Sunday mornings were mostly uneventful for Sam, this one being no exception. Feeling rejuvenated by a peaceful slumber, she woke up and dressed in her typical gothic garb–a welcome relief after her mother's makeover yesterday.

She ventured downstairs, ready to confront her parents and hopefully reclaim what remained of her weekend. She'd already made plans with Danny and Tuck to use the morning and afternoon time before the movie to get to the amusement park and ride the Abominatrix, which would hopefully make up in part for missing the concert.

Of course, her parents remained an obstacle. She could have snuck out, but the last thing Sam wanted was for her parents to show up while she was out with her friends and humiliate her by trying to drag her back home (and she knew they were not above that). She wasn't sure how they'd react to her, considering their argument last night (and its catalysis), but she had a suspicion that they wouldn't be any more amenable to her plans than before.

On this round, however, she resolved to stand her ground. They couldn't restrict her from her friends and she had no desire to sit in and listen to them make a mockery of everything she loved again.

To her surprise, however, the kitchen had been vacant, as had the living room, with no sign that her folks had opted for an early breakfast or gone out for some early errands. Sam therefore went about making her breakfast, a nice plate of farm-raised eggs and toast with organic jam, and a few pieces of fruit for extra vitamins.

As she ate, she heard the echo of footsteps from upstairs, obvious signs that her folks were still home. A text from Danny announced that he and Tuck were on their way. Then came the inevitable footsteps down the stairs. Breathing, Sam prepared for what she was sure would be a confrontation.

Putting down her fork, Sam looked up to see her parents, both dressed in their regular (but characteristically elegant) clothes, enter the kitchen. Pamela had a stern expression on her face that warned of passive aggression. Her husband's, while also passive, bordered on something more like indifference.

"Good morning, honey." Despite the sternness of her expression, it came off calmer than Sam had anticipated. At the moment, it seemed like her mother's rage had snuffed out, replaced with the smoky embers of resentment.

"Morning, Sam." Her father sounded just as he looked.

"Hey guys." She stabbed another piece of egg with her fork, eyeing them plainly. "Any plans today?"

A risky question, and perhaps she'd been a pyromaniac for stoking the embers.

Pamela maintained her composure. "Well, we were supposed to be attending the opening ceremony of Vladson's, but thanks to…recent events–"

Her eyes bore into her daughter's.

"-that is no longer happening. We're going to lunch at Monique's. We'd invite you to come, but I get the feeling you wouldn't be interested."

'That fancy French restaurant over by the mall?' Sam thought, 'You bet.'

"Plus, we'd rather not risk another paranormal occurrence," Jeremy remarked, only to be cowed by his wife's reproachful look. "Uh…no offense."

"None taken," Sam replied. So far, so good.

"I take it, you and your friends will be going to see that Psychotica tripe." Pamela crossed her arms.

"It's not tripe," Sam stated firmly. "And we're actually going to the pier first to ride the Abominatrix." Ignoring the disapproving scoff from her mother, she finished off her orange juice before wiping her mouth and taking her plate to the sink.

"I heard people who ride on roller coasters have an increased risk of spinal problems," Pam said, very matter-of-factly.

'And which chat board did you get that from?' Sam mentally fired back. She polished her plate off, avoiding her gaze entirely. "I'll take my chances."

"I take it you'll be home at a reasonable time," her mother remarked. "Assuming Danny has a watch and not some ghost-gunk shooty watch thingy or some nonsense."

Sam chuckled, unaffected by the insult. Compared to last night, Pamela barely even seemed to be trying. "I'm pretty sure he does. His folks have him on a 10:00 curfew."

"Wow, that's…responsible of them," Jeremy granted.

"Shocking, I'd say," his wife added.

Another buzz from her phone.

"Speaking of which, that would be them," she announced, brightening instantly. Brushing past her folks, she made her way out the front door. A second later, it shut, leaving the two parents alone.

Even on Sundays, Monique's was crowded. Thankfully for the two Mansons, their lunch date had already been reserved for them.

"We should be under Masters," Pamela said to the matire'd.

"They're with me, Jacque," Vlad assured in French, stepping up to the podium. With a nod, Jacque welcomed them inside and they took their seat at a table. Despite the heavy customer traffic, they were somewhat secluded. A half-wall afforded them privacy, the windows tinted enough to render them silhouettes to onlookers. Pamela took her seat in the booth, her husband sliding in next to her.

"Wow," she gushed. "Normally, it takes us weeks to get a reservation this nice."

