For the Phic Phight 2024!

Prompts used:

PR215 Splax (GHOST) A day in the life of an Amity Park resident.

PR385 Lancer (HUMAN) The last total solar eclipse in the US for 20 years is coming up (Monday, April 8th 2024!), the path of totality is crossing right over Amity Park, and you can bet Danny has plans!

PR167 LovelyUnknown (GHOST) Ghost King Danny bullshit


Eclipsed

On April 8th, 2024, the residents of Amity Park wake up to discover that their town has suddenly changed zip codes.

"…Arkansas, I think," says Mr Patrick Rockwell, the poor 'geography expert' that Channel 4 found on short notice and dragged in front of the cameras for the early morning news. He squints at his GPS through half moon glasses, clenching his eyes and reopening them a few times as if to give the data a chance to go back to normal when he's not looking.

It doesn't work. Three times in a row, it does not work. (Something something definition of insanity, something something repeating actions and expecting different results, something something desperate times and desperate measures—)

So we're definitely doing this, then, he groans.

It is only 6 am, and Mr Rockwell is already having a Day™. He feels ruffled, sleepy, and a bit out of his depth—halfway convinced this is some weird Geography Dream brought on by too much pizza before bed, it's all so surreal. Why is he here. Why did he agree to this interview. Shouldn't this be handled by—he doesn't know, the Fentons? The Government? Someone with a PHD, at least?

In his opinion, he really should not be giving a citywide presentation on "Mass Geographic Relocation Part II: Electric Bugaloo (Hey At Least You're Still In The Same Dimension This Time)', much less claiming expertise on the topic. Rockwell is a travel agent, first of all, a hobby scientist second - not exactly "overqualified" by anyone's standards. The only reason he's here is because he has exactly one (1) paper on citywide teleportation under his belt, which he only wrote after the last incident because he was unemployed and bored.

… But he got the call at four in the morning ('Call', as if there was only one, and not a panicked barrage currently clogging his cell phone's voicemail box) asking if he could please come down to the station and give an emergency talk on the current state of affairs, and, well, when asked so politely, (insistently, relentlessly,) how could he say no?

Then he stepped outdoors and nearly pitched down the rocky outcropping just off the edge of his porch.

Really says something, when you have to wear a rock climbing harness just to get to work.

"Arkansas!" Tiffany Snow, news anchor, prompts. "Er, how… exciting!"

Rockwell jolts awake. "Er, yes," he stammers, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Arkansas. Of all places, why Arkansas? "Just barely, though. And given the size of Amity, the north end of town might be touching the Missouri border."

"Ah, I had a feeling we weren't in Kansas anymore," Lance Thunder, the local weatherman, jokes.

"…Amity Park is usually in Minnesota, though?" Rockwell asks, then winces when his brain catches up.

"…Well, yes." Tiffany gives a polite laugh. "Usually."

The whole situation is, in a nutshell, bewildering. The actual teleportation itself, not so much—again, compared to being sucked into an alternate dimension by the Ghost King a couple months ago, the idea of Amity Park migrating a couple hundred miles south is almost paltry by comparison. But the actual logistics of the move are baffling, eye-catching, head-scratching.

Amity Park's streets, built for flat- or gently-rolling Midwestern terrain, look almost unrecognizable when mapped onto the rugged Ozark mountains.

Rockwell's neighborhood, for instance, is now located on a viciously steep slope; houses so slanted they almost look drunk, backyard pools dribbling like tipped teacups, the sidewalks resembling staircases and the telephone poles askew. Rockwell had to rappel his way down to the base of the incline—thank god for his climbing equipment—while most of his neighbors are still stuck at home.

3rd, 4th, and 5th streets, along with King Avenue, Bachman Lane, and Straub Circle have been closed to traffic to prevent motorists from careening off the brand new cliff that's now bisecting downtown. Rockwell didn't drive to the station; a news van picked him up. They had to make a pretty creative detour, not just around downtown but also near the zoo, where the dramatic shift in elevation left some enclosures level with their fences. They saw a herd of giraffes from the highway, deftly dodging the fleet of zookeepers that had been deployed to catch them.

