A/N: I thought I'd finish some of the half written one shots I've got laying about, this is the second one and the only one for DP, I'm posting it now because I have 13 stories out and I don't like that. I'm not superstitious. I just don't like the number 13.

Have you ever seen the movie 'Flowers in the Attic'? Not that it has anything to do with this story, but I wanted to capture the atmosphere of it (OK, it does have the grandmother thing). I got the title when I happened to think of a scene from 'The Shining', where the little boy (forgot his name) sees the ghosts of the twins, two little blond girls standing in the hallway. And I thought, 'perfect little angels'. Now isn't that a perfect title for a horror story? I thought so.

Rated for character death and especially the way the character is killed (now I've got you curious :), but you'll agree with me that killing in this case is totally justified. And, um, it ends rather evil. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom

PERFECT LITTLE ANGELS

As I was going up the stairs

I met a man who wasn't there

He wasn't there again today

I wish, I wish, he'd go away

Meghan stomped down the stairs of the huge mansion, her small feet emphasizing her displeasure on the steps. She didn't make much of an impact though, the soft carpet mostly absorbed her angry treading, and it did nothing to lighten her mood. Behind her, Lilith descended with infinitely more grace, softly letting her hand slide on the banister, an ethereal smile on her face. Identical faces. Totally different expressions.

Once downstairs, they waited, next to each other. An elderly man appeared out of nowhere, handing them their identical bags, and although the twins were so much alike even their grandmother had sometimes trouble telling them apart, he never missed giving each girl the right bag. Meghan, a peanut butter-jelly sandwich and half an apple, Lilly a cheese sandwich and the other half of the apple.

Lilly smiled in appreciation to the old butler, Meghan just said 'Hrmpf'. Jensen smiled at both of them, used to their antics, their quarreling, their sometimes uncanny sudden unity. He left them standing there and returned to the kitchen, knowing the driver already had the limo parked out front. The one thing left to do was a last minute inspection, as always.

Pamela Manson hurried into the hallway and spotted the two girls standing at the bottom of the staircase right away. Quickly, she walked over to them, straightened Meghan's collar, wiped some toothpaste from Lilly's mouth and stepped back.

Lilly was smiling, Meghan was scowling. Other than that, they were the same. Light blue dresses, white stockings, blue shoes, shining as if they were polished that same morning. Which they were. Blue ribbons in their curly black hair, neatly tying it out of their faces. Perfect.

"Alright," Pamela said in a chipper voice, "Off you go. Have fun in school."

They turned around to leave, but Pamela would have none of it.

"Uh uh," she said, bending down and pointing at her cheek.

The girls looked at each other, stepped forward as one, and each planted a wet kiss on their grandmother's cheek.

"Bye, grandma," they said simultaneously, and then left through the front door.

Pamela sighed. Raising a child was a strenuous job. Raising two children was twice as hard. Her mouth set into a firm line. She wasn't going to fail again. This time, she would do it right. She suppressed all thoughts about her daughter and the man she married and plastered a happy smile on her aging face. She needed another appointment with her beautician soon, she decided.

Ignoring the cold in the hallway, she strode back to her living room, her sanctuary. Here, she had everything she needed, from her books to her needlepoint. She hardly ever had to leave it, save for going out or sleeping. And her bedroom was equally safe.

She walked over to the piano and sat down behind it, not to play this time but just to think. She liked sitting there, she could oversee the room well and could also look outside, to the spacious back yard. She could observe her granddaughters play there, keep an eye on them, make sure their play wouldn't get too rowdy. That was one of the things she had neglected to do with Samantha, and look how that ended. This time, she would do it right.

She glanced at the pictures that were hanging on the wall, and felt a pang of regret when looking at her late husband's. Two children to raise, and now she was alone. Not that he had been much help with the first one, but it was just the idea that she had backup that she missed now. She missed his strict enforcement of the rules, his loud voice with which he could get a child's attention, his ability to instill respect into his stubborn offspring. It hadn't helped though. Samantha had gone her own way regardless.

The clock chimed eight times, and she shook herself out of her reverie. It was time. Jensen would have already prepared it, and she would bring it. Sighing, trembling a little, she got up and walked to the kitchen. Best to get it over with.

Meghan leaned her chin on her hands, staring at the empty piece of paper in front of her. Crayons were neatly placed beside it, obsessively straight and sorted from yellow through orange, red, purple all the way to green.

"Rainbow," she muttered and started rearranging them.

Smiling, she looked at the result. They now started with red and ended with purple. Carefully, she took all of them in her small hand and drew a long, curved line on her paper. Then she picked up another crayon, black, and frantically started drawing dark figures underneath the rainbow. When she was done, almost all of the rainbow was gone, covered with dark figures with red eyes. The teacher was not pleased.

"Meghan," she said disapprovingly, "The assignment was to draw your family. Look at your sister's drawing, now that's more like it."

Meghan glanced at Lilly's drawing. It too had a rainbow, with two small figures signifying the two eight year olds, a larger figure with a long skirt and huge orange hair their grandmother, and a light blue hazy figure depicting... nobody.

"That's because she's a moron," she said.

"Meghan, I will not tolerate such language in my class," Mrs Gerrison said.

Meghan snatched Lilly's drawing from her hands and grabbed the black crayon.

"You forgot something," she said nastily.

Quickly, she drew a dark figure looming over the others. Lilly started screaming and tried to take back her drawing, which resulted in its tearing apart.

"Now look what you've done," Lilly said angrily.

"It was wrong," Meghan said.