"Well, let's just say I have a certain 'gift' with people." Vlad smirked. "I'm glad to see you two again. It was a real pity our last gathering ended so poorly."

"Which is why we made sure a certain someone didn't come with us, just like you instructed." Her gaze averted to the table for a second. "Not that she'd want to anyway."

"All for the better, I did say," Vlad declared–and his tone truly encapsulated that. "I take it she's off doing her 'things,' I might say?"

"Ugh." Pam facepalmed. "First she and those boys are going to ride some garbage ride called the "Abominable" or some tripe," she said the (incorrect) name in a mocking tone, complete with wavy jazz hands. "Then they're going to that tacky horror movie based on that overrated book by Stuart Prince!"

Jeremy nodded along. "I never got his appeal anyway."

"Did you know in one of his books, a group of children–" Looking around, she leaned forward and whispered something in Vlad's ear that made the man retch.

"My word, that's horrible!"

"Honestly, I'm shocked the man was even allowed to publish something so vile." Contempt lined Jeremy's brow. "In my opinion, he should be on a watch list."

"And with the crowd she surrounds herself with," Pam's grip was taut on the fork, a shudder of disgust running through her. "And all that dark, horrid, demonic trash she idolizes…I can't help but one day worry that Sam herself will wind up in something just as degrading!"

"Excuse me, madam, can I get you a drink?"

She looked up to be met with a waiter's awkward stare. Snapping back to reality, she corrected her posture, shoulders rolling back.

"I'll take your strongest red wine."

The waiter nodded and left, leaving the three alone.

"To make things worse, she's somehow gotten my mother on her side," Jeremy lamented, a slight sigh escaping. "So the restraining order is out of the question."

"So is cutting her off," Pamela added with a smallish growl.

"And you can't override her?" Vlad ventured.

"Not as long as she's proven sane," Pam muttered. "Ugh, it seems like the whole world is somehow conspiring to make sure our daughter gets her way. It's bizarre, it's maddening, it's…"

"It's like the whole world is going Fenton," Jeremy remarked.

"If only that damn Jack Fenton hadn't moved into our town." Her lips twisted in a sneer. "Him and his stupid Ghost Portal," she practically spat, "things would still make sense. We wouldn't have to worry about all this paranormal nonsense and we CERTAINLY wouldn't have this horrid ghost boy making life hell for everyone!"

Needless to say, her rant was attracting more than a few stares.

"Honey, please calm down," Jeremy admonished her gently. "You'll get wrinkles."

"I know." She slumped, cheeks flaring red.

"Well, I think I am more qualified than anyone to agree with you," Vlad said. "Ever since my accident, I constantly find myself looking over my shoulder for ghosts. I hate the things, obviously. In fact, I'll admit I still harbor a lot of self-loathing for my erstwhile fixation in my college years." He sighed, vaguely gesturing to his person. "Look what it did to me."

"Don't feel bad, Vlad," Pam tried to console him. "You were young and Jack Fenton was obviously looking for somebody to play with. Somebody to exploit for his own selfish reasons. If only Maddie had realized this before going off the deep end. Now she's just as crazy as him."

"Hear, HEAR." Vlad's emphasis rang with bitterness.

"I wouldn't be surprised if the man loves ghosts more than his own kids," Jeremy said.

"I wouldn't say that, given how much his son appears to take after him," Pamela disagreed. "Then again, he's probably just grooming him to carry on his legacy."

"It would seem so." Vlad suppressed a chuckle at the sheer irony of the statement (and the sheer lack of awareness of it by his guests).

"Their daughter, Jasmine," Jeremy said, "she seems like she might be salvageable. I heard she got offers for Oxford and Yale."

"Maybe." Pamela pouted. "But she's a bit too old for us to take in at this point."

"Your wine, madam," the waiter said, pouring her a glass. She gulped it down in one swig, only half of the wine remaining.

"Yes, it appears that we're all stuck with the hand this ghost-infested world has given us." Vlad sighed, put-upon. "However…"

Both Mansons perked up. "Yes?"

"Like I said, I have unfortunately encountered many ghosts since my accident. For the sake of my own safety, I've actually been forced to start documenting them, just to know which to specifically watch out for."

"Oh my, that sounds terrible!"

"Yes, not a good conversation piece for the country club, indeed. Still, in a cruel twist of irony," A devilish smirk from Vlad, like he pictured himself a silver fox on the front cover of a magazine. "I think it may in fact be beneficial for you."

"What do you mean?" Pam asked.

