Edited/Rewritten December 2007

Please read with care… more murder, blood and gore, angst, torture, and small, furry rodents in this chapter!

Pits
A Danny Phantom FanFiction by Cordria

Page 3

I am, I think, forever tainted with ectoplasm. I mean – yeah, I'm half-ghost so I'm part ectoplasm by nature – but still. If I ever get out of the Pits, I am going to set off every one of my parents' ectoalarms for all of time. It's the food. Never have I seen so much glowing-ness in what I am forced to consume. Not even that sausage pizza my parents cooked that one time glowed with the voracity that all of the food does here.

Even the human food that Walker imports into the Pits glows vaguely. Some of it has a red radiance. Some of it blazes green. Some of it smolders with an odd bluish color. No matter the color, each and every scrap of food glows. The color does give me a neat way to figure out who made it though. You see, the Pits employs three ghostly chefs. The French ghost, a pale specter who looks like he got run-over by a train, creates the greenish cuisine. His food is arguably the best tasting. LJ disagrees rather vehemently on this point. He believes the food with the bluish glow (manifested by a young lady with a flair for slicing off heads with her seven-inch-long fingernails) is far superior. He thinks our difference of opinion has got something to do with the resonance of ghostly energy or something. I've got green energy, so I appreciate the green glow of the food. His is blue, so he leans towards the bluish food.

This is completely beside the point, however. My food just arrived – which has put me off on a slight tangent from the story I was trying to tell. It looks slightly like oatmeal pudding. It tastes slightly like oatmeal pudding. It also has the disgusting red glow that tells me the mean old chef made it – the one with the droopy hat and the wrinkles that actually came to yell at me a few days ago for not liking his fish-flavored jell-o. He had some odd name for it that I can't remember. (LJ has just informed me that it was called lutefisk and that it was not jell-o, it was actually fish. He should stop reading over my shoulder when I'm writing… it's annoying.)

While I finish my excellent cuisine, which does look a lot like a bowl full of clotted, glowing blood, I need to continue the story that I was telling you. Now… where'd I leave off? Oh, yes. I had just finished my fight with Crusher. Day one was over. Day two was just beginning.

I don't remember much about the time right after the fight. My memories seem to merge directly from Crusher disintegrating in my arms to me sitting in my cell without any apparent time lapse. I know there was one, and I'm aware of what probably happened to me during that gray area, but my mind is a complete blank on what actually occured. Rather than fill you in with "might haves" and "probablies," I'm just going to skip to my next complete memory.

I was lying down in a dark, little cell, staring up at the ceiling. The blades had been removed from my arms, my clothes had been changed from the blood-soaked t-shirt and jeans to a Pits uniform, my hair wet from the shower I had taken and my wounds banaged. My arms itched where the leather bindings had held the blades in place and my left arm ached from Walker's stab wound. But my mind was far away, busily trying not to think about what had just taken place. I wanted to focus on anything but the fact that I had just murde…

The lights. I spent hours lying on my bed, staring up at the tiny balls of ignited ectoplasm that danced and flickered around my ceiling like tiny fireflies. In all that time that I watched them flit slowly around the room, I didn't ever them fall into an actual pattern. Their movements were a random dance that I couldn't be a part of. Every once-and-a-while, two of the lights would swirl close to each other, like partners in a complicated and long-forgotten dance, and twirl around each other for several minutes before breaking apart and spinning lazily in opposite directions.

Most disconcerting, however, was a chance meeting of the green flickers in the center of the room a few hours after I had first started watching them. They danced around until all seven of the lights were poised close to each other above my head. Then, for a split second, they seemed to form a picture: two glowing, green eyes that blazed with pain, pity, disgust, and determination. The exact same eyes that I had stared into hours before as the ghost they belonged to disappeared forever.

I shut my eyes tightly and rolled onto my side, curling into a ball. Something cool trickled down my cheek, but I didn't bother to raise my hand to figure out what it was. It wasn't until the sob escaped me minutes later that I realized that I was crying.

I was crying over the death of a ghost that had tried his hardest to kill me.

I'd never seen someone die outside of the movies. The ghosts I fought were never really killed… they weren't even really hurt. I just kicked them around long enough to weaken them and suck them into my parents' Fenton thermos. It hadn't even occurred to me that ghosts could be killed – they were already dead. My first experience with death and it had occurred right in my fingers.

And just to make it worse, I was the one who had killed him.

I was a murderer.

