Passing On is Hard to Do!
Chapter One: Good Times with Good Friends
"Being a grandparent means you can be as silly as you want to be." - Unknown
I am an angel. If you hear that sentence and picture a handsome, muscular guy in a white robe with white, feathery wings and a halo, wipe that image out of your mind.
Angels are a subspecies of ghost. Which means no halos or white robes. (At least, not for me. There's probably some religion nut out there who takes it too seriously.) And while I don't think I'm ugly, I'm not exactly eye candy either. I do have feathery wings, but they are a rusty reddish orange color. They also make excellent shields, being virtually indestructible, and weapons. I can shoot out the feathers like a barrage of daggers and grow them back instantly. The top portions of my wings are insanely sharp, allowing me to cut through anything - anything - without even trying. Let's see the guys in the Bible do that!
No offense to anyone who believes in that stuff. You do you, man.
Since I'm not doing combat training with them right now, my wings are tucked away inside me. Reaper - my imprinted parent, the ancient known as the Master of Death, and the only other angel I know - says that an angel's wings are an extension of their core. This explains how my ten-foot-and-change wingspan is able to melt so seamlessly back into my body without so much as tearing my clothes.
On a more depressing note, it also explains how a near-fatal core injury left Reaper's wings disfigured and unusable.
Reaper stands at a whopping eight feet and wears a plain light brown cloak that covers all but their bony pale blue-gray hands. The cloak's hood encases their face in darkness, showing no trace of what lies beneath. This is because Reaper's wings aren't the only parts of them that never recovered. Reaper's very form is heavily scarred. I've never seen them without the cloak, but I have seen the hood pulled back. Only a small bottom corner of Reaper's face is the same color as their hands. The rest is a sickening pinkish red, and the skin appears to layered over itself in a randomized pattern. In short, their head looks a lot like a human head that's missing its skin and hair. I've seen pictures of Reaper from before the damage, so I know they've always been bald, but that's not the point.
Reaper and I are seated at the loveseat in their private study. Reaper's hood is down, a sight reserved for me and the Gargoyles - Reaper's guards/assistants - and probably the other Ancients and…maybe someone else? I don't know who all has seen Reaper's face. I just appreciate that I'm one of them.
Sadly, this is not a happy moment. Don't get me wrong; I love learning about my new angel powers. They didn't awaken until I finished my halfa puberty - a story in and of itself - so I have a lot to catch up on.
This particular power just isn't something I wanted caught up on.
"Now, when you say 'sense death…'" I say.
Reaper's featureless neon green eyes, same as mine except that I have pupils, soften. "It is a blessing as much as it is a curse. As an angel you are able to sense when someone nearby is about to come to an end. Be they a ghost or a creature from the human realm."
Okay. Wow. Yikes. "Is there an 'off' button for that?"
Reaper chuckles without humor. "I am afraid not. If someone is to perish within a day's time, you will know, and you will know how much time they have remaining."
"But, don't you have that," I wave my hands around as if rubbing a sphere, "orb-thingy for that?"
"That is for when I am checking on someone far away." Reaper touches the tip of their index finger to my chest, right over my merged heart and core. "If you are close by to someone living their final day, you will know."
Are they sure there isn't an "off" button? 'Cause I'd like to slam my fist into it. "Will I at least know how they die so I can prevent it?"
Reaper retracts their hand with a sad smile. "You will know. Alas, there will be no way to prevent it. We only sense when someone is guaranteed to perish."
My stomach churns, and my core pulses uncomfortably in my chest. "Can't we at least try?"
Reaper mournfully shakes their head. "Deaths from natural causes can never be stopped. Trying to cure terminal illness puts too much strain on the core, doing nothing more than causing one's own demise."
"But, Jazz was terminally ill once. I saved her, and I'm fine!"
Reaper gives me a pointed look. "You are fine now. Allow me to remind you that your human-half is the only reason you did not fully destabilize."
That's true. The only angel power I had pre-puberty was the Healing Touch. It lets me heal injuries and cure illnesses that aren't my own, but using it too much without a break takes a lot out of me. I saved Jazz's life, but I very nearly melted into ectoplasm in the process. Reaper once informed me that my status as a halfa is the only reason my sister and I lived to tell the tale.