"Weeeeeell." Vlad drummed his fingers. "It's obvious you two are desperate to put Sam on the right path, am I correct?"

"Yes."

"But it seems impossible?"

"Yes."

"Why I bet you practically WISH a solution would fall right into your hands?"

"YES!"

More stares. The three hunched down in their seats.

"Well, call me crazy, but please, hear me out." He leaned in, glancing furtively over his shoulder. "I think there may actually be a ghost that can help you."

Both Mansons stared at him in stunned silence for a moment.

"A ghost? Help…us?" Pam looked hopelessly confused, bordering on disgust.

"Are you serious, Vlad?" Jerremy asked.

"Dead serious," he replied. Faced with their dumbfounded stares, he threw up his hands defensively. "Oh, I know, I must sound insane right about now, but…I really, truly, do want the very best for you two. I think we've formed a rather strong bond in our time together. We're all civilized folk caught up in an uncivilized world, begging for a simpler time, with simpler folk. Our investments work so well together and people were loving our deli sticks last night, weren't they?"

Basking under the flattery, both Mansons beamed.

"Yeah, they were." Jeremy puffed his chest out.

"Oh, and did I mention, I think I just might be able to persuade our shareholders into coming back."

The couple gasped.

"But…how?" Pam asked, amazed.

"Like I said, I have a 'gift' with people." His eyes briefly flashed red, but his companions must've dismissed it as a trick of the light. "Of course, this will mean little to nothing if Little Miss Gloomy is still her drab and dreary self. For all we know, she could have another terrible prank prepared just for-"

"DON'T!" Pam cried. "My heart can't take the thought."

Jeremy joined his hands together in supplication. "Please. What can we do?"

"If there's a ghost that can help us." Pam paused to down another glass of wine (the waiter had refilled it sometime during their conversation) before shuddering, hesitating, and then finally, forcibly saying, "We'll…take it!"

"That's what I love. People who fight for what they want!" Vlad praised. Noting the gawks and murmurs from the surrounding customers, he motioned for them to come closer. "Now listen closely…"

Later that day, a crowd of teens poured out of the Amity Park movie theater, scattering into the parking lot and heading for their respective vehicles. Excited chatter filled the air, a number of teens echoing their favorite lines from the film.

"Okay." Passing by a trash can on the sidewalk, Danny discarded his empty platter. "Now THAT was a good monster movie."

Folding his arms, Tucker harrumphed.

"Aw, is someone a little salty that they lost their bet?" Sam teased.

"A tie makes no sense!" the tech boy complained. "Terminatra literally had her right in her sights. Why on Earth would she not take the shot?!"

Sam shrugged nonchalantly. "Don't ask me, ask the writers."

"Oh, you know I'm leaving them one scathing review." Tuck began mashing his PDA, righteous anger pouring out of his thumbs.

"Well, the Abominatrix was good, but I'd say this tops it," the goth girl concluded as they departed from the theater.

"Least we didn't have to wait five hours in line to see it," Danny added.

"Of course, there was the pleasure of seeing Tucker upchuck on that couple behind us."

Danny side-eyed his friend with an ounce of pity. Only an ounce. "Well, that's what 2 dozen corn dogs and pints of lemonade will do to a person."

"Annnnd there!" He slipped the PDA back into his pocket. "One scathing, but still technically complimentary review." Smiling in success, he looked back to his friends. "So, now what?"

"Honestly, I think I could use a walk." Danny rubbed his gurgling stomach. "That triple nacho platter's still settling."

"That's what processed food does to you," Sam chided, joining her friends on a route to the park. "You gotta go for the real deal: green and leafy. Mother Nature knows best."

Tucker snorted. "Says the girl whose entire fortune was made on the backs of lumber and cellophane."

"Hey, I never said I was proud of it," Sam shot back. "Like I said last night, I'm pretty much going to give it all up to charity once I get the reins."

"And again, after hearing what the Mansons think of me and my family, I can't really say that I blame you," Danny replied. "Of course, they'd eat up everything Vlad told them."

"Though thankfully, from the looks of it, we aren't in any danger of another restraining order," Sam said. "Thanks to Granny."

"Wish I had a cool grandmother," Tucker muttered. "I love my granny, but she can't tell a computer from a calculator. I swear, this one time…"

"You sure about this, Pamela?" Jeremy asked.

"Well, Vlad did say this Desiree was a wishing ghost," his wife replied. "This seems like the best place to find her."

