Danny's house, boarded up and condemned as it is, doesn't get a lot of visitors. There are the occasional snickering teenagers who tag the place, and Sam and Tucker of course, and Danny loves it when the paranormal investigators come around—it's so quaint, hearing them whisper eagerly about cold spots and uneasiness. Still, the chill of the building and the lingering aura he trails around the place ward most people off, so when a woman pries her way into his house one day, far older than the teenage delinquents and much cooler than the skittish investigators, she's too much of a curiosity for Danny to bother to scare off.

She's very pale, though just a glance could tell you she hadn't always been that way. It's less that she's light-skinned and more that the color has been sapped away from her, leaving her in a sort of grayscale. Her hair is dark and straight and was probably cut into a neat bob the last time she'd had a haircut, but it's been long enough by now that it hangs ragged and choppy. It's dirty. She probably hasn't had a shower in a while. Her clothes are tight and flashy, the kind you go to a club in, and her shoes have tall heels, though she walked in carrying them dangling from two fingers. Her whole ensemble is dusty, and part of her shirt is ripped.

Danny takes to watching her, when it becomes clear she's going nowhere fast. She curls up in one corner of the living room during the day, falling into what he can only describe as a sort of hibernation state, not stirring even when Danny does his best to unnerve her, chilling the air around her and making things thump where they shouldn't. She doesn't flinch even when he focuses his energy enough to appear before her, a haunting apparition that even Sam and Tucker tend to look away from, when he cares to make himself visible.

No, during the days the woman just sits there, unresponsive, and it isn't until the sun goes down that she uncurls, her gaze refocusing, her mind present enough to shiver and wrap her arms around herself when Danny gives her goosebumps.

Danny does not learn her name. He learns a lot about her, but never that.

The woman is hungry, for one. She'll dart out into the night and, not a few hours later, come back, her arms loaded with gas station snacks. She'll tear open every package, stuff chips and cookies and sandwiches and convenience store sushi into her mouth. She'll chew, and taste, and every single time—every single food, processed or hot or cold—she will spit it out. Every time she does, grief clouds her eyes a little more.

Danny notices her teeth, when she chews furiously like that. Four of them aren't right, for a human, and though it's been long since he's had a real body he can still run his tongue along phantom molars. This woman's canines are much, much longer than they should be. Much sharper. Her skin grows more sallow every day, and he can see her hands shake as they rip open bag after bag of chips, trying everything, desperate.

Danny does not know a lot about the world. Being confined to one house for eternity will do that to you, and though he knows Sam and Tucker would tell him anything if he asked, he's never known what to ask. What knowledge matters, when he'll never really need any of it?

He knows about vampires, though. Or, he remembers them from spooky stories and terrible movies and his English classes, analyzing their significance, what they "really" represent. He had not known they were real, but there's nothing else this woman could be, and—being a ghost—he's not exactly hesitant to accept the situation. He's gone through enough denial to last several lifetimes. It's funny that even the woman doesn't seem to know it yet, though. Maybe all these gas station snacks are her own form of denial.

In the end, the woman does not matter that much, beyond being a pivot point. Danny never learns her name, in the week and a half she spends curled on the dusty floor of his house, and when Sam and Tucker come knocking one night to hang out, it's at that point that the woman has started to shake much more violently.

She is very hungry, when Sam and Tucker enter Danny's living room, and it's a matter of chance that Tucker comes in on the side of the doorway that the woman huddles beyond.

She lunges at Tucker, something rabid in her manner, and she latches on to his neck, the place that's as close as she can get to his heart without needing to take the time to tear his shirt off. Tucker shrieks, first in surprise and then in pain, and Sam freezes only for a moment before she's swinging her bag at the vampire, hitting her in the shoulder again and again. The woman doesn't react, however—she's been so hungry. Nothing could distract her from Tucker's blood, at this point.

Sam gives up on hitting her, instead grabbing the woman bodily by the shoulders and ripping her from Tucker's neck, who groans in pain, his skin tearing. It would probably be harder if the vampire weren't so weak, trembling with hunger, and at the interruption she instead latches onto whatever she can grab—namely, Tucker's wrist. This, at least, gives Tucker enough leverage to rip her off himself, and gives Sam time to grab a wooden board from the corner. It's one she'd shoved to the side herself a long time ago, noting the rusty nail sticking from its end.

