Phantom, Danny

Section 1: The Beginning

This is a strange story that I wrote for Camp NaNoWriMo last month. I've been sketching out the saga of Phantom, Danny for years, but never got around to writing it for many reasons. The 'entire' story would be hundreds of thousands of words long, as it stretches for years and through many difference scenarios. THIS story is only about 50,000 words - and covers the first month of the saga.

A new adventure for me... this story is completely written and edited and even uploaded onto FFNs servers already! There shouldn't be a single reason why I don't update when I'm supposed to. Not saying I won't find one... just saying there shouldn't really be one. :)

Enjoy!

-Cori

Phantom, Danny

The story you know from the very beginning.

…and from a slightly different point of view.

Chapter 1: The Accident

-Day ?-

Everything was green.

Things were a shade of green no human could imagine existed. A green so impossibly alien that it seemed to glow with a light of its own. Not an infrared color. Not an ultraviolet. Some sort of… ectogreen, maybe.

And it was all he could remember. He hadn't been born here, he knew that. There was something dim and dark in that back of his mind that showed him there had been something else before. Other colors, and shapes, and foreign things like sounds, and feelings, and movement. But the memory was so far away and so broken, he wasn't sure it was real. All that existed was the green.

He didn't have a name, not that it mattered. He was a tiny scrap of a ghost – barely able to keep a basic form together. Arms appeared sometimes, when he was feeling particularly energetic. But generally he looked something like a smear of shadow on a cloudy day. Lately he didn't bother with silly things like arms, or a head, or really any shape other than things that blended in and allowed him to hide.

He was very lost. One day – however long ago, time didn't bother to exist in this green wilderness – he had wandered too far from the little hole he'd spent his existence hiding near, and had ended up staring down the business end of a ghost far more powerful than he could ever dream of being. The other ghost hadn't roared – couldn't, really, since there was no such thing as sound in the world of the dead – but it had reared up and let loose with the ghostly equivalent of a wolf's howl. The world itself had shaken. Large red eyes gleamed and claws dripped green, sizzling goo. He'd been momentarily dazzled, stunned by the idea of being powerful enough to have things like eyes and claws, but then he'd come to his senses. He ran.

Unfortunately, he'd chosen to run in the wrong direction.

The clawed thing had stopped chasing him after awhile, perhaps bored, or maybe it simply decided a little wisp of a ghost wasn't worth the effort involved with catching him. But now he was lost. His hole, his home, gone forever, vanished among the infinite realms and wastelands of the afterlife.

Tired, he spent uncountable periods of time slowly searching through the floating islands for a new hole. One that wasn't already occupied - or, if it was, one that was occupied by a ghost further down on the food chain than him.

How long ago had it been, he wondered, since he'd last seen his hole. Days, years, decades… he wasn't sure. All that existed was the present and the unending knowledge that the future stretched into infinity. Forever this.

He wasn't angry or sad about it. He couldn't be angry or sad, not really. Emotion was a distant concept that was barely remembered on a good day. Dreams of a different existence were meaningless wastes of time. Sometimes, though, he sat around on the edge of a precipice, unable to find a new home, and wondered what it would be like to do something else. To be something else.

Then he would sigh and shake his form and go back to hunting for a new hole, knowing it was pointless to think about. He was now, and would forever be, a little wisp of a ghost.

He was halfway to a new island, having searched a countless number already, when a sharp spear of light appeared around him. He saw it for just a moment – a rip in the universe – before it engulfed him in pain.

Complete agony… Which was surprising, as ghosts don't feel pain. He'd spent his entire existence without having to worry about something so human.

He barely remembered pain from the dark shadows of his forgotten past. It wasn't something he could comprehend. It was a searing sort of anguish that made him scream and wail. He twisted and turned and scratched with a body that suddenly had fingers tipped with claws and bit with sharp teeth – things he'd never had before – but there was nothing for it. The light drove through him and slammed him into something else. It felt like a solid wall.