So, from now on I'll know if a person is about to die and how they die, and I can't do a damn thing to stop it.
"Is it wrong that I have no desire to test that power?"
Reaper's laugh is a little more earnest as they wrap their arm around me and bring me closer. "On the contrary, I would be worried if you did. There is a purpose to this, however. You see, Danny Phantom, we angels have the unique ability to help a soul pass on safely into their next life."
"Whoa! For real?" Suddenly this power seems…still horrifying but slightly less so. "Even the ghosts?"
Reaper frowns. "Well, ghosts are already the soul's…second chance, so to speak. If a ghost destabilizes, there is nothing to be done. But, if someone passes in the human realm, we can ensure that their soul moves on. Whether that means turning them into a ghost, or allowing them passage to whatever lies beyond."
"Do we get to pick?"
"We do not. The soul will do what it does. Our presence is not required for the soul to move on safely, but there are cases when the soul fails to leave the mortal plane. Countless lives end every day, so obviously we cannot always be there. But, if we are present, it is best to err on the side of caution."
"No pressure," I mutter. Then I ask, "How do I do that? Help the souls move on?"
Reaper pulls their arm away and folds their hands in their lap. "That is not something that needs to be taught. It is instinct, Danny Phantom. When it happens, you will know what to do."
Why are Ancients like this? Just once, I want an Ancient to give me clear, precise instructions.
"What happens if a soul…doesn't move on?" I ask.
Reaper's brow lowers somberly. "In those cases, the soul becomes a being known as a wanderer: something that is not alive but is not a ghost either. They are trapped in an in-between state, unable to leave the place they died, able to see the world move around them, but never moving with it. But, this is a rarity, only occurring when intense emotions such as fear or anger are associated with the cause of death. Still, it is always good to provide assistance when possible. Just in case."
"Yeesh. No pressure," Tucker snarks.
"Tell me about it," I reply.
Sam, Tucker, and I are having dinner at the Nasty Burger. Since I wanted to tell them about my visit with Reaper and it's a nice day anyway, we sat at one of the few tables outside. Luckily, we're the only ones out here.
"You know I visit the patients at the hospital a lot," I say. "But, with my new death-sensing powers in play, I'm terrified to get near it!"
Sam absently waves a forkful of salad as she speaks. "Well, you'll still be able to help people pass on. Whatever that implies."
I look down at the cheeseburger I've barely touched and groan. "I don't wanna think about this anymore. Someone change the subject."
Sam grins and rubs her hands together. "I've been waiting for an opening!"
Tucker points at her with a french fry and says, "Lay it on us," before popping it into his mouth.
"My parents have a conference and a gala to attend. Both in the same week and in the same city."
"That's quite a coincidence," I say, feeling better as the implications sink in. "Is this going where I think it's going?"
"Hell, yeah!" Sam cheers. "Starting next Monday, my parents are going to be gone for a whole week! Just me and my grandma. And," she leans forward and switches her eager violet gaze between me and Tucker, "maybe some plus-ones?"
"Are you inviting us to spend a whole week at your family's mansion?" Tucker asks with a gleam in his eye. "Count me in!"
"Me, too!" I agree.
The Manson family mansion is amazing, tricked out with a movie theater and a bowling alley just to give you an idea. Tucker and I rarely hang out at Sam's place because her parents don't like us. Correction: they don't like me. They seem to be indifferent toward Tucker. Regardless, Jeremy and Pamela Manson would rather their daughter hang out with rich, super-attractive, ultra-popular people. They also wish she would ditch the eco-goth thing and be more like them. As in, a preppy, shallow douchebag.
Sam's parents' dislike of me is completely mutual.
"And, your grandma's cool with it?" I ask even though I know the answer.
"Are you kidding?" Sam says. "Grandma always says that she gained two grandsons when you dorks started dragging me around." She chuckles at the offense that Tucker and I pretend to take. "Okay, so I paraphrased a little."