Several buildings are now in creative configurations, sprinkled across the range. The bank is literally sideways, parked perpendicular on a sharp drop. The Nasty Burger is located beneath a rocky overhang. Rockwell saw a slew of buildings—the bowling alley, the library, the grocery store, to name a few—smack dab in the middle of the wide, winding river flowing at the valley basin. The buildings were perched on raised, dry patches of land, with their accompanying parking lots underwater.

(The lack of damage to the buildings, in the end, is what makes him pause.)

(For all the chaos, the mish-mash jenga tower the town has become, their placement looks careful. Deliberate.)

(Intentional.)

"…Now, our coordinates are currently holding steady at 36.47083 North, -92.23675 West…" Rockwell continues after a moment of awkward silence, turning to face the large paper map behind the News Anchors' desks. He traces his finger until he finds the spot, then marks Amity's new location with a big red sharpie. "Here."

"Oh good," Lance Thunder laughs. "Holding steady!"

"So we're not actively moving, at least," Rockwell agrees. Then frowns.

"What a relief." says Tiffany Snow.

"Could definitely be worse," Rockwell nods, absently. There's something about those coordinates that's bugging him… Something about last night's news? He shakes it off. "Anyway—like last time, the sewer pipes and power grid are still online despite the dramatic reconfiguration."

"So folks at home can take their morning showers, is what I'm hearing."

"If they're careful," Rockwell amends. "Maybe try flushing a few times, first, to make sure the drainage is clear."

By all accounts, neither the water or the electricity shouldbe working, since the energy plant is located outside of town and didn't port with them, and sewer mains, by design, often work via direction and gravity, which changed dramatically in the new terrain. Rockwell can't imagine the pipes stayed whole and unbroken, given how twisted the town has become, but by a stroke of luck, or some odd ghost magic, the water continues to flow.

"Let's see. What else." Rockwell taps his chin with the pen, eyeing the map. "Well, despite the teleportation, we're still in the same timezone, so don't bother changing your clocks. The weather here should be roughly the same as home, if slightly warmer. I personally advise against wandering outside the boundaries of Amity Park, of course, in case we teleport back without warning, but for those brave enough, the Ozarks are a popular tourist destination for those who love nature—"

Mr Rockwell pauses, then squints at the GPS, realizing at once why the numbers are bothering him. "Ah. Wait—and if I'm not mistaken—yep," he says, after a quick google search on his phone. So that's why the numbers were so familiar. "I think our new location should put us directly in the Path of Totality for this afternoon's Solar Eclipse!"

The news room falls silent.

Implications sink in.

"…So that's fun," he adds, when no one else says a word.

"Oh if this is a ghost thing, we are so dead," Lance mutters, breaking professionalism for a split second. Then he winces ("OW!") upon getting elbowed by his Co-Anchor. "I mean yes! Right! What great news, huh, Tiff? A, um. Rare opportunity to see this once in a lifetime event! It's—exciting, huh? Exciting, and not—" Nervous laughter. "Not ominous at all—"

Tiffany Snow elbows him again, then straightens, turning a bright smile on the camera. "Exciting news for everybody," she agrees. "Yes, as stated in last night's news coverage, the upcoming Total Solar Eclipse is a rare event - another like it will not occur in the lower 48 states again for another 21 years! We are so lucky we get the chance to experience it firsthand. And we didn't even need to travel or take time off of work!"

This is all rote, a rehash of the fluff piece aired for last night's broadcast. Rockwell ignores them, googling the official NASA map for the moon's shadow across earth, and sketches it onto the board.

The little red dot representing Amity Park sits, as predicted, dead center.

"Er—yes. As a reminder, residents are encouraged not to look directly at the sun during this event, which can be dangerous and cause irreversible damage to the eyes," Lance Thunder says, trying to shake off the existential dread and not look like a buffoon onscreen. "Instead, those wishing to observe the Eclipse should do so with the aid of special Solar Eclipse glasses, which can be purchased at Sunshine Foods which—is—currently underwater—hm."

"—Or! At the local Planetarium," Tiffany finishes seamlessly.

"No that's also underwater."

"Are you serious."

"Tiff, I think residents have bigger things to worry about anyway—"

There's a brief moment of bickering between the two co-hosts, which Rockwell ignores in favor of finishing his sketch. Once done, he tips his chair back for a better view of his handiwork. The shadow stretches in an elegant arc from Texas up through Maine. Amity Park's usual position is over a hundred miles from the closest point; farther, from their current position. He hums. Whatever the case, this move certainly doesn't look like a coincidence. It feels like something larger's at play here.

