Chapter Three

"She left. Your mom actually left us here alone!" Drake gasped, staring wide-eyed at the diminishing red glow of the car's tail lights as Elmo's mother drove back up the hill to the corner and turned away.

"What are you talking about? Of course she left," Elmo said, hoisting his backpack over his skinny shoulders. "You heard her – she wants pick up some ingredients for those sleep-over snacks."

Drake gaped at his taller classmate in disbelief, his nervous eyes darting over the narrow street, the looming stacks of lobster pots and smelly seaweed-studded netting, the lonely fishing boats bobbing on the dark, rippling water...

The night was darker now than when he'd ridden his bike to Elmo's house. Clouds covered the moon and stars, and a thick haze had gathered near the bay, blanketing the docklands in ghostly silver and giving each streetlamp an eerie halo. Drake shivered and rubbed his arms, his tailfeathers quivering at every unfamiliar slosh, thump and rattle.

"Come on!" Elmo urged and slapped Drake's shoulder, nearly causing the terrified duck to jump out of his skin. "Let's hurry and set up our equipment! Isn't this great, Drake? We couldn't hope for better conditions!"

"Yeah…conditions…yeah…" Drake managed to mumble, but inside his head he was ranting, "No, this is not great! This is ridiculous! What kind of parent leaves two kids alone at the docks on Halloween night – especially when there might really be a—"

Uneven footsteps thudded on the dock ahead, a shadowy form coalesced through the haze…

"A GHOST!" Drake shrieked and jumped into Elmo's startled arms.

"Ahoy there," a rough voice greeted. Drake blinked up at a tall, weather-beaten pelican in a yellow raincoat and hat.

"Get off me," Elmo said, dumping Drake back on the pavement. "It's only a fisherman! Sheesh, some superhero..."

Drake harumphed and dusted off his Super Pig cape.

"And what might you two lads be up to this fine Halloween night?" the fisherman asked. "Out on the prowl for tricks and treats, I'll wager?"

"Actually, sir," Elmo said, straightening his posture under his Sherlock Holmes hat, "we're here on a scientific mission! It's our aim to observe and record the strange phenomenon known as St. Elmo's Fire."

"Ah!" The weathered pelican nodded knowingly, one eye squinting small. "You be after the Cat! The legendary Ghost Cat of St. Canard!"

"That's right, citizen," Drake spoke up, stepping in front of Elmo with his hands on his hips – one of Super Pig's favorite super poses. "Have you seen this legendary Cat?"

"That I have," he said. "It makes its appearance but once a year. 'Tis said those careless enough to sail near the monstrous beast are drawn into its fiery maw, and find themselves in another realm."

"Another realm?" Elmo asked excitedly. "Do you mean a transdimensional portal?"

"More likely the afterlife, lad," the pelican said, and Drake couldn't swallow back a little moan. "Take care, mateys. An' watch your backs."

"Wait – you're leaving too!" Drake cried.

But the pelican had already stumped away, his form vanishing into the thickening fog.

"Well, that was a waste of time," Elmo snorted, and raced for the dock. "Hurry up, Drake! Move your tail! I don't want to miss this!"

Drake didn't hesitate. Lingering alone in the hazy street was not an option. He caught up to Elmo and quickly passed him, the end of the long dock coming into view just in time for the young duck to skid to a stop.

"OK, let's set up the equipment," Elmo said a little breathlessly, and Drake smirked smugly, pleased that he was in better shape than the taller rat. Digging into his backpack, Elmo said, "Here, you take the inclinometer, and I'll—"

"Elmo…" Drake tugged his classmate's arm.

"Drake, what are you…" Elmo shook him off. "Let go!"

"It's Super Pig, Sherlock," Drake snapped, and pointed out into the starless, foggy distance. "Forget that measuring stuff for a sec and look!"

"But, I need to— Ooohhhh…!"

The two boys stood side by side, their eyes wide with wonder.

A shimmering light was taking shape over the bay, crackling and leaping in electric blues, purples and greens. It coiled and sprung through the hazy air, now rolling, now stretching, now splintering into arcs of lightning.

"The energy...it's so beautiful...!" Elmo observed, thoroughly enraptured. "It does look something like a cat."

"The Cheshire Cat, maybe," Drake said warily. "Have you ever seen anything like it?"

"No, never," Elmo admitted. "But, I am certain it is not a ghost. Then again, the way it's moving… It's not behaving in accordance with the descriptions I've read of St. Elmo's Fire. It seems…more controlled. Almost as if it has a mind…"

"Are you saying that thing out there might be alive?" Drake squeaked.

"I highly doubt it," Elmo said primly. "But it might be a projection of some sort. That would imply what we're seeing here is not truly a natural phenomenon, but rather…"

"Rather what?" Drake pressed. "Who would invent a thing like that? And why would it show up only on Halloween night?"

Elmo smirked and straightened his Sherlock Holmes hat.

"It seems we have stumbled into an even deeper mystery than I at first anticipated, Super Pig," he said. "I say we—"

"Uh, Elmo," Drake said.

"Please, Super Pig. Address me as Sherlock Holmes. Now, as I was saying—"

"Elmo!" Drake shouted, his white feathers flickering purple, blue and green as the light show began to turn…its gaping 'mouth' seeming to grow and swell… "The Ghost Cat! It's coming right at us!"

Elmo stared, then blinked, then grabbed his bag and shouted, "RUN!"

...Run, Drakey, run!...

Drake's fear was like a rising tide, bubbling up to choke him. Black water sloshed beneath the dock's worn wooden boards, but he pumped his legs harder, Elmo's sneakers clomping beside the slap-slap of his own webbed feet…

"It's real, it's real!" Drake gasped. "The Ghost Cat…"

"Dad? Hey, Dad! You in here!"

