Author's Note

Right. The characters have officially taken over this story. I might have to re-think my timeline a little...

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Please drop a review!

Chapter Seven
Have you awakened?

Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you mad.

Aldous Huxley

Oops didn't quite cover it.

He'd really messed up this time, boggled it completely, made a horrible mistake. And the worst part was that he didn't have time to set it right, to take back the last few steps of his sprint. He was there and it was too late, the churning in his gut making him nauseous. The temperature was dropping around him, chilling him to the bone, turning his breath into frosty mist. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think. This couldn't be happening, how could he have done something so thoughtless?

How could he have gotten caught alone?

It was coming. He could feel it with every fiber of his being. His hands shook, his knees quaked. He was running again, tearing through the deserted halls, but he knew he would never make it. He could hear it closing in on him, riding his heels, rustling the wind. The hallway turned pitch-black, a small pop resounding as the lights exhausted themselves. He could hear it cackling behind him, mad with glee.

The door was right in front of him, the door to his freedom, to the brightness outside, to the safety of his friends. He was so close. His hand stretched out, clasping on the handle before him. And then, something grabbed his ankle, something freezing cold and burning hot at the same time.

And he was dragged back into the black oblivion.

Ashes to Ashes

For the rest of the week, Danny and his friends spent all their free-time back in Danny's room reading the aged leather-bound book that the ghost – whom Tucker had started to call Miss Invisible – had given to them. Danny was almost disappointed when she didn't show up again, her last message hanging over all of them like a black thundercloud. But at the same time, he was grateful. His mother didn't barge into this room, the risk that she would find out what they were up to small.

However, they couldn't spend every waking moment doing research. There was still school to contend with and ever since his confrontation with Dash, Danny found himself skirting through the hallways, avoiding another incident. Then there was homework, something Danny detested but did to the best of his ability. He wanted to do well in school, wanted to have good grades. Wanted prove that his sister wasn't the only one who could get straight A's.

Though, try as he might, he could not understand math. It had never been something he was good at, and high school math seemed particularly horrid. It just didn't make sense, no matter how long he stared at the page. He couldn't even do basic algebra correctly, and mental math was definitely out. He dreaded it, every day he went to class, staring at the board as he tried in vain to understand. It frustrated him. That was probably why he was looking forward to Friday so much, the escape from school and all its problems to home where he could focus on ghosts.

But he had to get past math first.

"Tucker," he whispered through the corner of his mouth. "What does this even mean?" he asked, nodding toward a problem.

"It's a linear equation."

"I know that much," Danny said crossly. "I mean, what am I supposed to do with it?"

"Graph it." Tucker sighed. "You know the parent function, right?"

"The… simplest one, right?" Danny said rubbing his temples. "That goes through 0,0?"

"Yeah. This one is modified to start at 1,4 with a growth factor of two."

"How do you even know that?" Danny asked staring at the equation.

"The transformations are modeled by this equation," Tucker wrote something with letters as well as numbers. Danny frowned.

"That doesn't help me at all."

"Why don't you just go talk to Mr. Worth after school, then? He could probably explain it in a way you can understand," Tucker suggested with a shrug.

Danny frowned but didn't answer, glancing up at the teacher in question as he made his rounds about the classroom, occasionally helping a student with a question. He didn't like the idea of giving math more time than what he was already required to give, but if he wanted to have any hope of passing… he groaned, leaning back in his chair. So much for the Fenton's being a family of geniuses. He couldn't even figure out how to graph a measly linear equation. He was going to die when they got to quadratics – he had flipped through his book the night before.

On Tucker's other side, Sam had already finished the class problems, and the homework. Danny's book on ghosts was open under the table. Even though they decided it would remain with Danny, he saw no harm letting them hang onto it, reasoning that as long as he was somewhat near it, it'd be all right. Danny thought they might be being a little too cautious with the scenario, but then again it was probably for the best.

They had also made sure they were always together.