I buried my head in my arms and let the fear and the pain of the experience wash through me. Crusher's final moments seared through my brain. I could still feel the smooth movements of my arm as the blade opened up the ghost's throat. My skin crawled at the remembered coolness of the ghost's blood as it split over me and my throat burned at the taste of evaporating ectoplasm in the air. Just as I reached the end of my memory, it restarted. Over and over, the ghost's death played through my mind like a CD player eternally stuck on "repeat."

Finally, the tears refused to come anymore. In my head, the memory blurred and shortened. Soon, all I was watching was the ghost disintegrate in my hands. Then all I could see was the ghost's face as he died.

In the end, all that was left were Crusher's eyes. Filled with pain, blazing with determination, and crowded with a sorrowful pity and fiery anger, his green eyes gazed at me in my mind.

A million times, my mind replayed the exact moment when whatever life Crusher had possessed fled from his ectoplasmic body and left his glowing eyes a dull, lifeless green.

Those eyes stared at me until I finally fell asleep.

I was jerked out of my sleep when the door to my little room slammed open.

"Punk, get up."

I blinked blearily up at the intruder, wiped grit out of my eyes, and scratched at the dried trails the tears had left on my cheek. Slowly, I got to my feet and watched the three ghosts that were entering my room.

The last ghost, a short guard missing his left eye, carefully shut the door behind them. He leered at me, but flinched when I met his gaze. I dismissed him instantly. I glared at the largest of the ghosts: Walker. "What do you want?" I muttered.

Walker backhanded me with enough force that I was tossed into the wall. "One must speak up, mustn't we?" he snapped, "And you aren't allowed to talk unless spoken to." Still shaking stars out of my brain, I didn't put up a fight when I felt two hands grab my shoulders. Something pressed against my throat and a sharp click snapped through the air. The hands pushed me back to the ground and let go. By the time I had staggered back to my feet and twisted around, both deputy ghosts were once again standing a pace behind Walker.

I raised a hand to my neck, feeling the odd collar that had been secured around it. It was about as thick as a finger, smooth to the touch, and felt a bit like leather. A convulsive shiver ran through me as I forced my hand back down to my side. "This is…" I trailed off, hoping that the desiccated ghost warden would finish my sentence.

Walker's cracked lips opened in a parody of a smile. "Let me explain the rules to you, ghost kid. Follow the rules and we won't have a problem. Understand?"

I nodded absently, clenching the fingers on my hands to keep them from flying back up to the thing around my neck and trying to tear it off. The collar was making the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Something about it was just… wrong.

"Rule one: prisoners do not attack other ghosts or humans outside of the arena." Walker glared at me for a second before continuing. "Rule two: prisoners do not speak to guards unless spoken to. Rule three: prisoners are not to use any ghost power against ghosts or humans outside of the arena. This includes wish granting, mind control, overshadowing, telepathy, parapsychology, or any other odd power that may crop up. Rule four: prisoners will stay in their holding cells until the fight, with few exceptions. Rule five: prisoners may not escape the pits. Rule six: prisoners are granted one wish every seven successful fights – this wish may be used on anything that does not attempt to break the aforementioned rules. Do you have any questions?"

Still fighting the odd desire to yank at the collar, I didn't bother to listen to Walker's listing of the rules. I figured I was destined to break all of them anyway. "What is this thing?"

Walker leered at me. "That, punk, is a specially designed device to deal out consequences to prisoners that break the rules. Would you like to see what it does?"

To this day, I still can't believe that I actually said "yes." I plead momentary insanity due to the fact that I was still half asleep, my mind still hadn't processed Crusher's murder, and the abnormal craving to have my own hands around my throat due to the collar.

From what I remember, I don't think Walker really believed that I had said "yes" either. He stared at me for the longest time, completely silent. Then he shrugged, grabbed a small device off of his belt, and showed me the small button. "If you break one of my rules, kid, this is what happens." He pressed his finger down on a button.

Instantly, pain flooded through me. "Gaaaahhhh!" I screamed and collapsed to the floor. It felt like every single one of my nerves had suddenly caught on fire. Almost as quickly as the fierce burning had engulfed me, it was gone. I lay on the floor, shaking from the tremors of pain that still flew through me.

Keeping my eyes welded shut and struggling to keep down the trembling in my body, I barely processed what Walker said next. "These collars are used to keep ghosts in line when they aren't in their cells. Every guard has got one of these shockers. I'll also mention that the walls are phase-proof to both humans and ghosts, so you can't escape that way."