"I can draw whatever the hell I want," Lilly yelled.

"Girls!" Mrs Gerrison shouted.

She sat down and rubbed her temples. The two Manson girls were a strange couple. They seemed to be always fighting. Although identical twins, they couldn't be more different. Meghan, the strong one, dominant, always demanding attention. Lillith, quiet, dreamy, seemingly content with living in her own world. There were days when Mrs Gerrison wondered if the two, despite their looks, were even related.

"Yes, Mrs Gerrison," they both said, suddenly quiet and turning as one to face their teacher.

Mrs Gerrison shivered. "Go back to your seats," she said tiredly, "If you're done, you can go and read for a bit until the others are done."

The girls turned and sat down again, each taking a book. Now Mrs Gerrison smiled in approval. Despite their more unpleasant character traits, they were also very intelligent, and far ahead of their classmates. They were also picture perfect to look at. If she didn't know any better, Mrs Gerrison would have said they looked angelic.

Lilly, in the meantime, wasn't reading at all. She was staring at her book, a happy tale about a girl and a horse, lost in her own world. Her eyes were glazed as she stared at the picture in the book, unseeing. Meghan shot her an envious look, wishing she was able to do that. But Meghan never lost touch with reality, however much she sometimes wanted to.

She looked outside. The playground in front of the school was deserted, save for a small bird picking at something in the grass. And a black and white cat, slowly creeping up to it. Meghan watched in fascination. Who would win? The bird, unknowing of the lurking cat, the doom that hung above it, or the cat, seeing the bird as game, as a toy, an object to practice with. She glanced at her teacher, but the woman as busy with helping another child. Slowly, she put her right hand under the table and pointed her index finger at the window.

A sudden bout of laughter made Mrs Gerrison sit up straight, and she looked up at Meghan, who was laughing as she looked outside. Lilly had jumped up and looked at her sister angrily, tears in her eyes. The teacher got up and walked to the window, but she saw nothing. Meghan stopped laughing and Lilly sat down again, glaring at her sister. Mrs Gerrison shook her head. She would never understand these two.

The dining room was quiet, the soft clanking of cutlery only emphasizing that. The huge dining room table was largely unoccupied, and only three sat where twenty could. The ornate chandelier above the table was still swinging slightly, and Pamela looked at Meghan again, who was surreptitiously looking down at her plate.

She hadn't been in the room when one of the girls had decided to give the thing a nice swing, but she was sure it had been Meghan. Although the girl had denied it feverishly, she hadn't tried to pin it on her sister for once. Lillith was mimicking her attitude, not once meeting her grandmother's or her sister's eyes.

Pamela cleared her throat. Now that this was dealt with – no television for Meghan tonight – there still was the other matter. She put down her knife and fork and placed her hands on the table. The girls looked up.

"I had a phone call from Mrs Gerrison this afternoon," she began.

Meghan sunk down in her chair and Lillith looked angry.

"It seems that the two of you were fighting in class again. I cannot tolerate that. You are to behave as the high standing ladies you are, not like some... brats. I shall have to take away your computer privileges again."

"Aw, granny," Lillith wailed, "Please? I didn't even do anything. Meghan tore up my drawing!"

"You cussed in class," Pamela said sternly, "And you will not talk back to me."

They both looked at her with big blue eyes, filling with tears. Pamela's resolve faltered, but then she quickly looked away, at the now again motionless chandelier. She waved her hands.

"Are you finished?"

They nodded.

"Off you go then. Go play in your room. I'll come up later to say goodnight."

They both stood up, their movements eerily similar, and walked to the door. It had taken forever to teach them that. Walk. Not run. When they had arrived two years earlier, they had been a rowdy bunch, running through the place, knocking an expensive vase over, playing soccer in the hallway... She had put an end to that. She drilled them. She made sure to purge out any of their father's genes. A deep satisfaction grew inside of her. Her perfect little angels.

The lights on the chandelier flickered, and she quickly stood up. Her breath caught in her throat. She had been in here too long. The huge mirror on the wall misted over, and she could see her breath. Backing away, her hands behind her until she touched the door, she watched as one by one the light bulbs on the chandelier popped. Her hands moved over the wood, feeling the grains and knots in the old oak door, until she finally reached the doorknob. With a short gasp, she turned it, yanked the door open and stumbled out of the dining room, landing unceremoniously on her bottom in the hallway.

Why she thought that whatever was in the dining room couldn't simply follow her she didn't know, but she quickly stood up, closed the door and locked it. Then she turned and ran to the safety of her living room, making sure the ghost shield around it was up. She slammed the door behind her as if it, and not the ghost shield, would stop the ghost from entering. She leaned against the door and tried to regulate her breathing. She had been stupid. Stupid to stay there that long. Stupid to get caught up in her contemplations. It would not happen again.

Straightening herself, stroking her skirt to iron out the wrinkles, she strode to the cabinet in the corner. She opened it and studied the numerous flasks and bottles in it, all bearing tags with what was in it. Most of them prescriptions. She looked at the clock. Almost eight. It was time.

Lillith waited until her grandmother had quietly closed the door, and then she waited some more, listening to the woman's soft footsteps on the carpet in the hallway. She didn't hear the creaking step on the stairs, so that must mean her grandmother had withdrawn into her bedroom early. It didn't matter.

Slowly, she rose from her bed, feeling with her small feet until she found the bunny slippers beside her bed. Then she tiptoed to the door, her white nightgown giving her a spooky look. Just as she turned the knob, an obnoxious voice cut through he silence.