And everything stopped. Like the aftermath of a giant tree falling in the woods, it was simply quiet. The pain slowly ebbed.

His form was moving. He felt arms and legs, fingers and toes. Hair brushing his face. Something soft pulled at his shoulders and legs as he stood up. Other things pinched at his toes.

Confused, he opened his eyes. And he could see. Really, truly see – not just the half sensing his eyeless form had been able to do. There were strange shapes and forms and colors and not just endless green…

What he was staring at came into focus: a face. With white hair, and eyes that blazed with that alien green, and a slightly upturned nose, and high cheekbones. A hand came up and brushed at the face. He felt it, realizing that he was gazing into a mirror. But he was just a tiny little ghost… he didn't have a face. Or hands.

Could this be his face? How was that possible?

-Startled?-

It was an emotion he only just now understood, having never felt such emotions before. Only… it wasn't his. The strange emotion came from somewhere else. Somewhere warm and thick and…

His mouth was moving. Words were forming. Sounds.

He'd never heard sounds before. He listened a moment, entranced, before realizing something rather disturbing. He wasn't the one making the noises. Something else was talking. Something warm and heavy was the one doing the talking, and it was using his mouth!

He pulled back, not liking the sensation of his form moving without his authorization. Not sure how to react, he hesitated.

-Anxious!-

His head turned. Other faces came into view. Warm, heavy things with fleshy bodies and smelly processes. One was black haired, the other darker skinned. They were talking - making noises with their mouths. The sensation of sound in his new ears made his head buzz and spin.

Humans?

It was then that he understood. Those things were humans. Disgusting, living things with souls tied to forms built of matter rather than energy. He was somehow in the living world.

It wasn't right, him being here. Ghosts don't belong in the world of the humans.

He retreated as far from the sensations, the feelings, the sights and sounds and smells, and curled up in a ball in the darkness. The living world became a dim thing buzzing at the corner of his mind. He hoped it would end soon.

.

.1.

.

-Day 2-

It did not. It eventually became obvious that he was trapped in the mind of this… human. This living being. A fleshy body with disgusting habits and desires. It was likely some bizarre form of possession – which a tiny scrap of a ghost like him shouldn't have been able to do at all.

Tired, scared, and confused, he sat in the human's mind, and waited, and waited, and waited.

And waited.

For the first time in his existence, he seemed to understand the concept of time. His entire existence could have passed in a heartbeat, for all he knew. But now he felt time pass with the slow ticking of a clock, and slowly began to comprehend the difference between a short few minutes and the long stretch of a day.

This… time… thing. It was the human's fault. He knew that. He wasn't sure how, or why, but it had to be the human's fault. A new appreciation for the ancient master of time took hold in his mind. It had only been two days, according to his new knowledge, and already he wished it to end.

Because with time had come boredom. He didn't really understand the concept, but he felt it. Waiting for the human to allow him to leave very quickly became tedious. Curled up in the darkness, doing nothing, became difficult. He often stretched out towards the human's body, searching for something to do to occupy the time until he was freed of this torment.

The warmth of the living world scorched his cold form. Light blinded his eyes. The texture of clothing and blankets against skin irritated him. Motion – walking and jumping and falling and gravity – confused his simple mind. Everything pushed against him in a horrible, dizzying display that sent him scuttling back into the dark with a shiver and a hiss of his new sensation of pain. How the human could stand it for more than a few minutes, he couldn't know.

The human.

He turned his attention towards the warm, heavy, sticky part of the mind he was locked inside. The revolting living creature went about its life like nothing had happened. In its dense human way, it didn't seem to care that he was there. He watched it eat dinner, shuddering at the idea of eating and digesting. The taste of food made him curl up into a tiny ball and try to hide. It watched a movie with several other humans, talking and laughing, and eating some more. Then it went up the stairs to do its homework.

All the while, sending a cacophony of emotions through his mind. --Hungry!- was followed by –Happy- which was followed by -Frustrated-.