I heard his boots squeak against the rough stone floor as he stepped closer. The next time I breathed in, I could taste his foul breath in the air. He had to have been leaning right over me. The temperature of the air around me dropped a dozen degrees in seconds, leaving me with goosebumps trailing up and down my arms. Walker's voice, rasping like dry bones in a desert sandstorm, whispered in my ear. "You were lucky with this first fight. You should have died. I saw what that pathetic ghost did – he gave you your life, punk. You won't survive the next one. I'll make sure of that."

His presence moved off. His boots rapped sharply on the floor a few times as he strode away. The door creaked open, letting a breath of warm air blast into my cold cell. "Oh, and kid," Walker's voice echoed slightly in the hallway beyond the door, "I'll keep my word. You can use your ghost powers in this next fight. For now, anyway." The door slammed, making the air vibrate in the silent cell.

Above me, the ghost lights twirled in frantic patterns against the dark ceiling.

When my door creaked open again some indeterminate time later, I was still curled up on the floor, my eyes shut and my mind whirling around in pointless circles. I listened as something clattered against the stone floor followed closely by a wet, slopping sound. Then the door clicked shut again. Silence filled my room. Finally, I picked my head up and looked around.

My mind was still trying to figure out everything that had happened… and it wasn't doing a good job. All of my thoughts flickered through my head and then vanished before I could fully comprehend them. Suddenly, my brain stopped and fixed on the idea that was foremost in my mind. I look back now and wonder what I thought I was going to accomplish, but at the time it made perfect sense. I pushed myself to my feet, one hand tugging absently at the leather collar around my neck. "Going ghost!" I screamed, letting my body flood with cool, crisp energy.

As the rings of light cascaded around me, I let my eyes blaze green. My entire being was centered on the one thought that echoed inside of me: escape. There was no possible way I was going to stay in this cell a moment longer.

Feeling the cold tingle pass over my head and beyond my feet, I pushed off the ground. I flipped myself intangible, throwing myself at the door. I slammed against it going a good forty miles an hour. Despite the pain of my shoulder ramming into a very solid door, the second my bruised body connected with the floor I was back onto my feet. Snarling in anger, I flung myself around the room, kicking and punching at walls. No matter how intangible I tried to be, the walls, floor, and ceiling remained solid and immovable.

After a few minutes, I stopped, hanging suspended in the center of my tiny cell. Greenish blood dripped off of my tattered gloves. If I had been in the right state of mind, I might have noticed that a few of my fingers were broken, but something like that was the farthest thing from my mind. Even though my intangible act had failed like nothing else, I was still dead set on escaping from this hellish place. It was the only thing that was echoing around in my head. Frustration leant me strength, fear gave me the drive to move, and a tiny bit of insanity provided me with inspiration.

Freezing energy congealed in my hands as I raised them up to point at the door. My eyes flaring to the point where they were starting to illuminate the cell all on their own, I collected an energy blast that rivaled any that I had ever made. "Let me out!" I screamed as I threw it at the door, hoping the door would be blasted into a zillion pieces. Nothing. The blast fizzled against the door, not even singeing the wood planks.

My disappointment in my first failed attack fueled the temporary insanity that had captured my brain. I yelled crazily, sending thick streams of spectral energy in every direction. The air sizzled with power; ice formed all over the cracks in the thick stone that made up the walls, only to be melted a breath later by a flare of green ectoplasm. In desperation, I let power deluge into my vocal chords. My fanatical shouts turned into a super-sonic blast that stripped away every last ounce of my spare energy.

I collapsed to the ground on my hands and knees, back in human form, panting. Water dripped nosily into puddles as the last of the ice melted slowly away. Small scorch marks on the stone sizzled and steamed. For the second time today, tears leaked down my cheeks without me being fully aware of it. Drained of the manic energy that had momentarily possessed me, I dropped my head down to the floor and let a sob convulse my body.

Crouched there, drowning in my own misery, I didn't notice the faint skittering noises that rippled over the distant dripping of water. Something metallic scraped softly against stone floor. I shifted slightly, pressing my palms against my eyes, but I didn't look up. The soft scraping sound filtered through the room again, barely registering in my mind over my own moaning.

Suddenly I froze. A new sound had echoed around the room. It was a sound that I wouldn't have expected in this dark and depressing room… not even in my craziest dreams.

It sounded kind of like laughter.

