Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews!

TheBlade17: Thank you! Enjoy the Lunch Lady!

Invader Johnny: Yeah, Sam's bossiness sometimes bothered me, too, especially in the third series. It's one of the reasons I don't really ship Amethyst Ocean and prefer seeing Danny dating someone else. I had a feeling that if Danny suffered more as a result of the Accident, Sam would have to rethink the kind of person she is and realise that her actions have consequences.

Nerdy Wench: That is correct. I hope you like them – let me know what you think!

Guest: I'm glad you enjoyed that chapter! You'll find out more about Vlad soon enough. And even though I'm writing this story and I'm the one who decided to keep Danny at home, I think he should be in hospital, too. But from what I've seen of Jack and Maddie's style of parenting, I imagine they'd be so concerned about Danny that they don't trust anyone else to take care of him, not even qualified doctors.

I don't know how this turned into such an action-packed chapter, but … it did. To be honest, I don't like it as much as the others, but it does set up a few things that may be important later. Normal service should resume in subsequent chapters, but for now, please read and review!

Chapter Four: Intruders from Another Realm

Your legs ache even more now. This woman, whoever she is, seems to be charging the air around them, setting off sparks, irritating your already-frazzled nerves. As she rises higher and higher, revealing her tatty pink dress and stained apron and hairy legs, a string of icy, light blue mist forces itself up your windpipe and out your mouth. Its frigidity tingles down your spine.

"Who-Who-Who … Who are you?" Sam manages to say.

"I am the Lunch Lady, guardian of the edible and grisly!" You're sure the room turns purple when she throws her hands out. The effect is short-lived, however. "Would anybody like cake?"

Nobody answers her question.

"SPEAK WHEN YOU'RE SPOKEN TO!" Her grey hair is set alight. Her eyes are shaded by a red filter.

"Sorry, sorry," Jazz stammers. "You kind of startled us. We weren't expecting any ghosts – I mean, visitors. So, uh, what brings you here? Where did you come from?" Her eye twitches when she smiles.

"Why, the Ghost Zone, of course! It's where all the ghosts live."

"How did you get out?" is Tucker's follow-up question.

"Through that nice little hole that opened up not long ago." She points downwards.

"The portal's working?" you gasp. You and your friends believed the accident had been the pointless and devastating act of a trio of stupid kids – and now it turns out your sacrifice has kicked open a hole between dimensions?

The Lunch Lady ignores you. "We've been stuck with only each other for company for years," she moans, "but now, finally, we have a stable portal to the Human Realm. We're free!" She cackles with glee. Okay, the room is definitely turning purple.

"Who's 'we?'" asks Sam.

She soon gets her answer. One by one, more and more apparitions appear before you.

There's a bulky silver cyborg with green hair, a goatee and a massive cannon strapped to his back. "I'm Skulker," he announces, "the Ghost Zone's greatest hunter!"

There's a green-skinned genie with super-long, jet-black hair, wearing some sky blue (and rather revealing) Arabian garb. "I am Désirée!" she croons. "What is your wish?"

There's an ivory-skinned banshee wielding a pink guitar, restraining her flaming electric blue hair in a high ponytail. "I'm Ember McLain!" she cries. "Tell me who you love!"

There's a spook in sunglasses and a trench coat, with frizzy white hair like a mad scientist, putting on gloves in the same shade of pea-green as his skin. "Behold! I am Technus," he announces, "master of all things electronic and beeping!"

There's a scrawny, bespectacled, black-and-white dork. "I'm Sidney Poindexter," he declares, "and where there is a nerd in need, I shall be there!"

There's a couple roaring in on a motorcycle. The man has dirty blonde hair and wears a lot of leather; the woman has shaggy green dreadlocks and wears a bright red jacket that accentuates her pale blue-green skin tone. "The name's Johnny," the man says. "Johnny 13. And this is my girlfriend, Kitty."

"Hey!" the woman shrieks into his ear. "I can introduce myself, you know!"

There's a green-haired bucktoothed kid dressed as a pirate, complete with a wooden left leg, a hook instead of a left hand, and an oversized hat with a skull and crossbones symbol. "Avast thar!" he calls. "'Tis I, Cap'n Youngblood!"