"What are you doing?"

Lillith turned around and put her finger against her mouth, in a futile attempt to silence her sister.

"Aren't we in enough trouble as it is?" Meghan made no attempt to keep her voice down. "I wanted to do that Peter Pan game on the computer, and now I can't. She'll let us back on again if we play it right, and you sneaking around at night will not help. Like, at all."

"Hush!" Lillith was angry now. "It's your own fault. You shouldn't have messed with that bird. And she's not gonna leave her room. She won't know. I'm gonna watch."

Meghan put her head under her pillow and groaned. Usually, it was her who got them in trouble. She was about to get up again and yell at her sister when she felt movement beside her bed. She looked up and saw Lillith standing there, an unreadable expression on her face. She looked ethereal in the soft light of the moon coming through the curtains.

"Come with me."

The whispered words vibrated in Meghan's mind. Without a sound, she slid out of her bed, feeling around with her feet for the tiger slippers with similar motions as her sister had minutes before. As one, they walked out of their bedroom, leaving the door open.

The hallway was cold. The two girls started shivering in their thin nightgowns, and they looked at each other for a moment. Then Lillith held out her hand and Megan grabbed it. Together, they walked to the end of the hallway, opened a door and ascended the stairs to the attic.

The attic was equally cold, but the girls no longer felt it. They made no sound on the wooden planks as they made their way through the boxes and furniture stashed there, remnants of another age, another time, a time they hardly remembered. Dust from years was on it, and Meghan touched one of the boxes with her finger, leaving a thin trail in the dust.

The attic was huge. It ran all the way to the back of the mansion, and in the middle was as high as two floors. Lillith pulled Meghan to the side and climbed on a box standing at the edge of what seemed like a small clearing. Meghan joined her.

"Now what?" she asked in a whisper.

"We wait."

Moonlight shone into the attic through a small window, lighting the clearing like a spotlight. The girls were sitting in the dark, the only thing really visible their white nightgowns and the gleaming of the plastic eyes on their slippers. Time passed, an eternity or a moment, the rectangular shape of the moonlight shining on the floor slowly moving until it reached the girls' feet.

"There," Lillith whispered.

Forms appeared, like streaks of mist flowing through the attic, swirling, glowing slightly. The shape kept growing, taking in more of the mist until it looked almost solid. But they could still see through her.

A girl, standing in the middle of the attic, holding a teddy bear by its hind leg. At first, she seemed silent, but then they heard sniffing, as if coming from a distance, echoing through the spacious attic, seemingly not coming from the apparition itself.

Then, an echo of laughter sounded, a white, see-through ball bounced into view and the shape of a little boy appeared. Lillith smiled and nudged Meghan, who remained solemn. She had seen this before. She knew what would happen. They watched as the boy went to the girl and wrapped his arms around her to comfort her.

"Isn't that sweet, Meghan," Lillith whispered dreamily.

"You don't have to whisper," Meghan said, "They can't hear us."

Lillith punched her.

The children were playing, throwing the ball at each other and catching it, laughing. The teddy bear lay forgotten against some crates. Meghan rolled her eyes. Sure, it was cute to watch, but seen one, seen them all. And it was not like these apparitions existed here for no reason. They were imprints. Not ghosts. Imprints of death.

It was over in a flash. The boy threw the ball at the girl and she had trouble catching it. She stumbled backwards against the stacked crates and landed on her but. The boy shouted a warning and rushed to her, but he was too late. The topmost crate tumbled down and crushed the children, landing on both of them. Their arms and legs twitched for a short while and then fell still. The teddy bear slowly faded away.

"You're nuts," Meghan said to Lillith, "I'm going back to bed."

But she remained, still strangely linked to her sister who kept her in place. She followed her gaze to the other side of the attic. White hair, glowing green eyes, a dark shape drifted closer to them. An eerie smile, a held out hand and an ice crystal appearing, glowing green. And then he was gone.

"Can we go now?" Meghan hissed.

Lillith nodded and they climbed down from the box they were sitting on. It was no longer cold in the attic, but still goosebumps ran up both girls' arms when they passed the spot where the crate had crushed the children many many years before. They had asked their grandmother about it once, years back, when they'd first discovered the imprint, but she had gotten angry and had told them never to go up there again.

They slowly crept down the stairs and into the hallway, which was quiet and dark. At the end, they could see the soft green glow of the ghost shield around their grandmother's bedroom. Meghan frowned at it. She knew what her grandmother was afraid of, but she couldn't understand it. She hated the ghost shield, though. It gave her headaches, which was why it wasn't on when she or her sister was in the room.

She pushed Lillith into their room and closed the door behind her.

"Go to sleep," she whispered to her, "Next time when you go up there, leave me out of it."

Lillith smiled, strangely reflecting the green-eyed ghost's smile. Meghan rolled her eyes again and climbed into her bed after placing her tiger slippers neatly under the bed. Then she crawled under her blankets and curled up, closing her eyes tightly.

"Humpty Dumpty," she whispered, "Sat on a wall..."

It was dark and quiet in the room now, and she could hear the soft breathing of her sister, who had never trouble sleeping, always already in her dreamworld even before she went to bed. No such luck for Meghan.

"Humpty Dumpty..."

She expected it, the coldness in the room, the icy fingers stroking her cheek when she was almost asleep, the feeling of darkness and doom radiating from the presence. But it didn't come.

"...had a great fall..."

A dreamworld would be nice right about now. Her breathing grew ragged in fear and anticipation, afraid he would come and even more afraid he wouldn't. She focused on the rhyme, which for some reason she found comforting.

