A/N: I knew it... the moment I decide to focus my attention elsewhere and do some non - Danny Phantom fics I come up with this...
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.
39. Dreams
He was wandering in darkness, his senses peaked, straining his eyes to make something of the vague shapes surrounding him. He didn't know exactly where he was, or how he got here, but he knew somehow that he had to keep moving, to get to... the other side. Whatever that might mean.
The quiet around him was eerie, not because it was actually that – silent – but because of the lack of ordinary sounds he could now hear things he normally wouldn't. His feet, scraping softly on the ground, the rushing of his blood in his veins, the soft slapping of his wet hair against his forehead. Other than that, nothing.
The not knowing was the worst of it though. He had the feeling he was moving through a familiar area, but strange, altered. There were buildings there, he could sense them more than he could actually see them, lifeless, empty, staring at him accusingly.
Had he done this?
Suddenly he knew where he was. Right in front of him, the giant neon sign, it's light flickering as it slowly swayed, the bottom part having come loose from the building. Still no sound. He hesitated, unsure of what was expected of him, but then he moved forward again. This was still his home, however damaged it might be, and he wanted to know what had happened to it.
"You know."
The thought slammed into him and he shuddered, then pushed it away. Slowly he approached the steps to the front door and noticed that it was open, he could walk right in. But he suddenly didn't want to enter anymore, afraid of what he would find there.
"You know what you'll find there..."
"No," he whispered.
He tried to turn away but he was stuck now and his feet started moving as if they had a mind of their own, carrying him up the steps, into the darkness of the house. Without thinking he extended his hand to the light switch next to the entrance and flipped it on, but it didn't work. He hadn't expected it to.
He managed to stop himself just inside the living room and stood very still, listening to his own shuddering breath, coming in short gasps. There was a strange, metallic smell in the room, a staleness in the unmoving air around him. The place smelled like death.
Dripping, right in front of him, soft splashes of what seemed like water dripping in a small pool. It was the first sound he heard. The darkness suddenly became less pronounced, the walls seemed to emanate a soft glow, growing brighter, and he could see the overturned table, the ripped up couch, the partially caved in ceiling. And three people shaped lumps, hanging from the banisters, perfectly still.
A scream caught in his throat and he started choking, desperately closing his eyes tightly, but even with his eyes closed he saw what was right in front of him, the light now bright as if the sun was shining through the high windows, which was how it had been at the time.
Dripping. A red pool, right below them, spreading out through the living room, forming a small stream as it ran down the steps through the front door. At that point he started to suspect it was just a dream, a nightmare, there couldn't possibly be so much blood coming from just three people, could there?
He stared into the vacant eyes of his mother, upside down, hardly recognizable with that horrified expression on her face. They burned into him, he could feel her dead look on him, accusing him and he finally found the workings of his limbs again. He bolted, running past them up the stairs, tripping and staggering to his room. He slammed the door behind him and threw himself on his bed, sobbing uncontrollably.
Danny woke up with the sun shining in his face and rubbed his eyes in annoyance. He must have forgotten to close the curtains last night when he crashed on his bed. With some difficulty he focussed his eyes on his alarm clock, but it was dead.
"Power failure," he thought groggily as he tried to estimate the time by the position of the sunbeams shining through his window. About eight in the morning, he decided. He debated himself if he should just turn around and sleep some more, but decided against it. Slowly, with his eyes closed, he sat up and swayed his legs out of the bed. For a moment he just sat there, then stood up and staggered to the door, shaking his head as he briefly recalled the nightmare from last night. Yawning he dragged himself to the bathroom, unaware of the red smear he left on the door as he closed it behind him.
This is what happens if I just start writing with no real direction...
