.

"Owe you?" Danny snorted. "What… did your insurance not cover some property damage or something?"

The visitor exhaled tiredly and then stood up to fill more coffee into the blue mug. Danny realized with a start how tall they were. "Did you know you're the first to pull off this kind of stunt?" they spoke with their back turned as they tipped the pot to pour the dark liquid.

Once finished, they returned to the seat in front of the teen. "Not even the old hybrid turned out like you, you know?" The kid's eyes widened again. "He's more of a… human with a ghost disease. A man completely alive but with an ectoplasmic parasite inside." They paused for a sip of coffee and then gave the teen a curious look. "Do you even know what being half-ghost means?"

Danny composed himself to return a steady glare (one that hid a terrified and trembling little phantom kid behind). "Almost dying," he muttered, not liking to admit it.

The strange visitor briefly put their right index finger on their nose. "Bingo, at least you understand that part," they replied excitedly. They then made a more serious expression. "But you see, there's a tiny detail no one has bothered to talk with you, so I had to come all the way here to explain the little pickle you've found yourself in."

"And what's that?" Danny dared to ask. He knew he had stepped on so many intangible toes, but none had retaliated in such a frightening way.

"Let me start from the beginning." The stranger sat back with one long leg crossed over the other. "Do you know what happens when people die?"

Danny didn't like this topic. There were so many theories but none he truly believed in after everything he had been through. So, he offered a small shrug. "They can become ghosts or move on?"

The condescending smile he received in reply made the teen scowl. "No, that comes after, sweetie," the stranger commented. "Before any of that, a person's essence is removed from this dimension or plane or world or however you wish to call it. You wanted to be an astronaut, so you know a bit of science—"

The half-ghost spluttered. "How did you— have you been stalking me?"

This reaction didn't amuse the visitor. "As I was saying… Science. A person's essence is energy. Energy can't be created nor destroyed, only transformed. Every tiny soul removed, if that's what you'd like to call it, goes backstage to keep this world and the universe playing the great festival of life. In some cases, erratic energy will try to linger, so it's removed to what you know as the Ghost Zone—"

There was a snort from Danny. "So, the Zone is the VIP lounge room in your little metaphor?"

"In all these years, I've never had this many interruptions," the stranger scoffed but resumed their detached tone. "Then again, I never had to explain any of this to a rule-breaker. So, moving to the pickle you're in." They paused for a second to reconsider. "Oh, right, we're doing a festival metaphor. Shall we call it… a breach in our contract for the event?" They seemed unconvinced but made a dismissive hand gesture. "You see, once an act ends, the performer leaves the stage and the contract is fulfilled, clearing the space for the next act. There are no encores in a festival. The door they exit goes one way only."

Danny stared silently at the ground, uncomfortable about where this story was headed.

The storyteller in front of him didn't care and leaned forward. "So, do you know what happens if you treat the exit like a revolving door and head back for one more jam whenever you please? Or worse, if you keep promising this is your last song and then go on to perform another?"

There was a nasty sensation in his chest as apprehension clawed its way into his core. Blue eyes gave a tentative glance at his companion. "The audience enjoys a free extended concert?"

"Ah, right, you've never had a job in your short existence." The debt collector sighed and shook their head. "No, youngling. Life doesn't work like that. You didn't take into consideration the people working backstage for extra hours. You've now sent them in a frenzy. They don't know what to expect anymore. They might miss dinner with their family and throw their household out of balance. And there's the matter of getting paid for overtime, which the event manager hadn't accounted for." They let the words sink in for a few seconds, but the pointed look never stopped focusing on Danny. "Can you see how you're in debt now? A deep one, I must say."

Overwhelmed, the teenager's gut twisted in knots. He knew his mere existence was wrong, but never how profound that wrongness went. How it affected more than his surroundings and the people he loved. It couldn't have been that bad if he had gone unchecked for two years.

Danny's resolve returned as he tried to push down the dread. "Hold on, cut the metaphor crap. You're saying I cheated death and now the universe is, what, off-balanced? I mean, how did I cheat if I'm still half-dead?"

A dark look crossed the stranger's disturbingly black eyes. "There's no such thing, child. The door shouldn't stay slightly ajar so you can stand in the middle of it. Either you're in or out. As simple as that."