"Bad idea to step on that," Sam had said, and Tucker had snickered.

"Wouldn't want to end up stuck here with Danny for eternity," he'd joked. Danny spooked him with an apparition in retaliation.

O͉͕̳͔͙͔̅͋͋͋̂ͤ̆h̗͕͕̗̘ͦͩ̔͋̅̋,̣͖͇͔̙͈̻͐ͩ͊̓ͬ̈́ ̳̼̭̇ͥ̂͋͌d̻͍͖͙̬̦̂̿ͦͭ̋̃ͅo͎̓͒̚n̘̣̣ͧ'̟ͮ͂ͨt̖͍̮̏ͥ̂̾̽̽ ̜̻͈͎̞͎͊ͯͯk̳̓̽͒̔i̩̯̠͖͇͊ͥ̿̃̅l̠̰͇̙̱̽̋͌̋̓ͥ̆l͍̟̹̼͇̰ͦ̉ͭ̓͌ ̉̎̃̃̄̿h̦̝̝̘̀ͫ͒̃ͧ̓̆ẽ͚̈́r͍͎ͫ̓, Danny says belatedly, not wanting the vampire to leave a ghost behind. He'd been watching the altercation with a detached sort of fascination, but now winces—he doesn't particularly want to share a house with her. No matter how interesting she'd been, this is his house.

It's too late, though. None of them can hear him, and Sam has already swung the board, and the nail buries itself in the side of the vampire's head.

Danny remembers vaguely that there had been a bunch of odd rules about killing vampires, when he'd known about them in life. He's not sure that a rusty nail would do the trick for those storybook creatures, but it seems to have here; he can't feel a spark of life from the woman anymore. It had been odd, while she'd lived; her lifeforce had felt almost curdled in the same way that parasites' lives do, unlike the straightforward light of humans. Nevertheless, it's gone now, and as Danny glances around, no ghost forms.

"Fuck, Tucker," Sam hisses, not sparing the vampire another glance as she lurches forward, reaching to help him stem the bleeding. He'd been putting pressure on his neck with his injured arm and on his wrist with his free hand, but he's looking incredibly woozy, and Sam worries over him, reaching out for her backpack to search it for anything that might help. Shoved in the bottom is a mini first-aid kit, and Sam slaps hasty gauze coverings over his wounds before shouldering her bag and making to pick him up. She glances upward, in the rough direction of where Danny's floating. Her eyes search the empty space as she speaks. "Sorry, Danny. We'll come back another time. I have to help him."

That's the last Danny sees of his friends for a few days. Sam must have called the police about the woman, because officers come by to retrieve her body. They clean up the food she'd left behind too, though the officers exchange confused looks as they bag it. So much uneaten food must be suspicious, Danny assumes. While the officers are occupied, he secrets the board with the nail away; he wouldn't want them to find any fingerprints on it and cart Sam off for murder. It had been self-defense, anyway.

It's not quite as long as Danny had expected before they come back, though. Tucker has tight bandages over his wrist and a patch on his neck. He and Sam wear identical grim expressions, and Tucker's skin looks gray.

It's not as severe as the woman's had been. He still has most of his color, but his face is growing gaunt, and Danny can feel even before he steps fully into the room that his life force has curdled.

"Alright, Danny. If you know anything about that woman, we need you to tell us, okay?" Sam says to the room at large, and Danny nods, though he knows she can't see it. From her bag, she pulls a Ouija board and a spirit box, the same as she always does when they want to have longer conversations.

The spirit box is loud, as always, and Danny winces when she first turns it on. Sam and Tucker settle on a blanket she spreads on the least ratty part of the floor, and Danny hovers across from them.

"Danny, do you know who she was?" An easy question. Rather than try to wrestle with the radio frequencies, Danny focuses a small amount of energy into his hand to slide the planchette over the word 'NO.' Sam's brow furrows. "Had you seen her before at all?" He slides it to 'YES.'