He'd thought about traveling to see the eclipse, is the funny thing. Currently between jobs and all. The cost of gas dissuaded him, but even then he'd felt a pang of regret. It was all anyone could talk about, nationwide, for the past week; even non- astronomy enthusiasts were buzzing about the event. Air B&Bs, cabins, and hotels along the totality were booked solid months in advance - Rockwell had even been the one to help book a few, before he'd gotten laid off. For some towns, it would be the largest influx of tourism they'd see for years to come. It was the last Totality visible in the US for decades. A Once in a Lifetime Event.

Perhaps a Once in an Afterlife event, too?

"On the plus side," he remarks, and the news anchors fall silent. "If we are here for the Eclipse, that puts us on a very predictable timetable."

"What? Oh! Yes," Tiffany Snow jumps back on board of the conversation. "The world's scientists have plotted the Eclipse timetables well in advance. The Solar Eclipse should start—" she casts an unsure glance at Rockwell.

He checks his phone. "Just before 12:30."

"And… will end…?"

"At 3:10. The totality itself should begin roughly 1:50 pm and last for about four minutes of total darkness."

"I see. And?" She prompts.

"And. That's it." He pauses. He wracks his brain for any new information he might add, and comes up dry. Except for; "…Oh geez, that means I've got less than 12 hours to collect my soil samples if I want to write a second paper. If you'll excuse me—"

Mr Rockwell stands and stretches, then walks off set. Lance Thunder, clearly in a panic, calls after him. "Where are you going?!"

"Eh. Like I said: we're on a timetable. I think I'm gonna get some soil samples before the eclipse hits." His priorities feel pretty straight now. "And a donut. Does anyone else want a donut? I could bring some back."

Maybe a year ago, this situation would've freaked him out more. He would've been taking this situation dead seriously, sitting on the edge of his seat and clinging to his tv remote with alarm. Dreading those oncoming four minutes of darkness. Any normal person would—the prospect is objectively ominous.

But Rockwell from a year ago didn't know that ghosts existed. Rockwell from a year ago didn't think the words 'dead serious' without a little internal scoff at the irony. Rockwell from a year ago didn't strap his computer down with duct tape or triple-inspect his meat before he cooked it or keep his garage stocked with cylindrical cardboard to keep a theft-happy Box Ghost from making off with his heirlooms.

(Rockwell of a year ago hadn't opened his front door to a 300 foot drop, sighed, and dug out his climbing rope and carabineers.)

"So is that a no on Donuts? Anybody?"

"You know what. Sure." Says the producer, failing to stop him from walking off set. "A dozen glazed, chocolate, and powdered, please. Maybe a few jelly-filled."

Everyone with any sense has already moved out of Amity Park at the first sign of trouble. Ghost Invasions and Near Apocalypses and the Undead Rising From the Grave.

And the rest of them - the ones who stayed - they all learned to adapt around the problem.

The Weird can always be dealt with, simply by moving forward.

Tiffany Snow scrambles for her mic, plastering on a smile. "You heard the man, folks! That's all we've got for now. Stay tuned for updates on the teleportation situation, reports on any impending ghost attacks and - I'm just getting this now -" she says, reading the fast-moving teleprompter. "Looks like we'll be hosting a live broadcast for the upcoming Solar Eclipse! Won't that be fun?"

"Oh no. That's gonna be my job, isn't it—" Lance Thunder groans.

"Well. Yeah. It's in the sky. Your circus, your monkeys, pal."

"Now wait just a minute—"

Rockwell fights a smirk as he shrugs on his jacket and harness. As funny as the banter is, he'd better get going. He pulls out his phone, googling the nearest donut place, making his way for the door.

"Thanks, everyone, for tuning in to the 6 o'clock broadcast! I'm Tiffany Snow,"

A sigh. "And I'm Lance Thunder,"

"With Channel 4 Action News, your front line for all phantasmic phenomena."

There's a place down the street Rockwell pins on his GPS, because it's close by and also on top of a rocky outcropping, a good spot to collect his first soil sample. He'll need to make a plan to get all the data possible, since—as the newly minted Expert™ in rural teleportation, he's gonna need those to pen paper #2.

