.
.
.
He was walking at the edge of the surf. If he stopped for too long, he started to sink into the fine black sand. He was walking south, towards the sickle-thin curve of a winter moon, the black sea reflecting flashes of white to his right. To his left, the landscape was equally dark. He could barely see the path before him, and he knew that if he tried to leave the strip of sand where the waves touched and receded, lapping at his ankles, something bad would happen.
Had... something bad already happened? He didn't remember, but his head echoed with pain.
Where... where was he?
There was someone standing in front of him. He stopped. Water rushed over his feet, and he felt the sand start to give way beneath him.
"Daniel Fenton."
"Yes?" said Danny. He knew this person, he felt, though from where... That was a mystery. He saw a boat behind them, and vaguely realized the moon he'd been following was, in fact, the gleam off the blade of their scythe. "Am I supposed to go with you?" he asked.
The person looked first to the sea, then to the land. Then they looked up. Danny followed their gaze, idly picking out stars. He wondered why they weren't sinking while he was. Thinking about it too hard hurt his head, though, so instead he focused on the not-entirely-unpleasant sensation of wet sand encasing his ankles.
A hand descended on Danny's shoulder. "It's your choice," said the person. "But it appears that you've found a third option, so to speak."
Danny pulled himself free of the sand. It was easier this time than before.
"I think I'll stay here, then," he said. He didn't like the look of the water. Wasn't there some kind of rule against going boating at night? It was dangerous, or something. "I have things to do." Surprisingly, this was true.
The person nodded. "Be careful, Daniel Fenton. Little Phantom."
"Thanks," said Danny, absently. "You too."
The the pain hit him. And the green light. And the screaming. And the faint scent of burnt hair and plastic and-
He was in the portal and he had to get out.
(The dark beach was never quite forgotten.)