Drake Mallard shot up in his chair and blinked, needing a moment to reorient himself to his surroundings. He was at his work desk, high above the bay in his Audubon Bridge hideout, surrounded on all sides by high-tech computer equipment and old file cabinets containing printed records of cases, solved and unsolved, dating back to his earliest exploits as the masked vigilante, Darkwing Duck. And some, even earlier than that.

"Hm," he grunted, rubbing his eyes under his purple mask and stretching the kinks out of his back. "Must have fallen asleep going through these old journals…"

"Dad!" the voice called again, and he jumped to his feet, leaning over the metal railing to see his adopted daughter, Gosalyn, wandering through the hangar below. His sidekick, Launchpad, was down there too, his long legs sticking out from under the Thunderquack – the crime-fighting aircraft Launchpad had custom built in the shape of Darkwing's head.

As Darkwing watched, the tall, broad shouldered duck crawled out from under the craft and wiped his greasy hands on a rag. Donning his pilot's cap and scarf, he turned to face Gosalyn with a smile.

"Oh, hey Gos! School out already?"

"Hi Launchpad!" the nine-year-old greeted. "Actually, today was field hockey practice, so I took the bus home. You seen Dad around?"

"DW's up there, going through his files," Launchpad said, pointing toward the platform where Darkwing kept his complex, crime-fighting computer console. "He said something about compiling his memoirs for Posterity. Whoever that is…"

"Oh no, not the memoir again!" Gosalyn whined. "Whenever Dad cracks open those dusty old case files, all he wants to do is reminisce!"

"There's nothing wrong with going back over past exploits, little miss," Darkwing called down from his perch. "In fact, why don't you come up here and learn something!"

"Uh, no thanks, Dad," Gosalyn said, backing away. "I just got in a full day of learning at school. Besides, I promised I'd meet Honker to work on our Halloween costumes! He wants to go as, like, Albert Einstein or something, but I'm going to be Quiverwing Quack!"

"Fine, suit yourself," Darkwing said airily. "I guess you're just not interested in your dad's old cases."

"Well, not when they're, like, ancient history," Gosalyn said. "I prefer to live in the present, thank you very much."

"Then, you wouldn't want to hear the chilling tale of the Ghoulish Ghost Cat of St. Canard?"

"Ghoulish Ghost Cat?" Gosalyn chuckled. "Sounds like one of those old B-movies! Hey, that reminds me! Have you heard back from Morgana yet about that special Halloween date you've got planned?"

"Gosalyn!" Her flustered father blushed beet red beneath his feathers. "That is none of your— Hold on, how did you know I contacted Morgana? I didn't even tell Launchpad!"

"I just figured you'd want try again, seeing how upset you were when she couldn't go out with you last Halloween," Gosalyn said. "Something about family stuff…"

"Yes. Well, it just so happens Halloween is a big holiday for the Macawbers," Darkwing said defensively. "Morgana has a lot of family responsibilities to consider. Although…"

He sighed a little, pushing his purple cape aside as he flopped back into his chair, his eyes seeking out the framed photograph he kept of himself and his sorceress sweetheart.

"It would be nice if she included me in her family's festivities now and then," he said. "Here it is, the creepiest season of the year, and I hardly hear a peep from her until after Thanksgiving."

"Well, you can't really blame her, Dad," Gosalyn said, climbing up the metal ladder to stand by his side. "Her family's all made up of ghoulish goblins, demons and monsters! They hate us 'normals' on basic principle. Or did you forget the time her father turned you into Darkwolf Dog, and me into Frankenstein's monster?"

"OK, maybe things were like that at first," Darkwing admitted, "but we've reached an understanding since then. At least, I thought we did."

"You know, Dad," Gosalyn said, "if she turns you down again this year, you can always follow her. Find out what she and that gaggle of ghosts and ghouls really get up to every Halloween!"

"No, I couldn't," Darkwing protested. "Morgana trusts me! If I were to go behind her back like that, trail her around the city like some common criminal..." He trailed off, thoughtfully cupping his beak in his hand. "Then again..."

"Yes?" Gosalyn prompted, the sharpening gleam in her father's eyes making her grin.

"I'll do it," he said. "All I need's a good cover story! Something really romantic, so she'll never suspect my surreptitious surveillance!"

"Sounds like a plan!" Gosalyn said. "So, when do you think she'll get back to you?"

"I sent the message yesterday, so probably later tonight," Darkwing said. "In the meantime, I'm sure you have homework to do, young lady."

Gosalyn groaned.

"Aw, come on, Dad! I can do it when I go to bed."

"Nothing doing," he said, climbing back down to the hangar with Gosalyn close behind him, her red pigtails bobbing. "You'll do it now, while your mind's still fresh and active. Come on, Launchpad," he called to his sidekick. "Time for a break. Let's all head home for dinner. Then, if Morgana does call, I'll decide the best course to take."

He flopped down onto one of a pair of blue armchairs at the far end of the room. Gosalyn jumped up to sit on his lap, and Launchpad took the chair beside them as Darkwing activated the mechanism that sent them all spinning on their way to Drake Mallard's cozy suburban house at 537 Avian Way.

To Be Continued…

References include - Darkwing Duck: Monsters R Us; Clash Reunion.

Sorry for taking so very long to update! This story deserves way more attention than I've been able to give it so far, but I'll get it done. Thanks so much for your patience with my slowness and for your nudges to keep this story moving. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

What do you think so far? Please review! :D