"All the king's horses and all the king's men..."

She was alone now, in her own space, curled up tightly into a ball, as every night. She would go to sleep soon, she always did, after he said goodnight. Lillith stirred and mumbled something, and Meghan could tell there was a smile on her face. She couldn't actually see her sister, but she knew. For a brief moment she wondered if she could enter Lillith's dreamworld.

"Couldn't put Humpty together again..."

Just like her. Just like Lillith. Just like their mother, taking a fall from a fifteen story building. Clenching her small fists, she started over again, moving her lips without making any sound.

Pamela descended the stairs, holding the small tray with her left hand, gripping the banister with her right. She had to restrain herself from holding it too tightly, from stopping and just standing there, trembling. It should have worked. She should have had some more peace, some more quiet in her own house. She kept going.

The girls had already left for school, their demeanor unusually submissive. Pamela liked to think that she had straightened them out the night before, but somewhere deep down inside of her she knew she didn't. They were up to something. Just like their mother had always been up to something whenever she had agreed to something Pamela knew she didn't really want to do. She frowned. Like marrying that Fenton boy. A flash of both anger and satisfaction went through her. He was no longer a problem. The only thing left now was keeping his children in line, keeping their Manson side, their human side, the dominant one. She was sure she was going to succeed.

She walked to the kitchen and handed the tray to Jensen, who took it without a word, glancing briefly at the half-eaten sandwich and the empty glass of orange juice. He placed it on the counter and started cleaning up. Pamela turned around and quickly walked through the hallway in the direction of her safe haven, the living room.

Brilliant green eyes stared at her, and she stopped dead in her tracks. Her breath caught in her throat and she backed away from him. He floated closer until he was right in front of her, a gloved hand stretched to touch her face. She gulped. Then, his hand moved and touched her neck. She felt the icy fingers curl around it, pressing, digging into her skin.

"He can't hurt me," she thought, "He has no substance."

But she couldn't prevent the chill spreading over her body, his hand still on her neck, and although she knew he wasn't really touching her, it felt awfully real. She started to choke. He smiled, and his mouth moved.

"You."

He had never spoken to her before. The hallway suddenly darkened, as if a cloud had moved in front of the sun.

"Go back," she whispered to him, "Go back. Or I'll put that ghost shield back up."

He snarled at her, bringing his face close to hers, his eyes narrowed to slits. Then, suddenly, he was gone. The vase on the small table clattered on the floor, the cast iron ornate umbrella stand annex hat stand wobbled and something pushed her from behind, soft, insane laughter and then nothing.

Her breath came in short gasps. Her hand on her throat, she staggered to the door leading to the living room. Safe. She needed to be safe. Once inside, she took a moment to catch her breath, and then she rushed to the cabinet in the corner. She needed something else. It wasn't working. Quickly, she rummaged through the bottles, knocking a few over. His tolerance for the medication was rising. She'd have to change it again.

After dinner, Meghan sat in her room, idly playing with her toy cars. She had lined them up, all of them, and together they formed a traffic jam throughout the large room, all the way from her bed to Lillith's. Lillith sat on the bed, reading.

"Grandma was strange," Meghan said.

Lillith didn't respond. She had the uncanny ability to be able to both read and listen to what you were saying. Meghan knew she had heard her, even though she gave no sign of it. It had long ago stopped bothering her. She pushed one of the cars so that it collided with the one in front of it.

"Boom," she said and then giggled.

With one sweep from her arm she scattered part of the traffic jam through the room. Lillith didn't flinch. Meghan smiled nonetheless. Then, as an experiment, she pointed her finger at the small red car near the door.

"Boom," she said again.

The small car blew up, it's parts flying through the room. Now Lillith did look up. Her blue eyes were transfixed on Meghan, who cringed a little.

"We're not supposed to do that," Lillith said.

Meghan scowled at her, and blew her loose hair out of her face. She pointed her finger at Lillith's book.

"Boom," she hissed.

The book caught fire. Shrieking, Lillith jumped up from the bed and threw the book on the floor, where it continued smoking. The little girl held out her hands and they glowed blue for a moment. Meghan watched as her sister covered the book in ice.

"Are you mad?" she screamed.

She looked as if she was about to launch herself at Meghan, who jumped up, holding her fists close to her face. Hurried footsteps in the hallway defused the situation. Acting quickly, Lillith kicked the book under her bed, while Meghan dove for the destroyed toy car. The door opened and a flustered Pamela looked in.

"What are you doing," she said, "Are you two fighting again?"

"No, grandmother," they both said in unison.

Pamela looked at them suspiciously, but they both looked at her with innocent blue eyes. A sure sign something was up. She looked around the room.

"Clean up, girls," she said, frowning at the scattered toys, "It's almost time for bed. What's that smell?"

She sniffed, trying to decide if what she was smelling was indeed something burning. She entered the room and put her hand on the central heating pipes. They were cold. Shaking her head, she left the room again, walked into the hallway and picked up the tray she had left there standing on the small table near the top of the stairs, unaware of the two pair of eyes on her, peeking through the door.

Meghan pulled Lillith's arm.

"No! She said clean it up! We have to..." the girl whined.

"Hush!" Meghan said, "I came with you last night, now you come with me. I wanna know what she's doing."

Mumbling to herself, she firmly took Lillith's hand and pulled her through the door. Lillith resisted for a moment, but then allowed herself to be pulled forward. They passed their grandmother's room at the end of the hallway and peered into the open doorway on the other side of the hallway, right across from where their grandmother was sleeping. The door they never went through. The door that was always locked.