There's another green-skinned lady in a floaty blue dress, wearing an emerald amulet resembling a dragon's eye around her neck, fingering her long blonde plait. "I am Princess Dorothea," she purrs, "Dora for short, and I just wanted to go to the ball!"

There's a blue-skinned man in dusty overalls carrying a precarious pile of brown packages. "BEWARE!" he bellows, throwing the parcels into the air; they float instead of falling. "I am the BOX GHOST! Tremble before the might of my containers CARDBOARD AND SQUARE!"

Throughout this Who's Who of Boo, you've been ejecting plumes of biting-cold smoke. You've been transformed into a dragon against your will. Your throat is dry. You're constantly shivering. You're almost blinded by powder blue. Once you're sure there will be no more visitors, you wheeze, "What do you want?"

"Power!"

"Glory!"

"Freedom!"

"To go to the ball!"

"Justice!"

"BOXES!"

It's a cacophony. All the spirits are shouting over each other. You look out for Sam and Tucker and Jazz. They're all craning their necks to view the new arrivals, aping your wide-eyed open-mouthed expression. They're just as clueless about what to do next as you are.

"What are we waiting for? To the outside world!" says the Lunch Lady, pointing and showing the way.

Every single ghost flies towards the wall your bed is pushed up against. Every single ghost slams into it. Every single ghost is dazed, with tiny lights spinning around their heads.

Jazz approaches the window. "Someone's activated the Ghost Shield," she notes. "I can see the shiny green film." She turns back to the guests and folds her arms. "Looks like nobody's getting out. You might as well go home."

There's a collective groan.

"No fair!"

"We didn't come all this way to turn back now."

"I AM THE BOX GHOST! And I will not tolerate this!"

Somebody lightly tap-tap-taps on your door. The whole room falls silent.

"Danny," Mom hisses through the wood. "Don't panic, but we think there's a ghost in your room."

Youngblood sniggers. Your mother has grossly underestimated the number of ghosts in the room.

"Remain calm and stay perfectly still. Not that you can do much else," she admits.

"M-M-Mom?" you stammer. "It's not that simple."

"You'll be okay," she whispers. "Your father will be here soon with back-up."

Talk of the Devil – "GET AWAY FROM MY SON, YOU PUTRID POLTERGEISTS!"

The door is blown off its hinges by Dad's kick. While the human beings cough and wave the smoke away, the revenants vanish. Your father is posing with the bulky Fenton Foamer on his shoulder, but there's nothing to aim at.

Mom peers around her husband. "Sam? Tucker?" She storms in. The hood of her jumpsuit is up, and she glares at the kids through red goggles. She means business. "What are you two doing here? I thought I told you to stay away from this house."

"We know, and we're sorry," says Sam, "but – uh – we saw a ghost coming in and we had to warn Danny."

"And where is this ghost?" Mom scans the bedroom.

Dad's Fenton Finder, a small, grey, handheld device, is beeping frantically. A red lightbulb flashes behind a miniature satellite dish. "Multiple ghosts are near," a robotic female voice blasts. "Multiple ghosts are near. How can you not see the swarm of ghosts all around you?"

Colours return out of thin air. Like the lifting of a cloak, the creatures make themselves detectable to the naked eye once more.

Mom's shock is only temporary; she clenches her fists and charges up her whirring Fenton Wrist Rays. Dad seems less confident. His Fenton Foamer swings from side to side, unsure of which ghoul he should attack first.

"You two again!" Dora growls. "Did we not instruct you to leave us alone?"

"Huh?" Jazz looks at Mom and Dad, then Dora, then Mom and Dad again. "When was this?"

Johnny rolls his eyes. "Your Pops shot through the portal in this rocket ship and started messing with things he shouldn't have messed with."

Kitty joins in. "Snapping pictures, picking flowers, that kind of thing."

"At least we're working for science," Mom insists. "You're just working for chaos. Go back where you came from and nobody gets hurt."