Carefully, I raised my head and glanced around for the intruder in my room. Four stone walls met my dazed gaze. The serious lack of other people was instantly obvious. After a confusing few seconds, an odd, blue glow drew my eyes to the spot on the floor next to the door. I blinked a few times, focusing on the strange object sitting there. I had never seen it before.

It looked like a metallic, somewhat bowl-shaped container. The glow came from inside.

Unwinding my arms and legs, I hastily brushed the remnants of tears from my eyes. I crawled forwards a few steps, cautious peering into the bowl. My eyes widened as I took in the odd contents. The first was a thick, slightly glowing blue slop. The second thing…

The second thing in that bowl was a rat. Almost completely black, the small animal had what looked like tiny, light-blue, zigzag streaks running along its back and down its legs. A short stock of fur between its ears and its thick tail glittered the same blue color. Its lean muscles tensed as its glowing blue eyes stared straight into mine. We both held perfectly still for a few heartbeats.

My mouth twitched up into a tiny smile despite the despair still eating at my stomach. "Was that you making that sound?" I asked.

The ghost rat continued to watch me, whiskers moving slightly, feet planted firmly in what I assumed was supposed to be my supper. I watched it blink at me. Then it vanished like it had never even existed.

I shook my head, leaning heavily against the door and staring around my room. The ghost lights were all huddled in the corners of the ceiling, their dance temporarily destroyed by my earlier outburst. I breathed out slowly and let my head drop back against the door with a thud.

My eyes closed, I brought my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. I let head fall forwards on to my knees.

My body was completely drained of energy after my crazy attempt at escape. My mind was exhausted from the emotions that had run rampant through me. For the first time that day, I was too tired to care that I was stuck in a ghost's death trap. I was too tired to think about Crusher and his murder. I was too tired to wonder what would happen next.

Mind black, I drifted to sleep.

"You're fighting a ghost named Slasher today," Former muttered to me as he was strapping the blades onto my arms hours later. "He's only a three time winner, but the word is that he is positively nuts."

I stood there mutely, watching his deft, coffee-colored fingers set the last buckle into place. I had been roughly woken up and been dragged through the dark, dank hallways only a few minutes ago. The short guard that was missing his left eye – the one from before – had been one of the guards to help wake me up and had delighted himself in twisting my hurt arm brutally the entire way to Former's room. Whether or not I was completely awake yet was up for debate. My brain was still very fuzzy due to the fact that my mind was furiously trying to deny the idea of what was about to happen next. I really didn't want to think about it.

"Odds are still against you… about 40 percent betting on you." He looked up at me, his brown eyes sparkling. "On an interesting note, more ghosts have placed bets on this fight than any other fight today." He smiled faintly before turning away.

"Former, why do you do this? Why don't you fight them?" My voice was still hoarse from my screaming earlier.

The man didn't turn around or make any attempt to answer my question. "Rumor has it that Slasher has some special technique that involves ectoplasmic knives… beware of that. And get him fast. He's truly insane – even for a ghost."

I lifted my right arm, trying to get used to the extra weight from the blade. Reaching forwards, I tapped Former on the shoulder, careful to not cut him. He glanced over his shoulder at me and smiled.

"Why don't you answer my question?"

That's when I noticed it. When I spoke, he wasn't watching my eyes. For some reason his eyes were fixed on my mouth as I talked. He opened his mouth to say something when the double doors leading to the pits creaked open. Four ghost guards zipped through the opening and quickly pinned me to the floor.

"He's in pit four today," Former said softly. The tallest guard nodded and yanked me to my feet.

"Okay, okay," I muttered darkly. Feeling a sharp jab in my back, I started walking, the guards carefully holding my arms behind my back. Just after I passed through the double doors, they were closed. I took a deep breath.

Here we go again.

There are five pits we fight in. Pit four is the smallest; not much larger than a few normal-sized boxing rings placed side-by-side. It's usually reserved for fights that Walker doesn't think will pull much of a crowd. As you can guess, since I'm still as alive as possible for a half-ghost two weeks after my original capture, I'm a pretty good fighter and I draw quite a crowd. I don't fight in pit four very often.

I knew kind of what to expect as the guards pushed me out into the pit. The cheering and booing crowds staring down at us, the dusty sand that had been churned into a slurry muck due to all of the spilled blood and ectoplasm, and the chill, dead feeling to the air were no real surprise. What made me come to a complete halt was the appearance of my opponent.

Slasher was a skinny, lean-looking ghost with his black hair pulled back into braids that trailed down his back. He was struggling violently against his captors, twisting and kicking and screaming. Seven guards were holding him tightly in place. The crowd was going wild at the display Slasher was making. Everybody was waiting for me.