Carefully, Meghan stepped inside, entering a dark hallway. She had always known the house was bigger than the parts where they lived and played, but she had never suspected she could enter here so easily. It seemed to be an unused part of the house, no carpet on the floor, cracks in the wall, paint peeling from the door frames.

It was colder there, and Meghan immediately felt the presence, the awareness of this part of the house. They passed some doors, some open, revealing empty rooms, others closed, with dust on the doorhandles. She tried to be as quiet as possible, tried to listen to her grandmother's footsteps ahead of her, just around the corner. When they stopped, she stopped also, causing Lillith to bump into her.

"Watch where you're going," Meghan hissed.

By way of answer, Lillith punched her. Slowly, they crept to the corner and peered around it. Two more doors were there, and a small window at the end, letting in some fading daylight. One door was closed, one was open. Next to the door frame, a familiar console was attached to the wall. They could faintly hear their grandmother's voice.

"...eat that. I don't have all day."

Grandmother's voice, sounding irritated. Lillith pinched Meghan, who angrily pushed her back. They listened to some scraping sound, and footsteps, pacing the room. The sound of a curtain being pulled aside. Lillith grabbed Meghan's arm and started pulling.

"Come on," she whispered, "She's coming back."

A figure appeared in the hallway, carrying a tray. She pulled the door closed behind her, and then proceeded to turn the lock with a set of keys she held in her hand. On top of that, she closed the bolts. It sounded ominous, heavy, like closing a door in a dungeon. Lillith pulled harder, and the two girls scurried back through the hallway.

"In here," Meghan hissed, opening one of the doors to her right.

"No!" Lillith whispered, but her sister had already pulled her into the room.

The room was completely bare, with old fashioned wall paper pealing off the walls and a dusty drape in front of the window. It was dark in there, but not completely. The window was a lighter rectangle in the dark wall.

"What are you doing," Lillith whispered loudly, "We have to get out of here!"

Meghan pushed her against the wall next to the door and put her hand over the angry girl's mouth.

"Hush!" she said, "She'll hear us."

Footsteps approached and both girls froze. In both their minds, they seemed to echo through the house, drumming on the wooden floor. They approached right up until they reached the door they were hiding behind, and then stopped. Lillith hiccuped, Meghan bit her lip. The door wasn't completely closed, and they saw a hand reaching for the doorknob. With a thud, the door closed, and the footsteps continued on their way, distancing themselves again. A door closed, the scraping sound of the lock, then silence.

Lillith pushed Meghan. "Are you mad," she asked, mentally adding a mark to the tally she kept on how many times she had said that to her sister, "We're supposed to be in our room! What if she finds out! You'll lose your precious computer time forever!"

Meghan ignored her and instead opened the door to the hallway. It was getting really dark now, and the dark shadows in the hallway were intensified by the soft shimmer of light coming from around the corner. She was about to step out of the room to have a look, when she felt the sudden chill. She could see her breath.

"M-Megan," Lillith clattered.

Slowly, she turned around. She felt the goosebumps on her arms and the hair in her neck stand on end. The dark room wasn't so dark anymore. A soft, white glow was lighting the place slightly, enough for Meghan to make out her sister's pale, terrified face. She had pressed herself against the wall, staring directly ahead, at the source of the glow.

The ghost. He was floating silently, watching them with those eerie, predatory green eyes. She couldn't read the expression on his face, it was a mixture of wonder and pain, of longing and hunger. She didn't like it. Especially the hunger part. The ghost tilted his head.

"How?" he asked.

His voice sounded like a whisper, echoing in the room, seemingly coming from everywhere except from the ghost itself.

Lillith whimpered. "P-p-please don't eat us," she said in a squeaky little voice.

That brought Meghan to her senses. The ghost looked transparent, insubstantial. His black suit hung loosely around him, and she could see some white marking on his chest. A distant memory sprang to life and she wondered vaguely if he should have been wearing white gloves.

"Don't be daft," she said to her sister, "He's a ghost. He doesn't eat people."

"He eats emotions," Lillith said, her voice a bit stronger because she was annoyed with her sister.

The ghost's eyes shone brighter when he smiled. Meghan tried to swallow but her mouth was dry. The smile looked insane. As insane as... She pushed the thought away. She couldn't think about that. She never allowed herself to think about that.

"You can't touch us," she said boldly.

The ghost seemed to consider that. He raised his right hand and floated closer to Meghan, who now wished she hadn't said anything. Frozen in place, unable to move, she watched the ghost. He reached out and touched her cheek. Someone in the room was making short, hiccuping noises and she realized that it was she who was doing it. His fingers felt cold against her, insubstantial. Like being touched by a streak of mist.

"Meghan," he breathed, and for a moment his eyes didn't seem mad, but sad.

He frowned and concentrated, and then she felt him, his hand on her cheek, no longer insubstantial, but real, tangible. She jerked her head back and started to cry. The ghost backed away.

"Where is she," he hissed.

Lillith grabbed Meghan's hand and squeezed. Together they stood there for a moment, but then Lillith took over. She backed away to the door, pulling Meghan with her, who still seemed entranced by the floating ghost.

"Let's go," Lillith cried, "Come on, Meghan, let's go!"

Meghan followed, forcing her strangely unresponsive legs to move woodenly, allowing Lillith to drag her through the hallway, all the way to the door at the end, the door that their grandmother had locked. She felt the ghost, the presence, following them. They reached the door and Lillith tried to turn the handle, but it wouldn't budge. Locked.