(If I Had A Nickel For Every Time My Town Teleported, etcetera, etcetera.

Only in Amity Park.)

"…I'm a weatherman, not a—"

Houdini Middle School is closed today.

It wasn't going to be, because the Principal is a stickler, but when the man's front door is blocked by a boulder, and his back door is flush against a mountain, and his garage his literally across the ravine, there's only so much he can do.

Houdini Middle School is closed, unexpectedly, but Mel, Ahdi, and Yasmin's parents already dropped them off, so instead, they make plans.

"I've got it! I got it!" Ahdi announces, dragging the inflatable raft out of the school's storage shed.

Yasmin pushes her glasses up her nose. "Why does our school even have—"

"Not important," Mel deems. To Ahdi, he asks, "Is the pump there too?"

Ahdi ducks into the pile of junk. A minute later, his fist, clutching the air hose, raises the pump triumphantly.

The three of them drag it out of storage together (even uninflated, it's heavier than it looks) as Yasmin locks up behind them. She's got keys to the storage because she's on the Theatre team who often has to work on painting sets after school, and she has a reputation as a Good Girl whom teachers unquestioningly trust.

Their mistake, Mel thinks. But hey. He's not gonna be the one to correct them.

They make their way down to the river and set up shop. Ahdi works on inflating the raft while Yasmin sets up a makeshift booth and sign. Mel's already working the riverbanks, his conman voice pitched to carry across the water.

"Need to get to work?" He chants like a fast talking auctioneer. "Need groceries? Need a lift? Come on down to Mel's Boat Rides, just down the bend, we'll get you 'cross the water in a jiff—"

They set up right in front of the grocery store, expecting it to be the biggest draw. Which is correct. The customers filter in almost immediately: A lady in a pressed white suit and pencil skirt. A heavyset gentleman cradling a shivering Chihuahua. Two guys Mel caught shedding their jeans, like they planned to just wade across the river in their boxer shorts.

$10 bucks, cash, per one-way trip. Everyone they talk to shells out.

Yasmin takes the money and Ahdi does the rowing, because he is just a fount of endless energy and also the one who swims the best. Mel's their silvertongue, who collects and charms their customers while working on phase two.

"Shouldn't you lot be in school?" asks one mom-aged lady, looking down her nose at him, the way adults tend to do.

"It's a Ghost Day," Mel explains.

"What's a…" her lips curl. "A ghost day?"

"It's like a snow day, but for ghosts." Mel smiles, doing a show of jazz hands. "The school board added them mid-year."

"Ah. I. See." She says. Then, "…Do your parents know you're here?"

"We keep busy! It's always fun to participate in community service," Mel explains, neatly dodging the question. It's not entirely a lie. Casper High lets their students lead community service, and do things like organize protests, run entertainment events, or do overnight stays at the zoo. Strangers don't need to know if he's slightly bending the rules.

Properly satisfied, she nods and climbs aboard.

After a line forms, and Ahdi's arms get properly tired, ("$200 dollars. I think we can stop, Yasmin nods.) Mel enacts stage two. The grocery store is bustling now, much more than it really ought to be, given the parking lot is underwater. He ducks inside to speak with one of the managers while Ahdi minds the boat.

"So I don't know if you noticed," he tells the head honcho, who probably swam here judging by the algae on his clothes. "But we set up shop outside with a little raft—"

"Oh, I noticed," the manager says dryly.

"Business has been great. But, we're tired! So." Mel smiles his most charming smile. "Let's make a deal."

The manager's salt and pepper mustache twitches. "I'm listening."

"You are getting customers because we have the means to get them here. So," Mel explains, "We'll let you borrow our little raft and keep ferrying customers to and fro. Not only will you keep getting customers—happy customers—we'll also let you keep half the profits from the ferry for doing the work."

The man looks intrigued.

"We've already got a line," Mel adds in. "We'll let you keep the raft and come collect it tomorrow."

"Assuming Armageddon doesn't hit midday." The manager nods. "I'll need more than half. Just to make sure we cover hazard pay. Make it two thirds, and you've got yourself a deal, kid."