The guards that were holding my arms grew tired of me standing still and gave me a harsh shove. "Move it," one snarled. I stumbled towards the starting spot, my face pale as I watched Slasher twist himself almost upside down in his attempt to escape.

Suddenly, he seemed to notice me. Slasher stopped dead, his blue eyes narrowing and focusing on me. An insane smile cracked his lips and he gave a short, barking laugh. His guards, taking his stillness as a cue, quickly let him go and fled. My guards were only a heartbeat behind them. When the ghost shield buzzed into existence, it was just me and him.

The fight was on.

Slasher crouched down low to the ground, his eyes never leaving mine. His twisted grin grew as he took in my pale face. He was chuckling softly, waiting. The first move was his to make… and he knew it.

Finally, after my heart had beaten loudly in my ears for a small eternity, he moved. He sprang forwards impossibly quickly, his arms coming forwards and two icy knives forming in his hands. I threw myself to the side at the last second, trying to get out of his reach, but Slasher flung one of the knives after me.

I yelped with pain when it dug into my arm and rolled to my knees to wrench the frozen weapon out of my arm. Dropping it into the muddy sand, I pushed myself to my feet. Slasher was watching me from about five feet up in the air, his crazy smile still on his face. I brought my arms up defensively, blades crossed, and licked my lips. It was a waiting game… Slasher crazily confident and me with my knees shaking and my mind blank.

"Attack! Attack!" the crowd chanted around us. Slasher did just what they asked; he dove at me, icy knives forming in his hands as the crowd cheered. My knees trembled slightly as I watched his demented grin get closer and closer. I couldn't figure out what to do… my brain was still not working right. Everything seemed to be moving too fast for me to handle. I needed something, I needed some kind of plan.

Slasher dodged to the side when he got close, flinging both of his knives at me as he zipped past. I managed to deflect one with a lucky twist of right arm, but the other came in too low and left a deeply scrape my leg. Biting my lower lip against the sting, I turned around and tried to keep him in my sights.

I was too slow. Another ice-knife buried itself deep in the back of my thigh. I screamed as blood spurted out of the wound and cascaded warmly down my leg. Instants later, Slasher himself slammed into my back, throwing me face-first into the bloody muck. He landed heavily on my back and grabbed my arms, twisting them behind me.

Working to keep my face out of the muddy slurry on the ground, I struggled against his dead weight. He leaned over me, chuckling darkly, and his freezing breath puffed into my face. He shifted slightly, trapping my arms with his legs and freeing his arms. One hand shot out and grabbed my hair, pulling my head backwards. The other hand's fingers curled around a quickly forming knife. The knife slid sharply through the air and came to rest next to my throat right above where the collar was sitting.

I froze, terror clawing at my throat. Slasher giggled, listening to the cheering of the crowd. "You're dead," he sang softly. "Another one bites the dust!" He leaned down close to me, breathing in my ear. "Dead, dead, dead." The ice knife started to press against my neck. "Slowly," the insane ghost whispered, "ever so slowly." He chuckled, letting the knife cut through my skin and a few drops of blood trickle down my neck. "Beautiful death. Slow and perfect. We mustn't rush it now… no…" His chill breath tickled my hair as he sang to himself.

I closed my eyes, trembling. The knife slicing into my neck didn't hurt nearly as much as my arm and leg did – partly due to the fact that the icy knife was quickly numbing the area. Suddenly it was like a fog had been lifted from my mind; the fear that had been clogging my brain since the beginning of this fight simply vanished like it had never existed. My gears in my mind whirled into movement. "No…" I rasped. I didn't want to die. Not here. Not at the hands of a lunatic ghost. I tensed my arms, but they were firmly trapped and refused to move. "No."

Slasher giggled. "No escape from death, is there?" he breathed. "Slow, gorgeous death."

I was not going to die. "NO!" I screamed, my eyes blazing green. "I am NOT going to die!" Spectral energy flooded through every cell in my body. A thick wave of green energy blasted from me, throwing Slasher off of my back and tossing him against one of the walls of the pit. My body tingled as rings of light flew past me.

With a snarl, I got roughly to me feet and pushed off the ground. My leg and arm still oozed slightly and ached fiercely, but the cut on my neck was almost gone. I glared down at Slasher, who was blinking up at me in confusion.