Lillith turned around, still holding her sister by the hand and looked back in the hallway. The ghost was floating there, watching them. She felt herself go strangely calm and she squeezed her sister's hand to transmit that emotion to her. Meghan relaxed.

"Daddy?" Lillith whispered.

A strange expression appeared on the ghost's face. Lillith stared at him, her eyes wide open, a dreamlike expression in them. The ghost floated closer and reached out to them, but his hands went straight through their shoulders. He remained still for a moment, and his face contorted as if he was in pain. Then, he solidified suddenly. Again, he touched the girls, clawing his hands into their little shoulders, and Lillith felt a strange, tingling sensation. The world suddenly went gray, a sensation of moving, of passing through something, and then she was standing in the hallway, on the other side of the door. The ghost was gone.

She pulled Meghan with her and took her into their room, which was just the way they had left it. Toy cars on the floor. A slight burnt smell. The book under the bed, all wet and charred. Lillith sat Meghan down on her bed, quickly put the toys in the box and pushed it to the side, where it belonged. Then she pushed Meghan down on the bed and tucked her in.

Pamela's face hurt from the smiling she was forced to do the whole morning. She desperately wanted to let go of it, to massage her cheek, to frown and growl at an empty room, but she couldn't. Ms Gunniver, the social worker, sat on the couch opposite her, scribbling something in her notebook while pushing her glasses back on her nose. Her gray hair was put up in a knot on her head, and she wore a shapeless gray suit and black, comfortable looking pumps. Pamela was watching her, her hands folded in her lap, considering her own meticulously put up hair, her designer clothes and the contact lenses she wore, even though they bothered her more often than not.

"So," Ms Gunniver said, "They seem to be doing alright. They are happy, they get good grades in school... The teacher finds them a bit hard to handle, but I suppose that's just normal acting up from two gifted children."

She closed the notebook, again pushed her glasses back onto her nose and looked Pamela directly into the eyes.

"Now, as for your request to formally adopting them," she continued, "I have to ask. It says here their mother is deceased?"

A flash of pain went through Pamela. She hadn't expected it. She was used to Samantha being dead, or so she thought, and it wasn't like her daughter had been a good example for the little girls with her dark clothing and her strange ideas.

"Yes," she said hoarsely.

Ms Gunniver nodded in sympathy. "But what about their father?" she asked.

Pamela had been prepared for this. She pushed the smile back on her face, freezing it there with a determination that would have alarmed her daughter greatly.

"He is... ill. He's mentally unstable. He cannot take care of them."

Ms Gunniver's mouth set in a thin line. "We cannot relieve the father of his custody for them just like that. He'll need to be assessed by a psychiatrist."

"Yes," Pamela said, reaching behind her, "I have his evaluations right here. You can see for yourself."

Ms Gunniver took the thin band of papers and briefly looked through them, frowning.

"These are two years old," she said, "They'll have to be redone. What institution is he in?"

Pamela blinked. She hadn't expected this somehow. She had only thought of formally adopting the twins when the school teacher had asked for a consent for a school trip. What a bother that had been. She was only their guardian. Daniel still held formal custody. Something he was clearly not qualified for. Had never been qualified for, but she only found out what he was after Samantha died.

"He... he's not. He is living here, with us."

"Ah, good," Ms Gunniver said, "So, can I see him?"

"No!" Pamela had jumped up. "I mean, no, not now, he's sleeping... medication, you know. They're... they give him lots of it..."

"Oh." Ms Gunniver was unperturbed. "When can I see him then? Would this afternoon be alright? I have some space there..."

She was already pulling out her agenda. Pamela panicked. She wanted to back out, wanted to undo the request, but she didn't know how without making herself suspicious. Even if she did, the woman would insist on seeing Daniel.

"Yes," she managed to squeak out, "This afternoon is fine. What time..."

Ms Gunniver stood up. "Good. I'll see you at four then. Goodbye, Mrs Manson."

She turned around and left, and if she had looked back, she would have seen Pamela standing there, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. But she didn't, and instead let herself out of the house before the butler could rush up to open the front door for her.

It took Pamela a while to get herself together again. With a desperate sigh, she turned around and opened the cupboard in the corner of her living room and studied the bottles. Her mind was racing, planning, making lists of what to do. She had six hours. Surely she could arrange something in that time.

Meghan stared at the rain that was washing down the windows of the luxurious black limousine. It had been raining all day, and she felt constricted, suffocated. She desperately needed to be outside, but neither the teacher nor her grandmother would let her. As usual, Lillith tried to radiate calmness to her from the other side of the car, but Meghan resisted it. She didn't want to be calm. She wanted to run, shout, stamp her feet in the water.

The limousine turned into the driveway of the large mansion and drove up all the way to the front door, getting as close as he could. Before the car stopped, the front door opened, and Jensen was standing there, holding an umbrella. Meghan's scowl deepened. They weren't even allowed to get wet.

The car door opened, and Meghan followed Lillith out of the car, under the large umbrella Jensen was holding over their heads. She noticed that the aging butler did get wet, the water dripping from his hat. Only she and her sister were protected from the rain. This made her hurry up, she didn't want the old man to catch a cold. Together, they rushed inside, into the hallway with the grand staircase. To their surprise, their grandmother was waiting for them. Meghan blinked and stared at her, noticing how tightly her grandmother was holding on to the banister.