"I don't think so." Skulker ducks down, grips Jazz's skull with one hand and holds a glowing blade to her neck with the other. "You'll lift the shield and let us go if you know what's good for you," he tells your parents.

Now all eyes (most of them in unnatural shades of green and red) are on your paling sister. You can see the beads of sweat on both your parents' faces. You can see Sam and Tucker taking half a step back.

No-one's bothered about you.

Wait a second. No-one's bothered about you. That means…

You hoist yourself up, biting your tongue to stop yourself crying out, and scoop up your weapon of choice. Even as you're struggling to get a grip with only a thumb and a little finger, nobody glances in your direction. Who cares about the invalid?

So you throw the pillow at the android's head.

Skulker's helmet comes off. A tiny green blob with red eyes, which had been hiding underneath, emits a high-pitched shriek.

Dad takes advantage of the confusion to propel a glob of foam at Skulker's "chest." The armour clatters to the ground and a massive hole begins to corrode. Jazz has been released.

But so has the frenzy.

Every visitor shrieks at once. Some ghosts fly one way. Other fly the other way. They pass through all the walls and floors and ceilings in the house. Mom and Dad stay where they are, firing at any ghost they think they can catch. Green globs and blue bolts shoot across the room. Books are knocked off the shelves by careless spectral tails. Walls are splattered with bubbles. Cardboard boxes are blown to smithereens. The air is thick with bangs and battle cries and the roars of Johnny's motorcycle. Monsters throw their kaleidoscopic ghost rays hither and yon. Dust clouds rise as civil wars break out between spirits whenever somebody gets in somebody else's way. The whole thing is like a scene from a cartoon.

Tucker dives under the bed. Jazz takes you in her arms and cowers. Sam shields herself with a chair and bats away Ember's guitar when it swings dangerously close to her head. All you can do is lie here, letting the eerie fumes fly out your mouth and hoping it will be over soon.

The fight reaches a turning point. Every exhausted ethereal being has gathered in your bedroom once more, wearing heavy scowls, bearing their fangs, gearing up for a team charge. Mom pulls the Fenton Thermos out of her back pocket and mutters, "Please work." She presses a button, the device emits a few crackles and pops – and then she's swamped in a cobalt aura. She points it at the crowd, draws somebody out and catches them in a net. The Lunch Lady spirals into the Thermos, shouting and grappling to get out of the swirling energy stream, to no avail.

Mom slams the lid on. "Does anybody want to join her, or are you going to go quietly?"

The spectres just stare.

"Let's skedaddle," Poindexter suggests. "These guys are tougher than we thought."

All the others come to their senses and plunge through the floor after him.

After the chaos subsides, silence reigns. Tucker's head slowly comes into view. "H-H-Have the g-g-ghosts g-g-g-g-gone now?" he asks, still trembling.

Dad hops over and points the Fenton Finder in all your faces. "No ghosts detected," it drones.

"Why do I get the feeling I'll be talking about this to a psychiatrist someday?" Sam wonders aloud. She steps over a puddle of ectoplasmic residue and pushes the chair back under the desk to avoid your parents' frowns. "Thanks for getting rid of those guys," she mumbles sheepishly, twisting her boot on the floor.

"You're welcome," Mom smiles. "Now GET OUT!" she shouts.

They run off, thunder down the stairs (with Sam calling, "Get well soon, Danny!" behind her) and slam the front door.

Dad wipes the moisture off his forehead. "That was … quite something," he pants. He spies the Thermos in Mom's hands and grins. "Wanna see what we can wring out of this old lady?"

"Absolutely!"

They skip away with nothing but science in their heads.

Your arms are outstretched, awaiting a hug that will never come. You'd been expecting a touching moment of everyone coming together and giving thanks that the family was still whole. That expectation has not been fulfilled.

Jazz notices you loitering, so she embraces you, patting your flaky scalp. "Aren't you glad that's over?" she laughs. She retrieves your pillow, brushes it off and returns it to its proper place under your head. "Are you okay?"