Even though they didn't know why or what was going on, they knew that something was off in the school. Danny had been the first to point it out. The lights had started to flicker at odd intervals, knocks on doors caused by no one, and a constant cold. Even Tucker and Sam had felt it this time, and they noticed – and kept careful track – of which classrooms felt colder than others. So far, Mr. Lancer's was the warmest, and the hallway next to the boy's locker room was the coldest.

"Are you having trouble, Mr. Fenton?"

Danny started and looked up into Mr. Worth's kindly lined face. He was still donning the tweed jacket look, this time with a charcoal color. Danny grimaced and glanced down at his barely started worksheet.

"I'm having a little trouble," he said in a quiet voice, hoping that none of his classmates overheard.

"With?"

"The entire concept, sir."

Mr. Worth looked at him for a moment before nodding. "What do you want to do to remedy that?"

Danny sighed. "Can I come in after school?"

"You may," and he walked away. He paused briefly over Sam's desk, saw that her work was finished and the continued on without comment. Danny dropped his pencil onto his paper, completely giving up.

"You okay?" Tucker asked him.

"Why wouldn't I be? The first thing I get to do on my Friday after school is more school."

"Cheer up, dude. It could be worse."

"Oh yeah, how?"

"You could be that guy," and Tucker pointed to Mikey who was looking extremely nervous. Dash was leaning over to him, whispering something into his ear. No doubt forcing him to do his math homework for him under pain of nerd wailing.

"True that."

At that moment, the light above them flickered oddly before dying with a fizz. While the rest of the class merely glanced at it before disregarding it, Danny and Tucker watched it for several second afterward before glancing at each other. They knew it was a telltale sign of a haunting. All they didn't know was what to do about it. Or what exactly was haunting the school.

"Maybe we should tell your folks," Tucker muttered through the corner of his mouth.

"And say what?" Danny countered. "We think there's something haunting the school?"

"Well, yeah."

"Tuck, they don't even know we're researching the stuff. We can't just tell them."

Tucker rolled his eyes. "You're going to have to tell them you were wrong eventually. Your pride's going to kill you, dude."

"Well, I'm still breathing, aren't I?"

"For now."

Danny opened his mouth to reply but the bell cut him off, signaling the end of class. He sighed and packed his unfinished work away, silently cursing whoever it was that had invented math – ignoring the fact that without it life wouldn't be able to function.

"Sam," he said when she didn't get up, too engrossed in the book. "C'mon, we have P.E. next."

After a second longer, during which Danny assumed she finished her paragraph, she closed the book with a snap, shoving her stuff into her bag. Her brain had fused with her eyebrows, an expression of deep thought over her face.

"Learn anything new?"

"Not really, just more details. It's getting into the different types of spirits now, but I'm having a little difficulty pinpointing which one would be here, in the school."

"I've been telling Danny that he should ask his folks."

"I assume he says no?"

"Well, yeah!" Danny said, holding the door open for them on the way out. "It's not time yet!"

Sam rolled her violet eyes. "You've been saying that for the last three days," she sighed. "How long are you going to wait?"

"As long as I want!"

Danny couldn't expect they'd understand. He didn't really understand it himself, why he didn't just tell them. Maybe it was his pride, or maybe something else was stopping him. He just knew he'd recognize it when the right moment came, and it wasn't now. Anyway, now there were more pressing matters.

While he had managed to avoid Dash during lunch and after school, he couldn't avoid him in class and P.E. seemed to just encourage violence. He and Tucker waved goodbye to Sam as she went on to the girls locker-room, while they entered the men's. Danny hated it in there.

No teachers, and lots of concrete.

Dash didn't seem to be there yet. Almost feverish, he went to his locker and put in the combination, ripping it open. Tucker only glanced at him before turning to his own. He knew why Danny was getting dressed at lighting speed, why he was stuffing his clothes back into his locker and relocking it with fumbling fingers. Danny finished with not a second to spare.

"Hey Fent-tonio!"

