Later that day

"Space…the final frontier," the TV played as Danny tried to settle into his bed with a cold compress on the site of the incision. "These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its five-year mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations. To boldly go where no man has gone before!"

If only they were as interested in the stars as they were in spooks, he thought, turning up the volume to drown out an ongoing argument between his sister and parents from downstairs. Though knowing them, they'd probably say that they're diving into the true undiscovered country…

Just then, it happened. Gone were the feelings of his clothes, bedding, and the cold compress against body, and in their place was the pull of gravity. Before he knew it, he was falling– first through the mattress, then through the floor, and finally coming to an abrupt halt in midair over the kitchen. Below him stood the rest of his family, still wrapped up in the argument he'd tried to ignore mere moments ago– an argument which seemed to be approaching a boiling point…

"Well, what would you have you done if he had died?" Jazz snapped. "I mean, it's…even ignoring the fact that you put the 'On' button inside of the portal, we should've at least had a camera or something down there to make sure something like this didn't happen in the first place!"

"In our defen–"

"No, Dad, there is no 'defense' to be had here! You and Mom dropped the ball big time by leaving Danny and his friends unsupervised with the portal while it was potentially still active! This ghost obsession of yours has finally gotten out of hand, and if it ends up putting my brother in the ground for real, then don't expect me to ever be part of this family again!"

"Now, let's not say anything we might regret…"

Jazz threw up her hands. "You know what? I'm done," she hissed. "As of right now, I'm going out for a nice long while. Maybe I'll come home, maybe I'll spend the night at a friend's. Goodbye."

And with that, she marched towards the front door and stormed out of the house.

Okay, I don't think I've ever seen her that mad before, Danny thought as he continued to linger above the ground. Can't say I blame her– I mean, if it'd happened to Sam or Tucker…oh, right. Probably should let them know I'm alive.

He experimentally extended a leg…only for his foot to find no purchase in the air. As soon as I can figure out how to move now, that is.

Wierzbowski's Occult Esoterica and Detective Agency– same time

"May I help you?" a haggard-looking woman with frizzy blonde hair and a nametag that read "CINDY" said from behind the counter as the bell above the front door rang.

The newcomer– a black teenage boy with a red ball cap– locked eyes with her. "Yeah, I was wondering if Sam was…"

"She doesn't work today," came the blunt reply. "Now, can I interest you in some of our services?"

"Like what?"

"Special on palm readings. Or if you're looking to be a bit more proactive about your future, a round of tarot hold 'em."

"Thanks, but I'm here for something else. See, I've got this friend who, last I saw him, was in a pretty bad way, and I just…y'know, wanna see if he's still around."

"You got a hundred bucks?"

"…excuse me?"

"A hundred bucks– either cash or check."

Before the boy could answer, the door opened again, and in walked Sam Manson.

"What was that about her not working today?" he asked.

"Better question– what're you doing here, Tucker?" Sam replied, venom dripping from every word.

"Would you believe it's about Danny?"

Her nostrils flared, and she began to clench and unclench her fists. "It hasn't even been a day, you ghoul."

"Hey, if anyone here's a ghoul, it's your friend behind the counter!"

The blonde shot a withering glare at Foley. "Hundred and fifty."

"Y-y-you can't just jack up the price like that!"

"My business, my rules," came the retort. "Now, are you going to buy something or just waste my time arguing?"

Tucker sighed. "Look, last time I saw my friend, he was being loaded into an ambulance, and all I want to know is if he's still alive."

Cindy's expression softened. "Gorram…shoulda led with that." She pondered for a moment. "Tell you what– this session's on the house."

Why couldn't this have come with an instruction manual? Danny bitterly thought, still hovering a good several feet above the kitchen floor. I just want is to MOVE! Is that really too hard to ask?

"Don't think about it, just do it," a quiet, girlish voice announced.

"Okay, who said that?"

As if on cue, a presence slowly drifted up through the floor, gradually materializing into the shape of a young woman with brown hair, glowing green eyes, and wearing a long black dress straight out of a Goth fashion magazine.

"I did," she said once she reached eye level with Danny. "Now, I know that you're probably going through a lot right at the moment, but if you don't mind, I need to know a few things." As if to emphasize her point, a pen and clipboard suddenly appeared in her ethereal hands. "Question one– how did you die?"

"I didn't."

The woman gave a small sigh. "Look, it's always a little hard to accept that you've joined the choir invisible at first, but the sooner you come to terms with it, the better. Still, if the topic is that uncomfortable for you, then do you mind telling me what the last thing you remember is?"

"Excuse me?"

"Last thing you remember. You know, something like a car crash, tripping as you're trying to get away from an incoming train, realizing that maybe you shouldn't be watching TV in the bathtub just before the set falls in– that sort of stuff."

"I'm telling you, I'm not dead! It's just…there was this accident last night, and then I woke up in the morgue this morning, an–"

Before he could finish, he suddenly felt the tug of gravity once again and promptly dropped to the floor like a stone.

"…okay then," the woman said after a long silence. "Now, what were you saying about an accident?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "Look, can I ask some questions? Like, oh, 'who are you', 'where'd you come from', and 'what're you doing here'?"

The woman tapped the end of her pen against her face. "Shelly," she said. "Shelly O'Barr. I'm what you might call an orienter for the recently deceased."

"A what?"

"You know, a helpful guiding hand for those unable to move on."

"My friends," Cindy said as she, Sam, and Tucker gathered around an old card table that had been set up in the shop's storeroom, "we are gathered here to contact the spirit of…of…what's your friend's name?"

"Danny," Sam replied. "Danny Fenton."

"We are gathered here to contact the spirit of Danny Fenton, should he be on the other side. If not, then feel free to disregard this s–" Before she could finish, she abruptly fell onto the floor and launched into a coughing fit.

"Sam, is this normal?" Tucker asked, a thin veneer of sweat forming on his forehead.

The only answer he got was a scream, with a quick look down revealing the cause: a viscous greenish fluid emerging from Cindy's mouth, her every cough pushing a little more of it out.