Tucker throws a fry at her. "You dragged us around, you bitch! You and that stupid 'dead frog!'"
Sam raises her hands defensively. "Its eyes were closed, and it didn't move when I picked it up. I was six years old! Of course I was going to assume the worst! And anyway, I didn't tell you guys to comfort me."
Tucker barely holds in a giggle. "You also didn't tell the frog to jump on Danny's face."
I point at him and say very seriously, "Hey, that frog traumatized me."
Tucker pats me on the back. "Poor little Danny, running to his mommy!"
Sam brings her fists to her chest and cries out mockingly, "Mom! Mom! Ghost frog!"
"Ah, go fuck yourselves!" I jest.
We all bust up laughing.
Monday doesn't come fast enough. (I can say that unironically because summer vacation isn't over yet.) My parents, my sister, and Valerie all promised to keep an eye on the town so I could partake in a week of fun. If my Ghost Sense goes off, I'll send a duplicate to check it out. The next seven days are all about chilling with my two best friends in the world.
And, of course, Sam's grandmother. But, Ida's cool, so I have no complaints.
Ida zooms into the massive living room on her mobility scooter to greet me and Tucker when Sam lets us in. "'Bout time you boys showed up," Ida mock-scolds. "I ain't getting any younger, but I've been itching to feel like it!"
"Ida Manson," Tucker says. "We'll make you feel so young, you'll be in diapers."
"Who says I'm not already?" Ida laughs at my and Tucker's reactions and slaps her handlebar. "Oh, the looks on your faces!"
Sam rolls her eyes. "Save your jokes, Grandma. You've got a whole week to screw with these guys." Sam turns to me and Tucker and gestures for us to follow. "I'll take you guys to your rooms. There's plenty of guest bedrooms, and we fixed up the nicest ones for you."
"Oh!" I chirp. "Will we find little mints on our pillows?"
Tucker plays along as we follow Sam upstairs. "What about room service? I expect a hot meal to be sent to my room every day and for every meal."
We laugh when Sam flips us the bird over her shoulder. This week is gonna rock.
Three days in, and I can safely say that my prediction was correct: this week rocks! Ida, being the coolest senior citizen alive, joins us in the fun. Does anyone have an issue with this? Nope! Sam's not the only one who loves her grandmother. All my grandparents died either before I was born or when I was too young to remember them. Tucker's only remaining grandparent is a bitter hag who complains all the time.
Don't tell his mother I said that. Although, I'm fairly certain she's thinking it.
Bottom line, if Ida considers me and Tucker to be her grandsons, then we consider her to be our grandmother.
So far, the week's activities include:
-Watching shows and movies from various decades, some of which my friends and I are technically too young for. Thankfully, only the local theater considers seventeen to be too young for an R-rated movie.
-Going outside to test out the old Menthos-in-a-Coke-bottle trick. Results: epic.
-Taking a few shots at the bowling alley in the basement. The guys and I are just okay, though I did manage to get a strike. Ida, however, got nothing but strikes, despite sitting on her scooter the whole time! "I still got it!" she bragged.
-Playing video games on the movie theater screen. Ida admitted that she didn't get what we were doing, but she liked watching us have fun.
-Helping Ida cook and bake, with varying degrees of success and cleanup. Sam made her vegan meals on her own, of course. Tucker and I were pleasantly surprised when the vegan baked goods didn't suck. Though, we still prefer our sugar with butter and eggs. Ida agrees, which is why she invited us to help her make regular spice cookies. There were two whole sticks of butter in that recipe!
-Me sending out a duplicate to take down a giant butterfly ghost that I've seen here before, unless it's a different one. I brought everyone outside so we could watch the fight.
-Wine tasting. At least, we wanted to. This ended up being the one thing that Ida vetoed. Which is fair.
All in all, we're having a blast! It's nice to kick back and act like a normal teenager for once. I haven't worried about ghost attacks once in the last three days. I checked in with my family and Valerie, and they said that, butterfly ghost aside, it's been pretty quiet.
Danny Phantom is taking a much needed vacation. No worries. No responsibilities. Just seven days of fun and relaxation.