Danny was getting dizzy with this door example. He knew it couldn't be that black and white, right? "Isn't that basically what ghosts do? You said that a person's essence leaves this world, so what about those who died and came back for some unfinished business?"

"Ghosts were designed to be echoes, fragments, shades to this plane of existence," came the more serious reply. "But then, you broke the balance and allowed them to enter this world, while you were never meant to go to the "VIP room", as you so wrongly called it. You were merely a backup dancer at most. Not the lead singer. How, then, is it that a single boy, who would have not amounted to much in the great scheme of things, ended up shattering the balance I've worked so hard to maintain?"

The phrasing felt so odd in the half-ghost's ears and he didn't like the implications of the kind of power this being had.

Danny shook his head. "But that's why I send them back! They never stay long. I'm working so hard to keep everyone in place."

"You still don't understand. You see the tree but not the forest. Allow me then to explain in clearer terms," the stranger sat at the edge of their seat staring into Danny's eyes. "The people who die from a ghost attack were not destined to die that soon. The ones you save from a human occurrence, such as a fire or a crash, weren't supposed to live too long. Ghosts were not allowed to interact as much as they have with this world. The portal was set to fail. Vladimir Masters was meant to be a warning, not an invitation to continue."

Tears began to cloud his vision. He had worked so hard to keep everyone safe, and that had been the wrong choice? "But I didn't—" he began to whisper.

This time, the other interrupted him. "Create the portal? No. Bring it to life? Yes."

Danny stared at the probably cold cup of coffee sitting in front of him, unable to grasp how the accident had changed much more than his surroundings. How many lives had he made worse? How many events had he altered irreparably for everyone else?

Most importantly, how could he make up for it?

The teen exhaled a shaky breath. "So… how do I bring things back to balance? How do I pay my debt?"

The ghoulish visitor nodded. "There are two options, youngling, but none you will like," they answered in a softer tone. "You leave with me, no more traveling halfway, or you stay and I take someone else in your place."

Danny frowned. "That wouldn't solve the problem with the portal," he tried to reason.

A smile appeared on dark-streaked lips. "It will, once they get my message loud and clear."

That earned a shudder from the teen. "Where would you take me?"

"I'd say that's up to you, little one," the other replied nonchalantly. "But I'm not too fond of the idea of making you a ghost. Your essence has been corrupted. You would take a position there that doesn't belong to you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" the boy asked with a confused look on his face.

The visitor laughed heartily. "See? You stumble into so many things without knowing. You don't know you've become King of all Ghosts—"

"What!?" Danny yelped as his mind reeled with the revelation.

"—and you will set the course for the destruction of your planet," they explained.

"Wait," Danny said in a firmer tone, standing from his seat with both hands placed on the table. "I'm not buying this. Clockwork has been guiding me, to stop an evil future or the end of the world from happening. He wouldn't—"

"Tell me, little tyke," the visitor interrupted this time. "Do you genuinely believe there's a ghost controlling the timeline? The only reason he saved you was because you weren't meant to die. Because you shouldn't have become half a ghost. In that sense, he didn't change anything."

Danny's core buzzed, feeling threatened and unstable. As if he had worried to protect his loved ones for nothing. He tried to back away from the table. "No, you're lying."

The stranger cocked their head to the side. "I do not need to lie. Even your core knows this deep down."

Green flared in the half-ghost's eyes. "I don't even know what you are. This could just be a prank, for all I care."

The silence that suddenly reigned seemed to extend beyond the confines of the Fenton household. Danny didn't know when it turned dark outside, the exterior shadows creating menacing figures that crawled into the kitchen floor. Lights began to flicker as the eerie visitor stood up, their tall and bony figure looming menacingly over the ghost kid. The unnaturally pale skin on the creature's face melted until the dark eyes were turned into the empty sockets of a skull.

Death, Danny's mind supplied as he finally understood this was a fight he had lost before he even tried.

"Now, little one," a thousand voices came out of the bony entity cornering him. "Are you sure you don't want to taste that brew?"

The boy, feeling as small as his collector had called him during their entire exchange, slid his back against the wall until he fell in a sitting position, hugging his legs desperately while he hung his head in defeat against his knees. A single tear fell from his firmly shut eyes.

Who knew the best coffee he would taste promised such a bitter end?