Even though my hair was now white and my skin had turned pale and slightly translucent, my usual outfit while in ghost mode was no where to be seen. I was still wearing my Pits uniform – a formless, sleeveless shirt and pants – but it had drifted from a dingy gray-brown to a midnight black and my emblem had appeared. The blades attached to my arms had gone from a dull gray to a star-like silver that simmered and sparkled with spectral green energy.

My white prison-style shoes floated a few inches the ground. I hung there, watching Slasher study me. In the tense pause, my brain registered that something had changed about the pit. My eyes darted around, trying to search for this hidden thing while still keeping an eye on Slasher. It took a moment, but I finally got it.

The pit was completely silent. The hundreds of ghosts up in the bleachers watching the fight were not making a sound. I glanced up at them; they were all holding perfectly still, staring at me.

After a few breaths, soft murmuring filled the arena. Then there were a few indistinct shouts. It took a while, but the noise level quickly grew to a head-pounding roar. The spectators were screaming themselves silly over this latest turn in the betting pools.

And still neither Slasher nor I moved. He stared at me, cocking his head from one side to the other. Slowly he rose from his sprawled position on the floor, phasing the sticky mud off of his back, and settled into a crouch near one of the walls. He nodded a few times to himself, his lips moving.

Then he attacked.

Flurries of ice-knives flew at me as he threw himself forwards. I caught a few on the star-silver blades and phased through the rest of them. The strange metal sparked green where ever the icy blades struck, the blades melting instantly. Slightly distracted by the thrown knives, I didn't register how close Slasher had gotten until he was right there.

He slashed with a knife at my head, barely blinking when I managed to deflect it with a blade and his knife disintegrated in his grasp. His other hand moved forwards, a long icy rapier stabbing for my abdomen. "Die!" Slasher screamed, his blue eyes wild as they stared into my green ones from mere inches away.

What happened next I can barely believe. Almost on its own, my arm (the one that hadn't deflected the first knife) flicked out. It crossed in front of my body, the blade catching Slasher's thrusting arm in the wrist. Without any sort of resistance, the sharp metal slid through Slasher's arm and continued upwards. His eyes widened at the sudden pain. Before he could do more than open his mouth to shout, my blade completed its stroke my making a sharp turn at Slasher's neck. I sliced from left to right, cutting cleanly through his neck.

Slasher's mouth moved a few times as I backed up. Sparkles of green energy – left from the blade – danced around the thin line on his neck. Slowly, green blood started to ooze out of the cut. Slasher giggled softly as he sank to the ground. "Slow…" he breathed. Then his head toppled from his shoulders and he disintegrated.

My arms were trembling as I stared at the pile of goop that had been Slasher. My mouth worked a few times, trying to speak. There was no way I could pass this off as not my fault.

I had killed.

On purpose.

His existence had ended… and it was completely my fault.

The gears in my head ground to a stop as that thought filled my mind. I could feel the tears start trickling down my face but I could do nothing to stop them. I didn't want to.

For some reason, I raised my gaze from the muddy ground to the cheering stands. The ghosts were going nuts. Even the ones that had bet against me were cheering, hollering, and jumping around. All except for one.

The ghost was wearing a long, dark green cloak and was standing still in the midst of the partying crowd. His hood hid everything about his face except for the round, glowing green eyes that were staring at me. The mysterious ghost raised one hand, his five fingers splayed as he acknowledged my gaze, the lights sparkling off of his silver hand. He nodded at me once, and then turned around and vanished into the crowd.

As the guards carefully approached me to escort me out of the pit, I looked once more at the place where Slasher had died. Tonight, I knew that two sets of eyes – one purposeful green, the other a demented blue – would haunt my dreams.

The young woman in the cell shook her head softly as she reached the end of the page. "I'm glad I don't have to ever meet that ghost," she said, "but that poor boy… forced to kill over and over?"

She jerked as a weight suddenly dropped onto her shoulder. Her head flipped around to stare straight into the eyes of the black and blue rat that had scared her before. It was perched on her shoulder, its light blue tail coiling delicately around her neck. She took a few slow breaths, but the rat didn't seem to make a move. It twitched its whiskers.

Finally she relaxed. "You're the disappearing rat," she pronounced. "Will you get off of my shoulder?"

For an answer, the rat tightened its tail slightly and settled onto her shoulder. She sighed, but merely shook her head and let its stay. "Depressing cell, dark, looming future, dripping water… it needed a rat in order to finish the cliché." She chuckled mournfully.

Then she turned the page...