He braced himself, waiting for what inevitably would. He felt Dash's hand smack him hard between the shoulder blades, sending him into the locker with a grunt. He turned quickly, preferring to have his enemy in his sights. Yeah, Dash was considered his enemy now, and he absolutely loathed him. He clenched his fists; wishing he could punch the stupid smirk of his face, stand against his cruel treatment.

"You got dressed already?"

"Yup," he said. God, the first time had been awful. Dash had grabbed his jeans and attempted to flush them down the toilet, which only resulted in them plugging the toilet. And then they'd tried to make him fish it out, with his mouth.

"Bummer," Dash said and the smirk flew off his face. He grabbed him by his collar, tossing him aside as though he were a rag doll. He hit the corner of the bench, sprawling over the floor. It seemed he was going to get off easy this time, or at least, that's what he thought.

He was wrong.

A second later, he was getting pulled to his feet by his hair, getting dragged over the cold concrete floor toward the showers. Danny started to panic, trying to loosen Dash's grip. Whatever the football star had in mind, he knew it couldn't be good. And, these were his only pair of exercise clothes. Tetslaff would be pissed if he came in his jeans. "C-C'mon Dash," he said weakly. "Let go!"

"Don't think so, loser," Dash tossed him in and kicked the shower on. Danny was drenched in freezing water, soaking through his red and white P.E. clothes. He shivered, his sky blue eyes furious as they gazed up into Dash's triumphant face. Just let him think he's won, he told himself. But he hated the idea of it; he didn't want Dash to win. Even if it meant that he'd get pushed around or punched. He just hated it.

And then the lights went out.

"FENTON!"

Danny didn't know why the lights had decided to go out at that point and he didn't really care. All he knew was that it was his break to get away. He crawled to the corner, before breaking into a run toward the hallway. He could hear Dash yelling after him, hear his feet thundering after him, hear Tucker shouting something after him. He slid into the hallway, nearly slipping on the water that was being sprayed everywhere by his clothes. The janitor was going to be pissed at him too; the list was just growing, wasn't it?

He felt rough hands trying to grab his shirt, but with an almighty yell Dash fell in a puddle caused by Danny's dripping shorts. He cursed loudly and Danny bolted, knowing that it was his chance. He turned when he came to a junction in the hallway, then he turned again. Left, right, left. He didn't know where he was going; all he knew was that he was putting as much space between him and a completely pissed off Dash with wet shorts. Maybe he would just skive off P.E. in general, he was probably already late. After a few minutes he came to a stop, taking in deep ragged breaths.

He was so dead the next time they met up. It'd been a short life, maybe his mother would cry at the funeral and—

The totally pathetic thought stopped dead. He was alone. He turned slowly, allowing his gaze to take in the deserted hallway. Where was he? He glanced at the walls, noting the projects depicting Egyptian characters and Civil War pictures. History then? He might've been vaguely interested, after all he didn't have history this semester, if not for the glaringly obvious fact that there was absolutely no one around.

And then the temperature started to drop.

His wet T-shirt glued itself to his back, the hairs on his arms prickling. Above him the lights flickered and went out, the fuses giving off tiny pops as they exploded from within. His breath came in shallow gasps, a new kind of fear infringing upon his mind. It consumed him, locked down anything else that was important, self-preservation the first priority. And then he was running, back to the gym. Dash felt like a fly in comparison to the terror assaulting him now.

But the cold was following him, growing worse. His breath arose in a mist before him and he shivered violently, his teeth chattering. He could hear it now, hear it racing after him. He could feel the shadow that enveloped it, feel as it sucked the warmth of the air and filled it with its breath.

He turned the corner and skidded into the lockers, tumbling to the floor. The lights died here too, plunging him into the utmost darkness. It was penetrating, suffocating blackness, as though something were sucking the light out of the air. He scrambled to get to his feet, his hands squeaking as they gripped the linoleum floor. Slipping and sliding, he kept running, knowing that it was too late. He would never make it. The door to the gym was right in front of him; his fingertips were touching the handle—

And then it grabbed his ankle, dragging him back into the black void behind. He opened his mouth to scream, to shriek for help, but he couldn't make a sound. Freezing cold was pressing over his vocal cords, smothering any sound. Tears pricked at his eyes, his heart hammering wildly within his chest.