"Girls," she said, "Today, I will not be joining you for tea. You can have your cookies in the kitchen, with Jensen here, and after that, you are to go straight to your room and play there."

Lillith opened her mouth in protest but Meghan punched her. Eating cookies in the kitchen was infinitely more fun than sitting in the living room with their grandmother, who asked awkward questions about school. She saw her grandmother glancing down at her watch nervously, and she wondered who it was she was expecting. Somebody important, somebody who couldn't be bothered with little girls. Jensen placed the umbrella in the umbrella stand and his hat on hat stand, and Meghan watched him, somehow fascinated by the heavy piece of furniture. She shivered and then followed Jensen to the kitchen, pulling her sister with her.

It was nice and warm in the kitchen, and both girls sat down at the table with the checkered tablecloth. Jensen handed them lemonade and a chocolate chip cookie, and they chatted amiably. The old butler never once asked about school, but instead asked about their friends, what they had seen on TV and even commented on the games they played on their computer. Meghan was just in the middle of describing how smash an opponent in a particularly violent game her grandmother undoubtedly would have forbidden had she known about it, when they heard a car pull up in front of the house.

Conversation instantly forgotten, both girls ran to the window which looked out on the driveway and tried to see who had arrived, but the rain was still pouring down and they could only make out a hazy figure rushing to the door. They rushed back to the other side of the kitchen, past the table, and Meghan quietly opened the door.

"...weather. I could hardly see a thing. I wish..."

Footsteps were going up the stairs, and the voice of the unknown woman disintegrated into a slight murmur. They couldn't hear what she was saying.

"Now, girls," Jensen said pleasantly, "I believe Mrs Manson told you to go to your room. Off you go, I have things to do."

"Yes, Jensen," they said in unison.

As one, they turned and walked through the door. Jensen looked at them leave. They were lovely little girls, but every now and then they did something that sent shivers up his spine. Like now.

Hyacinth Gunniver looked at the man sitting in the comfortable chair near the window. His black hair was untidy, as if he had been tugging it, but looked like it had been cut recently. He wore black jeans and a dark gray long sleeved shirt. His feet were bare, but she saw a pair of slippers sticking out from under the bed.

It was his eyes, however, that caught her attention. They were blue and empty. There was nobody there. He was just sitting there, looking straight ahead, looking at the wall behind her as if she wasn't there. She shuddered and, tearing her eyes away from the frightening sight, looked around the room.

It was warm and cozy. A bed stood in the corner, neatly made with pillows stacked on top of it. A desk near the window, empty save for a framed picture of two little girls. The twins, she knew, his daughters. Somehow, the normalcy of that picture being there set her mind at ease. He obviously still cared about them. But it was also obvious that he was in no state to take care of them. They really were better off with their grandmother. She forced herself to look at the man again.

"Mr Fenton?" she asked tentatively, stepping in front of him so he was forced to look at her.

No response. He just kept staring ahead, as if she wasn't there. She swallowed.

"Mr Fenton, I have to make an assessment of your ability to take care of your daughters. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Nothing. Then his face twitched.

"Mr Fenton, can you hear me?"

His breathing became heavier, as if he was struggling with something. His eyes, however, remained empty, unseeing. The moment passed, and it was gone.

"He really doesn't understand," Mrs Manson said, impatience clear in her voice, "You have seen him. He is unfit. Surely..."

Hyacinth Gunniver waved her hand. Instead of listening to the orange-haired woman, she knelt down in front of Mr Fenton and grabbed his hands.

"Mrs Manson wants to adopt your daughters," she said slowly, "Would you agree that that is the best option for your girls?"

"Psychosis," Mrs Manson said behind her back, "The medication suppresses it, it is the only way."

The social worker stared at the man in front of her and frowned. This didn't really look like someone so out of touch with reality he couldn't distinguish between dreams and the real world... he looked like someone on drugs. Medication, Mrs Manson had said... she glanced around, and spotted some brown bottles containing pills on one of the shelves. She got up, took two steps and snatched the bottles from the shelf to look at them.

"Sleeping pills," she said, surprised.

Mrs Manson approached her and snatched them out of her hands. "He has trouble sleeping," she said testily.

Hyacinth looked back at Mr Fenton, who hadn't moved. His hands were still on the armrests, clutching them tightly. Suddenly, his head bobbed forward and his hair fell into his face. Alarmed, she took a step forward to catch him, but he remained upright. The vase on the dresser started to rattle, as if a truck passed the house... only there was no truck passing the house, they were too far from the road to notice something like that. Mrs Manson started wringing her hands.

"We have to go now," she said, sounding extremely nervous.

Hyacinth shivered in the sudden chill in the room.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Lillith stopped for a moment, glancing in the direction of the door to the guest room. She could hear voices there, and she wondered what her grandmother and the person visiting were doing there. Then she turned away and walked to her own room.

"Lilly!"

She turned around at her sister, standing in the middle of the hallway, looking at the same room. Then she felt it. Quickly she walked back to her sister and placed her hand on her shoulder to calm her.

She wrapped her arms around her, looking in amazement at her breath she could now see. Half turning, she could see Mrs Manson, frozen in place, staring at Mr Fenton, who was still seated in his chair. His hands were now gripping the armrests so tightly she was afraid they were going to break. He was shaking his head, still looking down. A mist formed close to the ground, swirling around her ankles.

"Wha... what's happening," she said, her voice quivering.

She swirled when she heard a sound, just in time to see the mirror on the wall crack from the ice that was covering it. A dark presence seemed to be in the room, and she swirled again when she caught movement in the corner of her eye. There was nothing there, only an impression of white hair and green eyes...