"I think so." You sink into soft squishiness. "I actually didn't mind having something to distract me from … well, everything. Speaking of which…" You close your eyes and whine. It's all flooding back. Your right cheek, the sooty-looking one, is prickling, insisting that you pay attention to it. You bend your knee and go, "Aah!" when your joints click.

"Ouch." Why is Jazz saying that? She's not the one in pain. "Hang in there, Danny. I'll get your pills and stuff." She examines the doorframe. "And hopefully Dad will find the toolbox and fix your door," she continues as she leaves.

…

Mom, Dad and Jazz have eaten dinner. You have drunk another slimy cocktail of ecto-purifier and pills. Jazz has washed your intimate regions, as she now has to do every evening, much to your disgust.

The Fenton family is assembling in your room. Your books and posters have been returned to their proper places. Most of the spray from the Fenton Foamer could be scrubbed off, but a couple of wet patches with faint olive outlines remain on the walls. The door is back on its hinges, thanks to the teamwork of Dad and Jazz – if Dad doing all the heavy lifting while Jazz criticises every move he makes counts as "teamwork". Mom has carried up a few chairs from the kitchen so everyone (except you, obviously) can sit down in a semicircle around the bed. She has also erected a stand which holds a whiteboard; "FAMILY MEETING" has been written on it with a red marker pen.

"First things first," Jazz begins, tapping her pencil against a small notebook, "how did the ghosts get out in the first place? They came through the portal, but wasn't it supposed to be broken?"

"I think I know what happened." Mom rubs the back of her neck. "Those unusual readings we were investigating yesterday … they were unusual because the portal was turning itself on. It was working even though we didn't expect it to."

"How did you know it worked?" your sister flings back.

"We confirmed that theory by going through it earlier today."

"Wait, wait, wait." Jazz holds up her hands. "You've been to the Ghost Zone?"

Mom laughs nervously. "Well, the opportunity was too good to pass up, so we went on a little trip-"

"Inside the Spectre Speeder!" Dad interrupts. "It's got all the latest in state-of-the-art spirit plane exploration technology. And a super-sized cup-holder."

"Indeed," says Mom. "Oh, that realm is incredible. It's like nothing we've ever seen before."

Jazz isn't interested. "What if you got lost and couldn't find your way back out?" she quizzes them. "What if you angered the ghosts so much that they wouldn't let you go? Did none of this occur to you?"

Mom shrugs. "It started to occur to us once a big pale man – Walker, he said his name was – told us to leave before he imprisoned us. But we didn't really have any qualms with going in. You were at school, and Danny was sleeping peacefully. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Jazz scribbles something down. "And why didn't you tell us what the unusual readings were about?"

"It didn't seem necessary. You wouldn't have approved," Dad explains, "and Danny wouldn't have been able to join in."

"Why not?" you pipe up.

Mom does a double take. "Sorry, darling. We're talking about you as if you're not here, aren't we?"

"You could've rolled me onto a stretcher or something," you argue. They could've thought before dismissing you entirely. The portal wouldn't be active in the first place if it wasn't for you.

You lift your head, clench your teeth and try to hoist yourself into a sitting position. You can't achieve anything close to a ninety-degree angle because your patchwork chest is sore and you're squishing the spots low down on your back. You start grizzling.

"Easy there, Danny boy." Dad rises from his seat, watching you lower yourself again. "You shouldn't run before you can walk. Or, I suppose, sit up before you can lie down."

"You didn't seem to struggle so much before – I guess the blood blossoms haven't kicked in yet…" Mom doesn't muse any further. She changes the subject. "What were we talking about before that happened?"

"Turning the portal on and letting the ghosts out," Jazz recaps, skimming over her notes. "That's probably a good rule to follow in future: make sure the portal is closed after use."

"And we'll need to keep the alarm system on at all times in case somebody forgets about that rule," says Mom, looking pointedly at Dad.

"You have absolutely no evidence that I left it open," he insists.

"Except for the plate of fudge I found by the control panel!"

"Focus," Jazz cuts them off, tearing a page out of her book. "Okay, let's say the portal stays on and there's a ghost in the house and the alarm sounds. What do we do?"

"Simple," Dad replies. "The kids evacuate and the adults take care of the spook."