They were standing in front of a large fountain carved out of stone. The sun had already gone down and the surrounding park was empty. Only the moonlight illuminated the well water, a smattering of coins twinkling at the bottom like constellations.

Jeremy looked around, feeling a bit awkward. "Well, we're here. So, now what? Where is she?"

"Maybe we have to make a wish?" Pam dug some coins out of her purse. She placed a silver quarter on her gloved thumb and flipped it into the pool. The water rippled as the coin hit it and then went still. Nothing happened.

"Did it work?" Pam leaned in close to the water. "Hello? Ms. Desiree Ghost Lady?"

Nothing. Feeling self-conscious, Pam straightened, blushing softly. Jeremy rubbed the back of his neck.

"Maybe we should just go home, Pam." He started to turn away.

"No, Jeremy, we need this!" Pamela insisted, catching her husband by the wrist. "Our reputation is at stake!"

Reluctant to challenge his wife, he surrendered with a sigh. "Okay, but what should we do?"

"Maybe we actually have to say our wish," Pam suggested, taking out another coin. "Here, wish for something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Anything."

A slight breeze made the man shiver. "I wish I had an extra tall frappe mocha venti latte with steamed milk and extra foam."

His wife flipped the coin into the water. A moment after it sunk, the wind began to pick up. A puff of green clouds appeared and began to circle the couple, who clung to each other in fear.

"So you wish it…so shall it beeee," a sultry voice purred.

There was a flash and Jeremy suddenly felt something in his hand. Looking down, he saw himself holding a large, steaming cup of coffee. An amorphous green blob of ectoplasm rose from the well, morphing into the form of Desiree.

The rich couple gasped and took a step back, Jeremy dropping his new coffee, where it spattered his pants and shoes.

Pamela in particular found herself in shock. Not so much fear, but more so amazement over the sight of the spector above them. Until now, the only ghosts the rich socialite had ever seen with her own eyes had been a ghastly bald woman covered in hideous tattoos and an army of undead skeleton warriors.

But this ghost was different, to say the very least. For one, she was far less morbid in her appearance, with flawless green skin and an ebony mane flowing past her waist. Her lips were painted plum-purple and long, thick lashes framed her heavy-lidded eyes, red irises sparkling in the moonlight. She had a curvaceous figure, with a wonderfully buxom bust and a tapering waist. Her shapely, rounded hips ended in a fluttering, fiery ghost tail. She wore a sky blue, purple-accented top, and her arms were adorned with an abundance of rings and bejeweled bangles, giving off a certain Arabian feel that only added to her radiance.

"You're…you're…," the woman stammered, "You're…GORGEOUS!"

"Aww," the genie ghost purred, basking in the compliment. "Why thank you." She glided lower to the ground, closer to the two. "You don't look so bad yourself, dear."

She hovered around the pair, her wandering eyes making them quiver as they scanned their bodies.

"In fact, you both appear quite dapper." She put her arms around them, causing them to shudder at her touch, before taking note of the coffee spilled around Jeremy's feet. "A bit strange that a pair seemingly as well-off as yourselves would waste such an opportunity over a mere cup of coffee."

She gazed at them both, her luscious red eyes blazing like suns. "Surely, there must be something more you desire."

Needless to say, both Mansons were silent, still struggling to comprehend the presence among them.

"Well…we-uh…" Jeremy stammered.

"We…were…hoping…" Pamela struggled.

"I'm waiting," Desiree said in a sing-song, somewhat snarky, voice.

Realizing from her tone how ridiculous they must have looked, Pamela switched to professional mode.

"Enough of this, Jeremy." She yanked on her husband's arm, pulling them both out of Desiree's reach. Assuming a more assertive stance, she continued, "Forgive us for our behavior, Ms.-"

"Desiree."

"Desiree," she echoed. "I'm afraid my husband and I unfortunately haven't encountered many-" she paused, searching for the most apt term for their host's state of being. "Uh…Spirits? Phantoms? Visitants?"

"Ghosts is fine."

"-in our time," Pam finished. One again, she shifted to an authoritative tone. "Be that as it may, we do, in fact, have another reason for your company other than the acquisition of caffeinated beverages. You see-"

"Okay, enough with the fancy talk," Desiree deadpan interrupted, crossing her arms. "I don't have all night."

Pam's metaphorical hackles raised, offended by the tone. "Our daughter is driving us crazy and we want her to behave!"

Desiree chuckled, loosening up a bit. Her tail unwound like a coil. "Go on."

"Well, we've been trying to teach our daughter, Samantha, how to behave like a proper lady so she can run our company," Jeremy started.