Before Sam can ask anything else, he talks into the box. Ś̰ͭ͑̆͆̋h͙̙̏e̼̝̱̅͗̋̃̔̾̓ ̖͉̦̺̮̌͐̐̄ͮwās̟͉̺̰̱̏̚ ̝̖ͨ̈̐͗̒ͧ̚ȟ͔͛͊̋̒a̗̾nͭ̆g̰̥̖̯̭̰͐ͦ͗i͍̞̬̋̌n̰̺̰̼͐̾g̝̼̦̗̻͌̈ͧ̾̍ͥͅ ̖̗ͤ̉ͧō̠̫̪̳̥͈̮̂ͪ͆̄̃u̙͕t͙̼̘̦̟͇͐ͪͬ ̺̳ḫ́e͔͖̟̟͈̪̿ͭ̇r͕̭͇̼̄̃̍͛̊̈́e̥̳̘͙͇͎͒̏͗̈̍̽ ͈̰͓̩͍̲̝ͫ́̈́͛͊f̥ọ͚̲͈r̫̹͔͂̌̀͊͂ ̳̄͒̈́ͩ́a̖̹͖͉̟͉̅̋̈ͧ̀ ̫̦̪͉̞͒ẃ͖̺̱͉̺͖͖̒̓͒e̬̠͆e̜̘͓͚̱ͭk̞̭̹͍̔ͩͣ̅̄ ̯̱̦̪͙̆̾̍ͅo̞̻͙̮̠̱͔̊̄̈́̔̍̔r̙͚̫̤̋͂͑̃̒͒̂ ̞͇̠̞͉̺̰ͭͣ̆̄̈́s͕̥͚̩̟̖͐̓̈́̏o̘̻̼̘̣̒ͨ̈̑̊, he intones, and Sam nods. S̫̤ͭ͂̄ͭͫ͒̀h̠ͥ̑ͣë͙͕̬̺́ͯ͒ͬͭ̈ͨͅ ̐ͦ̌ͪ̋̌̚d̝̞͙̪͙̼̟̆ͦ́̔̎ͬ̑i̺̞̭̜ͯ͂d͖̺͍̮͓̝̫ͮ̿̈́̄̉n̦̮̻ͮ͊̓'̺̙̞̟͍̰̯ͦ͐́tͭ̑͒̓̆̔ ͚̫̘̄ͥ̔̅͌ͅk̼̤̜͙͂̀̄̇ͅn͇ỏ̻̪̹ͫͬ̍ͮͥ̚w̩ͨ̒̈́ ̤͙͇̞̟̮͔̎̊ͩwͦh̥͈̲̬͖͛͂ͦa͈̗ͪ̂̇̓̆͌̚t̪̪͉͇̹̤̅̈́ͪͥ̾̐ ̘̮̲͖̬̭͋̓ͮ̔̐ͬs̤̱̝̪̭̒̄h̗̼͍̝̜̦͋͑̿ͫ̆̇ͨͅȅ̌ͤ ̤̲̟̦͚w̔ͬͧ̽̀a̮̦̰͍ͦ̉s̬͓̯̫̟̠̽ͦ̎ͪ.̞ͩͮ ̘͍̦͎ͮ́̄ͧS̻ͤͤ͂̄ḫ̈́̀e̳͐ͧ͋̇̓ ͙̱͕̰͙̓ͤ̎̓̍͊k͎̪̈́̔̒̆͋ͅe̺̮̭͙͈̲̬͊́̇̓͋̆p̱̼̘̞̭̮͉̆ͭ͐ͩͫ͐t̹̳̝̲̰ͪ̓ͮ͆ͪͭ ̅t̼̱̞͔̍̉̅r͈ͫ͂̾y̰ͦi͉̍̐ǹ̝͔͈̦̭̼̟ͦ̋g̺̮̜̯̞̲͑̒͌͒̚ ̯̜̦͕̪̏͋̐̓̑ͯͅt̙̣ͧ̐ͮͧ̽ͦo̙͕̬͔̯̰͒̋͛̄ ̾̇ͪͬ̽e͕̫͖̜̞͙̟͒́ͥ̈́̈å͗ͣͦ̎ͮͯṯ̙̑̃̓ ̼̣̘̫̞͉̿ͭͫ̽͑̋p͐̔ͭe̪͊͐͗̂ŏ̾̍̍p͖̗̦̽̽ḷ͕̬ͬ̊͛e͓̞̠ͣ ̮̠̮̭̜̱̭́ͦ͆̾͛͋f͕ͤͧͯ̿̚ȯ̰̼̻̰̣̦̥̏̓̂o͙d̩̜̞̝̣͇̳́.