Mrs Manson started a low whimper, a pulsating humming sound, her eyes wide in fear. Then she stopped, seemingly calming herself, swallowing a couple of times before she managed to find her voice.

"You're not supposed to do this," she whispered, "You're supposed to be calm. You need to rest. The doctor said so, remember the doctor?" Her voice became stronger. "He came to tell you she was dead. But you knew, didn't you. You were there. You saw her fall, and you didn't save her. You could have saved her, but you didn't."

She was breathing heavily now, her hand clutching the front of her blouse. Mr Fenton looked up, and Hyacinth was shocked at the pain she saw there. The vase stopped rattling. The mist receded. Mrs Manson straightened, smirking.

"That's right, Daniel. You killed her. That's why you are the way you are. Pathetic. Useless. You live on in your little dream world and leave us alone, leave your children alone. They don't want you. They're afraid of you."

"Daddy!"

Hyacinth had been so focused on Mrs Manson and her outrageous claims that she hadn't heard the door open. She looked in surprise at the two girls standing there, the twins, one slightly in front of the other. Mrs Manson jumped and swirled.

"I told you to go to your room..."

Her voice trailed away and Hyacinth saw why. Both girls' eyes were glowing a menacing green. She gulped and backed away.

The first thing to blow was the light bulb of the lamp hanging from the ceiling. The vase shattered. Shadows entered the room, like dark creatures with glowing red eyes, slithering on the walls and the ceiling. Both girls' hair was fanning out, as if static electricity caused it to stand up. But the eyes...

The girl in front stepped into the room, closely followed by her sister, and walked up to Mr Fenton, who was watching them with something akin to fear in his eyes. They ignored Mrs Manson, who was backing away from them, trying to get to the door.

"Daddy," the girls said simultaneously, "When will you come play with us?"

Mr Fenton started to smile. "I'll always play with you," he said, his voice surprisingly clear.

Mrs Manson had made it to the door and stepped into the hallway, leaving Hyacinth in the room to fend for herself. At that moment, Hyacinth started to hate Mrs Manson. The three other people in the room suddenly turned their heads towards her, and she had the feeling they knew exactly what she was thinking.

"We hate her too," they said.

Their eyes seemed to glow even brighter, and now Mr Fenton's eyes were glowing too. With some difficulty, he got up from the chair, swaying a little, and then steadying himself by putting his hands on his daughters' shoulders. Together, they walked to the door, and as in a trance, Hyacinth followed them, strangely spellbound by their slow, deliberate movements. The shadows followed them into the hallway, where Mrs Manson was standing at the top of the stairs, facing them, her hands gripping the banister.

They were drawing her near, she could feel it, but Hyacinth could do nothing to stop it. They were draining her, Mr Fenton was using her emotions, her life energy to sustain himself. She didn't know how she knew, she just did. For a brief moment, she wondered if it would damage her, hurt her, but the thought evaporated and she could only stare in fascination.

"You hurt our daddy," the girls said in unison.

"No!" Mrs Manson squeaked, "No! I was helping him! I took him in when none of the institutions would have him because of his... strangeness! I took care of him all these years!"

"You kept me asleep," Mr Fenton growled, and Hyacinth growled too, feeling the surge of energy that it cost him just to say those words. Her knees went weak.

"I kept you safe, kept your girls safe," Mrs Manson cried, "Doesn't that count for something?"

"You kept them away from me, left me to haunt this house!"

His voice was stronger now, and Hyacinth crumbled to the floor. She moved her hands a little and tried to focus. Her hands looked strange. Old. Her breathing became labored and she coughed. They ignored her. She looked up at Mrs Manson, wondering if the woman saw the predicament she was in, but her eyes were on the girls and their father in front of her. She leaned backwards a little, and a thought went through Hyacinth's head, a thought she wasn't sure was her own.

Just a little push.

With some effort, she rolled over and pushed herself up on her hands and knees. Her clothes hung strangely loose around her body, as if she had shrunk somehow. The girl in front raised her hands and they were glowing green. She laughed. Mrs Manson toppled backwards over the banister, a loud scream, suddenly cut off. Then, a soft, gurgling sound, followed by silence.

Hyacinth crawled to the banister, gripped it and pulled herself up to look down.

She was there, but she wasn't on the floor. She seemed to be floating above it. Hyacinth stared in the horror struck face, the terrified eyes, wondering what it was that made the woman hang like that, her back arched backward, her arms spread out, hanging backward, her feet almost touching the ground. And then she saw it.

A soft moan left her mouth, and she slid back to the floor. Everything went hazy around her for a moment, and she wanted to be sick. Breathing heavily, she tried to steady herself, trying to tune out the soft dripping sound she heard coming from below, the blood dripping from the body of Mrs Manson, pinned on the ornate umbrella stand annex hat stand with the sharp point.

"My umbrella is ruined now," she thought illogically.

Suddenly, she became aware of the three figures approaching her and she looked up, straight into the glowing green eyes of Mr Fenton. Her chest tightened. He smiled at her, but there was no sanity in it, no humanity. She knew what was going to happen.

"Don't worry," he said, "It will only hurt a little."

He placed his hands on her shoulders and she felt herself crumble, her cheek fall in, her eyes shrivel and her skin crack as he sucked the life out of her. The last thing she heard was his voice, not speaking to her, but to his daughters.

"Come. My perfect little angels."

The 'imprint' idea, again, is not mine. It's cordria's. I'm using it because I think it's extremely cool.