"But she keeps on rebelling and insists on living as a goth hooligan!" His wife continued, "It's a terrible image for the Manson family and she needs to-"

"Wait." A spark of realization lit Desiree's gaze. "Samantha…Manson?"

The cogs turned in the genie's head as she reflected on her last foiled plan for world domination–the one back during the meteor shower and that rich girl, Paulina's birthday. She'd become almost infinitely powerful, with the ghost boy at her mercy due to his loss of memories…until the very same goth girl who'd wished them away had taken advantage of her prideful state and wished them back, leading to her entrapment in the boy's thermos. Her eyes narrowed as the memories gave way to rage. Her closest reach to victory, snatched from her due to that blasted girl's clever thinking.

Not too far away, the aforementioned goth girl and her friends were making their way down one of the park pathways.

"And that," Tucker said, FINALLY concluding his long-winded spiel, "is why you should never try and teach the elderly how to hardwire a virtual X-L computer drive."

"Fascinating," was her dry reply. "Well, that was a good waste of an hour."

Danny stopped the group in their tracks as a burst of cold air erupted from his mouth. "Guys, we've got trouble."

"Well, better than another story," Sam said, pulling out her Thermos.

An offended "Hey!" emitted from Tuck, to which she held back a snort.

"I'm going ghost!" In a flash, Danny transformed and flew off, his friends hot on his trail.

"You know our daughter?" Pamela asked.

Exhaling, Desiree glowered. "I may have granted her a wish at one time."

"Probably for something inappropriate," Jeremy muttered before being shushed by his wife.

"She needs to be stopped and we haven't been able to get through to her!" Pam went on. "It's only a matter of time before she goes off the deep end and ruins us. We NEED you to help us fix her!"

Desiree's anger faded, seductive nature returning as an opportunity for revenge presented itself. Drumming her fingers together, she mused, "Well, you've come to the right place. I'd be happy to help," she chuckled, sadistically, "correct your daughter."

"Yay," both Mansons beamed.

"I just need a wish."

The two socialites looked at each other in glee, hardly able to comprehend the opportunity in front of them. After years of failed corrections, cotillion school expulsions, elegant gift rejections, and acts of spiteful debauchery, they were finally going to steer their daughter on the right path. Finally they'd have the daughter they'd always wanted.

"Okay," Pam said. She looked to her husband and he nodded. "We wish for our-"

Suddenly, a green blast of energy struck Desiree, launching her into a nearby tree.

"GET AWAY FROM THEM!"

The pair looked up to see the infamous ghost boy, Danny Phantom, flying over to them, his fist glowing. Before either could react, he hoisted them into the air, carrying them away from the fountain and over towards (to their shock) their daughter and Tucker!

"Mom, Dad!" Sam cried as her parents were placed down on the path. "What on Earth are you guys doing here?!"

Pam was about to ask her the same when the ghost boy spoke first. "You all stay here, where it's safe." He turned back towards the fountain and flew off.

Danny quickly reached the disgruntled ghost genie as she was dusting foliage off her body. "Miss me?"

"YOU PESTILENT LITTLE WORM!" Desiree shrieked, every word dripping with fury. She threw up her fists, both blazing with pink ecto-energy. "Why must you always interfere with my spell-casting?!"

Danny matched her stance, green energy lighting up his own hands. "Maybe because your spells always end up biting people in the butt!" he replied. "You're like a giant monkey's paw, only less hairy!"

Her red eyes flashed. "I'LL GIVE YOU A MONKEY'S PAW!" She rocketed towards him, her body now a blazing comet.

"You really need to cool off." Danny unleashed a barrage of ecto-blasts on her. She dodged the first few, but one made its mark and sent her crashing down into the fountain.

"See?" he sniped. "Much better now."

Spitting out water, Desiree turned one of her hands into a lasso and tossed it at him. Danny dodged, but it snagged his foot. She reeled him in and smashed him with an overgrown fist. He flew through the air before crashing down, hard, onto the pavement.

"Okay," he groaned, "Maybe not."

Desiree rose up from the fountain, her hand transforming into a giant hammer. Danny gasped as it descended upon him.

"Seriously guys, Desiree is a really dangerous ghost," Sam said as she and Tuck tried to usher her parents out of harm's way. "What were you doing talking to her?"

"Talking to her?" Pam tensed. "We were doing no such thing."

"We were just…taking a romantic stroll when she suddenly appeared," Jeremy added.