"Deal." Mel nods, shaking hands. "Ahdi's got the oars. We'd like a ride back. But first—I've got a purchase to make."

The aisles are disorganized and a bit empty, since the truck couldn't get in to restock. But Mel knows exactly where he's going. Aisle 17, down halfway, right where Yasmin said they would be. He grabs an unopened box and beelines for the register.

"I can't let you buy all of these," says the cashier. "One per customer."

"My classroom sent me here," Mel lies, "This is for all of us." Then, hedging his bets, he says, "You can ring them up one at a time if you want? I'd hate for you to get in trouble."

The cashier says, "To hell with today." And rings all 30 up at once.

Mel adds on 3 sodas and 3 sandwiches and a picnic blanket too, because he's got the cash and, why not. Today is gonna be great.

Ahdi and Mel sail back with the grocery clerk that was put in charge of rowing, and Yasmin happily hands over the clipboard. "Good luck!" she calls with a wave, and dashes off with her friends.

"So did you get it? Did you get it?" Ahdi asks, all but clamoring for the plastic bag.

Mel reaches in and hefts the box in the air for them to see. 30 pairs of Eclipse Glasses, certified by American Paper Optics LLC.

Yasmin digs one out and holds it high. "And with our Hubris," she says, "We will stare directly into the Sun."

"That's the plan!" Mel says. "Now. Let's make tracks before we get caught. We've got places to be."

It's 10 am at Sunset Hills Retirement Home, and Roxanne Delgado is Very Tired™. She is a 28 year old underpaid RN who has been here since 9 pm last night, working the east wing alone because the Nurse on duty, Janet, bless her little heart, called out sick last minute.

This isn't normally a huge problem—Roxy is left alone on the floor too often to be legal, really, so she's used to it—but today she was awake at 2:12 am when the building shuddered and shifted and slumped slightly to the side, which made every single call light, heart monitor, oxygen machine in the building set off their alarms simultaneously.

Did she mention she was Very Tired because she is Very Tired.

"So we're headin' up top t' see the sky turn black, right Roxy?" asks Carl.

Roxanne sighs. "No, hon," she says, patiently, while tying the laces of his shoes. "Your wheelchair will roll right off the roof."

"Roll off the roof! Ha!" Carl Young, the sly, crass man from room 129, grins at her with a gap toothed smile. "What a way t' go, what a way t' go, lemme tell ya. Just imagine it. Fwp! Right off the edge. Tell me it would'na be hilarious."

"Oh, I'm imagining it, all right," Roxanne says, and it is, in fact, hilarious, because you don't work in healthcare in the heart of Amity Park without developing a morbid sense of humor. "I'm afraid I can't let you pull a Wile E Coyote, though. Too much paperwork."

"C'maaaaaan," he goads, as she takes hold of the wheelchair handles. "I'll get that ol' roadrunner this time fer sure!"

Despite herself, she chuckles, and wheels him out into the hallway.

Sunset Hills is an interesting place to be, when all is said and done. Most other retirement homes she's worked at were dour, dismal places. Sunset Hills isn't—cheerful, exactly, so much as it's filled with a wry attitude of those not afraid of death.

This is, after all, Amity Park. Not all those who go stay gone.

Roxanne wheels Carl to breakfast, fighting gravity every step because all the hallways are slanting ever-so slightly to the right. The Dining hall is wide and spacious, the tables cleared away because Roxanne didn't want them to slide in the tilt. Instead, she's got the lap trays out, one for every resident, and the closest wall is lined by wheelchair users, both living and dead.

Because, again, some of the previous residents of Sunset Hills died one day and then just kept coming back.

"Carl! You live!" remarks Thomas Richter, one of the ghostly residents. Except for the translucent blue skin and the third, forehead eye, he could almost be mistaken for living. He's one of the only ones whose chair isn't braced up against the wall with the parking brake on, because, floating like he tends to do, he doesn't need it. "What's the good word!"

"No Eclipse, she says!" Carl announces to the cluster of residents when she wheels him close. A chorus of disappointed Aww's go up from the crowd.

"Why not?" cry a few.

"It's against regulation—" Roxanne starts, and gets cut off.

