*Shifty eyes* hopefully ffn doesn't come get me for this, but people post stories that go against their guidelines all the time.

So basically this story was part of the April Fool's Day bodyswap event, where artists write and authors draw. If that's any indication, this isn't going to be the most incredible story you've ever read. This is a large amount of sin stuck together until it formed a story. Welcome, my friends.

You're back again. You thought you left this place behind years ago after you ran and had to accept the fact that you wouldn't ever be back. But by some strange combination of luck and fate, here you are. The soft wind that follows your footsteps stirs up the layer of dust and leaves on the road where you stand; the road to the center of the small town where you once resided.

You kick at small pebbles with your feet, wanting to enter your old home. Still, a small fire of fear has settled in your core, even though you know that nothing left here could pose any danger to you. Eventually you give in, and lift off the ground, drifting rather lazily towards the center of town.

The first place you see is your teenage hangout. The sign out front is rusted and broken, only a few letters remain plastered to the metal. The building is broken, only a few pathetic walls remain shakily standing, as if they might collapse at any moment. You rack your mind for memories of this place, giving up when not even the name pops into existence behind your eyes. You stop for a moment, silently wondering how you thought you would be able to remember it anyways. Lots of things have faded, if not disappeared altogether. You guess it was inevitable. After all, centuries can do that to a person.

Centuries haven't been long enough to forget everything, though. The most vivid and powerful series of memories you have are of the events that eventually doomed you to this lonely eternity.

It had started off as an ordinary day. You stumbled down the steps at eleven because it was the first time in weeks you had been able to get a good nights sleep. You had been awoken at one by a voice calling beware, flown out the window, and been back in bed fifteen minutes later. That was your only disturbance.

The floor creaked as your feet landed firmly at the bottom of the stairs, and you realized far too late that that was the only noise in the house. You found your parents seated at the kitchen table, remnants of half-eaten food strewn around them. They stared at you far too intensely, watched your every move, as if at any moment you might attack. Your mother spoke first, and it took only a moment for your brain to process her words and your blood to run cold.

They had finally figured it out. Finally noticed the similarities, found all the pieces and put the puzzle together. They had put two and two together and gotten five; something impossible, yet still the truth.

And they were mad.

It took less than three seconds for you to be restrained. An ectoweapon rested firmly against your temple, the humming of energy from it warming up loud in your ears. You didn't try to escape. You knew that no matter what they did, how much they hated you, you would never be able to hurt them. Your mother and captor continued talking.

They had made a deal with the GIW instantly. They captured you, the GIW took you, and Danny Phantom was never to be seen again.

The van with the three bold letters plastered on the side pulled up minutes later. Blood pounded in your ears, your heart beating far too fast inside your chest. Panic and fear ran through your veins, your fingers twitched in anxious anticipation. Four men entered through the front door, crisp white suits almost blinding in the light form the living room. The tallest of these men walked over, his ego bigger than his body. He crouched down, a scowl on his face, and spoke.

His breath stank of coffee - the bitter kind, with little flavor. You imagined his personality was much the same. He spoke in an incredibly condescending way, making sure to emphasize that you were less than human, less than him. Fire filled his eyes, and with a swift movement of his arm, something cold and hard connected violently with the side of your head. Spots burst from the edges of your vision, and strong hands drew your arms together behind your back. You were lifted from the couch and dragged out the front door. The inside of the GIW van was cold and cruel, something you found out when they carelessly threw you in and your head slammed against the side wall.

That was the last solid memory you had. The next days were a blur of brutal tests and experiments. It wasn't long before you were too weak to even stand by yourself. It had to have been at least three times a day that you were dragged out of your cell. They said they wanted to figure out what made you tick. How a human and a ghost could possibly coexist in the same body was something completely foreign, even to them. Too bad they were too eager to discover your secrets.

You didn't even last a week. They went too far, pushed you beyond your limits, and your heart fell silent. But you were still there, still suffering, and as soon as they released the cuffs and dragged your lifeless body off the examination table you tore that place apart. Now free of your human body, your ghost could accomplish so much more.

You attacked viciously, determined to make every last member of the group that had tortured you feel the same pain. Your emotions were much duller now, and you barely thought twice about what you did. Stories are still told of that night. People say they could hear the screams miles away from the facility.

They weren't fast enough. You found their control station, disabled the ghost shield surrounding the building, and destroyed every last one of their defenses. You stuck your hands through the walls and fried wiring, and flames burst into existence beneath your cold fingers. The entire building burned down, and the town was in smoke for days.

Immediately every single member of the GIW was on your tail. They evacuated all of Amity Park, determined to save the citizens of the town from you. You had no intention of hurting any of them, but how could they possibly have known that. To them, you were and always would be just a ghost.

They followed you for months. Months stretched into years, which turned into decades. It was only centuries later that they finally gave up the chase, having lost all hope of ever capturing you again. Nobody ever returned to Amity Park. You are okay with that.

Late realization hits you that you now stand on the doorstep of your old house. Your mind and your feet must have worked together to bring you here while you were away, lost in painful memories.

The front door hangs slightly open, a large crack running down its left side. A small push is all it takes for it to swing open, dust swirling up off the ground from the movement. You step through the doorway, eyeing the piece of wood, the last physical thing that barred you from entering your home.

Everything appears broken, old. The centuries have not been kind to anything that remained in the house after your family left. Thick cobwebs and layers of dust coat every inch of the floor, countertops, and walls. You momentarily wonder if the portal has survived the years, but the lack of energy you feel from downstairs betrays that it hasn't.

Up the stairs, first door on the left, is your room. Nothing has been moved since the last time you saw it. Even your model rockets, while still being covered in filth, have not been disturbed. You had thought for sure that after you had been handed over, your parents would have gotten rid of all of your belongings. Maybe the things that were going through their minds didn't exactly line up with what you had thought.

Your sister's room is characteristically tidy; even the dust and grime seem to have obeyed her wishes. Her bed is neatly made, and the top of her dresser is clear of any clutter. Jazz would be the one to clean up before having to evacuate.

Your parents' bedroom is a mess. The bed is propped clumsily up against a wall, the sheets having fallen off and collected on the floor. The mirror on the dresser is shattered, and pieces of glass litter the floor. The far wall has a single hole, as if someone punched it in a fit of rage. Even as you stand there, the house creaks and groans, slowly giving in to its age. A decision is made in your mind; to leave this place, to move on. To grow up and out of the events that once held you prisoner.

And so you do.

Your feet, far lighter than they should be, carry you out the front door.

It doesn't close behind you.