Before Sam could offer a rebuttal, she heard a cry and a rumbling sound. "Oh, Mom, I think you left your purse back there."

"What? But it's right-"

Sam had already sprinted off. "I'll go get it."

"Sam, wait!" She made to rush after her daughter, only to be waylaid by Tucker, who stepped into her path with outstretched arms.

"Mrs. Manson, I can't let you go."

"Get out of my way!" When she tried side-stepping him, Tucker blocked her again. "You insolent little–" She cut herself off, shutting her eyes for a moment. Regaining her composure, she regarded Tucker with a saccharine sweetness.

"Mr. Foley…"

Tucker blinked at the change of the voice. Like everyone else, he assumed the dulcet tones were her default. "Yes ma'am?"

She glanced meaningfully at her husband. "Would you like to see our Volvo Sport?"

"Oh, yes," Jeremy said, catching on. "It's a classic from the 1950's."

"...Really? Like, in mint condition?"

She nodded. "Oh, yes. We bargained for it at a car show."

Tucker glanced warily between them. "How do I know you won't run off?"

"You can keep an eye on us, won't you?"

Tucker took a few moments to consider before shrugging. "Alright, but if you do run off, I'm telling Sam."

"Okay, I think it's time for you to go back into the lamp!"

Flying at the genie, Danny fired two more ghost rays, but she phased them through her and then caught him with a hand formed from her tail. Slamming him to the ground, Desiree laughed as she pinned him down with a massive fist.

"Stupid boy," Nothing in this world can contain me!"

"How about this?" She turned to see Sam uncapping the Thermos, pointing it at her.

"No!" Her form blurred, reverting to an amorphous shape. "You'll pay for this, girl!" she promised, clawing desperately at the vortex. "You will be made proper!"

"Thanks, Sam." Danny hovered over, taking the thermos. "I think she's been getting stronger."

"Yeah…" Sam said, confused over those last few words. "Did you catch what she said? 'You will be made proper!' What could that mean?"

Danny shrugged. "Probably just an empty threat. I've lost count of how many times Skulker said he'd mount me on his wall."

"Yeah, maybe." Sam didn't sound particularly convinced. Still, she smiled at her friend. "I better get my folks home. No telling what would happen if they ran into another one of your rogues gallery."

"Yeah, Ember would probably give them heart attacks."

The two shared a chuckle, unaware of Pamela spectating from a distance, carefully obscured behind an oak tree.

Except Tucker had been successfully distracted, once Jeremy lifted the hood to show off the engine. Tucker babbled about the components, bombarding Jeremy with questions that he answered readily. Or, alternatively he would admit to not knowing. At which point, Tucker would Boogle it on his PDA.

When Pamela made her way back to the vehicle, her heels clicked on the pavement, signaling her arrival to Tucker.

"Hey! Did you just leave?" he asked.

"Just to grab some paper towels for my husband's spill," she assured him, holding up a wad to verify her claim. "Didn't run into any ghosts."

He eyed her suspiciously. "You didn't? Really?"

"Well, I passed the fountain but, looks like they're long gone." She smiled sheepishly. "I'll admit I hoped I would find Sam, but can you blame me? I'm worried about her safety."

"I mean… No, I can't blame you," Tucker conceded, adjusting his glasses. "But you really didn't see anything?"

A mild head-shake. "I swear on… on… my entire shoe collection."

"AHHHHHHHH!"

Pamela paced back and forth in front of her husband, trodding a path in the plush pink carpet. After rushing home with Jeremy, she'd regaled him with the details of what she witnessed. Her hands raked through her once perfectly coiffed hair. "This is worse than we thought, Jeremy! Now she's actually fraternizing with ghosts?! Least of most, that Danny Phantom?!"

"Well, what are we going to do?" he asked. "Without Desiree, our wish will never come true."

"V-Vlad?" Pam said, in a panicked, desperate tone. "Maybe he can help us, direct us to another ghost."

Taking out her phone, she typed in his number. A moment later, came this:

"This is Vlad Masters, Dairy King of Wisconsin. I'm afraid I'm not avail-"

"Ahhhh!" Pam threw her phone against the wall, tears gushing from her eyes. "Where did I go wrong?!" Plopping down onto the bed, she sobbed into her husband's shoulder. "What kind of mother am I?!"

"There, there, dear. It's not your fault. We did the best we could, but that ghost must've sunk his claws in her…" He added bitterly, "Explains how she pulled that ghastly prank."

"O-our poor little girl!" His wife sobbed. "We're going to have a ghost addict for a daughter!"