AN: So I started this story about two years ago but went on Hiatus. Now, in rereading everything, I've decided I'd like to fix this up and bring it back. Please give me feedback; I don't know if this is the type of story anyone is interested in anymore.

Disclaimer: Sad to say, I don't own Danny Phantom. Also, I don't own TAPS, SciFi does. No, this is not a cross-over; however I liked the idea to tie the show to the real world. Never will Jason or Grant be major characters in the story, but they will be there. It is not vital to have seen the television show.

The following events are true. They may have started from my imagination, but they did happen, and it's all very real. Take my words for what they're worth-believe me, or call my story rubbish, because I really don't care. I just need to tell someone, to save myself from insanity. I don't know, maybe I'm already too late from that. My name is Samantha Manson, and I saved the world. Cliché, I know. But I have to start somewhere, right?

I guess I should start out with the basics. I'm twenty one, I am studying for a degree in Animal Sciences, and I live in an apartment near my college. Normal, right? Wrong. Because I work for The Atlantic Paranormal Society, or TAPS as most people call it. Why, you might ask? I'm a medium. You know, a psychic. A freak of nature. Minor details, of course.

Everyone had an imaginary friend when they were a child, whether they admit to it or not. Before school begins, your parents are your best friends, and for some people, AKA me, you don't want to spend every waking hour with your parents. Thus, the imaginary friend is created-someone who you can run to when you're sad, someone who will play games with you, someone your age (or close to it) to keep you company. My parents weren't bothered by my talking to thin air; after all, it was a stage all children went through. But when I reached school and still had conversations with my imaginary friend, when I was always coming right home to spend time with him and completely disregarding the notation of friendship at school, they started to worry.

As a child, you truly believe that your imaginary friend is real, but I figured out that something was wrong when he started talking about the bad thing that was coming for him. When I was six, I started to understand him a bit more, and I realized that while other people had long lost their imaginary friends, mine still stuck around. The question 'Why?' led me to find that he remembered dying, something I knew wasn't right. After all, my imaginary friend wasn't supposed to be dead. He talked a lot about his life, and how he lived when there wasn't television and radio and all the fancy electronics we have today. He eventually told me that he was killed by a Confederate soldier as a warning to his Union family. Back then, the titles meant nothing to me, but after he was gone and I had learned about the Civil War, I was able to fully comprehend the situation.

By age seven, I had seen five doctors and six therapists-not a single one could tell my mom that there was something wrong with me. She, however, was completely convinced that I had been possessed by the devil or I was under the will of a ghost-something that probably wasn't far off from the truth. I had a tendency to draw my friend and strange places not known to man. I had taken on a more secluded persona, and my identity had transformed to a dark, medieval look. The kids called it gothic. I really didn't care. But my sunshine parents pitched a hissy because I didn't want to be like them. So naturally there had to be something severely wrong with my brain.

At this point I was only a year younger than Danny claimed to be. I had just gotten home from school, excited to no extent because I had received an 'A+' on an essay I had written. (And by essay I mean fantastic story that was created by the demented mind of a seven-year-old psychic) Instead of showing my parents, however, I ran straight up to my room to show Danny. He was happy for me, and we eventually decided to go outside in my backyard. Something was wrong, though. I could see it on his face. His goofy grin wasn't ear-to-ear, and his blue eyes were dull.

I asked him what was wrong, and he gave me the same cryptic response he had given me time and time before. "He's coming for me." Who was this 'he?' I didn't know, but I was going to find out. The hard way. Before I knew it, a bright magenta light engulfed everything, and I had to close my eyes to protect them from the intensity. When I mustered the courage to peek, I was greeted with deep red eyes glaring at me, a malicious smirk toying on the face of this stranger. I deftly noted that he also had pointed teeth and silvery hair (you know, the unnatural kind, not from old age) and I vaguely thought about his resemblance to some comic book villain.

What happened next was a blur. I remember him going after Danny, and I foolishly thought I could save him. I do, however, remember the livid eyes burning into my skull as his talon-like nails cut across the flesh of my abdomen, shredding my shirt and leaving me nearly unconscious on the grass, bleeding. I could hear Danny scream, and through the deafness and numbness I felt, I could hear him bargaining with the creature. The last words I heard were a faint whisper meant only for my ears. "I'll be back for you, Samantha."

Next thing I knew I was in a hospital bed, my distraught mother beside me. I could see the tear stains on her cheeks, and it looked like she hadn't slept in months. I had only been out for a few days, and luckily my injuries weren't very serious. I was soon released and headed back home. High and low I searched for my black-haired, blue-eyed friend, but to no avail. He was gone, and I was only left with withering memories of the past. I'd never see him again.

Tough childhood, huh? Well, that's my rendition of how I obtained my seeing powers. I did my best to tuck my powers in the very corner of my mind, and for my educational years, I succeeded. But when I met TAPS, I realized that those powers were a part of me that I couldn't get rid of, and I learned to accept myself. I became a part of the team, and for once it felt like I found a place in the world, a place just for me. Although I can't say that I really enjoy being used to draw a ghost out of hiding, I've proved to be a lot of help to the team. Plus, we weren't dealing with malevolent spirits. But, knowing me, you would know that that couldn't last for long.

And so the real story begins.