It eventually gave up on the homework and ended up staring into a mirror in the room the human seemed to term a 'bathroom'. It eyed its black hair. A red dot on its nose. A lump of something between its teeth. And its eyes.

Its eyes were blue, despite the eerie green eyes he'd seen earlier in the mirror. Trapped underneath the blue, he could almost see his eyes. Not that he'd ever had real eyes, but if he did, they would be there. Staring balefully at the human, demanding to be freed of the prison he'd found himself locked inside.

He was very quiet, half-hoping the human would be able to see his not-real eyes too, when he heard the human whisper. "Come on…"

He waited quietly, focusing on the human. There were no other living beings in the room with it – who was it talking to? Could it be talking to him?

The human squished its eyes together and wrinkled its forehead. "Just once. Come on!"

-Hopeful- flooded through his mind, which made him shake himself in distress, and a sudden, strange sensation of understanding. Almost like a picture had been waved in front of his face, he understood what the human was doing. It wanted to look like a ghost again - like how it had looked two days, ago after the light and the ripping and the pain.

He settled back into the corner of the human's mind, thinking that was bad plan. Ghosts and humans were different on many, many levels. They shouldn't look the same.

But it just stood there, in front of the mirror, peeking at itself from time to time from behind scrunched-up eyelids. It grunted and moaned and focused.

Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore. Time and boredom had lost their welcome and his newfound – and thin – patience had completely run out. Despite knowing he was a tiny scrap of a ghost that couldn't possibly control a something as large and complicated as a human body, he reached for it.

His fingers slid into its hands. His feet into its shoes. He curled fingers that were suddenly his and delighted when the hand in the mirror repeated the action. The next time the eyes opened, it was because he wanted.

And they were glowing ectogreen. A color no human could truly comprehend.

He tipped his head, watching his reflection copy the maneuver. It felt odd and wrong – seeing the pensive frown with two green eyes over them. It was not something a ghost like him should ever be able to do. "Let me out," he said. They were the first words he'd ever said. The first sounds he had any memory of ever making. They startled him more than he wanted to admit.

The human took back control of the body easily and instantly. It flinched and stumbled backwards away from the mirror, its eyes losing their glow and fading back to blue. It huddled in a corner. –Fear!- "Who are you?" it asked. Its voice trembled as it stared around the tiny room. "What did you do to me?"

He didn't try to take over again. He just sat there. I am trapped in your mind, he told it, not knowing if the human would be able to hear.

It sat very still. "What?" it whispered.

He put as much menace into his voice as possible – which wasn't much, considering he was really a tiny bit of ghost who knew its place better than the try to threaten something like as powerful as a human. I wish to return to my home. Let me out, human.

"What are you?"

He forced his cold energy through the human's body, making it shiver. I am a ghost, he said darkly. He hoped he sounded scary and intimidating.

-Disbelief- It hadn't moved from its place in the corner. "A ghost?" it breathed. "Ghosts aren't real."

He was quiet, scowling. Then he reached forward and took control of its hand again. He picked it up and examined the fingers, feeling the brush of skin against skin as he rubbed his fingers together for the first time. The sensation made him shudder. I assure you, I am very real.

-Terror!- When it spoke, it was with more than a little fear in its voice."Well, get out!"

I wish nothing more, he snapped back, allowing the hand to fall back under the human's control.

It pulled the hand against its chest and cradled it like it was broken. He could feel the fear leeching through the human's mind, along with a good deal of disbelief. It still wasn't sure that he was real.

Let me go! he yelled.

Its head swiveled slightly. It was still trying to look for him. "I'm letting you. Leave!"

He pushed against the human's mind. He stretched and pulled and reached, but the human was like a back hole. The gravity of the human's soul was simply too strong. Being only a tiny ghost, and not one that should be possessing a human in the first place, he quickly tired and collapsed into an exhausted pile at the back of the human's mind.

"Are you gone?"

Unable to summon enough energy to answer, he pulled himself into a ball and let the tiredness overtake him. He wasn't sleeping – ghosts don't sleep – but the blackness was more than welcome.