"Now listen here, Young Lady," says Vivian Veraldi, an eccentric lady who's usually in a walker (just Not Today, by Roxanne's decree of uneven floors and falling hazards) reaches into her wheelchair pouch and snaps open a black lace fan. "You can't go round living life by such strict rules! Bend a little!"

Roxanne sighs. "I can't abandon you outside," she argues. "We haven't even had breakfast. Or done medications!"

"Screw the meds!" Helen, (the lady who always refuses her meds), rallies with a shout.

"It's bad for your eyes. And besides. What if we teleport back, suddenly?" Roxanne argues, parking Carl against the wall. "Or what if a ghost attacks—"

She swallows her tonge mid-sentence, and glances at Thomas. The ghosts here have never gotten violent, but she doesn't like to risk it. But he waves her off with a dismissive six-fingered hand.

"Bah! Phantom'd never let that happen," argues the ghost.

Slowly, carefully, Roxanne says, "You don't know that. Anything could happen during the eclipse. No one knows why the town was brought here—"

Thomas huffs and rolls his eyes. "Phantom broughtus here," he points out, as if it's common knowledge. "The brat. You know, back in my day we just settled on one obsession, not this dual nonsense"

"Whoa, hey, whoa, back up," Roxanne says. "Phantom—what?"

"Has two obsessions," Thomas explains, like that's the part that needs explaining. In a way, it is. "One: protecting this town," he thumps at the wall. "And two: space. Word is he didn't wanna leave the town unguarded to go see the Eclipse. So I guess he brought us with."

Roxanne's head swims a bit. She's saved from having to process the new information when her cell phone buzzes in her pocket.

"I have to take this," she says, excusing herself from the group.

The Nursing Home director is finally calling back, with what Roxanne can only pray to be good news. She clicks the call button and presses it to her ear. "Hello?" she asks, stepping into the hallway and closing the door behind her.

"Miss Delgado," says the Director. "Has Miss Chapman shown up yet?"

"Penelope? No," Roxanne says, her heart soaring. "Did you find someone to cover?"

"Unfortunately, Miss Chapman said she'd be in by 9. So if she's not there…" he trails off.

Her heart falls. 9? That was over an hour ago. "Can't you find somebody else?" she asks, desperately. "Mina? April?" Despite her suggestions, she has a sinking feeling she knows what request is coming next.

"Can you handle the next shift by yourself?"

"Can I—No I cannot! I can barely handle this shift by myself! The residents haven't even had breakfast yet, and they need their medications—"

"I have full faith in you," he bullshits.

This can't be happening. Roxanne groans, rubbing her temples. She is Very Tired™.

"They want to see the eclipse," she says.

"They—what? No," the director tells her immediately. "That's against regulation. During an invasion event, all residents should be in sight and accounted for—"

"Yeah well I'm taking them outside unless someone else shows up pronto." She threatens.

A pause.

He doesn't answer.

"God, you're useless," she tells him, and hangs up.

For a moment, Roxanne thinks about walking out. Just up and leaving this place, getting hired somewhere else, because anything's got to be better than an underfunded nursing home asking her to turn her surprise 12 hour shift into a 24.

But then, who would look after these people? Nobody, that's who. Her bosses and coworkers might see these seniors as an afterthought, a problem that will be gone soon enough. But she knows better. These people will keep living right up to the end of their life. And, sometimes, past that. And she is going to help them do takes a deep breath, resolving to demand a raise later, and steps back into the room.

"Looks like it's just me for today," she tells everybody, with a false smile. "So I'll get started on the meds."

"What about the Eclipse?" Carl asks.

Roxanne still isn't sure, but then again, she did make the threat. "…I'll think about it." She conceeds.

A chorus of cheers go up, along with an approving nod from Vivian.

"As you were," the old lady smiles, fanning herself. "Now, what's for breakfast? I'm starving."

Roxanne breathes deep and lets it out slow, focusing on the next task at hand. The truck didn't arrive with this morning's food, but there's leftovers in the fridge. She heads to the back to start heating and portioning up.

She can handle this. It's okay. Honestly, Thomas's news on the subject is helping quite a lot—the fact that Amity Park wasn't dragged here for some strange ghost cult ritual, or something, is a weight off her mind. The local hero's just a Space Nut. Who really wanted to see the eclipse.

And, hey, if the town hero's willing to bend some rules to see it, (rules of reality, but still) then she should be allowed to bend a few, too.