"Well, fuck," Tucker says, clenching one fist. Sam rests a hand on his knee comfortingly. "So that's it, then. I'm for real a vampire."

"We don't know that for sure," Sam hisses, but starts when Danny's garbled laugh comes through the box.

Y̺͓ͪ̆ͨͪo̰̜͉̹͊̃̓͊̐͒ͭͅu̻͕̲͈ͦ̂̈́̓ ͕̼͚ͯ͛̆͗͋ͬfe͌ͭ̾ͮ͒̂́e̪͙͒̍l̻̝͕̬̞ ̤̠̺̈̅ͥͧt͉̭̳̫͚̱͂̎̀h̄̽̇ͫ͒ͬ͐e̩͆̅ͨ̌̅͛̚ ̟̱̣̦͊͑͒̓̓s͙̱̗̩ͭ̌̌ͦͦã̼̮͂m͉̺͉͔̭ͭ͆̅ẹ̊ͦ̅͆ ͚̖͖̰̓ͮ͒ẘ̟͖̤͙̪̗ͥ͋ͪ͌͒a̟y͕̳̆̋ ̏̽͆̊ͫ̀ͨș̹̩̱̘͐̀̿̓̐ͅh̞̞̝͚ͤ̏͊̾ē̳̗̝̭̐̓͒ ͍͒͌̓͆̏͂d̹̲̣̃̊͐ͬ͒ͤî͎̘̭̾̍ͫͫ̐̚d̪̞̒̐̓ͧͤ, Danny says, and it probably comes out more sinister than he means it, because Tucker grows stiff and his eyes blow wide.

"And what the fuck does that mean, Danny?" Sam says.

Y̳͈͉̥̗͗̈́̆ͮ͋̌o͈ͤ̎̃ū̖̥͚ͭ͌͋̿̀'ͤr̯̝͍̘̱ͅė ̩g̹̎͊̽̽͗õ͚͖̙̽͌͐i̺̻̙̤̘͖̒ͨ͂͂ͭͤṇ͍̫̝̟̔ͬg̺͊ͦͣͩ̽ͪ͊ ̙̺̱͇̠̬̾͂̽̅t͍͍̜͖͓͋ͤͅȯ̜̙͇͎̮̗̞̔ͦ ̪͇̰͚́b̯̘̲̯͙̦͇̍̂̆̅e͓͖̩̖̯̣͒̂ͩ̍̌̔ ̌h̥̪̩̹̯̹̺ͧ͆̃̑uͣ̄ͮ̋͊n̗͙̳͙̤͔̾̓͆͛ͤ̾̋g̗̯ȑ̖̞̟̙̟̼͛͌y ̰̙̫̳̓̒̓͆̀͋̍l͓̙i͔͕̊̋k̮̬͗͋̏ͨẽ̪̘̳̏ ͆s͑h͓̠̙̲͖̭̾̓e̱̠̯̠̦̼̎ͅ ̗̮̭̘ͨͭͪͥͅw̜̗̮̭̐a̖̮̦̲͙̰̹ͩ̃̍̍͒ͨs̤̩̭̉͑̒ͭ̆̉, he responds, and Tucker buries his face in his hands. Sam closes her lips, her gaze unfocusing.

"Shit," she says, and Tucker laughs humorlessly.

"'Shit' is fucking right," he agrees.

Zalgo transcription, if you couldn't read it:

Oh, don't kill her
She was hanging out here for a week or so. She didn't know what she was. She kept trying to eat people food.
You feel the same way she did.
You're going to be hungry like she was.