"And how will Danny get out?" she reminds him.

Everyone's looking you up and down. You avoid meeting their gazes while your cheeks grow warmer. You can't decide whether the attention and concern is preferable to them talking as if you weren't there.

"I could carry him," Dad offers. "Your mother's the better shot, anyway. She'd happily take on a whole army of ghosts by herself."

"But if the path from here to the front door is blocked," Mom ponders, "we'll need a back-up plan to keep him safe." She unbuckles her belt, a thick silver band with a round green clasp, and uncovers you to the waist. She wraps the Spectre Deflector around you, just below your ribcage, and locks it with a tiny key. Your lips curl at the slightly frosty sensation of the metal through your pyjama shirt.

"I know it's girly," she says as she tucks you back in, "but it's for your own protection. Now if any wraith lays a finger on you, they'll get a nasty shock."

"How are you feeling, by the way?" Jazz asks. "Is your chest better?"

"Yeah, it's fine now. But, uh…" You raise your head and focus on your parents. "I wanted to ask you guys something. When all the ghosts were dropping in, this weird misty stuff came out my mouth. Is that normal?"

Is it a sign that you're deteriorating? That's the question you want to ask. But it's also the question you don't want to ask.

"Hmmm…" Dad rubs his chin in thought. "Let me try something."

He stands at the end of the bed pinching a matchbox-sized wallet of avocado-green dust. He initially leans on the metal bars, but he backs up when they start creaking under his weight.

"Did that come from the Lunch Lady?" you croak. What did they do to her to obtain those samples?

"It's just a couple of leg hairs and a few flecks of skin in a sealed packet. It won't kill you."

He shakes the wallet. Nothing happens. He moves along the bed, sidestepping like a crab. Still nothing happens – until, about halfway down, your jaw drops open to release the trail of smoke that built up behind it.

"Fascinating." He pockets the packet. "It must be some kind of ghost sense. I've heard about those remarkable people who just know when an ectoplasmic creature is near. And now my son is one of them." You start nibbling your bottom lip. "Don't look so nervous, kid. A ghost sense isn't another illness, it's an ability. A pretty cool ability, might I add."

"We ought to get you a panic button or something," Mom opines. "Then if there's a filthy phantom about and you're the first to know, you can-" She halts mid-sentence. "What is that?"

How have your parents only just noticed the massive shiny Get Well Soon card? The pink glitter sticks out against the blue walls like a sore thumb. The froth from the Fenton Foamer consumed one of its corners in the earlier scuffle. Star's message to "Dennis" will have been almost completely eradicated.

Dad retrieves it and reads a couple of lines, and then his eyebrows rise. "The students know? Principal Ishiyama told me it would be treated with confidentiality."

Mom tuts. "It's because of Sam and Tucker, isn't it?"

Jazz runs her fingers through her hair. "Tucker bought the card. I don't know if Sam suggested it or anything."

"Perfect," Mom sighs with her head in her hands. "This is perfect."

"What's with that attitude?" Jazz presses her. "I thought it was sweet."

"Don't you see?" says Mom. "We're already mocked for believing in ghosts, and now the students will be blabbing about Danny to their parents, and we'll look like we can't keep our own son safe." Her voice becomes more and more shrill. "And the next thing you know, the Guys in White will poke their noses in and tell the government to take away our kids and we'll never see them again!"

"Honey, you might be overreacting just a little bit." Dad puts a hand on his wife's shoulder. "They wouldn't make off with Danny when he's in this state. They wouldn't make off with him, period. We're treating you well, aren't we, Danny?"

You turn your head to the side and close your eyes.

"Danny?"

Your breathing slows.

"Looks like somebody's had a tiring day," Mom whispers.

You listen to the floorboards creaking as they tiptoe out.

You're getting a cramp in your abdomen. Some of it is fear, tight and constricting, at the thought of being thrown in the back of a van by government busybodies while your parents stand on the doorstep and watch. But some of it is guilt, like a snake wriggling through your intestines – guilt arising from knowing how relieved you would have felt if you were taken as far away from the Fenton Ghost Portal as possible.