He was going to die. He was seriously going to die.

It was pulling him around the corner; the door was vanishing from his view. Would they take long to find his body? Why hadn't he taken some of his parent's weapons? A little ecto-gun hidden away in his backpack? Why hadn't he simply told them what was going on? This whole thing might've been prevented, he might've lived. Would Tucker be happy, knowing he was right about his pride killing him in the end?

And then he heard it. Horrible bone-cracking laughter was rumbling in the air all around him. It vibrated in his chest, shaking his hands. It was inside his very soul, rattling around within him. And then it spoke; or rather, he spoke.

"Daniel Fenton." It was soothing and yet bit with an icy sharpness that sliced through him. It was strange, how a voice so deep and melodic could be so vicious at the same time, as though he were taking bites out of the air. "Well would you look at that?"

The pressure on his throat disappeared, the dragging stopped. For one brief moment Danny just sat there, panting as he gazed sightlessly around in the darkness, then his hand fastened around his wrist. Nails dug into his flesh, dragged him ruthlessly to his feet. Danny shut his eyes, waiting for the final blow to be dealt, for his life to be finished in a slash of violence. But something was overriding his fear, was giving him strength top open his mouth.

"You—" He swallowed. "You know me?"

The entity laughed again, the painful grip on his wrist lessening slightly. "I know of all things concerning my spirits."

"You—your spirits?"

"My Spirits."

The curiosity was calming his mind down, the confusion allowing his thoughts to become more lucid and clear. And, the fact that the thing hadn't killed him yet was giving him a hope. "But I'm not—"

"No, you're not." He could feel it leaning over him, bearing down on him like a predator ready to feast. "But you have their touch."

Danny's head was spinning. "Touch?" he repeated blankly. And then he opened his eyes.

Blackness did not meet his gaze, though it swirled around in his peripheral vision. The shadows had form; wisps of swirling smoke that made intricate designs as they whirled through the air, swooping and spinning around him like a million miniscule insects. But the most important thing was that there were long skeletal fingers wrapped around his wrist. Black fingernails had imbedded themselves into his flesh, blood sliding down his arm to drip from his elbow. Slowly, as though he were in a dream, he looked up into the face of the man – if it could even be called that.

He was extremely tall, forced to hunch in order to fit in the hallway and completely emaciated, his charcoal skin stretched tight over an elongated skeleton that was only vaguely human in appearance. A ripped cloak was all he wore, but the material seemed to float around him, as though suspended in water and it was then that Danny realized that his feet did not touch the floor. He hovered, a foot above the ground, one hand clutching the top of the locker as though he were hanging from it like some sort of demonic monkey. A series of pearly white spines protruded from his neck, curling into an elaborate horn formation that was positioned forward, like a goat only with elegance. But his eyes; Danny couldn't tear his gaze away from it. Set in a sunken face with some semblance of once handsome features etched in the lines, it was as though piercing yellow clouds had molded with runny yoke, covering the pupil and whites. He cracked a wide vicious smile, revealing rows of pointed teeth.

"Have you awakened, Daniel Fenton?" he asked, and Danny caught a glimpse of a forked snowy tongue.

"What are you?" Danny breathed, staring at him in awe. It chuckled again, disappearing on a swirl of black smoke only to reappear at his side, its hand releasing its cruel grip on his wrist.

"I am Azazel, one of the eight demon kings," he bowed his head, though the motion was a mocking one. "King of spirits."

Ashes to Ashes

"Are you going to kill me?"

"You have the touch of my spirits."