"Who wants cookies for breakfast!" she calls, and a dozen hands go up.

A few minutes later, as she's bringing out the trays, the Calvary arrives in the form of three middle schoolers bursting through the dining hall doors.

"Grandpa we got 'em! WE GOT 'EM!" says the ringleader, holding a box of solar eclipse glasses up for all to see.

Carl laughs a wheezing laugh. "That's my boy!" he says, and, hey.

Looks like they're seeing the eclipse after all.

Not to brag or anything, but Casper High has the best view in town.

Perched on the tallest hill, the three-story brick and glass structure looks almost like a castle keep overlooking the wide valley below. It's a funny contrast - the crumbling, shoddy building poised like a shining beacon over the town. The view is breathtaking, and everyone on staff and a few of the students have already snuck up to the roof at least once to take pictures while it lasts, because who could pass up the opportunity?

Only a few people raise their eyebrows at the location, but then, only a few people know why Casper High is up here in the first place.

"I'm. so. Stupid," Danny groans, leaning against the picnic table and burying his face in his arms.

"…So I take it this wasn't intentional?" Tucker asks, cheerful, dropping his bag to the grass and perching on the table's far end.

Danny's response is to groan and tug his jacket up over his head, to bury himself more completely.

"He forgot he had Ghost King powers," Sam fills in helpfully as Tucker sits down.

"I didn't forget!" Danny protests, sitting bolt upright. "I just—augh—I didn't know!"

"You didn't know," Tucker echoes, eyebrow raised.

"I didn't know it could just—happen!" Danny elaborates, throwing his hands in the air. "Not just something that I can do in my sleep! Moving an entire town, like—Fright Knight had a whole speech and sword thing going on! Shouldn't there be more to it? Like a ritual? It's 95 square miles of earth, for pete's sake!"

"That was a strangely specific number," Tucker remarks.

"I know everything about Amity Park," Danny shoots back. "Including how big it is."

"And thaaaaaat's becaaaaaause you're such a good hero!" Tucker prods, trying to cheer him up. Danny sulks harder in response. "And because you're such a good hero, you deserve—"

"Tucker please," Danny says softly, burying his face in his hands again. "Everyone's scared."

Sam and Tucker exchange a glance, unsure what to say.

Then—

"Well that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," Sam says, flatly.

"Yup," Tucker agrees. "They're not scared, dude. Inconvenienced, sure. But like, nobody's injured."

Danny peeks through his fingers.

Tucker waves his PDA in Danny's face in response. "Not a single hospitalization," he recites from the news. "Granted. This isn't great for everybody. I heard there was a zoo break. A couple of lost pets? But it's really bringing the community together. Facebook is jumping with requests for help, and volunteers are popping out of the woodwork. The Planetarium's having a field day on social media. Bars are setting up celebrations downtown. And everyone who showed up to school today got extra credit just for making it here! It's a good day, dude."

Danny's eyes flicker downward. "I messed up everybody's day just so I could see the eclipse," he argues.

"So what." Sam argues back. "You're allowed."

He looks at her, uncertain.

Sam sighs. "You always put the town first, Danny. Even when you shouldn't." she digs a pair of solar eclipse glasses from her spider backpack, sliding it across the table to him. "For once in your life, put yourself first. You couldn't leave the town unattended—"

"—Walker was threatening another invasion while I was gone," Danny agrees glumly.

"—So you took us with you. That's enough." She smiles. "Put yourself first for four minutes. Okay?"

Danny stares at her, then at the glasses.

"Well, since we're already here." He sighs. "Four minutes."

"That's the spirit."

Danny slides the glasses on. It's 12 pm, and the moon is just starting to bite the corner of the sun, until it looks like a bitten cookie. The shadows around the are starting to waver, little eclipse moons starting to appear beneath the dappled trees. Darkness closes in.

"It kinda looks like your symbol," Tucker remarks suddenly, when they're close to the dark. "Doesn't it, Danny?"

They all stare up as the shadow of the moon swallows the sun whole, diamond rays of white overtaking the edge before the sky and moon plunge into black.

"Yeah," Danny says, quietly awed. "It kind of does."

For the next four minutes, swallowed by the dark, all eyes in Amity Park turn skyward.