Danny didn't know what that meant. He didn't know if that was a yes or no. He didn't know what any of what the demon had said. All he knew was that he was horribly confused and terrified out of his mind. His legs itched to move, craved to take him as far away as he could possibly be from the being that hovered above him. He seriously considered it, for one brief moment before it was shot down. He would never succeed. He was left to stand in the hallway, praying that someone would come around that corner and dispel this nightmare.

Maybe he'd hit his head. That had to be it. This was all just an insanely vivid dream, caused by a blow to the head that he didn't remember. Any second now he'd wakeup in the infirmary, an icepack pressed against his temple. He tried to hold onto that image, but it was slipping through his fingers like water. The pain in his hand was real; the freezing cold that chilled his bones was real.

The demon before him was real.

"The Diabolical Stigma?" Danny asked, striving to keep his voice steady. Azazel roared with laughter, disappearing in another puff of black smoke. Danny thought he'd gone when his voice sounded right above him, making him jump. He was lounging across the lockers, one of his bony hands reached out toward him.

"You have been doing research, but no. That is not to what I was referring, although I have just bestowed that courtesy upon you."

Danny put his hand over scratches in his wrist. Was it really a courtesy to see what was going to kill you? "Then, what?" he asked nervously.

Azazel was suddenly impossibly close, those yellow eyes boring into his blue ones. "Have you ever felt the temperature drop in a room, the prickling on your arms? Realized the change when those around you remained oblivious? You can sense us, can't you Daniel Fenton?"

"But, Tucker and Sam said they could feel when it was cold in the school too," Danny spluttered, wanting to take a step back but unable to.

"Are you sure?" he was gone, a wash of black smoke in his wake. A second later, Danny felt a finger on his shoulder, black cloth brushing against his skin. "Maybe they believed that you felt it, and so assumed they should feel it too." He laughed in his ear, taking in a long rattling breath. "Oh, they like you."

Danny wrenched himself away, taking several steps back from Azazel. The demon's yellow eyes followed him, laughing at him, examining him. "W-what?" he asked in a choked voice. Azazel disappeared, reappearing above him, his wide toothy grin back on his malevolent face.

"The ectoplasm does." A cloud of smoke later he was looking up into his face, stroking his chin. "I wonder why that is?"

"Why would I-I know?"

A hand darted out, grabbing his wrist. Danny yelped as the he brushed the injury he had inflicted, stared as he bent over it and licked the slowly drying blood. "What are you doing?" Danny shouted trying to yank his hand back, but a second later he'd fallen back as the demon let go of him.

"They've watched you grow, Daniel Fenton," Azazel said, cocking his head as he watched him try to wipe his arm off. "You have been exposed to ectoplasm your whole life, haven't you?"

"S-so?" Danny said. He could feel knots churning his stomach.

The demon didn't answer. It was regarding Danny in such a way that made him miss the hungry look in its face, made him miss the sensation of being seconds from death. It was thoughtful, curious, as though there was a puzzle being presented before it that had some inkling of how to solve, but not on what the final product would be. His heart was sinking deeper than ever before, a heavy feeling of apprehensive concern. If the King of Ghosts was wondering what the ectoplasm was doing…

"What does that mean?" Danny prompted. But Azazel didn't seem to be listening; he was looking at the air around them, holding his hand out. The black swirling mist rushed to his palm, spinning around it. He dropped his hand, looking back at Danny.

"They like your town."

"What?"

"This just gets better and better," the demon laughed again, disappearing into the air once more. Danny was starting to feel as though the demon were completely ignoring him, talking to nothing. "But why?"

"You tell me."

The demon was in his face again, the smile gone. Danny blanched, not having meant to say that aloud. Azazel stared at him long and hard, as though reading something behind Danny's eyes. And then, he seemed to find it. Glee did not break out across his face, nor did rage. He did not sneer at him, nor did he appear sad. It was an expression that did not look right on the demon's face, as though it was rarely there.

It was awe.

"Daniel Fenton, the boy who has touched ectoplasm since birth," the demon said, the wonder bleeding into his voice. "What are you?"

And then he was gone, cackling madly into the dark.